Do you remember reading Greek myths in high school? In particular, do you remember your weary teacher telling you that hubris was usually the downfall of six out of every seven human protagonists - usually while glancing sidelong at the class clown? Well, Alex and I had our own slightly mythic downfall, yesterday. We decided to drive into San Francisco, on Halloween. Worse yet, we tried to drive OUT of San Francisco on Halloween night. What arrogant fools we were! If it hadn't been for the enheartening sight of tow trucks doing a roaring trade removing the cars of desperate motorists who had decided that the middle lane of traffic was an exciting new parking possibility, I think Alex would have committed hari-kari at the corner of Market and Castro.
          But, despite being book-ended by aptly nightmarish activity, the visit with Lisa and Kirk went very well. Once again, Alex and I have had the great good fortune to have met new friends via gaming, who are more than capable of talking about something other than gaming - yay!
          Lisa cooked an amazing meal - crab dumpling thingies, spicy chicken and spinach soup and, for want of a better description, asian beef mini-kebabs with indescribably tasty Japanese coleslaw. The gourmet gauntlet has been thrown! Lisa says she doesn't like to cook very often, but, of course, I feel the need to return the gesture. Alas, that might not be possible, as Lisa is very allergic to dogs and - as you might now - my place is regularly awash in dog hair...
          During our visit, Kirk took us up the road to the local Halloween block-party. Every year, a three block stretch of a road off Parnassus is shut down to vehicles and made into a safe area for kids to go trick or treating. The neighborhood was packed with hundreds of kiddies and their families, and the area residents, of course, go for Halloween in a big way. Many of them had transformed their garages into spooky scenarios and the like, and I don't just mean that a few fake cobwebs and cardboard skeletons had been put out. Oh no. The more sophisticated presentations featured backdrops, draped walls, elaborate lighting, vast amounts of dry ice and gruesomely made-up givers of candy.
          My favorite was the daredevil chap who dangled by a harness from a tree. The harness had been rigged up to look like he was hanging from a noose and the chap gleefully swung and cackled as he threw candy to the kids. Alex made a succinct comment: "Let's hope none of those kids get the idea he's a piñata..."
          Alex nearly fell into a food coma - coming down off the driving-stress didn't help, but he was rescued from social embarrassment by deeply geeky conversation with Lisa about graphical design. Meanwhile, Kirk and I were cruising the web and talking about The Tick. Intellectual, it wasn't, but it was fun. Alex and I are suffering from the as-you-get-older-it's-harder-to-meet-new-friends syndrome, so last night was a pleasant change from visiting with the usual crowd.

          Otherwise, things have been as close to peaceful as they get in my life. Although I did make what might be a big mistake... I bought Civilization II to amuse myself at home. And, just because fighting for computer time always enlivens a marriage, Alex just got a similarly engrossing game, Baldur's Gate. I guess this will be a true test of our marriage... ;)

          Don't forget to vote, tomorrow! This is the only time of year I gnash my teeth about being a non-citizen...

***

          It gets worse. Last night, while watching a documentary on Alfred Hitchcock and David Selznick, we were inspired for the sequel to Valley of The Kings. Talk about putting the cart before the horse.... Still, it's a good idea - I'm not divulging any details just yet - and it might work. The trick is going to be resisting the temptation to think about that idea, before the first one is finished...

          Momentary aside: as I tap this out on my palm pilot on the way to work, two of my fellow commuters have obviously forgotten the "Thou shalt be silent" commandment that pervades all morning train rides, which wouldn't be an aggravation if one of them didn't have an eighty decibel laugh that sounds like an elderly seagull defending its territory. And it seems that their conversation is a real knee-slapper, too... Oh no! The loud guy in front of me is trying to have a conversation with someone on the other side of the train. Arghh. Oh god, now he's treating everyone to a running monologue on the blindingly obvious, and severely creeping out the young woman next to him... Gosh, I love public transit...

