Perils of Caffeine in the Evening

I took a break from my hacking to visit a client downtown. I used to love working down there, in my 24th-floor office, and now I just don’t get down there often enough. When I do, though, I try to allow myself some time to just wander the streets a little.

My client’s office is a block or two from the Harbor Steps - what? - I guess it’s a neighborhood. I approached it walking up Post Alley, which starts just west of First Avenue by the Alexis Hotel. As I turned the corner, I saw this office or business whose windows were a sort of Matchbox car museum:

That station wagon in the picture at the far right is an Edsel Bermuda. We would never have driven a Ford in that era, as the company my dad (and 5 generations of my family, if you include my summer goofing-off there) worked for supplied GM with window glass, so the whole Edsel drama was lost on us (in the same class of philosophical questions as “why do Democrats bother to nominate candidates?”). It really doesn’t look that different from the cars we were driving. Guess it bombed in the market, though. And made some guy named Edsel Ford wish he had a more prosaic name.

Once I got to the Harbor Steps, I had some quintessential Seattle photo ops just smack me in the face:

Tully’s has tried valiantly to be a competitor to Starbuck’s, mostly by slavishly imitating them, and locating stores as close to them as possible. I think their days are numbered, though, judging from business news items over the last few months. Doesn’t really bother me one way or the other, as I have no problem with Starbucks and am sort of puzzled at the animus that people seem to have for them. To me, they (Starbucks) have made the world safe for espresso, and Howard Schultz is a prominent DNC contributor. What’s not to like?

In the background is the Seattle Art Museum, and its iconic moving sculpture, Hammering Man.

The pic on the right depicts the old-vs-new juxtaposition that characterizes Seattle as the incessant building boom, seemingly unfettered by the economic turmoil that pervades real estate elsewhere in the country, creates architectural dissonances throughout the city, from business districts to quiet neighborhoods like ours.

Feeling a lot better today. Had my first coffee this morning since Saturday (when I fell asleep before I could start drinking it), and put in a full day’s work.

I still felt so ebullient, at 5pm, that I grabbed my bike and headed down to the gym for my first workout since last Wednesday in Milwaukee. I felt strange, and sweated inordinately, but I just decided it was time to drive all the bad shit out of my body, and bent to each machine like it was a new bride.

I’m still coughing explosively, cuz there’s still this ticklish crap that seems to want to collect right around my breastbone, and this condition does not aid me when my mother calls and I try to convince her that I’m well, now. I’m sure it sounds awful on the phone. She suggests that my throat would be soothed if I gargled with salt water, and I’ll give it a try, as I remember it being effective when we were kids, and I think I can still obtain it without a prescription.

I guess there have been cases recently of folks slipping quickly into serious pneumonia. If I’m still coughing in a day or two, I’ll a) celebrate it as a sign that I’m still breathing and b) drag myself up to the doctor so he can tell me to, probably, gargle with salt water.

Not much inspiration available in the last couple of weeks, at least in language I can parse.  Perhaps it’s just ennui, or something more pathological.  I just have found it impossible to form whole sentences.

Then, while in Milwaukee last week, I contracted some vile midwestern grippe on Thursday - some kind of upper respiratory thing that made me achy and prone to coughing fits.  I soldiered through Friday, flew home Friday night and have spent nearly the entire weekend sleeping, or lying in bed reading listlessly.  I think it’s been over 20 years since I actually allowed a sickness to keep me in bed.

Hope the extraordinary convalescence is repaid with quick recovery - like now - because I have a lot to accomplish this next week.   And that’s just about all I have the energy to type.

Beautiful day here today. I got out on a kayaking expedition on Puget Sound. More expansive post after we get back from dinner (Click to enlarge):

Later…

As promised. I belong to a couple of Yahoo! groups dealing with sea kayaking in the Seattle area, and showed up for a scheduled day trip at Golden Gardens, a Seattle park on Puget Sound. One other guy was there, and we launched from the beach:

We first paddled north along the shore, up to Carkeek Park, then turned around and headed south, bound for West Point in Seattle’s Discovery Park. The sound was uncharacteristically placid, almost like glass where we were paddling, but some hopeful sailors were nonetheless participating in a regatta of some sort. It appears that there was just enough wind out in the middle of the sound to fill their spinnakers:

There’s a lighthouse at West Point, and for reasons of Homeland Security that eluded us myopic citizens, it was sounding a foghorn every 20 seconds or so, despite the fact that visibility in every direction was absolutely perfect. As we rounded the point, as it will even to jaded long-time residents, Mount Rainier caught us completely by surprise, looming above the cranes of the Port of Seattle:

As we were paddling back to Golden Gardens through Shilshole Marina, I saw my companion, out of the corner of my eye, raise a bottle of brown liquid to his face. I’d never paddled with him before, but I’ve been out with others who might nip from a stylish silver flask now & then. I’d just never seen anyone slugging from a full fifth of whiskey before, at least not until we got the tents up and the fire started.

He maintains that he found the bottle floating in the water - plausible enough among the thicket of masts at Shilshole that hosts a fair number of live-aboards. When we got back to Golden Gardens, he made a great show of going over to a wastebasket and banging the bottle on the lid. I took his word that he threw it away, but I nonetheless gave him a sizeable head start out of the parking lot.

An altogether pleasant and amiable way to spend a summer day in February

There were two celestial rarities last night: a full lunar eclipse, and a February night in Seattle clear enough to observe it. We stepped out to a local joint for a bite of sushi, then walked back through Meridian Park (large and dark) to check out the beginnings of the eclipse.

