frabjous day

Day 2 on a scooter:

As I had only ridden a little around Golden Gate Park on Tuesday after Dave drove my scooter up from San Mateo, I thought today would be as good as any to get some more solid scooter experience. I drove Bryan home at 5 o'clock to pick up my scooter and off I went to seek adventure and lots of stopping on hills so I could feel more comfortable on the scooter before venturing home to Nob Hill. Here's today's path:



1. Left Bryan's at 42nd and Noriega and drove one block down to the gas station to fill 'er up. I think it cost me less than $2. When I went into the station office to ask for a receipt, the cashier gave me a very odd look, so I left.
2. Drove down to Lawton, where Bryan said I would encounter a fairly steep hill after crossing 19th Avenue. I got up the hill just fine (though I did smell my exhaust quite a bit) and wound my way down to Kirkham.
3. Drove up Kirkham to the back lot behind UCSF next to Health Sciences West. I called Heidi and saw Alana as she was going home, so I spoke to both of them a little bit. Heidi approved of the scooter's style.
4. Went back down the hill, turned onto 6th and called Fred -- of course he wanted me to come over. So I took 6th to Lincoln, then diverted onto Frederick, where I got to swerve around a large pickup truck that suddenly decided to parallel park. I turned onto Stanyan, and drove up to Fred and Janet's place on Fulton.
5. I visited with Janet and then Fred, who of course wanted to rev the engine. I tooled around the block once so he could get a look at the scooter in motion but had to pass him slowly because a car was stopped a little beyond his house. No wheelies.
6. I drove down to Fell, where while waiting for the light to change so I could turn right, a scooter behind me honked at me. I thought he might be being friendly, but then he went around me and the car in front of us to jet ahead to turn right. Oh well.
7. I took Fell onto Lincoln, where I learned I need to practice right turns some more -- it is difficult to right countersteer (press on right handlebar) while also engaging the throttle. I swung wide but stayed in my lane, at least.
8. Ever the thrill-seeker, I took Lincoln all the way down to Sunset, despite heavy traffic and road construction. I survived, and probably then hit my top speed thus far: 40 mph. I turned onto Sunset, crossing puddles and MUNI tracks on Judah (even my helmet got a little wet), then went back to Bryan's via Noriega.

All in all, I was both exhilerated and a little intimidated, but I feel much more comfortable on the scooter all ready. I will likely go on another practice session tomorrow, but I am already looking forward to my regular scooter commute! I was out for about 90 minutes today all told, so I think I'll be able to handle 20 minutes each way between home and school as long as I find a comfortable route.

curious night

Shortly after my last posting, I had an interesting evening. First, I received a call from my brother to tell me that our parents were in a car accident on I-80 on the way from Sacramento to the Cal football game. They weren't hurt, but the car sustained enough damage that Dad and the CHP officer helping him had a hard time figuring out how to get the car started again -- I guess hybrids have some sort of engine cut-off that happens in the event of an accident, but apparently they made it work and the car moved again. And kept on moving towards Berkeley, because lord knows you can't keep my family from a football game!

I rushed home from lab to change and then headed off for dinner with friends. I was the first to arrive (funny, that) and in the meantime got a call from a UC Davis campus newspaper reporter wanting me to comment on Davis' withdrawl from UCSA. Hm, hadn't heard that one! I gleefully forwarded the reporter on to the new UCSA president, and offered my apologies for not being able to offer her my comments, though I would have definitely have loved to do so. Oh, I do so not miss the drama. I really truly don't.

During the course of dinner I received a very great compliment, perhaps one of the best of my life, when someone who I know to be quite opinionated, overly frank and critical, and rather snobby told me I was one of the few people she considers to be "special". And no, not in the Forrest Gump or Quasimodo way, you nasty cynic. Of course, this made me blush (no the sangria didn't help) right down to my décolletage. Which was in rare form last night, if you'd have asked me or anyone else within 20 feet.

I rounded out the night by going to Mónica's housewarming party. I managed to get there despite said sangria and having left the directions in the lab (thank goodness I have a decent memory for directions and a great sense of direction). It was quite an eclectic group, mainly Stanfurd people, but I did meet a Cal grad now working in the lab of someone who once worked here at UCSF (dainty redheaded orthopedic-type) and a new UCSF student in the PSPG program. To my great surprise and admiration, she transformed herself in the course of the evening from a typical first-year grad student to a non-nerdy wonder when she sashayed into the main room in a lavender swirl of veils and beads to perform some bellydancing. And just before I left for home, I was waylaid by a tipsy man with his girlfriend draped upon him, who pronounced, "You're funny!" and then launched into a convoluted and protracted prediction of my future, from which I could only glean that I was going to wear pearls and live in a manor when I'm forty-five. He didn't seem to appreciate my amusement at his efforts, so I excused myself as quickly as possible and headed to wish Mónica good-night.