          Further gamer wonkiness. For the past year or so, Alex as been researching the Washington state town of Port Townsend. He didn't intend for the research to be quite so extensive, but the game kickoff keeps getting delayed, and so Alex keeps tooling around with his research. By this point, Alex should be working for Port Townsend's chamber of commerce, as he certainly knows enough about the place.
          As he was perusing his latest stack of literature about the joint - and there's quite a bit, as it makes a lot of money off the tourist trade by hosting a fistful of art and music festivals - I made a suggestion that I'm probably going to regret. "It's not too far," I say. "Why don't we fly up there for a weekend, next summer?" I admit, I only suggested it because it does sound like a nice place, not because I want to further Alex's ongoing research.
          Port Townsend is on the borders of the Mount Olympic State Park, it doesn't get as much rain as the rest of the state, and - as mentioned before - it hosts some widely acclaimed art festivals. Personally, I want to see the annual kinetic sculpture race. It doesn't involve hurling nasty municipal sculptures across town via catapult, as I had first hoped but it's almost as good. Last year's winner was a giant rubber duck,constructed out of several thousand smaller rubber ducks, with locomotion provided by fifty thousand rubber bands. How cool is that?
          I'm just a little worried that Alex might like the town a little too much... ;)

***

          I lost another two hours of my life to Civ 2, last night. The nefariousness of that game lies in that there is no logical stopping point, so I just keep going...for hours...

          Buffy last night was okay, although I was gnashing my teeth at Willow until she revealed that she was only acting like a bimbo.
          Batman - uh, I mean Angel - was about the same. I liked the actual story behind the poltergeist activity, as opposed to what Angel and co. assumed, but it was a bit "Cask Of Amontillado"-ish. I'll save further opinion for Seraphim.

          A weird tangent occurred to me on the car ride home last night. Why do internal observations require time to make? Why do the electric buzzings in my skull result in supposedly coherent thought and not just random twitching? What's stopping a nine volt battery smothered in peanut butter from achieving intelligence? And whatinhell is in the smog these days to inspire such nonsense?

          Gotta get some work done today, before I slide off to the Pet Shop Boys concert at the Warfield....

***

          Otherwise, not much news. Tomorrow, Alex and I are going to be having dinner with Kevin and Collette, who we haven't visited in ages. Kevin is the guy that Alex wants to be when he grows up. We've taken to nicknaming Kevin "Buckaroo Banzai" because he's hyper-smart, can fly a plane, used to compete is fast-draw competitions and is a ki-aikido master... This is a man we do not want angry with us. ;) But, he's a wunnerful guy, and Collette is utterly charming in her own right. So, I'm looking forward to visiting with them. There is talk of a miniature commemoration of Bonfire Night, since it'll be the 5th of November - Kevin is Welsh, so sometimes have minor fits of anglophilia together. But burning historical would-be terrorists in effigy might not be understand in California... ;)

***

November 5th

Remember, remember, the fifth of November. Gunpowder, treason and plot...