We walked on home, and I set up a tripod on out back deck to try for some photos. The white streaks on the first one are the landing lights of a jet on final approach to Seatac (Click to enlarge):

This one was taken as the moon began to emerge from the penumbra:

They’re a bit grainy because I had to use high ISO, but there it is for those of you who live in a rainy climate and couldn’t see it!

Here’s a really excellent photo from today’s P-I:

As I indicated, we spent Saturday skiing at Crystal Mountain resort. We were thinking that the day would be at least partially clear, but that clearing part was extremely partial, and a lot of the skiing was in fog as pictured below:

I did start to feel my ski legs, and got off the bunny slope and onto some longer intermediate slopes, which was fun and gratifying. I don’t think I’ll make a habit of returning to the slopes, though. It’s an expensive day’s play, and no one else I know does it. But this weekend was a cool way to break away from routine (as long as I didn’t break anything else).

Living here with mountains visible in one direction or the other, we forget how striking it is for flatlanders to turn a corner and see snow-covered peaks. In fact, I still get a thrill when Mt. Rainier peeks out from its shroud of cloud, as it did on the drive home. I couldn’t resist stopping for a photo opp:

We finished our tour-guiding with a seafood dinner at Chinook’s, at Fisherman’s Terminal in Seattle.

My youngest brother and his step-daughter are in town this weekend from Atlanta and Columbus, respectively, for a couple of days of skiing. The trip is a reward to the step-daughter, who will graduate from OSU in March.

I started skiing fairly late in life (42, I believe) when our son started and I wanted to accompany him. I never became very proficient, but got so that I could enjoy some of the blue (intermediate) runs, if conditions weren’t too icy. Since he graduated from high school (2000), however, I have hardly skied at all, and I’ve lost most of my mojo.

Fortunately, my brother is almost a beginner, and we spent yesterday on the Daisy hill at Stevens Pass. I rented skis instead of taking my old boneshakers, since I wanted to try the new parabolic skis that have become popular. As advertised, they made turns and other maneuvers much easier, and I started to feel a little more confident by the end of the day. Here we are posing fashionably at the beginning of a run (Click to enlarge:

Today we’re headed up to Crystal Mountain, down close to Mt. Rainier, for another go. It looks like a much nicer day, perhaps better for photography.

A special greeting to all you lovers (not implying that you’re all my lovers). I may have time to do something special later today. Until then, here’s a reprise of my valentine podcast from last year:

[audio:http://perilsofcaffeineintheevening.com/wp-content/uploads/PerilsValentine.mp3]

Update: A day late, here’s a new set of sweet songs for the sweet:

[audio:http://perilsofcaffeineintheevening.com/wp-content/uploads/Valentine2008.mp3]

I don’t really listen to the radio much except when I’m in the car, commuting to or between clients. Yesterday, I was listening to this talk show on the local NPR station, and they were discussing global warming and the concept of carbon offsets. The idea is, when you’re feeling guilty about some personal act of carbon transgression, you can go out and purchase some degree of conscience-salve and declare yourself “carbon-neutral”.

Perhaps the most famous example of this gambit was last year when it was disclosed that Al Gore’s house turned out to be an energy-guzzling behemoth, and his spokespeople indignantly declared that he purchased carbon offsets, so there! That was the first time I’d heard of it.

I think it’s a sign of progress that people are starting to be conscious of the effects of their personal actions on the environment, but it’s so paradigmatic of our culture that we try to invent mechanisms to buy our way out of changing our behavior. It’s very similar to the practice of purchasing of indulgences in the Catholic church of the 1500s.  Perhaps I could make a Diebold-like fortune by investing in a network of Carbon-Offset ATM machines.  I’d place them at McDonald’s drive-throughs and NASCAR tracks.

We seem to be devising all manner of exotic technological concepts to “science” our way around the issue of global warming and environmental degradation without fundamental social and economic change. Many of them are good ideas - wind power, super-efficient vehicles; some are boondoggles, like the push for corn ethanol. But the flat fact is that people burn shit, and the more people there are, the more shit they’re going to burn. What we never seem to hear proffered as a solution is reducing birth rates. Was it even mentioned in the Kyoto protocols? It’s like some sort of tabu, like it’ll offend too many fragile sensibilities. But it’s ultimately the only way that the problem will be resolved.

My daily life is designed to bring a pretty light carbon footprint. I walk for most of my errands, and we seldom consider a dinner outing that is beyond our walking range. But our biggest carbon offset was sparing use of the baby-hatch (in the outbound direction, at least). So, I don’t feel too badly about hopping on a plane now & then.

Now, what you might be able to sell me is some calorie offsets.

Yeah, I know it’s supposed to be Friday cat blogging, but I’ve always hated deadlines.  The only reason I’m doing it at all is that I was able to catch our little miscreant slurping at his favorite watering hole, the papyrus plant in our living room (click to enlarge).  It may be his favorite only because he can’t get into the toilet very often.

When I wake in the middle of the night, I often head downstairs to bunk out on the couch in the living room and read or surf my way to sleep.  I’ll be lying there in silence, and I’ll hear this tromptromptromptromp down the stairs, across the hardwood floor - you’d think an army was coming through the house, but it’s only this 7-pound cat.

The routine is always the same: first to the litter box (scritch, scratch sound like industrial excavation), then out to the kitchen to fuel up on crunchies (sound like rock being pulverized into pea gravel), over to the papyrus plant (sound of Homer Simpson with a can of Duff), and, finally, tromp, tromp up the stairs again.  This might happen twice in the same night.

A person can’t sleep with all that racket.