Here’s a picture from a couple of years ago, when Victor and I were working on mountain plovers in Texas. It’s actually a still from some video that Victor shot of the first mountain plover we managed to catch. We were the first people to successfully catch mountain plover during the month of December, so pay attention; this picture captures a historic moment.
Since we’ve moved to Pacifica, Victor and I have started taking BART into the city and wandering, semi-aimlessly, around various neighborhoods. Last weekend we checked out the Castro. Yesterday we explored the area around the Civic Center.
Got off at the Civic Center stop and headed up Market for a little while. The stretch of Market right by the BART stop is pretty ghetto, but after a few blocks we got into an interesting bit. We stopped in at a travel bookstore and bought a Lonely Planet guide to British Columbia, since we’re planning a road trip to Vancouver Island in August. Spun around once we realized we were about to overlap with our stroll around the Castro last week, and stopped in the Zuni Cafe for a bit of liquid refreshment. I had a Manhattan, made with Maker’s Mark. I had never tried a Manhattan with Maker’s before and found it quite good- the Maker’s complements the cherry flavor in the vermouth nicely. Victor had Grey Goose with grapefruit juice, on the suggestion of the bartender when Victor asked for “something refreshing with Grey Goose”. I think he was hoping for something a little more creative, but he said he enjoyed his drink nonetheless.
As we were sipping our beverages, we noticed a commotion at the other end of the bar, and like good bar patrons we flocked to the scene of the excitement. There was a fire on the 5th floor of the building next door, which was undergoing renovation. It looked like one of the plywood forms had caught fire somehow. It was a pretty small fire, but tricky to get to. Four firetrucks pulled up and we left as the firemen were assessing the situation.
Continuing on our journey, we turned up Franklin, more non-descript ghetto stuff, then down Hayes, which has apparently burgeoned into a little enclave of trendy stores and restaurants within the past fifteen years or so. It’s right near the symphony and the opera house, which probably accounts for much of its popularity: as we wandered past the Hayes Street Grill we saw a line of symphony-dressed folks waiting for tables. The bar/restaurant Absinthe and the restaurant/bakery Citizen Cake are in this neighborhood too. We thought to pick up some treats at Citizen Cake, but we were both hungry enough that the thought of something sugary wasn’t appealing. We then flirted with the idea of stopping in Absinthe and ordering a couple of small plates and a couple of glasses of wine, but realized that this would undoubtedly result in us dropping fifty bucks or so on a small snack, and decided to just go hungry for another hour or so instead.
We turned onto Grove St. to walk by City Hall, the UN Plaza, and all those big, grand, landmarky buildings around that area. We briefly stopped in the SF Public Library, but didn’t really look around much: it seemed to be closing when we got there at around 6pm. So, back to the BART station and Pacifica.
I eat this a couple of times a week. Fry an egg (I like a yolk that’s a bit runny but mostly gelatinous), heat up half a can of black beans. Once your egg is done, warm a corn tortilla in the same skillet. Tortilla goes on bottom, then beans, then egg, top with halved cherry tomatoes, avocado, salsa, small dollop o’ sour cream. If I’ve got it, I’ll chop up some cilantro on top too.
So good!
Since I haven’t gotten around yet to telling anyone about my blog, I’d like to send a shout out to my three faithful readers, Scott, Travis, and Nick Guam. Thanks, guys. I couldn’t do it without you. You’re the best.
How come we call animals girls and boys instead of men and women, even when they are full-grown?
“Nice dog. Is it a man or a woman?”
“Oh, he’s a man. C’mere, Arty! Good man! What a good man!”
It’s time to stop patronizing our differently-specied friends!
From a review of a vegetarian joint in the Sunset in San Francisco:
I’m sick. I’m sick for the fifth time in as many months. This is not good. I don’t know myself to be immunosuppressed, so this ridiculous frequency of common colds can only be due to my body’s rejection of the processed animal fats I consistently force upon it. (The ball and chain refers to this thought process as “girl science.”)
My first thought upon reading this was “Heh. Girl science. That’s pretty good.” My second thought was “Hey…!”
