unemployed and homeless

so. i lost my job.

snigger.

the season is over, the boats are shrink-wrapped, the spars are safe, the hangovers are receding, and everyone has scattered to the four corners of the globe.

well, everyone has scattered. some just scattered to other houses in Baltimore. others have flown to the west coast and beyond to Australia, a few are moving to new york, and one brave soul is moving to Maine. I'm going to have thanksgiving with my family before I come up with any more definitive plans than "move to New York, try again."

its all fine. i'm going to try and wash the taney out of my clothes for the next couple of days.

well, its not fine fine. i have just completely lost all of the friends i'd spent the past year bonding with. i feel that my likelihood of encountering any of them again hovers around a 12% chance.

The Lady Maryland's cook was picked up by his family on Saturday, and it blew all of us away to hear him called Grandpa. Their captain and mine have bought a Rover and plan to sail it from Myrtle Beach to Buffalo once the canals re-open in spring, and i might get a call to help on the transit. LM's first mate has bought a ketch and plans to sail it from Maryland to Maine soon, while her second mate has some rather Kerouac-esque goals in mind. Almost everyone has warm, homeward-bound feelings right now and hopes to re-connect with their estranged land-based families. I wish them the best, and happy holidays.

I'm not alone out of my crew when I express the sentiment that i'm not entirely sure where i'm going from here, or for how long, or why. We rode this gig like a runaway train until it suddenly stopped, flinging us off the roof onto our now bruised behinds, dizzy and perplexed.

Again...any suggestions for graduate study? Something cool i don't know about? Journalism looks like fun, but where is it going to get me that a BA in theatre hasn't? Radio broadcast also looks like...HEAPS of fun, but with competition and the fact that i've barely adjusted a knob on a stereo receiver i have a funny feeling i'm not an ideal candidate for admission. Alas. maybe i'll sign up for some welding classes in January, or try for some freelance theatre gigs with my sister. Or try and get a deckhand gig on the Lettie G. Howard. I don't know anymore. Doesn't anyone just...know what i'm supposed to do?

Aha! I'll take up religion.

tee hee hee hee hee

Actually, I discovered with my haircut (or lack thereof), if i wear an Under Armour black mock turtleneck thermal garment, i look like a priest. Its pretty funny. well, i thought it was funny. other people might say the more appropriate word is "offensive" given the context.

So technically i'm not homeless--i'm in a house now. An actual...house. It doesn't list to starboard at low tide, it doesn't creak in high wind, it doesn't make that wonderful sloshing noise and rock me gently to sleep...it just sits here bravely atop a scenic overlook with the bay beautiful but powerless down below.

On the whole, my housing situation's cool factor has warmed a few degrees. Oh well.

I'm handling it well, i think. At the beginning of last week it didn't occur to me how much i was going to miss my Taney mates and their little noises and behaviors to which I'd grown so accustomed. Seeing the light go on through the holes in the wall, hearing barely-suppressed music through someone else's headphones, hearing the sighing, the swearing, the snoring, the shaving, the shouting...when I left yesterday morning there was complete and utter silence. To say I exited in a hurry would be an understatement. I freakin' ran.

So there you have it. The boats are in exactly the same condition as when I arrived last year--a few things have improved, but a few others have degraded and need maintenance. The pier is vacant, the kids are gone, the crabs have been released and a light film of dust has already begun to settle. I am again looking for work, housing, and friends.

Did 2008 actually happen?

wordle

wordle makes my life out to sound pretty damn cool.
thanks Kim.

yesterday marked the end of the LCF shipboard department's
sailing season. As of today, all of the boats are down-
rigged and half have frames erected for winter coverings. 
Its all very sad, very cold, and very hard work. I spent
today at the top of Sigsbee's mast taking down blocks and
lines--I'd imagine that's the last time i'll ever be up
there. Weird.  The sails are stowed, the spars are stored,
and we have 3 days left of employment.

Save the Day!...light

While I'm not a huge advocate of daylight savings' time, I am happy to fall back every year. After two or three weeks of waking up in the dark, it is wonderful to have at least a little more time of waking up to sunshine before that, too, disappears in preparation for winter. Ah, temperate zones.