          I'm such a fangirl - didn't I already say that this month?
          I left work shortly after four-thirty, hopped on Muni's finest and made my way towards Tower records near the marina. About halfway along the route, a girl - well, young woman, really - with a vivid green overcoat boarded the bus and caught my eye. More about her in a moment.
          I reached Tower sometime after five, and the young lady in green also disembarked. As we both crossed the street and glared at the eighty people already in line - some people have less of a life than me - I surmised that she, too, was intending to participate in this fannish moment.
          Eager for company in what was going to be a long wait - the event wasn't due to start until 6:30 - I struck up a conversation. The young lady's name was Heather, and she's a sophomore at Berkeley, majoring in film. Keep reading, and you'll see a picture of her...
          After a short chat, Heather got a little worried that the band might not sign her journal that she had brought. We've all heard horror stories about marketing driven events where Cerberus-like publicity handlers declare that only one item per person will be signed, and you had better have bought it on-site, buddy, so I didn't blame her for worrying. Heather asked me to watch her place in line and ran into the store to pick up a copy of Nightlife to be autographed.
          When she returned, she had two laminated cards, emblazoned with some nonsense about the "exclusive signing event". The store clerk had offered one to her when she bought her CD and she had gotten one for me, too - what a thoughtful lass. We didn't know what the cards were good for - counting turnout, perhaps - but we happily held onto 'em. Good thing we did, as they were 'guaranteed admission' cards. Everyone in front of us had them already - don't ask me how - but not everyone in the crowd, which was about two-hundred people at this point, received one. Around six o'clock, those with laminated cards formed a separate line and got to feel a bit smug - and cold, as the sun had set long since.
          Finally the chaps of the moment arrived and the long line started snaking through the store.
          Heather needn't have worried, Chris and Neil were signing anything and everything offered to them. I was glad to see that, as I really wanted their scrawl on my beat-to-hell-but-still-my-fave CD, Alternative - and I was happy for the now much-relieved Heather.
          To my surprise, people were not being hustled through by cattleprod wielding security types, and the boys were quite happy to exchange a few words with people. Of course, it was still fairly early in the evening. I have no idea how sweet tempered they were by the end of the night - although the rate at which they were knocking back beer (Budweiser, aiyee!) might have had something to do with their outward bonhomie.
          Fangirl Mead, when her time came, just stuttered out a couple of words of grattitude for the show last night and thanked 'em for their patience while I fumbled with the silver marker I had brought for them to sign the black Alternative CD with. See, I can be tongue tied at times - it simply requires proximity to famous people.
          Earlier that day, it had occurred to me that, if I wanted to be truly fannish, a camera would be useful. I considered buying a disposable one, but every time I use one of those fixed-aperture, fixed-focus pieces of junk, part of my soul burns up - or so I believe. So I screwed up my courage and asked my boss if I could borrow the office's digital camera. To my surprise, he said "Sure thing, but if anything happens to it..." He didn't have to tell me - the camera cost over a grand.
          I spent the evening split between nervous anxiety over the camera, and happy anticipation - about a seventy percent of the time, it was the former. I'm sure my boss would be pleased.
          But it was worth it, see! I'm afraid to borrow that camera again, as I really, really liked using it - even if the flash didn't go too far.
          Click on the small image to see the full-sized version. They full size ones are around 40 or 50K , so be patient.

	The line outside Tower Records - taken when I was fooling around with the camera.		A very dark picture of the boys arriving at the store. The blonde-ish smudge in the middle is Neil Tennant, honest!
	Chris and Neil looking very, um, enthusiastic		A rather underexposed pic of Neil Tennant.
	Maybe the world is going to end - Chris Lowe, laughing. The larger picture isn't quite so dark.		Both of 'em, signing away.
	And again...		Getting closer. Of course, the shelf in my way gets a great exposure from the flash...
	Heather, of the green-coat, enjoying a moment of eye contact. ;)		Neil signing Heather's journal, Chris looks on...
	A hastily snapped pic of yours truly - thanks, Heather!

 

---

          And, since I had to take the camera home last night....

	Sandy doing his best 'noble-servant' pose - Don't believe it for a moment.		Terminator Cat? Nope, it's the infamous Tigger!
	My husband, Alex, with our 'kids'.		Finally, a picture of my tattoo! Please try to ignore my horrid pasty skin... ;)

          All in all, a night of innocent fun! ;) I actually have work to do today, so I had better get to it...

***

          Had a very nice, long-overdue visit with Kevin and his girlfriend Colette, last night. They live in an unspeakably nifty geodeisic dome house in Hayward, which Colette has decorated beautifully - although the dojo in the basement was all Kevin's. Last time we visited, they had just moved in, and everything was in boxes, so it was lovely to see those house as it should be.
          Of course, while we were there, Alex and I were both thinking "Gosh, we wish we could have a place this stylish...". The only decorative theme in our place is cat hair and computer-related debris, with the occasional accent in junk-food bags. Sigh...
          One of the crazier ideas that came up during the evening - although not so crazy as hyper intelligent pandas (don't ask) - was the notion of Alex's incipient vampire group taking a trip up to Port Townsend (mentioned a couple of days ago). It seems that Colette is rather keen on the idea of moving up north, also, if the right place could be found. Jennifer might have her gamer-colony, yet!
          It was a fun - if brief - visit, reinforced with resolutions to get together more often (I haven't seen Kevin and Colette since my wedding, in May). This morning, though, I think I'm regretting the visit to Outback Steakhouse. Too much good food...groo....

