Perils of Caffeine in the Evening

We’re (finally) sitting in the Alaska Airlines BoardRoom, awaiting our flight to Medford.  We don’t have a play tonight, so we’ll just relax around town, maybe hike up Ashland Creek and cool down.  Weather looks to be sunny and mid-80s all week.  I was having brainlock trying to remember how to pack for warm weather, non-business travel.  Shorts and t-shirts were finally revealed at the back of the closet and hiding underneath fleece and wool in my dresser drawers.  I kid myself that they’ll fit when the time comes.

Our son and his girlfriend arrived at the house last night after 3+ months on the road, looking ripped after rock climbing their way through Joshua Tree, Zion, Yosemite and points in between.  Coincidentally, they spent last week in Ashland with some of our son’s old high school classmates, and gave us some info on the plays they saw.  Hated to miss them there, but I’m sure it’s more fun with one’s peers.

OK, we’re off to board.  More from the sunny south later.

For a couple years now, I’ve been shooting photos with a Canon S5 IS.  I love the 12x optical zoom, the awesome movie capability, the super-macro mode and a whole lot else about it.  It’s larger than your usual Point and Shoot, but a lot less bulky than a full-on digital SLR.  My only problem with it has been that Canon did not, and will not, make one of their nifty waterproof cases for it.  This puts a serious crimp in my ability to take it along in my kayak.

A while ago, I invested in what I thought would be a reasonable solution, a waterproof “bag” with a long snoot that accommodates the zoom lens.  In practice, the bag has been difficult to use because it’s tough to operate most of the controls on the camera, starting with the on-off switch.

A couple of weeks ago, one of my paddling buddies scored an enviable package on Craigslist - a Canon G7 and a waterproof case for $400.  The G7 (and its successor, the G9) has a 6x optical zoom and a lot of the functionality of my S5 IS, plus the waterproof case.  I started obsessing about trying to find a similar deal.  I bid and lost numerous eBay auctions, and combed the Craigslist landscape frequently, hoping against hope to encounter a deal as good as my buddy stumbled into, either for the G7 or the G9.

At some point, I was reading a user review of the G7, and the review referenced another Canon as a lower-priced alternative, the A720 IS.  As luck would have it, Seattle Craigslist had an A720 available for $175 (the going eBay price for the G7 seemed to be about $425), AND Canon makes a waterproof case for it.

I nailed down the Craigslist offering, passing my trusting currency to a stranger in the parking lot of an AM-PM minimart on the east side.  I then went to eBay and nailed a “buy-it-now” deal for a compatible waterproof case, whose progress westward from New Jersey I track periodically on the UPS website.

The A720 actually has some advantages over the G7 for my purposes.  First and foremost, the price and the eerie instantaneous availability on Craigslist;  plus, it uses AA batteries instead of the G7s proprietary Canon battery.  I learned on our trip to Joshua Tree a couple of years ago that a camera with a proprietary battery can be a problem if you’re out somewhere where you don’t have access to electrical outlets for recharging.  If a camera uses AA batteries, you can carry a supply of commercial batteries to supplant your rechargeables.

So, by the time I get back from Ashland, I will have a sweet setup for kayak photography, as my waterproof case will have completed its cross-country journey (I resisted the temptation to purchase expedited delivery).

Here’s a sample of the A720’s zoom capability:

Of course, embedded in this consumerist bliss is the inevitable worm of desire:  The feature set on the A720, combined with its smaller size, may start to compel me to carry it, instead of the S5 IS, on my peregrinations, rationalizing that the A720’s “good enough” for most applications.  Of course, it’s not “good enough” for all applications, but how much more does the S5 bring to the party?

The logic of which leads me inexorably towards upgrading the S5 with a full-on DSLR.  This juggernaut of rationalization needs to be derailed by the reality that I’m not a professional photographer, that I use only 15% of the capabilities of my middling cameras and, back to the reason I was infatuated with the S5 in the first place, I probably won’t be inclined to carry a DSLR and a coterie of lenses on 95% of the outings that afford me most of my photographing opportunities.

The only positive of this quandary is that I’m having it about cameras, and not cars or houses.