So my absentee ballot application was mailed to the wrong address, bounced, and came back to the voter registration office. I got in touch with them and they sent out a new one...and it arrived today, November 3. (for anyone unfamiliar with the absentee voting system, you are first mailed a ballot application, which you fill out and return, and upon receipt of a perfectly filled out application, the actual absentee ballot is mailed, which you then fill out and mail back. its asinine, it wastes paper, it wastes time, and i put in for it with plenty of time to take care of everything, and South Carolina screwed up.) Thanks, SC. you've fucked me again. Way to withhold constitutional rights.

So, I had a great week in Philadelphia. The kids were awesome to work with, we made and ate some delicious food, i discovered new bars and new beers, i slept in a real bed, and, what fabulous timing--the Phillies won the world series while we were in town! It was fun to watch the revelry in the streets after that--that was until they started lighting things on fire and looting. Didn't quite grasp how "hooray we won" translates into "hey, lets break shit!" but oh well, i've never been a Phanatic.

I also discovered one of those awesome bookshops in the old part of town--called the Book Trader, it had scores of volumes stacked right to the ceiling, confusing, tight, twisty, irregular aisles, funny lighting, that old-book smell, a huge upstairs, and the best shopkeepers i've yet met. I bought six classics i've been needing to read for about eleven dollars and practically skipped home. (by "practically" i mean "i skipped home.")

On the slow, difficult transit up I took a number of photos of the bridges we went under in the C&D Canal (chesapeake & Delaware). as soon as I retrieve my camera from Sigsbee i'll be sure to share a few. It was a very pretty, if laborious, trip up--the current was strong against us the whole way, it was freezing, and the wind was directly on our quarter, which meant the main wanted to jibe the whole freakin day. Most of the time we held it off or allowed it to jibe safely, but steering was a relentless battle against the wind. A positive upshot of the current was that when we finally did get into Philadelphia, the entire exterior of the boat had been cleaned of algae. Who'd a thunk it.

The transit back was quick and easy by contrast. Whereas on the way up we averaged about 3.7 knots, the way back we averaged 9.3 and made it in 14 hours. Instead of two days. The wind was still on our quarter, but the current was helping at an amazing clip (that same amazing clip we were fighting before) and practically threw us into Baltimore. The buoys, anchored against the onslaught of water, looked like they were motoring past as the waves broke around them. I'd never thought to personify a buoy before, but it was pretty funny.

I finished James Michener's Chesapeake! I knocked out the last 500 pages in about 4 days. I was sad to see Rosalind's Revenge go. Say what you will about the power of the seas and the perpetual motion of nature that maintains the universe's constancy... Dammit, I Liked that house!

I'm currently about halfway through The Kite Runner, which I borrowed from a crewmate after I ran out of pages. While transits can be tough, there's also rather a lot of down-time when you're not on the wheel. While I'm not enjoying the story per se, it is excellently written so far.

Fillie

Sigsbee will be heading up the Bay to Philadelphia beginning tomorrow morning. we expect to arrive on Sunday, but will not be sailing Saturday during what is expected to be gale-force winds and unpleasant precipitation. We'll be in Philly for just over a week running sails with a youth program. It should be an adventure. I've got my long underwear all clean and ready.

Today marked the annual shipboard Jack-o-Lantern contest, bumped up a bit on account of our iminent departure for the frozen north. Mildred Belle won hands-down, with a beautifully carved design of a white perch...on fire. In close second ran a delicately rendered hellcat, entered by Snow Goose of the Chesapeake Bay Foundation. An attractive lighthouse scratched out by the Lady Maryland crew earned them a third place ranking, and Sigsbee's crew pulled fourth with a delightfully vindictive depiction of the Mildred Belle...on fire. And sinking. All pumpkins will be visible for the next little while on Pier 5 on their respective boats.


I am currently open to suggestions as to what I should go to grad school for. I'm not hugely interested in maths, sciences, arts, languages, medicine, law, or history. Unfortunately I can't find Small Engine Repair at the Ph D. level.

pretty boats

This past week Baltimore played host to the Parade of Sail, the pre-game show for the Great Cheasapeake Bay Schooner Race. I experienced the joy of participating in the parade from the deck of the Lady Maryland, who went on to finish second in the race. In honor of yet another of my birthdays, I decided that this year's celebration should be of boats, which are a touch prettier than rats. Please note, as usual, all photos are mega-huge, and were taken by me in Baltimore's Inner Harbor.

