Perils of Caffeine in the Evening

(Here’s the rewrite of the post I lost earlier today)
I was lying awake at 4 am the other morning, listening to some evolutionarily ambitious specie of bird that somehow was sensing the first sparse photons of the sunrise that I would spend the next two hours awaiting, chirping madly in hopes of lascivious egg-sex, or a regurgitated meal or some other inscrutable avian reward.

I was awake because at 2:30 I’d been roused by Mrs. Perils’ swift exit from the bed to investigate some noisome disturbance in the street in front of the house, which found both of us on the front porch in our risible 50-something sleepwear.

This was definitely an unusual level of vigilance, engendered by the fact that some meth-hungry twit had, the previous night, broken into our ‘95 Civic and separated the steering wheel from the steering column in an apparent attempt to steal the car (click photos to enlarge):

The note taped to the window was penned by our son, who still remembers how to write using pen and paper. And he’s right - it was an incredibly amateurish hack-job of an attempt to heist an eminently heistable car. Just as you don’t want to be the first heart bypass patient of a rookie surgeon, you don’t want to be the first victim of a rookie car thief. I mean, I’ve always been a big supporter of education, and everybody has to learn his trade by practicing it. But, jeez, you’d think these guys would have enough respect for their profession to spend a portion of their two sentient daily hours at the library doing some research in a Chilton’s manual.

Because the front wheels wouldn’t turn, the tow truck guy had to go through some extended maneuvers to get the car onto the truck. On the positive side, it provided an hour’s entertainment for a couple of neighborhood kids, and their parents.

Well, I just lost a post that I’m sure wasn’t as clever as I remember it in my bereavement.  I’ll rewrite it when my anger subsides.

However, I will note that today Mrs. Perils and I will, if we remember it this evening, celebrate the Vinyl Anniversary of our wedding.  Technically, our Vinyl Anniversary won’t be for another 122 days, when our nuptials will be 33 1/3 years old.  Still, if you play it at 33 instead of 33 1/3, it’ll sound only a smidgen slow.  Like us.

I’m having a “downtown” day today.  It starts with a visit to my dentist in what was fastidiously called “The International District” for most of our residency in Seattle, but is now just as often referred to as “Chinatown”.  Presuming that nothing untoward happens to me in the dentist’s chair, I have a couple of appointments in separate office buildings in the downtown core as I interview banks for a client that has outgrown its current banking relationship.

I used to work downtown and relished the kaleidoscopic workday parade, from tattooed bike messengers to high-maintenance Ann Taylor lovelies.  Especially them.  I forsook those blissful sidewalk climes in 2001 to start my own business, and my clients tend to be located in outlying areas.  Outlying, like Milwaukee.  Now, coming down here, I feel more like the Geico cavemen, dressed a little funny and befuddled by both missing buildings and buildings that didn’t used to be here.

The dental appointment went fine.  Our dentist is a woman we met some 30 years ago at a party, just after she graduated from dental school.  She’s always very meticulous - cleans our teeth herself instead of delegating to a hygeinist - but this time she seemed to be especially attentive to detail.  It puzzled me a bit until I realized she was sporting some glasses that I hadn’t seen before, with some special lenses protruding from the bottom.  I asked her if they were new, and she said they were, and had cost her over $1,000.  I pay $10 for 2 pairs of readers that I grab from the bin at my local hardware store.  I’d love to see what $1,000 would do to ameliorate my presbyopia.  In any case, I believe that solves the mystery of her extra chipping and scraping.

The banker sessions were fun.  Their offices were each above the 20th floor of their respective buildings, and I took the opportunity to unabashedly gawk at the view of Puget Sound, even if it was too cloudy to see the Olympic Mountains.  And, it’s always pleasant to deal with people who are trying to sell you something.  Things may be different when their beady-eyed underwriters finish crunching the numbers, but that’s for another day.  Today, though, and for the next couple of days as I do a few more presentations, I’ll get the fawning obsequies, and that’s a welcome break from the more mundane world of execution and exposition.

OK, not much inspiration for actual content, so I’ll post some pictures from our walk down to Gasworks Park last night. It was a lovely, summer-y (!) evening. Strolling through the Seattle Tilth garden, we saw this hummingbird flit around, then perch brazenly about 10 feet away. They’re usually a lot more skittish than that

(Click any photo to enlarge)

Further down the hill, there was a car festooned with refrigerator-magnet words. I’m not sure if it was an invitation for passers-by to compose something, and I wasn’t willing to risk the ire of its owner by doing so. The reflection of Mrs. Perils is sort of interesting, though. I totally planned that.

Down at Gasworks Park, it was Prom Night for one of the area schools, with a photo session on top of Kite Hill. I’m tickled at how they’re standing in rows facing each other. In the picture on the left, the girl seems to be considering whether she needs to obey the sign on the fence.

