I've filled out most of my ballot, there are still a few propositions to read up on. Must get it done before I sleep tonight.
I've brought a small radio into work to listen to NPR while I multitask; now it's just white noise to me. It's lost most if not all of that appeal that it used to have when I could only catch it on the way to and from work.
This weekend S. flew from Florida bringing the rain with her. She was here to evaluate me as I facilitated an EF session in SJ. It went pretty well and the kids enjoyed it. I broke my brand new laptop in by downloading some P2P software and jacking a version of powerpoint presentation ... what a way to corrupt my new computer.
Yesterday I drove up to Tilden Park, near lake Anza where so many memories still linger. There was a memorial ceremony there on the grass and none of my friends were in sight, but nostalgia directed me down the side path to the small crowd gathered there. I could only visit for a short hour with friends old and new that I had not seen in a few months now. Quickly I was off to San Francisco to meet up for a few games of bridge. We sat down at Park Chow for a quick lunch and played for three hours as the tables around us cleared. At 4:30 I had to leave to meet up for PJ's birthday party. We caravaned down Fell and then down Howard to the Bay where we turned and drove up Embarcadero along the piers. We found Teatro Zinzani easily and hurriedly entered. What transpired there is not easily described. Or it would be easy to give you the body of the thing, but the voice of it would be lost. Twelve hours from the time I left home I returned to find that I had left the light on. Amid the empty shells of cardboard boxes I fell asleep.
My absentee ballot sits untouched on my desk. It's now officially less than two weeks until the election. I love how that is, you add "less than" to "two weeks" and suddenly it's like it's going to happen tomorrow. Anyway, I think I'll sit down tonight and go through all the other issues. After hearing a brief report about Michael Badnarik, the Libertarian candidate for President, I thought for about voting differently for a minute and then decided against it (and no, I'm not Libertarian, I'd just like people to stop confusing bi-partisan for non-partisan). Anyway there are plenty of issues to weigh; hopefully I'll still have enough time to prepare for my session on Saturday.
Rich and I started a argument (call it discussion if you like) about what constitutes a "slow" car. This stemmed out of a mutual comment about how the Scion tC is a great looking car. The car runs 0-60 mph in about 7.4-7.8 secs depending on who's driving it. I thought this was reasonable, even good or fast considering how much the car costs and other vehicles one might own. Rich said, "OMG, that's F***ing SLOW." See, Rich has high standards for cars. Anyway, I suppose if it gets you from point A to point B in a manner which suits you, then that's all that really matters. Rich also gave me these awesome shot glasses yesterday ('cause every time I throw a party I ask him to bring shot glasses.) So thanks Rich for the entertaining discussion and totally random gift.
It takes me way too long to write one of these entries ... how am I ever going to finish 50,000 words between November 1st and November 30th?
It's curious how little I deem to have happened when my only conversations during the weekend were the daily phone calls to a place three hours ahead. I woke on Saturday morning eager to beat the rain. I can't shake the feeling that it's utter foolishness to wash my car before it rains, and yet there I was, mindful of the gathering cumulonimbus. The sun toyed with my hopes as I finished stripping Clementine of any left over wax and proceeded over the next four hours to use every car care product at my disposal to re-wax and detail the car. As the evening drew nearer, I noticed the loft of pigeons which liked to perch and swoop capriciously from rooftop to rooftop, sending quiet shudders of fear every time they passed over my newly cleaned car. Perhaps, this being a rare weekend, I had not noticed how much a part of the neighborhood they were. Or perhaps, like me, they knew of the coming storm and wanted one last day to play. Evening brought dinner and a Cal game as a reward for my efforts. Night quickened and I managed a load of laundry and an hour with Carol before heading off to bed; outside, it seemed of rain.
Sunday morning came with a dampness in the air, a chill reminiscent of falls past, but no real rain. I spent the day fighting off cold, listening to NPR, and busying myself with various desultory tasks. Hours were lost struggling with my new 802.11g router. IP addresses set and reset. Numerous machines powered up and down. In the end, it was a MAC number that was my nemesis. It remains to be seen whether or not any of this did any good. Evening brought a dinner the same as lunch, more cleaning, and my single conversation of the day. And then, after two full days inside, I fell asleep, having accomplished not much at all and yet all the happier for it.
Garden State:
We tumbled out of the theater unable to say just exact what had happened. I couldn't remember the last time I watched the credits scroll into the ceiling with absolute contentment. Let them run. Let the moment extend forever. We spoke excitedly then, trying to put a name to the experience, trying to find a reason for our enjoyment. What was it? It was a movie about a young man who returns home. It a story about awakening from years of senseless psychiatric drugs. It a story about the people we meet, the places we go and what's special about each. I couldn't help but to think as I watched that our generation would be the only generation to understand it, that generations to come would look back and find the music dated, the camera angles tired, the pacing too slow and the motifs too banal. So we stood there on a cool October evening, not wanting to move, not wanting to leave. I wanted to run around and do stupid things. I thrilled as the evening brushed against my sleeveless arms. On the drive home everything seemed clearer, crispier, each ordinary passing moment, more meaningful. And even now, I can't really explain it. I could tell you what happens ... nothing. Everything. Two people fall in love. It's ordinary. It's unique. It's above all else, surreal.