We had a delightful time last night re-acquainting with Rockin’ Teenage Combo.  The venue, a little cafe in Ballard, was cozy and intimate, perfect for the acoustic set.  I was able to make some video - here’s a Spanish-sounding number that begins with a really whacky solo on the string bass, then grooves into a mesmerizing piano solo:

The band played tirelessly in the late 90s/early 2000s up and down the west coast, but it’s a hard life living out of a van and living on cover charges, and Dara finally moved back to the Tri-cities to help her mom run a restaurant, and to start a family.  PK and Olli continue to play in the area pretty frequently, and once every year or so, Dara comes to town and they put on a show.

I’ll add another video to this after my software finishes cooking it down.

(Later that same evening) Here’s an old number of theirs.  There’s a bitchin’ bass solo at about the 4:40 mark.  I apologize for the Tourette’s cinematography on these.  I was multitasking, trying to manage noshing plates, my beverage, the camera on an unreliable tripod, my beverage, actually concentrating on the music and, last but not least, my beverage:

Meanwhile, my brother in Atlanta is sending me photo and video cell phone messages from an REM concert.  There’s quite a contrast in the aural experience.  I just received a video of Losing My Religion, with my bro’s voiceover crooning, “That’s me in the spotlight, losing my erection!”  No detectable backup harmony from my SIL.

Seems like we’re on a cultural roll here.  Tonight, we’re off to the Ballard Jamhouse to hear a reunion engagement of a groove jazz trio that was our house band in the late 90s/early 2000s.  The group is called the Rockin’ Teenage Combo, comprised of Dara Quinn on keys, Paul Kemmish (PK) on upright and electric bass and Olli Klomp on drums.  We hired them to play for both of our 50th birthday parties, gigs that, by their mere definition, degraded their image.

I posted about them previously here, which includes some audio clips:

[audio:RTCPodcast.mp3]

I’m so psyched to be hearing them again.  They’re playing the gig at the Jamhouse at 9, then playing an extended set in a loft in the SODO district.  The loft is where we held Mrs. Perils’ 50th birthday party, but I think there’s not much chance of us making the Loft scene tonight, as the gig starts at 2 am.  We’ve been to the Loft a couple of other times in the early 2000s (one time exiting just as rosy-fingered dawn revealed herself to the city), but it’s pushing it these days to get Mrs. Perils out past 9:30.

I’ll try to record some clips.

Lots of water under the bridge since my last post.

Next week, for the 15th year, we’re headed to Ashland, Oregon for a week of vacation. As before, the week will include attending plays at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival, hiking in the Siskiyou Mountains on and around the Pacific Crest Trail and general R&R.

For the last 3 years, my mom has been accompanying us, and that was the plan this year as well. However, last week she came down with some form of pneumonia and ended up in a hospital over the weekend. She’d been feeling a little punk earlier in the week, but she says she was trying to nurse herself along and be well enough to make her flight to Seattle, which would have left today (Wednesday).

She was playing bridge on Thursday morning and getting worse, though, and her friends finally ended the game and insisted on taking her to a doctor. She said, “It must have been because they were concerned about me - my cards were really crummy all morning.” Tests came back Friday, and the doc urged her to go to the emergency room.

Meanwhile, my brother, who calls her just about every day, hadn’t been able to reach her on Friday, and on Saturday called me to see if I’d spoken to her.  She hadn’t returned my call from Thursday, so we stewed a bit about what to do.  We couldn’t reach either of her neighbors.  Finally, my brother called the police to go and look.  A neighbor who had a key happened to meet them there, and they looked through the house with my brother on the phone just sure they were on a body hunt.  Later, when we found out the details, my mom was mortified that the police were in the house “when it was such a mess, with dirty dishes in the sink and everything.”

I spoke with her several times while she was in the joint, and she was getting progressively perturbed at the confinement and not being able to sleep well. By Monday, she’d had it and insisted on being released. A friend picked her up, and she’s glad to be home and feeling better, despite some discomfort working her way through a couple of drug series. I called her this afternoon, and she said, “Why aren’t you picking me up at the airport right now?”

I waited until yesterday to cancel her plane reservations, thinking that if she got stronger in a hurry, I didn’t want to foreclose the opportunity. I’ll miss her enthusiasm - she’s always thrilled at the performances and the atmosphere of the theaters and the town.

So, we now have a capacious house for the week, and we’ll need to sell or exchange her play tickets. Shouldn’t be too hard - I bought our tickets last November in the member’s presale, and they just rock, they’re all in the first 3 rows.

