I figured today was a good a day as any, actually better, to drive somewhere to ride, seeing as anyone clogging the local freeways to get out of town or come back would be nowhere in sight. And seeing as San Francisco is friggin' cold again, I chose to drive down to the Dublin/Pleasanton area where temps are summer-like. I could have swooned. And I was right about the freeways.

A nice, hot ride starting at the Dublin/Pleasanton BART, and going 34 miles through god-knows-where-except-that-it-went-through-some-podunk-town-called-"Sunol". I still don't know what the "Sunol grade", that I hear frequently on traffic reports, is. It was totally fun, but I'm totally zoning now. It was hot, I've been avoiding meat lately, which I can't imagine is great for cycling, I'm still adjusting to new sleeping hours that are more "normal", and the hills weren't really hard, but I was going down to my small chainring and going below 8 mph at times. Otherwise it was a really fast course, rolling between 20-24 mph, and there was one protracted, straight downhill that I was holding steady at 44 mph for quite a while. Usually going that fast, I can only glance down at my speedometer, fingers itching to brake, but today I was looking at it for seconds at 44 mph thinking, "oh, this is interesting".

I hate coming back to San Francisco. You spend all day out of town in the warm, in shorts and t-shirts, and then you get back to San Francisco and step out of your car or out of a BART station and you're greeted with a blast of chilly air and fog rolling in. Parka weather.

The bout of evidence of global warming has ended, and Summer has returned to San Francisco. A slumlord was thrown in jail yesterday for defying court orders to get a property up to code. Residents complained how they had been without heat. To leave San Franciscans without heat in August is just inhuman. Hope they throw away the key.

Finally, after struggling up hills all year, I can officially declare I'm back in condition and hills are fun again! We like hills, don't we? We like pain. We think pain is fun. Mm, pain. Yay pain. I can go on about pain like a Nalgene water bottle.

On Friday I rode up Market St. to Twin Peaks without much struggle at all, and then yesterday I did the Skyline Blvd. ride in the East Bay Hills and didn't go down to my smallest chainring at all. Rarely went below 8 mph, which isn't very fast, mind you, but all year I've been struggling to prevent from going slower than that. And failing.

I don't think the hills on the Skyline Blvd. ride are that challenging, but it just felt strong. The route started in Tilden Park in Berkeley and goes down Wildcat Canyon Road on the other side of the hills, runs along the bottom of the hills on the other side of the Caldecott Tunnel all the way to Moraga, and then climbs back into the hills, and then runs along the ups and downs along the top of the hills back to Berkeley on Skyline and Grizzly Peak Blvds. A modest 29 miles total.

Afterwards I went straight to Terry and Mike's place for a big barbecue they were throwing for their birthdays/housewarming for Mike. Mike had been crashing on Terry's couch for a while and recently got an apartment in the same building. A bunch of Beale St./NTN trivia regulars were there, so there was the established contingent of smart, smart-ass alcoholics. I don't know what it is about Terry, who actually only tolerates me at a very minimal level, but he has just amassed the most interesting sort of people around him. I'm glad one of them is Mike, who I think genuinely likes me, and is a super fellow. I don't know quite how to describe it except to say that when Terry and/or Mike gather a bunch of people, my attitude going in is that I'm going to like, or at least give benefit of doubt to just about everyone. I won't meet someone and think I'm getting bad vibes, but I'll meet them thinking "a friend of Terry's is good enough for me".

Terry is a raging alcoholic. That's not talking shit, either, he's had it written up on his performance reviews at work (he's also incredibly smart and competent which is why he doesn't get fired). He's suffering from alcohol related gout now, so his joints are paining him. His liver is probably the size of a small boat, so it's a wonder why it's not his liver that's giving out first. My first run-in with Terry outside of work was when we were working at the same place, and me and my old boss were looking for a place to grab some drinks and we saw Terry on the outside porch of Holding Company. We didn't know each other that well so we tentatively joined him; I forget if he called us over or if Ritu invited herself, probably that latter. When the waitress came over to take our orders, she turned to Terry and asked, "Shall I get you your pitcher?". He discreetly declined and ordered a martini, but it didn't take long before he caught on to Ritu and was openly double-fisting a beer and a martini.

