Changing attitudes about finite resources

I get the impression that people — regular people — are genuinely changing their attitudes about energy, gas, oil, finite resources. Around the blogosphere people are writing about different fuels, new energy technologies, wanting governments to seek alternatives to oil. People seem to be accepting that it costs actual money to drive a large vehicle down the road, that maybe that’s not the best thing to be doing, and that there are other options that make more sense environmentally and economically.

Walkable cities are healthy cities

I read in the newspaper today that San Francisco has been rated the most walkable city in the United States. Yes, even with the hills. Maybe especially with the hills. I was walking up the hill to my apartment the other day and, as I got to the top, I remembered how hard that hill was the first time I went to see the apartment, and noted how easy it is now. I’m a Billy Goat.

Is ‘blogoshpere’ a real word?

I’m sort of amazed by all the blogs. People are writing about so many things… some are interesting to me… some are not… some are cleaver, insightful, delightful… some are not. This blog is interesting… maybe not.

Muni, Muni, Muni

I like it when Muni employees show a sense of humor. I heard this on the PA system at Montgomery Station this morning:

“Muni custodian, Muni custodian. Your services are needed at Van Ness Station. We have an extremely serious situation at Van Ness that needs your attention. We have a coffee spill.”


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Marriage equality

I was working downtown in 2004 when Gavin started issuing same-sex marriage licenses. I always regretted not running up to City Hall to watch the marriages at that time.

On Tuesday we picked up a picnic lunch and went over to City Hall to watch a bunch of couples tying the knot and coming out the door to a crowd cheering and applauding. It was such a happy scene, and we wondered how anyone could be against committed couples getting married?

Then a walk, a nap, another walk, a nice dinner at a little French Bistro and a cable car ride. A special day, to be sure, but, in a way, just another day here in San Francisco.

Muni madness

Muni seems to be on the fritz lately. I’ve been riding the N-Judah a couple or few times a week as of late, and the trains are breaking down, the schedules aren’t being met and the crowding is heavy. I’ve also noticed that the NextMuni displays have been showing “ghost” buses and trains; the sign will say “arriving” and nothing arrives.

Postal

The Post Office did an interesting trick last week. Apparently they changed some of the drivers around, and they were leaving package notes from the wrong pads; folks were being notified to pick up their packages from Post Offices across town instead of their local office. I know of Sunset residents getting Pine Station notices, and Geary residents getting Sunset notices. The packages were, in fact, right where they were supposed to be. The woman at the Sunset Station on 22nd apologized for the mix-up, then started laughing: “You drove all the way from Pine Street?” I actually took a train and walked, which took a ton of time.

Life wants

What do you really want? That’s the questions posed lately to me about life, jobs and the future. That question seems hard to answer. What do I want? What do I need? I have so much, do I need more, or just something different, something new? I love change and hate change; it’s exciting to do something new, and it’s scary to do something new. I’m trying to think of the right cliche here (yes, I do like cliches; I think they’re an easy and effective way to tap into the group conscious)… lemonade from lemons, sailing with the current, playing the hand dealt. No, I think it’s more zen than that. Life is difficult. Life is dynamic. Life is amazing. Yes.

Sailing

I managed to get out for some sailing last weekend. It was blowing hard in the slot and we had a time of it, even with a reefed main. But docking at Angel Island and enjoying the summer feeling in Ayala Cove is always a treat. Even if we had to endure the slot again to get back. I love steady wind with calm water, like when we’re behind Treasure Island.

Still here

I’ve lived here long enough to sometimes forget to look around and see. But then I remember to remember.


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State Supreme Court says same-sex couples have right to marry. The ruling was just announced, and what a great thing.

Let people choose partners that they love and build their lives with those partners. It’s just so obvious what is right here. It makes me sad that there are hate-filled people working against this; perhaps they need to concentrate on their own lives and leave other consenting adults alone.


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I try to update this blog at least once a month, and sometimes it happens a couple times a month. That has been the right balance for me here and I like it that way.