Italo Calvino, in some essay that I forget the name of, says something like (and I paraphrase) “When you are old, everyone you see wears the face of a dead man”, the idea being that, 1) Old people have seen a lot of faces so everyone reminds them of someone else, 2) Being old, most of the people they have seen are now dead.
Today on the Stanford campus, when I was making my library run, everyone I saw wore the face of Clark Cotton. He’s this guy I knew in Laramie. It was just one of those things. Weird, huh?
I’m a cynical hater.
But I’m also friendly, helpful, well-mannered, and, on occasion, even chatty with strangers.
I suppose all this really means is that, when I hold the door open for someone and they breeze on past in a Queen-Elizabeth-passing-the-doorman-like fashion, I mentally heap upon them a larger than usual stream of bitter invective. If I’m feeling very much a hater, I may even deliver a freezing stare at their back.
So perhaps I’m not really as complex as I like to think.
This is what Arty looks like today. I’d be willing to bet that he’s cuter than your dog.
Today is my last day of a 3 week span of freedom.
Tomorrow I start my summer semester. I’m taking a PHP/MySQL class.
On Friday I will start a new job. It’s in addition to my current job, but should only occupy about 10 hours per week. I will be working largely from home: my primary responsibility will be to maintain a blog for the School of Library Science’s internship program.
To prepare myself physically and spiritually for these transitions, I underwent a cleansing ritual. There were no sweatlodges, psychotropic substances, or emetics involved, though. I just cleaned my desk.
I filed last semester’s notes and papers. I organized my texbooks. I rearranged my plants.
I am pleased.
On Friday Victor and I met up with my friend Jen in Santa Cruz. She was there visiting her birthmom and sister, with whom she only recently became acquainted. However, all that is just backstory to the real item of interest.
Sister works in a spa and so is knowledgeable about spa-oriented equipment (I don’t really know how else to describe it). The day we visited, we had the good fortune to be present when her new neck extender arrived in the mail, and I gave it a whirl.
This isn’t what it looked like. But it gives you the general idea.
Sister’s neck extender must be used while reclining. A strap is fitted across your forehead, holding your head firmly against a cradle that supports the back of your head, neck, and shoulders. The part of the cradle that supports your neck is made of rubber and can be inflated by means of a hand pump similar to those found on blood pressure cuffs. As you inflate the device, your head is forced upward, extending your neck, and theoretically releasing tension and aligning cervical vertebrae and all that good stuff.
Like many things that are meant to be self-administered stand-ins for services normally rendered by others, it was entirely unsatisfactory- rather like trying to give yourself a footrub, or a haircut. Or like those vibrating massage chairs, or the things you can use to massage your own back. To be fair, it probably is not meant to be used in a party-like atmosphere with six people standing around looking down at you and commenting upon how the forehead strap makes your eyebrows look funny. Still, while I was using it the pressure on my head was uncomfortable, and when I was released from the device my neck didn’t feel appreciably different.
You very likely never knew there was such a device, and if you forget this post and never remember such a device again, your life will probably not be impoverished in any way.
This is Jenny.
Victor and I used to pass Jenny every day on our way to work, when we worked where we used to work. When I first saw Jenny, I thought she was a mule, and I had some vague recollection that female mules are called “jennies” and male mules are called “jacks.” So, we started calling her Jenny.
We soon discovered that Jenny was equipped with male genitalia, but not wanting her to feel judged about her lifestyle choice we continued as before. She never said anything, but I sensed that she was grateful that we accepted her for who she was.
But now, I’m not even sure she’s really a mule. Her ears seem too short.
Jenny winters somewhere else (when we were in the Yucatan in March of 2005 we thought we saw her down there), so as the time neared when I was to leave my old workplace back in early April, I feared I would never see Jenny again. She returned from her winter quarters just three days before my last day of work. I was happy to have a chance to see Jenny one last time.
If you want to see Jenny yourself, look for her between April and October on the Point Reyes Station-Petaluma road in Marin County, California. She’s closer to Point Reyes Station, on the right as you’re driving towards Petaluma.
I don’t really mind reading from screens. The main thing I don’t like is the necessity of holding myself upright while I read. And, I don’t really romanticize books as objects (which I gather is unusual for incipient librarians). So I’d probably be ok with an electronic reader.