September 26th, 2001


11 miles is a long way to walk, especially if you're looking at 1500' elevation gain. Even so, I managed to do it, even as the first rains of the season broke across the South Bay. I traversed the whole of the Almaden Quicksilver County Park, and found that it isn't particularly interesting. Tailings? Yawn. It's supposed to be tons better in Spring when at least there are wildflowers; I mostly saw pampas grass here and there fucking up the chi of the native landscape.

I'm down to 238#. This is from 280 shortly after returning from New Zealand last year - those (#@* Kiwis and their cut-rate gourmet restaurants really did a number on me. What's it like? Well, I don't have many clothes that fit. I feel stronger. I look... different. Best of all, I'm not having the problem with my fingers falling asleep while I'm asleep, which was painful.

Day after tomorrow the Marmot and I are heading down 101 and then 'across the Grapevine to LA' as Pavement once sang. Gonna spend the weekend relaxing, hopefully swimming, enjoying the company of good friends and maybe even some bean dip or something similarly exotic. Maybe there'll be a walk in the mountains, maybe there'll be a trip to IKEA, but mostly I just wanna see my friends and hang. (Dude. Did that sound too Californian?)

Oh, and Dan's birthday is next Tuesday. I can't decide between the novelty fish tie or the World's Greatest Marmot Snoopy desktop award.

I'm watching.

There's this most amazing noise going on our back yard right now. From where I'm sitting, I can't see much of the yard - just a few plants, part of the deck, the clotheslines, the garage - but there's something out there making noises I haven't heard before. It's kind of a squiffly little pockety noise. I'm watching the sliver of yard I can see but there isn't anything entering the frame just yet; meanwhile, whatever's going out there is getting to be a tad squirtier as the evening wears on.

One of the problems with growing a beard is the reduced efficacy of the infamous "beating off" noise most people know how to make by grabbing part of their cheek and slapping it back and forth. You know, that babbity babbity noise that either offends the other kids on the playground or gets those same kids laughing at the reunion twenty years later. I like my beard very much, but I'm telling you: the wobblepuckery noise just ain't the same as it used to be. When I try to do it now, it mostly sounds like the "beating off" noise you may have heard from an overly drunk college roommate who's just snuck in after failing to Get Some, and who's under the very mistaken impression that you're fast asleep. You know, that sad little whackspankery that you just know isn't going to end in the usual shy grasp for the dirty socks, but which will wind up in turning over against the cold dorm concrete wall and wondering why s/he just didn't want to be with you tonight.

You know, it's probably the pond water pumping over at a different level after the rains. Never mind.