After a day of riding and a night of drinking, I crashed pretty quick last night and slept nine hours. I woke up having run out of half & half so my coffee is Irished up with Bailey's Irish Cream and hot chocolate. There was a message on my machine from my mom (what the hell was she calling me so early?!) telling me my brother's wife is now preggers. It is too nice outside to not go for a leisurely ride to the park to read.

I got this book/CD last year, "J.S. Bach for Electric Bass" because: 1) it sounded novel/neat; 2) my music reading skills are woefully deficient; and 3) it should help with: a) dexterity, b) finger positioning, and c) fret-board familiarity. Lazy-ass that I am, I didn't get to working on these pieces until now, and all I can say is Bach sounds like ass on electric bass. No one, but no one wants to hear Bach on electric bass. Unless Victor Wooten is playing it, and even then it's more "wow, how does he do that?!" than "Bach sounds lovely on bass".

Needless to say, going through this book will be a more technical exercise than aesthetic experience.

That's more like it:



A scientific, mathematical measure of my evil worth. Certified, baby! Yeeeees.

back in the saddle:
I went for a ride for the first time in two weeks, since before Amy left. I expected to be out of condition again, so I planned on taking it easy, but I didn't avoid hills and surprised myself a little. It feels good to be in condition. And it's shite struggling to get into condition. I took it easy by rolling on flats at comfortable speeds and not screaming down any hills.

I ended up crossing the Golden Gate Bridge and heading into the Headlands via the Bunker Road tunnel, and going all the way out to Rodeo Beach where I vegged for a while. I thought to myself that I should try avoiding meat for a while. A couple from Ottawa, Canada (yay! Ottawa, Canada) came up to me on their rented bikes, looking for directions, and we chatted while they rested. I really am a friendly mofo to strangers. They told me what they had done and what they were possibly thinking of doing, and I gave them some recommendations. I think they ended up taking Bunker Road out, the same way I came in, and then headed for Sausalito to catch the ferry back. Phil and Philomena, nice folk.

I left via climbing McCullogh Road, which I'd had trouble on in the past because of heat and dehydration. It was no problem this time, but whenever I have trouble on something, when I do it again, I remember it and there's an added psychological hurdle to get over. Is it just me? Ten miles or so later I was resting at Ocean Beach, giving an old lady directions to Fisherman's Wharf on the other side of town! I tried to keep her on as few and as big roads as possible, recommending Geary to Van Ness to Bay. I'm so good with directions, what would the world do without me.

I punctured a little more than a mile away from home *grumble, grumble*. I debated whether to patch it or walk it, and decided to patch it in Dolores Park. Either there were multiple punctures (glass) or I did a crappy patch job because I was still leaking, but made it a block from home, picking up a veggie burger on the way, before I decided I shouldn't ride it anymore. Bummin'.

Most often, I go searching for new weblogs here. I look for interesting titles. I avoid titles that include the words "in the life of", "random", "'s life", "'s thoughts", "'s ramblings", "'s musings", "'s journal", and generally, any title that is self-deprecating convinces me, prima facie, that it's not worth checking out (even though it might be, we're judging books by their covers, folks).

I tend to go for the clever, intriguing, often random titles, that sort of says something indirectly quirky about his or her personality. Apparently, in terms of titles I find interesting, my mind works like a teenage girl's! I find that quite disturbing. If not a little titillating.

The Beatles Anthology DVD
"And I went to Haight-Ashbury expecting it to be this brilliant place, and it was just full of horrible, spotty, dropout kids on drugs" - George Harrison

OK, that's a little harsh on some levels, but on so many levels it might have been true (I wasn't there), and definitely still is. No, it's more true than not, I avoid walking through the Haight because the people can be just so fucking annoying.