I missed April.

I was trying to think of what to write all month. Another abstract descriptive story of cable cars and windy San Francisco nights? Generalized tales of the people in my life? Which servers and operating systems I’ve been playing with lately? Working hard at my job? The weather, which is always of interest to me?

Not sure. This entry is one of those exercises in simply writing for the sake of writing. And, of course, so this blog has been updated within about a month. Sans April. Just taking action for the sake of taking action is perfectly reasonable to me. In fact, it’s a great tool.

Life is rolling along, complete with new challenges and changes. I’ve been walking a surprisingly navigable line between confidence and fear, new and old, changes and comfort. Yes, there are extremes, but I believe today’s extremes become tomorrow’s day to day life, and I like that a lot. To me that is growth.

All here at home, my place in the world, with the fog rolling over the hills, the Muni trains running in the tunnels, the tasks on my to-list making me tired and the soundtrack playing in the background with the sub woofer dialed way down so as to not disturb the neighbors too much.


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Jeremy: Hey Hillary, how’s it going?

Hillary Clinton: Hey J, nice to see you! How you doing?

Jeremy: Oh, I’m fine. Hillary, can we make bagels, and you’ll fix all of our healthcare problems?

Hillary Clinton: Of course, J. Should we put cream cheese on our bagels?

Jeremy: Mmm, yes. And butter.

Hillary Clinton: J, I think getting rid of the butter is going to be part of solving the healthcare problem…


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My buddy Spooner and I went for a walk on Mt Tam yesterday, in the rain.

I don’t think that walking on a mountain in the rain is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. And I don’t think it’s the smartest.

We stopped at Walgreens on Lombard before crossing the Golden Gate Bridge. I bought a poncho, since Spondork pointed out that carrying my gigantic blue and yellow umbrella into the woods would be dumb and “un mountain man -like.”

Right, that would be the dumb part.

We also bought a couple more of the “three dollar Walgreens hats” that we tend to buy every time we head out on a poorly planned outdoor adventure. They’re cheap, bright and goofy, and I think they are starting to litter both of our homes. I know there are at least two of them sitting on my bookshelf already.

On the drive up Mt Tam there is this ridge that actually has houses on it. It’s some weird zoning aberration that goes on for maybe a mile; as far as I know the entire rest of the mountain is National Forest and is protected from development. As we drove on the ridge and looked at the valley below, all we could see was a gray wall of clouds and rain. We passed a VW bus on the side of the road that looked like it was just one or two more gusts from being thrown off the ground into the canyon that presumably still lay below.

We got to the parking lot three miles below the East Peak and pulled in; it was so foggy all we could see was a wall of white in front of us. I joked that we were either pulling into the parking lot or we were about to drive off the side of the mountain into the abyss. Sometimes I make jokes when I am scared.

There were other folks out hiking (that was reassuring). An older couple advised us where to go, incorrectly, as it turned out. So we found ourselves on an unmarked trail alongside a rushing creek. Spondork walked animatedly ahead of me, talking loudly and gesticulating wildly.

The walking was great; I’ve been back on my game lately, so I was mowing up that hill with ease. But the roaring creek three feet below the crumbling earth that we walked on was making me nervous. Spondork started to totter as he crossed a log and I grabbed him and shoved him back onto the trail. Fucking shit. It occurred to me that it’s totally possible to get lost on Mt Tam. And, for some reason, I remembered the Blair Witch Project.

Forty five minutes and seven jumps over the creek later, we came up on a real trail, a fire road perhaps. Suddenly I could see the sheer beauty around me. The tall trees, the mist hanging in the air, the rocks and moss and leaves all around, everything drenched and sated by the water dropping out of the wind.