          So, I've been spending the past couple of days in a bit of a nostalgic mood. I blame it on the concert on Wednesday, actually. When a favorite song was played, I'd automatically think about where I was when I first heard it - or had it on continuous replay. West End Girls, for example, I was in eighth grade and not terribly happy. I was a new kid in town and having a hard time making friends because - let me be honest here - I had a terrible attitude. I remember listening to that song over and over again in my walkman, sitting in the teenage requisite of A Dark Room.
          Whereas Being Boring brought up a host of pretty good thoughts, as I heard about four years later, when I had settled down, cheered up and was fully exploiting the maxim "If you stay within the rules, you can get away with anything.". Just imagine the fun a slightly reckless seventeen year-old can have with that...
          And Can You Forgive Her summoned up my 'man-eating' phase, unsurprisingly enough, the memories of which will probably make me wince until my dying day...
          So, a lot of memories have been getting pulled out of memory-trunks and dusted off. And with memories, comes the usual bit of regret and "Should have, would have, could have...", but not so much as to be unbearable - thank heavens.
          If I could change only one thing about the past, I would insist that I be braver. Despite the brash confident self I present in these electronic pages (yeah, right) fear has been the most severe obstacle in my life - fear of failure, fear of shame, fear of looking like a fool. So I'll rarely embark on a new project or opportunity, unless I quite confident of success - or, at least, not looking like a complete fool at the end of it. That makes for a cautious and not entirely exciting life.
          Admittedly, fear does serve a viable purpose... Knowing my luck and occasional complete lack of common sense, I'd probably be dead by now, if it wasn't for the little scaredy cat in my head saying "Ummmm, maybe we shouldn't do this...".
But still, as I say, mild regrets and looking back...

          Thanks to 'Walkyr who found and passed on the complete Guy Fawkes rhyme to me.

          Remember, remember the fifth of November
          Gunpowder, treason and plot.
          I see no reason why gunpowder treason
          Should ever be forgot.
          Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes
          'Twas his intent
          To blow up the King and the Parliament
          Three score barrels of powder below
          Poor old England to overthrow
          By God's providence he was catched
          With a dark lantern and burning match.
          Holloa boys, holloa boys,
          Ring the bells ring
          Holloa boys, holloa boys,
          Goda save the King!
          Hip hip hooray
          Hip hip horray.

          A penny loaf to feed ol' Pope
          A farthing cheese to choke him
          A pint of beer to rinse it down
          A faggot of sticks to burn him.
          Burn him in a tub of tar
          Burn him like a blazing star
          Burn his body from his head
          Then we'll say old Pope is dead.
          Hip hip hooray
          Hip hip hooray

***

          Yesterday balanced out as a neutral day.
          Good thing: I scrubbed both of my filthy bathrooms. Anybody got a tip for getting mildew off the ceiling that doesn't involve a floor mop and dripping chemicals that tend to burn on contact? Another good thing: I finally went to the grocery store and picked up lunches to take to work next week so I don't spend a fortune on overpriced sandwiches from trendy SoMa eateries.
          Bad thing: I played Civilization 2 for about five hours.
          So, as I say, a neutral day.
          I felt really good about getting the bathrooms taken care of, though. I'm pretty indifferent about dirt, but even I was getting disguisted by the ceiling in the larger bathroom... The upstair's neighbor bath leaks, which has rotted a hole in our ceiling, above the tub and puts a lot more moisture at the ceiling level, which causes it to mildew with annoying rapidity and abundance. Of course, we've told the landlords about this, but given that the property owners have had a habit of changing landlords every six months for the past two years, it never gets seen to... Bah.
          So every few weeks, I have to arm myself with a mop and a some highly-toxic mildew remover and mop the bathroom ceiling. It's a rather tricky operation because gravity keeps doing its thing, and I often get dripped on by aforementioned toxic chemicals. Thank god I wear glasses, or else I'd be blind by now.
          After this month's round of chemical burns, I rewarded myself with "Just a quick game of Civ 2, I swear..." Alex stayed up until nearly 3AM with Baldur's Gate because I didn't get off the computer until midnight...

          The insanity mentioned yesterday is closer to reality than I thought, I'm told. Kevin has learned that Port Townsend has an airstrip he can fly into with a six-seater and Alex is going through his copious information about the town, looking for an appropriate weekend and looking at the rates for the town's five-star hotel.
          It gets worse. Manresa Castle - the town's five-star hotel - is where Alex intends to set the game he's been preparing for the past year. However, in his universe, it's a big ol' vampire commune, owned by the PC's - rather than a castle-turned-hotel. And don't even ask what he has in mind for the nearby Benedictine monastery....
          So it may be that, some time late next spring, a pack of gamers are going to fly three hours north for, what all intents and purposes, will be an overblown live-action game. Alex says he's already thinking of plots.
          I'm torn between hysterical laughter and distracted worry... I love my husband, but I think I've met my match for over-doing it, game-wise... I wonder what Colette thinks of all this?