I'm finding George to be the Beatle I like best, he was the most thoughtful and actually also the most witty. The way he talked was so easy-going. Paul I'm starting to think was really full of himself self-conscious, and John quite insecure behind his mad, biting sarcasm. All of their talent is unquestionable, they were just monster writers, musicians, and performers.

Holy crap! Delphine got me a Nalgene water bottle because she's been raving about them, and I kid you not, if you're gonna buy a water bottle, buy one of these, they are truly incredible!! I'm definitely gonna look for the Nalgene bike bottles. They are made of an incredible stable, lightweight plastic that won't make the water taste like plastic, and it might be my imagination, but the water even tastes better!! Go fig. Apparently Nalgene bottles can even handle alcohol without deteriorating, but I swear to god that wasn't a selling point for me. And they aren't giving me any money to say these wonderful things, but friggin' 'ell they should!

Back from southern California, Amy's gone. I was at least aware that at the same time Delphine and I were driving south on I-5, Amy was driving north on I-5 to Portland. Best of luck to Amy in law school. Her friendship during her last few months in San Francisco meant a lot to me and I'm-a gonna miss her. Nothing spectacular, no howling at the moon, we're both low-key personalities socially; just steady, reliable, low maintenance companionship and bar-hopping. I really couldn't ask for more.

I have nothing bad to say about Delphine, but although she passes the "4 hour hang-out test", two full days together may have found our limit of tolerating each other. In more in-depth conversations, our minds have trouble meeting, and just the way we communicate (receive and transmit), the signal to noise ratio is pretty high. We view the world in different ways, and that's fine, par for the course, really. We all view the world and reality in different ways, and with the radical way I view it, I don't expect it to be easy to find people to connect with.

In general, my world view is not so stubborn and solid that I would argue to impose it on someone else. Generally, I feel more an observer, just taking in whatever I can and deciding for myself what to keep and what to discard, but I won't argue a point, feeling that I need to convince a person that the way I see it is right, or insist that the way they see it is flawed. For me, that is common courtesy, albeit a high standard of it, and respect, and I don't assume to know what respect is for anyone else, it's just my own standards.

It's all fine by me. When someone says something to me that I have questions or doubts about, I will only present my questions and doubts, and if they respond with an answer that makes sense to them, even if not to me, I tend to let it go unless more questions come to mind. But all I do is present my questions and doubts, I won't argue how their thinking is wrong or flawed. If my not-so-brilliant questions don't express my point adequately, I let it go. I don't have an over-riding need to explain myself.

Likewise, when I try to explain my point of view or feelings to someone and they shoot it down with me not feeling like they got in my shoes and walked around a bit, I let that go, too. After more than a year of knowing a person, I really let it go. Miscommunication or missed connection between two people is a very . . . palpable thing. If someone doesn't get what I say, or doesn't even try to get what I say, or worse, think they get what I say when they really have no clue, I feel there is really little I can do, but dismiss the entire interaction.

Delphine and I are good to hang out with each other at shows, some quality social interactions, including solo and group situations, but we are not two to have in-depth conversations or try to "get to know" each other. We don't get each other.

*gasp* No one won the lottery!! I need to buy tickets for the next drawing. <singing>I'm gonna win the lottery, I'm gonna win the lottery</singing>

Aah! I totally forgot to buy lottery tickets yesterday for the $66 million drawing. I would've won, the timing would've been perfect!! :( Wait a second, I haven't heard of anyone having won . . .

I bought my ticket to Supergrass so long ago that for the past week, I've had to remind myself the show was tonight. An apparently up-and-coming band called Palo Alto (I've seen ads for their album in a bunch of magazines), from Los Angeles opened. I'm glad they aren't from Palo Alto, because it's a pretty bad name for a band, but it would've been worse if they were from Palo Alto. Or if any of them had gone to Stanford. I don't know if any of them went to Stanford.

Truth to tell, they were pretty good. There isn't a whole lot I'd fault them for, except for the ridiculous amount of guitar changes they had, with "roadies" coming on-stage for the switch, "rockstar style". Every song or every two songs they switched guitars, and for an up-and-coming band, that rubbed me the wrong way. They were good, but they didn't grab me. There was nothing fresh about them or their sound, in fact their sound sounded pretty generic and derivative these days. But this was the first time I heard them, so I'd give them a second listen, but I wouldn't go buy their CD.