These guys are definitely not headed for the prom:

I know you must get tired of this view, but I like these photos so well I can’t let them moulder in obscurity on my hard disk:

It may be the result of a slow news day, but both of Seattle’s daily papers carried the story of a bear who swam Friday from Maury Island in southern Puget Sound to Salt Water State Park on the densely-populated mainland. (Thanks to Janet for calling my attention to it) The story piqued my interest because I’ve done the same crossing in my kayak, launching from Salt Water Park and paddling the two miles over to Maury and back. You have to deal with currents, and pay attention to traffic because it’s a major shipping lane.

Salt Water State Park is about one of the few places on the mainland where the dude could have landed with some cover, but I can’t imagine that was his intended port of call when he plunged into the water. It’s hard enough to navigate when you can see where you’re going.

Bear’s Eye View: On the left is Maury Island, with the Point Robinson lighthouse in the distance, from which the observer quoted in the article tracked the amphibian. On the right is what the far coast of the mainland looked to the bear as he departed Maury (Click either photo to enlarge).

Guess I’ll have to think about mounting bear bells fore and aft.

I arrived home Friday about midnight, and my most signal accomplishment so far this weekend has been catching up on my sleep. I still wake up at weird times, and may have to go wandering, but it’s luxurious to be able to return to bed, eventually, and slurp long draughts of sleep, as if I were dipping a bowl into a fountain of it and pouring it into my mouth and dowsing my head with it. Talking post-noon arousals both Saturday and today.

I’ve been reading Memoirs of Hadrian by Marguerite Yourcenar, although my reading of it has been as fitful as my sleeping, and I’m not that far. In the first chapter, an aging Hadrian laments the elusiveness of sleep for the superannuated:

It does seem odd how we take sleep for granted in our youth, and actually spend a lot of energy strategizing against it, only to have it abandon us at just the time when we’re best equipped to show it the most fawning hospitality.

Hope you’re all having a restful holiday.

I hiked over to that health club near my hotel that I mentioned below, and it turns out they’ll let me pay $12 per night instead of making me buy some kind of membership package.  I was delighted, as it’s a really nice facility, with a squadron of bikes and treadthings, a pool, and enough weight machines that I can replicate my Seattle Nautilus workout.

I started with 20 minutes on a bike, riding hell-for-leather into a horizon of 5 TV screens, each with a different station and subtitles going.  There was ESPN milking the NBA draft lottery into a 2-hour program, an episode of Seinfeld, SportsCenter and (hiss!) Faux News.  I’ve never spent a lot of time watching subtitled TV, and I found it sort of hilarious.  They must use a software program to translate (I can’t imagine a basement full of cloned Archie and Mehitabels somewhere offshore, typing away as the program drones on).  At one point in the SportsCenter show, the anchor was talking about a quarterback who had transferred to USC, and the text on the TV said, “and he’ll have three years of jibbletts left.”

I’m working here with a woman who does the manufacturing scheduling for my client, and she starts work at 6:30 am.  That’s 4:30 am for me, for those of you keeping score at home.  I’m a stay-up-til-midnight person at home, and it’s nearly impossible for me to be in bed by midnight when I’m in eastern climes.  I was shooting for 10 pm tonight, looks like I’ll overshoot by an hour.  Good thing I’m not real fussy about how I look for work anymore, I can get outta here pretty fast in the morning.

As I worked with this woman today, I realized that she was one of those people with so much accumulated knowledge capital that you want to hire a Hummer and a driver to transport her around town, with an armed guard to escort her between the building and the vehicle.  I quietly called the state AG’s office and invoked Article XLVIII, wherein an employer can override an employee’s living will and require extraordinary means of prolonging her life, agony or no.  Didn’t know we could do that, didja?

11:02 - Nailed it!

I had a longish layover in Minneapolis today on my way to Milwaukee. Since I am my own Purchasing department, I was able, several years ago, to slip a Northwest Worldclub membership past my beady little green-visored eyes, and that’s where I hole up when I’m waiting for planes. Today, a huge Airbus 330 full of passengers to Tokyo had a cracked flap, and will not depart until tomorrow. Long lines at the reservation desk, but the agents seem to be handling it very well. People who live in Minneapolis will get a little comfort pack and sleep in their own beds tonight. Others are getting dinner, hotel and transportation vouchers. In a cruel twist, they will not release any of the checked baggage, so those folks had better be wearing some durable underwear - it will have to last today, tonight and then the flight to Narita. At least they’re not sitting in the plane on the tarmac.