Small, private schooner Martha White. Raised two questions: Are they really all that into flour? Is that really all bottom paint?

Pride of Baltimore II firing a cannon salute in the Inner Harbor. The ensuing audio battle among vessels Pride, Constellation, Gazela, Lady Maryland, Mystic Whaler, and others led to the National Aquarium at Baltimore to call over the VHF "please stop firing your cannons. You're scaring the dolphins."

Sigsbee! Aw, I'm sorry you didn't get to come, darlin. She's lookin' sharp.

Baltimore Clipper Amistad. -Wait, That Amistad?- Yes, That Amistad.

Schooner Mystic from a Boston Whaler.

Square topsail schooner Sultana, from Chestertown, Maryland. Judge her size compared to the people on deck. She's a perfect miniature. And a good friend of Living Classrooms.

Schooner Virginia. has a reputation for being bad-ass. Broke a gaff during the race. I heard everyone is okay. Is it just me, or does she look like the kind of boat Darth Vader would captain?

Schooners Virginia and When and If?, under Lady Maryland's main. So much canvas.

Mystic Whaler, a beautiful vessel in and out, and excellent hosts. Thank you for throwing a great pot luck!

I'll try to add a Lady Maryland "Fear the Pink" shirt soon.

hot sauce, spider webs, and a gallon of coffee

So. I've been out of town.

Having a blast, by the way. Two weeks ago found me in St. Michaels, MD, running some day programs for Eastern Shore kids, which were a lot of fun (if fast!) My crew and I spent nights alternately weathering rain and enjoying brightly starlit skies from Sigsbee's deck after delicious meals cooked over a lead-melting burner. (a welcome backup after a propane tank attachment mix-up. Big Fire make Fast Dinner. And perhaps the most perfect popcorn i've ever tried.) The crew transit back, a trip of several hours, was passed enjoyably, if a bit noisily, thanks to the addition of four bottles of hot sauce and a box of crackers. Yeowza! (technically we only tried three--the fourth was saved to be shared with the captain of another vessel. After watching the reactions of tasters, I'm rather glad I wasn't tempted to try the fourth.)

Last Friday was spent in drink and revelry at the annual Maritime Magic gala, a large party/concert/auction/local restaurant sampler/boozeup to benefit the Living Classrooms Foundation. The music was great, the food was excellent, free, and largely vegetarian, the vendors were friendly, and nobody fell in during my M.O.B. watch. I'd call that a success.

This week found me on a 3-day trip to Kent Island, complete with an entire department-load of insurance agents on a team-building adventure. Also known as a lovely few days on boats, some lovely restaurants, and plenty of lovely beer. They were generally pleasant people, and though we flatly lost the sailboat race against Lady Maryland, no one was hugely surprised and it was a great day on the water in any case.

An odd thing occurred while we were crossing the bay toward Baltimore--in a rather nondescript area of open water we happened to pass through a giant cloud of bugs. I don't know what kind exactly--they looked like largeish flying ants, but with pointier aft ends. They may have been larval wasps or juvenile versions of any number of interesting critters, but needless to say I spent most of this time cowering behind one of my coworkers as the bugs whizzed past. Most of them passed by without even noticing Sigsbee, and the ones that did land on deck were easily shooed off it again. We passed through them in about twenty minutes at 5 knots, so do the math and tell me what the diameter of the bug-cloud was. Seriously. I'm pathetic at math.

Anyway, we got back to the dock and tidied up the boat, and in the process of tying off the gantline a member of my crew happened to look up and see that every line, every lazy jack and halyard was decorated with hundreds of delicate webs--the entire rig was covered in a filigree of arachnoid fibers. We assumed these had something to do with the bug-cloud, but we really have no idea--no one had heard of six-legged or winged insects with the ability to produce a web, and none of them appeared to be ballooning anyway. Some theories we proposed, but later shot down included:

-the Francis Scott Key Bridge, which marks the entrance to Baltimore's Outer Harbor, just doesn't have cargo ships passing under it like it used to get and is overrun with spiderwebs.
-the bugs were being attacked by minute ballooning spiders and we just interrupted, which led to all of the webs appearing to be over four feet long
-we were attacked by something at the dock overnight (this theory was dispelled when we saw the same webs covering the Lady Maryland's lines, and LM anchored out pretty far from land because the water gets too shallow for her)
-our captain is actually a spider and we've just never noticed.