Yesterday we made the crossing. Stepping out from 1550 Hyde Cafe, I tested the air and decided it was the perfect night. Even at nine it was still in the mid-seventies and probably no colder than seventy at the bridge. We took Lombard to the Gate and caught a whiff of chill as we rounded the Palace. We slowed to forty-five as we crossed the toll. The cables aren't lit like the bay bridge whose lights are like tiny pulsars receding into the night sky and coming to earth. These red-orange cables disappeared into the inky heavens and hung there for a moment at the art deco towers, those ladders to the zenith, before landing gracefully back. A moment strung between two towers, between the water and the wide open sky, that I shared suitably with an old familiar friend. Then it was an hour more to round the bay and cross another bridge. We thought of Nick Drake, Volkswagens and Lightning Bugs.
You weren't there last night. But I saw you in the midnight blue waters. I felt you in the distances that make all this beauty possible. Without this expanse, how could I know the beckon of the city, where would I build monuments to our dreams? Give me a glass half empty and half full. I'll give you a glass, with water to drink and room for more.
If you're at all interested I found this Salon.com article is worthy of a read: "Scared, angry and feeling a desperate need to act, I decided to volunteer a week of my time in a swing state and called the Kerry campaign." You need to watch a stupid little ad to get access, but really it's not all that hard.
Tomorrow, by 4:15am, I need to be on a BART train headed to SFO to board a plane destined for Orlando. This is the worst weekend ever to miss a Cal game. My only consolation is that I'll be on Eastern Standard Time for a couple of days.
I changed my air filter on the Camry this morning before heading to work. I can't believe I've been paying people to do this for me. I start to wonder how disconnected I really am.
Do you ever get the feeling that you're busy being busy?
Every one else has an opinion, so here's mine.
We had to go into Afghanistan. If there ever there was a clear and present danger it was and still is Osama Bin Laden. After we had disposed of the Taliban regime, we were obligated to help them rebuild their country. We should have disposed of the warlords, but that would have taken more troops and more money both of which the current administration chose to put into the war in Iraq. So instead we gave the warlords money and arms (anyone remember Oliver North?) and told them to hunt Osama ('cause yeah, they hate the Saudi bastard too) Now, even as the country prepares for elections (a good thing) warlords and the opium trade still dominate much of the country (a bad thing.) We had many reasons to go into Iraq: Saddam Hussen's a bad guy, we thought there might be WMDs or WMDRPA, and lastly, a lot of our currency is tied up in petrodollars and Iraq was the first OPEC nation to try to move to a Euro standard. We had a lot of reasons not to: we weren't actually sure they had WMDs or WMDRPA (and they didn't), we didn't have as many allies as we needed to secure the country and help rebuild it, and well, we should have budgeted more money for security at home and pursuing goals in Afghanistan. Now what we have is an Iraq that tell us, "Go and vote and risk being blown into pieces or followed by the insurgents and murdered for cooperating with the Americans? For what? To practice democracy? Are you joking?"
So here's the thing. Let's make it simple for a moment and say that it all depends on who's able to protect America better. On one side we have the belief that creating a free, stable, and democratic nation in the Middle East will promote a secure America. On the other we have the belief that using that that 200 billion dollars (which includes interest) could have been used in hunting down Osama Bin Laden, diminishing the opium coming out of Afghanistan, helping that nation rebuild more than we have and perhaps using some of that money here at home for security. And let's put aside that we'd be less hated worldwide and that less American troops would have died. Let me offer you the choice, if you had to choose one person to behind bars which would it be, Saddam Hussein or Osama Bin Laden. Bush said, "We can do both." Three years later, we haven't.
"One of the things I learned in this campaign is, voting is the bare minimum, voting is not enough, you've got to give 10 bucks to your favorite candidate ... And you've got to run for office yourself. You have to run yourself. Democracy is not a spectator sport, and we won't have one if we don't fight for it." --Howard Dean.
This, from the guy who lost. I was watching on tv when I heard the infamous yelp. I cringed. He wasn't my candidate at the time, but I knew that the fallout would be bad. And it was. I can't help feeling that most people would have packed up and gone home, people who think that winning is the only important thing. Instead, Howard Dean revamped his website. He started traveling around the country, talking to anyone who would still listen. He become the candidate that some wished Kerry would be.
Last week a friend of mine was back from a two year stint in Central and South America. She, with her dual degrees in Mechanical Engineering and Business, quit her job and decided to work in an orphanage in Guatemala. She helped take care of kids abandoned by their mothers, watching after them and cooking them meals. She helped because she could, because she believed it was right, because she believed that it was more worthwhile than making America richer. I believe her.
It inspires me, that's what I said. "Inspires you to do what?"
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