***

          I've got a lot of work piling up on my desk already, so I've got to run. But in closing, let me share another snippet of the Megiddo Report.
          The name Mediggo is an apt title for a project that analyzes those who believe the year 2000 will usher in the end of the world and who are willing to perpetrate acts of violence to bring that end about.
          Am I the only one who envisioned Ray Stanz saying "Terrible rites, designed to cause the end of the world!" upon reading this?

***

          You're gonna love this...
          About two o'clock yesterday, I've finally gotten on top of things enough to contemplate having lunch. I had just made an ear-puller of a sign - creativity with colored paper, a glue stick and a paper cutter - to festoon two gifts from the engineering department to our CEO's newly adopted son. The boy is from Guatemala, and there's a whole other story in that, but I digress...
          As I was saying: I'm thinking about lunch when I hear my boss, Dave, (aka Superman) mutter something as I pass his desk. I'm used to hearing him curse at his machine - much as I do - so I don't pay it much heed. A pico-second later, it penetrates that he just muttered my name, so I stop my headlong course towards the soda pop machine, and ask him what's up - expecting him to ask me to do his expense reports for last week.
          "Johanna," he says to me, looking a little uncomfortable. "I'm having some chest pains..." It must be stated for the record that Dave is Brit/Irish and given to understatement.
          Bloody hell! Thinks I, remembering horror stories of emergency response time in the city. Keeping my voice down, I ask, "Do you want me to find someone to drive you to the hospital? Or would you rather I dialed nine-one-one?" Always got to give the man an option, I thought.
          At this point, Dave's pale and sweating a bit. "I think you had better call an ambulance." he tells me.
          "Oh dear," I mutter. I'm English too...
          So I step over to Curtis' (another manager in my department) desk and tell him to keep an eye on Dave - chest pains, etc, while I tell Rachel (office secretary) to call the paramedics. Curtis looks a little pole axed, but agrees.
          In hindsight, I'm quite proud of the fact that I didn't collapse into shrieking hysteria. Once the EMTs were on their way, I went back to Dave and asked if he wanted me to call his boyfriend, Sheldon, and let him know what's up.
          I didn't shriek, not once. Not even when I was wondering where the bloody hell the paramedics were. They turned up precisely two seconds after I thought that and, in fact, had only taken three minutes to arrive, as my office is very close to an ambulance dispatch. But, of course, it felt like longer. I was desperately trying to keep a calm front up, and not hover so much around Dave as to make him feel worse - but close enough to do something, if needed - whatever that something might be...
          With commendable efficiency, the five paramedics got to work, talking to an increasingly ashen David about his symptoms. I was really impressed by how calm they were, and how well they treated and reassured Dave. They didn't even mind that Jack the dog came over to investigate. Poor Jack was doing his trying-to-reassure-an-unhappy-buddy routine, as good natured dogs will, and the EMTs just gently shooed him - I think one of 'em gave him a pat on the head as they shooed.
          I'm pretty proud of my co-workers, too. A lot of them turned to look at what was going on, but - sensing that a fuss was useless - stayed at their desks. I walked around to the engineers in the immediate area and just told them "Dave's having some chest pains. He asked me to call an ambulance," making it clear that our Fearless Leader was in command of his faculties, if not his heart.
          Some time later - accounting for the fact that the first hospital Dave was taken to couldn't admit him - Dave was in the emergency room of a nearby hospital, with myself, Curtis and Sheldon close behind. I had managed to reach Sheldon in his class at Berkeley and he was driving over the bridge to meet us at the hospital.
          I was worried sick, but trying not to show it. Well, I don't know if I succeeded. Fortunately, juggling bad directions, getting better directions on a celphone and the loveliness that is San Francisco traffic served to take my mind off it while we were in transit. Curtis is the father of three (or is it two?) boys, so I think he had that parental-nerves-of-steel thing working to his advantage.
          Finally, all three of us were at the hospital.