Any ideas?

in any case, my crew has been rather busy lately and, on account of this, have managed to go through three bags of coffee beans in about three weeks. Is that normal for four people?

The Great Chesapeake Bay Schooner Race is coming up in a couple of days, and boats from up and down the eastern seaboard have been showing up in droves in the inner harbor. Its been a lot of fun to see. I hope to get a chance to schmooze with their crews.

One more thing. This piece of psychadellic art gave me pause to wonder--it looks hand-painted by a giddy stoner with no concept of life-like colors, patterns, or ratios. I think a new religion or at least emphatic cult should form around this clear proof that God trips on acid.

pout, grin, laugh, scream

I was tootling around in the local organic home store, Blue House, today, and came across numerous things that I want but, sadly, even if I could afford them, would be completely useless to me. The Taney is a wonderful home for what it is, but it has its limitations.

Namely, I don't have a stove. Therefore all the nifty tea kettles and cookware they have is completely useless to me. I'm also strictly forbidden from using my electric kettle on the ship, so I can't even use their nifty teabag teapots that i find so adorable. seriously, i live in a place that is highly opposed to the idea of me feeding myself--and for good reason. the wiring around here is historic. anything that draws enough electricity to boil water in three minutes or less is probably a hazard.

Something else I come up short on is windows. I have a 9" porthole, and though it is a very nice porthole, I don't believe the curator of the museum would be very happy with me if i installed a window box below it. Which means, sadly, that all the seeds, planters, and biodegradable flowerpots they sell are not intended for people like me.

I'm also a bit shortchanged when it comes to tables, dressers, and other furniture that appreciate decorative accents. No matter how many doilies you put on them, gunmetal gray cabinets will never look cozy. And vases? recall what I mentioned about portholes and imagine how happy fresh flowers would be in my floating cellar. (And while I suppose filling them with dried flowers is always an option, I really don't have enough cobwebs in my room to pull off the full Miss Havisham look.)

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I had a delightful epiphany today--I have decided that my sister's as-yet-unscheduled wedding must be officiated by a woman with a delightful Scottish lilt--something in the vein of NPR's Fiona Ritchie.

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I happened across this album cover in the record store and nearly did a spit-take. I've never heard of this performer or his music, but sheez. (please note, incidental readers--this is not a joke or an insult directed toward the cover's subject, but is rather a reference to the musician's eerie resemblance to a friend. Eerie.) Sarah, you must see this.

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Another shortcoming of living in a museum is the frequent reminders of which tourist demographic is most likely to visit them--families with young children. A note of advice, parents of toddlers: Children Have No Need to Tour Historic Ships, Watch Movies or Plays, Visit Theme Parks, or Experience Fine Dining Until They Are At Least Ten (10) Years Of Age. Prior to that, you're just wasting your money. And pissing people off. Of Course she's throwing a tantrum. She's 3--its dark, cramped, smelly, confusing, and boring in here! Don't make your child bear with it--learn from it. They don't cry when they're happy.

sketchup

"When the installation process is complete, you should see a SketchUp application icon (it looks like a little house.)"

Oh Google, this is why I love you.

In other news, I'm feeling much better now, I've removed all my facebook friends who vocally support Sarah Palin, and i'm most of the way through Alan Weisman's The World Without Us, which i daresay is a thoroughly enjoyable book about the end of the human race. I'm sure everyone else has read it twice by now, but I tend to wait until books' hype has cooled somewhat before embarking upon them, so as to not appear hip.

In other news, I'm on the search for a nifty, useful, likeable tablet pc. I'd prefer a linux interface, but I have a number of constraints to that end--I like Google Talk far better than Skype for its crystal-clear audio interface and obviously greater stability (though those concerns may not be noteworthy on a faster, happier computer than this 1998-edition Dell Latitude dual boot Win2K/Ubuntu 5gb hd/45omhz pentium II--hey, don't laugh. It was free, and i'm grateful for it.) and unfortunately Google and Linux are, if not mortal enemies, not the best of friends. I tend to avoid downloading anything i don't desperately need and store all photos, music, and misc online, where I have more storage and I believe safety than on this rather senile machine.