We walked down the big trail until we got to the part where it flooded over. We took turns peeing in the woods. And then we turned around and came back. We talked and joked and made fun of each other and everyone we know. And instead of taking the unmarked trail that we came on (we couldn’t find it again, thank goodness) we found a well marked trail with a name that we recognized and knew would lead us back. This trail was narrow and came down the grade on switchbacks. Spooner and I walked and yelled at the top of our lungs and made bad jokes and bad imitations of people we know. This is how we bond, I guess.

I’m not sure how to describe the beauty of the woods in the rain, but I think anyone who has seen the woods can imagine looking across a field as the rain comes down in torrents, hearing the water floating and dropping from all sides, hearing your own footsteps crossing through puddles, yelling and laughing like little kids and going from feeling lost to feeling found.

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We dedicated our trek to Walking Bob, our friend and a hell of a guy, who is now hiking around somewhere beyond where we can currently go. We miss you, Bob.


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Years ago, my friend Elvispope moved to New York City. I talked to him after his first week there and asked how it was going. He said that he had done this and that, and that he had immediately obtained a library card.

When I was a kid the library was a second home. It may have actually been a first home, some of the time. Amid the raging chaos in my young home life, the library was a safe place, a warm place, an inviting place. And it was filled to the rafters with books, of course. My parents were readers, and the importance of literacy was instilled in me at a very young age.

I would go to the library and seemingly spend entire days there, from opening time to closing time. It was across the street from the elementary school and the front double doors opened at an angle to the street corner. I think the doors were a worn brown and the building was an older-style beige stucco. I suspect it was built in the 1920s, it had that “old enough to be old but once was new and beautiful” look.

Inside there were two wings, and in one of those wings sat a claw foot bathtub. It had been painted blue on the outside, while still white on the inside, with a wooden mast propped through the drain hole, and a small white canvas sail rigged to a thin boom. Yes, it was a sailing bathtub! And it was filled with pillows and stuffed animals and various soft and cushion-like things.

I was the captain of that vessel many a day, the sail rustling above me as I lay there on the soft stuff and read stacks and stacks of books. I’d get up occasionally to get a new book or to use the bathroom. There was a whole series of mystery books where the answer to the puzzle was written reversed and backwards at the end; I would carry the books into the bathroom to read them through the mirror.

I don’t remember the exact details of my comings and goings; whether I rode my bike (which was likely the case) or walked. I’m not sure if I was there after school or just on weekends. I do know that while it provided comfort and a lot of learning, the library was also a place to escape and hide from the difficulties of my reality. Everything has mixed blessings, I suppose. There was a lot of burden in my young life; someone had to take care of things around the house when those who were tasked with the job couldn’t be relied upon to perform, or even to show up. But for awhile on some days, I had a time and a place to be the captain of my imagination and to feel a little bit safer.

A few days ago a friend and I were out for a walk, talking and enjoying a crisp clear afternoon. We stopped at the beautiful SF Main Library; she was picking up a book that was on hold for her, so she could take it home and read it with her partner (I think it’s unbelievably cute that they read together). The library’s first floor was recently remodeled and she showed it off to me with barely contained excitement.

Over the years, as my life and work have dictated my digital existence, I haven’t been much of a library patron; I feel sort of ashamed to admit that. I’ve bought umpteen zillion books of my own, and given away most of them to keep my library from getting as big as the public one. I love books and I have to remember that I don’t need to own every book that catches my fancy, that I can read them and let them move on to the next person.

Or I can borrow them from this amazing library here in my amazing city. I was impressed by the automated checkout, the email notifications when books are due, and how much cool stuff they have.

I’d love to say that I checked out War and Peace and read it clean in an evening; I didn’t. I borrowed some DVDs, including the first season of Taxi. I hadn’t seen it in years, and I don’t know if I ever saw the first episode before (it’s brilliant).

Taxi was on TV at night back then (the theme, “Angela,” was the first song I ever had recorded on a cassette tape), back in those early days, when I’d come home from reading in my bathtub sailboat, check on the apartment, make sure everyone was accounted for and hope that I’d have chances to get back there again on other days, during the calms between the storms.


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