          On the way in to the ER, I happened to see the ambulance crew that had taken care of Dave. They were just finishing up their admission paperwork, so I stopped by to thank them for looking after things so well. They smiled and said 'Aw, shucks' when I told them I was very happy to learn that emergency dispatch hadn't gone down the tubes like everyone said... I'm sure they had heard it all before, but their prompt arrival and confidence had really helped calm a lot of incipient panic - especially my own!
          Sheldon went to talk to the admitting doctor and have a word with Dave, who was in as private an area as an emergency room can have - a large room within eyesight of the nurses' station.
          Sheldon beckoned us in a few moments later. Dave was alone, on a gurney and wired up 'like a space cadet' - as a passing nurse put it. Dave actually looked a lot better. His color had returned and the chest pain was a lot less, as the paramedics had given him a pile of morphine and nitroglycerin. But the surroundings were very austere and not terribly conducive to optimistic thoughts.
          We chatted a little - ribbed Dave for working too hard, and suchlike. Then the presiding doc - Dr. Serrahin if I can read my scrawled memory-note correctly - came in and told everyone what was going on. 
          Serrahin was quite confident that Dave had not had a heart attack. They were waiting on some tests to come back, of course, but given the symptoms, and how Dave had responded to treatment, it was believed that Dave had suffered a rather nasty spasm of the esophagus. Such spasms have symptoms just like heart attacks and - also like cardiac troubles - come on very suddenly.
          Dave is now muttering about feeling bad for causing an unnecessary fuss. Fortunately, before I could thwack him for such a sentiment, the doctor did it for me. "You did the proper thing coming in here.", Dave was told. "Especially given that your family has a history of heart disease. If you've never had a heart attack, this kind of spasm is indistinguishable from an incipient coronary."
          Dave - as meek as I've ever seen him - agreed with that point and mentioned that his father had tried to grit his teeth through a massive heart attack - and had earned a triple bypass for it. Apparently it was that memory that prompted Dave to seek medical attention as soon as the chest pains started.
          After an hour or so, Dave had been x-rayed, tested and generally treated to the full gamut of American health care. Sure enough, his heart was fine, and the initial diagnosis of a tricky esophagus had been confirmed.
          "Do you smoke?" Serrahin asked Dave.
          "Err, not anymore." Dave reluctantly conceded.
          "You've got that right," came the vehement reply. "You've had your last cigarette." Poor Dave looked like he would have rather have had the heart attack. Even although Dave's ticker didn't quit on him, it seems that nicotine could cause a recurrence of the condition - or maybe the doctor was just taking advantage of the situation to make Dave quit a nasty habit... Doctors are a sneaky lot.
          We all left the hospital together. Dave was almost back to his old self, but a bit shaky. Fortunately, Sheldon had a car, and could drive Dave back to his place. Curtis and I headed back to the office to let those who were still there - it was five o'clock by now - that our boss had not gone to the Office in The Sky.
          Dave admitted that the incident had been a hell of a wake-up call for him. He says he never wants to have a heart attack if it's going to feel anything like what he had just been through and, okay, okay, he'll quit smoking already!
          And after all that fuss, I went home and gave Alex a big squeezy hug.

          I've bought Dave a few packs of gum this morning. And Alex wants me tell Dave that he shouldn't worry too much. Obviously he had just gotten a bit too close to some kryptonite, but that stuff is so rare these days....
          Later today, I'll send a nice card over to the hospital... I already know the whole office is going to make a big fuss of Dave, so I think I'll make a minor fuss of the guys who looked after him. As I said, they treated Dave like gold and were so bloody calm that they soothed the office far more than my own barely-not-panicking reassurances.

          I like Dave, he's a very cool boss. I'm very glad that he's okay. But if he puts me through that kind of scare again, I'll kill him. ;)

***

          I had some odd dreams last night - one of them certainly influenced by too much television. I've not had time to write them up, but maybe I'll get to it, tonight. The weirdest definitely had to be the one where I was a vampire that ended with my needing to change into a bat to fly across the bay to meet someone. But I really didn't want to do it, as I didn't think I had the hang of flying and I thought I looked ridiculous, clawing my way through the air... Dratted dignity keeps getting in the way.
           Work keeps calling. Laters, all.

***

***

October '99        Index        December '99