I don't think I'll buy anything while i still work for LCF--the Taney's thick steel hull prevents any semblance of wifi from penetrating into my room, and I don't really have much need for more than I have--everything that requires a faster computer and a newer GUI is generally an idle amusement that keeps me cooped up in here when I should go outside and be sociable.

I still haven't bought a pair of Earth shoes, but I may go ahead and get some today. If nothing else, i'm going to get some new Keens for winter. and maybe an additional pair for the rest of the season. yay Keens!

Wow. I think this may be my first product-oriented blog. I generally don't talk about stuff, i talk about thoughts. But thankfully my mind has been blissfully vacuous these past few weeks and all I've concerned myself about has been shoes, computers, and boys.

sniffle

I enjoy the Wombats. particularly the backing vocals. I think everyone should.

I recently bought my first set of Grundens foul weather gear. they are mighty.

I have a bad head cold. the first thing that goes when I get stuffy is my balance. then everything gets funny. then starts the coughing. now i've hit the slap-happy-headache stage. I think its Grayhounditis. When in doubt, blame public transit.

Since I moved to Baltimore, New York City has become less of a hated, feared, nasty place and more of a haven for fun drunken weekends and culture. NYC, I don't hate you anymore!

I still panic in crowds though.

people feets

has any reader worn or tried out a pair of Earth shoes? i'm really curious about them--i hear good things, but they're a bit too expensive to buy on the off chance that they're comfortable.

I'm heading to NY tomorrow afternoon to visit with a foreigner who is quite dear to me. No details to follow.

out and about

i have been very busy with work the past few weeks. A nasty side effect of this is that i've had to endure the torments of sunshine, fresh air, and human interaction and leave my poor computer behind in the dark. O the woes of life.

I spent today scraping and painting the hull of the Lady Maryland with her crew in Georgetown. As a direct result of this, I shall be showering with steel wool. I'm sadly too claustrophobic for tyvek suits and safety glasses, and only direct orders could get me to wear a respirator. Things...around...face... eeurgh. don't like. The disposable outfits help you avoid absorbing the antifouling bottom paint through the skin, so by now i should have absorbed enough copper to spend like 27 cents.

orzo with chopsticks

and eggplant in bed. Nothing says "single stateroom accommodation, shared kitchen facilities" quite like it.

I think my home hits bottom and leans to starboard at low tide. i typically go to sleep on level and wake up tilted about 5 degrees--not enough to make me fall out of bed but enough to make me hold on in my sleep. Life's little quirks.

When it comes to ranking ginger ales, Blenheim's is at the top, The Ginger People's ginger beer is second, Reed's is third, and all others go in the recycle bin. Mmm.

claustro-angria

I'm not claustrophobic in the typical sense of the word. I do not fear that the walls are closing in, nor do I feel that I'm drowning in small spaces...i just get very, very angry. I become a fiery ball of elbows and feet, kicking and throwing whatever I can find to get it away from me. Frequently this makes matters worse as now I'm not only still in a small, confined space, but all my stuff is broken.

My home is a small, confined space with lots of pointy-outy areas to hurt yourself on.

I need a cup of tea.

go species!

I got a charge out of an Olympics-themed Visa advertisement which emphasized the unifying human element of the games. maybe its not the athletes' countries that make you cheer for them, but the fact that they're human, and hey, you're human too, so their accomplishments are your your accomplishments...at the widest level of classification. We admit its a bit of a stretch, but hey, we're Visa--one of three globally unifying entities, the other two being death and taxes.

ubuntu

I have changed platforms. I am very happy.

Unrelated, but longer, side note: A recent Charlotte Observer column mentioned the columnist's child enjoying a spray park--quite literally a large concrete slab dotted with sprinklers and sprayers for the express purpose of running through. Think of it as that fountain at the mall you always wanted to jump in, but your mom wouldn't let you. All the water is chlorinated and recycled, so in these drought-ridden times it's a far more eco-friendly option than setting up a sprinkler in the yard for your runts to jump through. I would seriously love to find this park and run around in it...except perhaps after all the little sticky tripping hazards have gone home for dinner.