Here are the plays we’ll see:

• Our Town (Thornton Wilder) - will be the first 20th-century play they’ve stage in the outdoor Elizabethan theater.
• The Further Adventures of Hedda Gabler (Jeff Whitty) - begins where Ibsen’s play ends, resurrecting Hedda so she can see about getting a re-write.
• Othello
• A Midsummer Night’s Dream - “What happens in the forest stays in the forest”
• Fences (August Wilson) - They’ve been doing Wilson plays from the Pittsburgh Cycle for the last 3 - 4 years, although not chronologically.
• Coriolanus
• The Clay Cart - a 2,000-year-old (east) Indian play.

We’ll fly into Medford Monday and return the 30th.

Right now, I’m hurtling through the work week trying to ensure that nothing seeps over into next week, so I can relax and use my laptop for repairing this dysfunctional project.

Update: - check out the blog threads from our previous trips in the sidebar.

A song you should never hear in a men’s rest room in the Minneapolis airport: Close To You.

I did Friday night, but not in that rest room.  I still had to chuckle.

Today also marks the 34th annual recurrence of the day Mrs. Perils made an uncharacteristic lapse in good judgment and became my bride. Backstory here.

When I travel, I usually hoard a few packets of pretzels and peanuts to proffer upon my return. This innoculates me from higher expectations that might involve expensive trips to duty-free stores. I’ll have to check my luggage pockets, but I don’t believe I’ve retained any from this trip, and it’s going to cost me.

We have anniversary dinner reservations at a neat little neighborhood restaurant, Tilth, which features eclectic organic fare, and is owned and chef-ed by a woman that Mrs’ Perils knows from her climbing gym. (She’s the last person you’d think of as a social climber, but there you go).

I’m thinking we might do a little bit of urban hiking this afternoon, and arrive at the restaurant in good spirits and with healthy appetites.

Update: I found a couple packets of airline nibbles I saved from last weekend:

I think I’ll take her to dinner anyway.

I’m home from my work week in Milwaukee, after mildly adventurous travel experiences. They had a storm system pass through southeastern Wisconsin during the hours leading up to my departure flight, moving southwest to northeast and passing the Milwaukee airport just before my flight was to depart. Inbound aircraft were delayed, yada, yada, and my scheduled flight looked like it was sliding close to missing my 9:30 connection to Seattle in Minneapolis (the last one of the day). A helpful agent got me reassigned to an earlier flight to Minneapolis, which would not have been available without the aforementioned delays, and printed me two new boarding passes, which included my original first-class seat on the Seattle flight.

The weather passed on to the east, and I got to Minneapolis in plenty of time. At boarding time for Seattle, I presented my boarding pass to the gate agent, but it wouldn’t scan. He played with his screen for a bit, and said that I wasn’t checked in for the flight. They had given my precious seat 1D away, and there were no first-class seats left. Kind of a jolt, since the flight was full, but he found me an exit-row seat in coach, so I didn’t suffer unduly. I watched wistfully as libations were distributed in the front section, but got a good portion of my book (Another Country, James Baldwin) read, and also caught a few z-z-z-z’s.

I’ve developed a peculiar way of sleeping on airplanes. The central problem is that, when one is asleep, his head becomes an uncontrolled projectile, not unlike the old playground tetherballs. Because the seats on a plane only recline a couple of inches this head is hardly supported at all, and, full of blood, nervous tissue and whatever one has imbibed prior to departure, tends to lurch forward or, more problematically, cant sideways towards the shoulder of a neighbor where, 99% of the time, it is unwelcome. (This is also the point where an unfortunate amount of saliva has bestrewn the chin and cheeks, a possible explanation).

Window seats are not much of a problem - I just find a spot against the side of the fuselage to lean. Middle and aisle seats are more difficult, but I’ve found a way to sort of tuck my chin into the hollow behind my clavicle, where it tends to stay affixed. It’s sort of like a bird with a beak tucked under its wing. I wake with a little soreness in my neck, but surprisingly refreshed.

I know you can get those neck-ring pillows, and I’ve got one, but I already carry so much stuff that I’m unwilling to devote space in my backpack to it.

A chilly, rainy weekend, but a weekend nonetheless, yawns before me.

Two stellar Google searches landed inquisitive pilgrims on these shoals of disappointment:

• one from Turkey: “The perils of fucking a horse”
• while in Maryland they’d like to see “chicken pox on dicks pictures”

As much as I give, it grieves me when I know I’ve failed someone again.