Supergrass rawked!! Sold out show, too. That was a surprise, I can't find anyone else who likes Supergrass. It was a high-energy, crunchin' guitars, Brit-pop romp. Gaz Coombes was super-friendly and cool, I just love that guy's voice. And come on, doesn't he even look cool? OK, that's perhaps not the best shot of him. Hehe, honey, I'm home. I didn't really like the drummer much, though. Maybe the band isn't big on steady tempos. And he just seemed sloppy for most part. They covered a bunch of faves, not nearly all of them no doubt, including new songs "Rush Hour Soul", "Brecon Beacons", and "Grace", and "Moving", "Pumping on Your Stereo", "Mary", "Sun Hits the Sky", and they ended the main set with "Richard III". They didn't do "Cheapskate", which is the first song of theirs I heard, or "Jesus Came from Outta Space".

Well, that's it, no more shows planned for the near future, even though Kinky is coming in September and would love to check them out. My six month hiatus from work is almost up and no more plans until I decide what to do next.

bleah, I just spent the day mildly dehydrated. it's been a while. i used to dehydrate all the time, and whenever I did, the first thing that went was the mental capability to realize or recognize I was dehydrating and all I needed to do was drink something. story of my life. but I used to hate drinking water, which of course contributed to the dehydration in the first place, and then didn't aid in the recovery, for which I'd use Diet Pepsi or Mountain Dew. Mm-mm, all that sugar. That stuff just made me more thirsty so then I'd be hopped up on sugar.

I left the apartment planning to just go to Amoeba, so I didn't think about hydration or taking a water bottle. Then I spontaneously decided to go to Amoeba via Twin Peaks via Market St. hill. So there I'm doing 1000' of climbing on my heavy B-bike, without having hydrated, without having really fueled up, wearing a black denim jacket (the sun had come out), but at least I was wearing shorts to minimize overheating, which I was sort of expecting. There's the indication right there that I was already dehydrated. "I know I'm gonna overheat, but I'm gonna climb every mountain anyway".

Judgment not exactly in the house, I got to the top of Market St., rode the flat section to the road leading up to Twin Peaks, and turned right for the final push. But as I made the right turn, I noticed another cyclist, decked out in full cycling garb, waiting for the light to turn left onto the same road, presumably to ride up to the top. My assumption was that he would pass me, I even thought that when he did, I would turn around and head back down, hey, I've been sucking on climbs all year. But dumb male ego made me go, "Well, I ain't going down without a fight".

I've been pretty lackluster all evening and it finally occurred to me that I was kinda thirsty, drank a tall glass of orange juice, followed by a tall glass of cranbury juice, followed by two tall glasses of water, and as I was sucking down a beer I realized that I had been dehydrated all this time. I'm not sure what the moral of this story is. Don't go out for three hour cruises.

And that guy didn't catch me on Twin Peaks. In fact, judging by the time he rolled in at the top, he couldn't have been going any faster than I was.

Amy leaves for Portland in a week. Her last day of work was yesterday and hopefully we will be hanging out this coming week, culminating in helping her load up next Friday. I have to remember I have a ticket to Supergrass on Wednesday. On the day Amy rolls out, Delphine and I are roadtripping to southern California just for the weekend.

Del and I went to Bottom of the Hill last night, and we had to pay to get in because she didn't get a pass and plus one, even though she interviewed two of the bands on the bill for Bay Area Buzz. I had auditioned for another of the bands on the bill back in the day, but I didn't remember anything about them except that they were Radiohead-esque. And that their songwriting was good, and it was. There was nothing their drummer did that I couldn't do, but I would've done it differently, but really it's all about chemistry. One of the bands that Delphine interviewed, Loquat, were really good. There was nothing about them that I didn't like.

After we get back from southern California, I have nothing planned. Guess it'll be time to look for a job or whether to consider my next bold move.