The thing is, when I was a kid I hated running through the sprinkler. It was absolutely no fun. Not the sprinkler bit--that was a delight. What made me sulk and sit it out was the boys. We typically set up a sprinkler when there were numerous kids to play in it--on neighborhood-friendly holidays such as July 4 and the like--and there were always dozens of kids who wanted to splash around. Most of the kids were fine with waiting our turns to run through it, but the neighborhood rascals would grow tired of that quickly and decide to turn this harmless garden tool into a weapon or a game. After ten minutes of jump-splash-whee the event suddenly turned into run-spray-argh or some bizarre, confusing team-based contest in which we were required, usually by an older, blond male, to run around or through the spray before the contraption tilted and hit a designated mark or person. It never made much sense, it wasn't fun for the girls, and I usually wound up getting an elbow to the face and storming off to cry in a dry lap. Well, initially dry.

The thing is, i've always hated games. I don't enjoy having an objective to my leisure time and I despise abiding by arbitrary rules. I've always sucked at video games for that reason--while most players are off trying to kill other players or obtain weapons, I'm contenting myself with exploring the game space and trying to talk to other characters. I usually wind up being killed within minutes. I tend to drive safely in racing games and was actually mocked ruthlessly for asking a game owner what button flipped indicator lights. Apparently blinkers are not commonly used in Mario Kart. I've never gotten the point of Mortal Kombat, found myself bored and lost in Doom, and only enjoyed X-Wing until the Imperial troops came into view and started firing. The star background was fun to fly around in...that is, after I figured out how to take off from the mothership. That sort of fiddly stuff is needlessly difficult. In any case, I don't understand physical or social competition outside of the biological imperative to earn a mate, and will never understand how an afternoon of playing in the sprinkler can be improved upon by adding rules. Particularly the common childhood rule of "if you're not playing the game, you can't play in here." Okay, fine. I'll take my sprinkler and go.

labels

this evening I have spent an inordinate amount of time labeling my blog posts. In so doing, I have proven to myself that I'm a fairly predictable person with very little to say. Regardless, the blog is now fairly well compartmentalized. The only labels I have refrained from adding are "the Man, Man", "why people are stupid" and "existentialism" as these three themes recur with such frequency it would be a waste of a category. Labeling each post "why people are stupid" is akin to going through the dictionary and labeling entries "word."

CTY

Anyone who is curious as to what i've been doing for the past month would gain insight by visiting Here, then Here. (note, the second "here" is only the trip 2 bit, not one, three, or four.) The Sigsbee kids kinda got distracted and never finished blogs for days 7-9, but you may rest assured that they enjoyed themselves.

Kids navigating, Sigsbee Trip 1. Please note that, as usual, photo actual sizes are mahoosive.

The rest of this blog post is going to sound like a "Dear Mom and Dad, I'm having a wonderful time at camp..." letter. be forewarned. my favorite event on the Sigsbee trip was kayaking around Wye Island. i'd forgotten how delightful that pursuit is. Feels good to row, you know? And it kept the kids occupied without my having to entertain them, which is always a breath of fresh air. And my favorite event with Lady Maryland was whale watching--while the trip was nausea-inducing, i'd never seen humpbacks up close before and it was amazing.

Baby Humpback Breaching, Gloucester, Mass. The kid is just farting around waiting for its momma to surface.

I met some very interesting people--both adults and kids--on these trips, and I'm glad i got to go. I had no idea that my first night in Gloucester would be spent in the company of Angus the Shipbuilding Giant on a midnight tour of a half-built tea ship. Or that full foundations existed for the sole purpose of disentangling marine mammals from fishing lines. (and no, i don't believe they've ever disentangled a duck-billed platypus. its a polite, inclusive-sounding term for whales.) I also tried my first ice-cream made with cardamom. yum! The girl who served it up, in Provincetown, Mass, was one of those pretty lesbians with a buzz-cut and a thick Ukrainian accent who has no patience for people who can't make up their minds on what flavor to get. I didn't dally.

Gloucester Light

This past week I actually spent back on Sigsbee doing day trips, like usual, except with some rather unusual groups. Imagine a trip of ten 16-year old male drug addicts and seven cops. They were surprisingly interested in bay ecology. I think some of them got a lot out of it. Then imagine a trip of two 16 year old female drug addicts and 2 cops. and 4 crew. It was the most relaxed, comfortable, easygoing trip ever. I never knew I'd have such a pleasant time with junkies.