On my flight from MSP to Milwaukee, I got what they call a “battlefield upgrade”, wherein a frequent flyer gets an unused first-class seat at the gate. When you ride in coach, you engage in the little passive-aggressive contest for part or all of a shared armrest (although I usually let the middle-seat occupant have it, since I’ve got a whole one to myself on the aisle or window and, truth to tell, I’m more passive than aggressive). I’ve never had to worry about someone encroaching on my seat real estate in first class, though, until today. The guy next to me on the way to Milwaukee was easily 350 lbs., barely fit in his seat, and his hamhock of an arm took up the entire console between our seats, where I usually put my preflight drink, my cell phone and a snack wrapper. A person that size, I think, is literally his own bed, and he fell asleep as we started rolling for takeoff, snoring in a way that sounded like the fuselage breaking apart.

Waiting for my luggage, a suitcase went by on the carousel and suddenly a tag on it started twinkling blue LED lights. I believe someone had a remote, and was using it to pick out his bag. A little more elaborate than the festive colored ribbons that some folks use. My own luggage is so beaten up that I’d recognize it anywhere.

I tend to oscillate between two car rental companies in Milwaukee, Enterprise and Thrifty, depending on the lowest price. With Enterprise, it’s kind of irritating because they act like an escort service. They meet you in the garage, introduce themselves, shake your hand and walk you down the line of cars like you’re reviewing horseflesh. We walk around the little philly they’re willing to part with looking for dings and scratches. When I say I want to decline all of the insurance coverages that, taken together, would triple the daily rate I signed on for, the Enterprise pimp gets a stern look on his face and warns me that I’m taking full responsibility, and, I think, checks the bond rating for my insurance company. By the time I get to drive away with my car, I feel like I should be in possession of a dowry.

This time, though, I’m renting from Thrifty, and they’re just the opposite - they’re so neglectful I really wonder if they know I’m driving away with one of their cars. I always pre-order a compact car, and about a third of the time they don’t have one when I arrive. Instead of saying so, they do the coy, “Is a compact car going to be good enough for you?” I’m tempted to ask, “Why, do I look like I won’t fit?” In these instances, I end up with a mini-van or some other monstrosity for the price of the compact. Today, they gave me this frighteningly huge Grand Marquis. I nudge it gently through the labyrinth of the garage, wondering why a tug escort wasn’t provided.

Once checked into my hotel, I set out for a walk in a nearby park. As I came around a curve, I espied this guy on the sidewalk ahead (click to enlarge).

Such is the not-so-glamorous life of the business traveler. More posting as work permits. (What? I need a work permit? If I don’t have one, can I refuse to work?)

I should probably apologize to my mother for the chum-photos in the previous post.  She was married to a fishing enthusiast for over 50 years, but has always hated the smell, and probably the very idea, of fish.  I wonder, in fact, if there was a period early in their marriage when she played along, scaling and cleaning the fish my dad brought home, before finally outing herself as a fish-hater.  (I doubt my dad cleaned them - he once lost his breakfast over a cricket that was smashed on the carpet.)  So, Mom, those are … marshmallows on that plate below.  And the green thing is a … let’s see … a rolled-up sponge cake with green mint frosting.  Yeah, that’s it.

In preparation for my trip to Milwaukee tomorrow, I walked out this morning and got a haircut at the salon I’ve been patronizing for 6 - 7 years.  The woman who cuts my hair is Vietnamese, a really nice person whose English is a brave effort.  Whenever I call for an appointment, she invariably asks, “What time you want coming?”  I bite my tongue until it bleeds.

Another sorry errand after the haircut was to wander over to the wine shop to purchase a bottle of wine for $41.  I need it for an overdue payment of a bet I made on the Debacle In The Desert last January with the wife of the guy who owns my client in Milwaukee.   It had to be $41 because the bet was on the winning team’s point total.  Damn, I wish it had snowed that night.  She’s a Georgia grad, and normally Georgia and Florida are arch-enemies, but when they’re serving up fresh yankee like they were that night, SEC types treat it like a church picnic.

Off to the gym for one last workout on good equipment.  The hotels I frequent in Milwaukee have capacious bars and crummy exercise rooms.  I do have a line on a gym in the neighborhood that will let me in for one-night stands, and I’ll check it out Monday night.

Busy week, as I rush to finish up local tasks before heading to Milwaukee Sunday morning.

I’m always thrilled when this rose bush in my front yard burst into bloom hot on the heels of the lilacs. It seems to happen in the space of 24 - 48 hours - this nondescript green plant transforms into a yellow riot.

Click any photo to enlarge

I’d be proud to claim that it’s the product of a meticulous husbandry on my part; the truth is, however, that my dad gave me a shoot of it when I was visiting in Ohio about 30 years ago and I flew home, threw it in the yard and have completely neglected it since. I have to whack it back from the retaining wall now and then or it’ll snatch babies from strollers as they pass by.

I took those pictures Wednesday night as we were walking out for a bite at a neighborhood sushi joint that has become a favorite.

That festive green thing is a Caterpillar Roll, made from avocado, cucumber, eel and garnished on the top with flying fish roe (tobiko).

OK, I have to head to a client’s and ignore the gorgeous weather outside.

Update on the garden later.