cooling off

As I was buying my scooter today, I had the opportunity to experience that curious sensation associated with a large purchase. I'd already written the big check (not used to spelling out such large amounts, I used too large a hand in writing the check and had to cram in the last bits on the check line) but then came all the extra forms to sign, including one stating my acknowledgement of California's lack of "cooling off" laws (the existence of which would allow me . As I signed this form, I did find myself in a peculiar physiological state -- I was flushed, speaking quickly and excessively, and could feel my heart beating in my chest. It wasn't as if this was a random, unplanned purchase; I had researched and thought this out quite thoroughly, and I was loath to wait until the weather turned less pleasant to accustom myself to my scooter. It was time. Yet when making the purchase I felt I was in the throes of a sparring match, or skydiving, something...the adrenaline surge was impressive, but totally illogical. What is the source of this reaction? Why do we feel that way when we spend a lot of money? What primal instinct is being triggered by large transactions? Is it the rush of a successful hunt? Or the panic of being stalked? The feeling is an odd blend of elation and fear, and in the case of my scooter purchase, it lasted for quite a long time.

Here's the scooter:



Isn't it cute? I opted for the blue one after seeing the silver one in the daylight -- the silver was just a little too light, and reminded me too much of the family minivan in the 80's. The blue is much flashier and will hopefully get attention in traffic. I bought a cool space-agey looking helmet, too; of course, now I find out they come in other colors than black (I probably would have picked white, for safety's sake again) but black will do for now. It has removable cheek pads and a cool opening design.



Next up: bringing home the baby

mr. inverse paradox

I occasionally go through periods of time (often associated with my hormones, I'm sorry to say) when I get in a bit of a funk over my love life, or lack thereof. It doesn't help that there have been a score of hookups/weddings/babies/breakups/breakdowns (not necessarily in that order) in my social sphere of late, whilst I remain merrily unattached/single/lonely/free. I mostly -- no, 96% of the time -- don't care; I am content with who I am, and revel in the surety of my self-knowledge and freedom to change my life as needed. Yet occasionally, I wonder if I'm not missing out on something...why do so many people want and need some significant other in their life? Have I been so warped by my previous circumstances (and yes I suppose you ought to read between the lines of my previous post; I have before admitted to a inclination towards the"M" word so I shouldn't be loath to admit it in this space) that I'm not fit for that sort of existence with another decent human soul -- just the feline?

No, no, Sesame Street and the Days of Our Lives have ingrained in me, in all of us, that there's someone for everyone somewhere out there someday. Right? I have living proof of that upstairs in my early-morning boinking neighbors, the female (I think) half of which I met last week. Eew. Crud, if they managed to bump into each other successfully in this whole wide world (and with great regularity since) then sure as hell there's some one somewhere out there someday waiting for me. Unfortunately, it's just going to have to be someone who will both worship me and be indifferent to me, someone who can see the unending potential for humor in life but be a bit of a sadist. Someone who's my inverse paradox, if you're into yin/yang (not the Twins).

I've apparently met my male equivalent, but he's now engaged to my dear friend Hannah. I wouldn't want my male equivalent (even thought he's quite a nice and lovely guy) anyway. But what does that say about me? (or Hannah? :0) Yet I will assert to my lonely last day on earth that it is wrong and wrong again to be with someone just to be with someone. That's why I'm fine, 96% of the time. All I have to do is get through these next couple of days of hormone-laden angst. Time for the whiskey. Time for Billie Holliday. I will never, ever find someone. Time for a long walk on the foggy Embarcadero. Time to buy...my scooter?

freedom and bondage

I have long been known for my slightly superhuman patience. I think often people confuse patience with calm, or serenity, or confidence. Frankly, I don't think any of these terms apply to me. I fall somewhere between "glutton for punishment" and "masochist", depending on the context, of course.
Take today, for example:
1. I woke up this morning inspired to get my motorcycle learner's permit. This meant I had to go to the DMV without an appointment, stand in line to get a number, take an unflattering picture, stand in another line, and take the written test. Though I'd studied the motorcycle handbook diligently, I'd failed to remember that I would also have to take a general knowledge test, which included the age/weight requirements for child safety restraints and the restrictions on trucks bearing hazardous materials. Then I had to wait in another line to have my tests corrected. After two hours of mild mental discomfort and some excruciating people watching, I left with my permit in hand.
2. From the DMV I went to the lab to start another round of Southern blotting. The last blot was tantalizing yet not definitive enough to justify sending off cells for blastocyst injection at three grand a pop. So I'm doing it again, and hoping I get better results before the weekend.
3. When I got home I had enough energy left for a little exercise, so I donned sneakers and iPod to hit the streets. I ought to have known within a block that: 1) the fog and wind were going to make it less than pleasant and 2) the inhaler ought to have gone along for the ride. I found I needed to jog a little more than I usually do just to keep the sweat warm on my body. Even so, I wound my way up and down the hills of my neighborhood, and managed to avoid the usual confrontation with the man with the two vicious Bichon Frisé in Huntington Park. When I came home I tried to do push-ups with Charlie swishing his tail in my face.
4. I finished the day on the phone with my brother, talking scooters and song lyrics ("We Miss You, Vanilla Ice" is Chrisser's band's latest song), drinking the too-sweet berry juice on sale at Cala, cut with the last of my Grey Goose.
5. Now I'm writing this silly blog, musing on being torn between freedom and bondage, between wanting things we'll never have and appreciating what's within easy reach. To me, freedom is the right to recklessly pursue the unattainable, even if it's illogical and in the end, disheartening. Bondage? That's what one perceives when accepting the constraints and realities of one's life -- there can be a comfort and security in bondage that one never feels in freedom. In this scheme of life, many people find it impossible to discover happiness. Perhaps it's those of us who lean in one direction or the other that find it happiness easier to achieve.