Not Sigsbee, but similar. At Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum, St. Michael's Island, Maryland. I watched her raise sails. Its really hard to take pictures of the vessel you work on from afar.

Have you ever met a kid who looks and behaves exactly like you did when you were their age? Its eerie. Since April i've seen two of them, one girl scout and one with a city camp last week. Interestingly, both of these girls were completely nuts, had loud, sort-of annoying voices, and latched onto me within seconds of their arrival. They're both about 10 years old now, blond, healthy, science whiz kids with total comfort talking to adults but little patience with or acceptance from their peers. I still argue that if it hadn't been for my science teachers grades 7-9 I could be a rockstar biologist by now. But I didn't learn anything new for four years and eventually lost interest. (to be fair, my 9th grade science teacher went on maternity leave three weeks into school and we had an intern for the rest of the year.) Anyway, i'm a bit weirded out by these little carbon-copy mes running around--i mean that's two kids who've gone on trips on sigsbee in four months. Think how many else there must be. And how many came before me. And how many are thinking the same thoughts as me right ....Now.

Sorry. got a bit existential back there. Everyone come through okay? Good. Make sure your seat belts are buckled and your volume is turned way down 'cos I'm going to post a video down here, but please note that it is shaky and has a lot of wind whistling around. Allow me to share...Whales! out of sight of land but near Gloucester, Massachusetts. Courtesy of Captain Bill's Whale Watching Charters. We did have our own neat adventures with whales on the lady maryland, but by then my camera was full. And most of them were Finback whales, which aren't nearly as playful or fun as Humpbacks.

prey

Has any group of scientists done an environmental impact study on the utter removal of mosquitoes, biting flies, no-see-ums, and fleas from the planet? What would happen if we forced the extinction of predatory insects? Who depends on these horrible creatures for sustenance? What else needs them, aside from themselves? Does the right to live extend to critters that prey routinely upon humans?

I am covered in tiny bites from an outing this weekend--there's some from skeeters, some from no-see-ums, some from who knows what--about 50 in all, all of them itching and swollen. I even have them on my legs, and I was wearing long pants. Natural bug repellent does nothing (except make me smell like a candle) and DEET-containing sprays are very bad for you if you don't wash them off daily (long camping trips? showers? ha.) I can't figure out how to avoid these things while still performing my job, but an idea popped into my head regarding their forced removal from the world.

Mosquitoes are known carriers and transmitters of disease. These horrible animals suck up infected blood from one mammal, carry it around a bit, then shove it uninvited into the flesh of another mammal, infecting and frequently killing them, without ever contracting the disease themselves. This made me wonder--to what extent do mosquitoes interact with other skeeters? do they have skeeter mixers? Is there a way for humans to play their game back at them--infect one mosquito, and have it pass a skeeters-only disease to the rest of them? I know poisons are supposed to work like that for colonies of cockroaches, but would it work with a disease? How could that backfire on us? Could the disease mutate and infect humans, or infect all insects, upsetting the food chain? Would they pass it to one another or would it just die with one? Could it be mixed into bug spray--if buggy bites, buggy dies--without being harmful to the wearer? So far I think all insect killers are harsh chemicals that kill by dissolving the critter where it stands, which isn't exactly pleasant for people and pets. I don't want to wipe out bugs altogether, but I seriously can't see any particular value for bugs that bite me but don't wind up being eaten by frogs and birds. Can we isolate the blood sucking bug community and level it?

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So I just did a store location search for Barnes and Noble Booksellers in my area, and lo and behold, the first hit was none other than...the Barnes and Noble Bookseller I can see from my porthole and actually could hit with a well-lobbed book of my own. Wow. Impressive. Some mornings this brain of mine forgets my name. Can I trade it in?

We Apologise for the Inconvenience

So. Erm. Wow. I've had an interesting week.

It begins last Wednesday, when I flew out to Berkeley for my cousin's wedding the following day. It was a beautiful civil ceremony with sunflowers, beautiful mountains, heartfelt vows, numerous interrelated organisms, silly songs, delicious cake, and too much wine. The following days were filled with family, alcohol, sushi, amazing food, alcohol, Napa, family, excellent friends, alcohol...and precious little else. The weather was beautiful, another cousin's purse was stolen, a dog wandered into the reception hall, the eggs at the hotel breakfast were decent for being so geometrically pleasing, my old house was empty for summer, I installed Kim's window box and held a sweet kitty...and then it was time to fly again.