motorcycle machinations, computer catastrophes, and an admission

road to a scooter, part two:

Though I had no problem at all with the classroom portion of the motorcycle safety course, I knew I had a significant learning curve to navigate when it came to the on-bike portion of the course last Saturday. I donned helmet, gloves, boots and bandana in the wee hours on Saturday morning to jump on a seen-better-days motorbike and learn the basics on a wet and foggy school yard. For never having sat on a bike, I was pretty pleased with my fearlessness and ability to balance the bike on little swervy maneuvers...but I had an awful time executing the concept of clutch, shift and throttle. The clutch was sticky and difficult for me to "read". I killed the engine nearly every time I went to move from a stop -- quite embarrassing. My fellow students were all sympathetic, but as I was only one of two with zero experience, they all were clearly able to handle the rapid pace of the course. To my surprise, one guy was asked to leave the class around mid-morning for not handling the bike well on a cone-swerving exercise. Gulp. I knew I was on the chopping block when the instructor described the second-to-last exercise: alternating between 2nd and 3rd gear whilst going around an oval track. I couldn't, for the life of me, feel when I'd shifted from 2nd to 3rd if I'd been successful, and there's no gear indicator on the dash controls. So what would happen is I'd think I was in 3rd, then downshift, and being only in 2nd gear, I'd end up in neutral. I struggled for three laps before I was called in to the middle of the circle for a check-in with the instructor. I tried to explain what I was experiencing, but he simply advised me to be easier on the clutch and be more aggressive with the throttle and then told me to "Go Go Go!" again. I tried my best, but I knew when I was the last person called back in to the staging area that I was toast. And indeed, I was asked to leave the class, "but come back and re-do it when (I) have more experience." I left, a little humiliated, definitely tired, and with a sore left hand.

The more that I thought about the experience afterwards, the more frustrated I became. I have to say that I did have fun at moments that morning, getting up to speed, dodging little orange cones, but I wasn't pleased with the way the course handled me. Given that I was the rawest of beginners, it was frustrating to know that we had "blitzed" through that morning's exercises -- it was only 10:45 a.m. when I was asked to leave and they only had one more exercise to go, even though the class was scheduled to end at noon. I really could've used that extra time, and maybe I would've figured out how to use the clutch properly! Wouldn't it have been even better if an instructor had been able to pull me aside for a little extra help, given that this was my first clutch encounter after 16 years of driving? For $200, I'm not sure I got my money's worth.

Last night I called my insurance company to find out whether passing the course would make a big difference on my scooter insurance, and thankfully, it wouldn't. The GEICO gal was very funny, though, when I told her my tale about the course. She was so infuriated by my experience that she was going to report it to her supervisor as a cautionary tale. I guess I have some justification to be frustrated, and I will call the school to find out how to make the most of the experience, and the money I spent.

Unfortunately for my father, the experience did not deter me from owning and operating a scooter.

lab meltdown!
Yesterday my lab computer died. It wasn't pretty. I don't even want to think about what files might have passed away into the byte-night along with the hard drive.

Please, please, for the love of God, back up your computers, people.

credit where it's due
Please allow me to offer most sincere apologies for the omission of acknowledgement of Ms. Behonick's superior song-identification skills in a previous posting. Without her unique abilities, I'd spend many days frustrated by my inability to identify the pop culture-crap in my head.

an ode

Awakening (especially on Sunday mornings),
I have to marvel at
the extraordinary geometry of the breast.
Or, I suppose, the study of breasts
would require calculus;
the representation of volume being filled in space
is best summed up in a curvy equation.
When I lay on my side I imagine
the equation for that breast shape would
be impossibly complex to integrate.
How convexing.
Perhaps an engineer could do it better knowing
the outside has everything to do
with the organization of the inside.
No, when I turn to my back again
geometry seems the simplest way to go.
But now thoughts turn to biology
(since I study these things for a living)
and with a hint of smugness I thank my grandma
for the genes her legacy that make
these subjects worthy of contemplation.