I arrived at the airport at 9:45pm for an 11:45 flight. The check-in area was completely empty aside from my airline, which had a massive line. All four attendants were working frantically but it was hectic. I waited, numbly, for my chance to get my boarding card cum grocery receipt--seriously, it was ticker tape with a bar code--and just as I approached the desk with 45 minutes to spare, i was asked to stand aside so people heading to Indianapolis could move through. Passengers whizzed through as I stood, confused, and watched the clock tick by. Their flight was early, and was trying to leave early for some reason. That seemed suspect. Eventually they ran out of Indiana-bound customers and I was allowed to check in.

Uh-oh. My flight time was listed as 10:49pm, a time which had come and gone a while ago. The attendant didn't appear concerned. My confirmed time, however, and the time listed on the departure board, which read On Time, were still both 11:45. I thanked the man and hurried off to security to figure out what was going on.

The security line was long but moved quickly, and as I mooed along with the herd I studied another nearby departure board. This one had my flight listed as Delayed. The next time I looked, the flight time had been changed. 2:00A. Some innocent, optimistic part of me hoped that meant 2 minutes after, but the jaded, realistic area of my brain hung its head.

Yes, the flight was delayed until 2:00 AM. Both the 10:49 and the 11:45 had been shunted to this plane, so it was to be packed. Would-be passengers waited, cracking frustrated jokes about missed connections, until they dozed off. People shouted at the desk attendant, who got annoyed and shouted back. I curled up on the freezing floor, after deciding my connecting flight time was surely a misprint, and attempted to sleep. I failed but did get a great carpet mark on my face. When I got up again, shivering violently, I met up with the now-calm desk attendant. I asked if we would be accommodated for somehow in Milwaukee if our flights were insane. She didn't think we would. 'What if I pitch a fit to them?' I suggested. "I think that's an excellent idea. Go for it." she said, with genuine zeal.

The flight to Milwaukee, Wisconsin was uneventful, and I did manage to sleep in that dizzy, nauseated, in-flight sort of way. I always wake up from that every few minutes disoriented, in considerable pain, and still tired. A fourth-grade boy near me, who had been politely asking me questions about air travel since we checked in, had begun mimicking my actions. I'd stretch, he'd stretch. I hung my glasses off the tray table, he hung his glasses. I dozed off, and when I woke again a few minutes later he was cuddled to his mother, his sleeping eyes smooshed into her shoulder. It was cute.

We arrived four hours later, at 8:00AM, and immediately formed a quiet mob around the gate attendant's post. Surprised and very busy she asked us all to wait for our questions until she had gotten the same plane loaded with passengers for Atlanta. We did, patiently, only to find out that thirty passengers, bound for Orlando, had just missed their connection while they patiently waited. Apparently San Francisco had not mentioned that there might be problems, or indeed that the flight had been delayed at all.

I was confirmed through on a flight that would leave in exactly 10 hours, at 6pm. They didn't have any options open for an earlier flight, and they didn't have any means of putting me in a hotel during the day ("had it been night time, ma'am, of course...") but they did offer me a $10 complacency coupon which bought me exactly 1 mini-pizza, 3 breadsticks, and a medium soda at the concourse pizza hut...three hours later, when the restaurants opened.

While waiting and wandering idly I happened to espy a departure board with a listing on it for Washington, DC that left at 2:00pm. What joy! I can get to Baltimore easily from there, and will get home much earlier, I thought to myself. I hurried to the gate attendant, who agreed that that was a fine idea and printed me a brand-new boarding pass, cutting out 4 hours of waiting.

I thought.

The 2pm flight was delayed a little at the gate. Just 30 minutes, and what did I care? There was a train every hour. We boarded, enjoyed the seat belt demonstration, and settled in to watch the day pass in fast-forward as we headed east. Er...North. West? Oh certainly not South. Ah, East again...no...Damn that river looks familiar...

Yes, we flew in circles. Big, lazy circles, for over an hour while the control tower in DC held us out of their airspace. There's a big storm, ladies and gentlemen, and its just not safe. The pilot cut another big donut to show everyone on both sides the scale of the anvil-shaped clouds. But...erm...we're running out of fuel. Oh dear.

Another forty minutes found us landing without ceremony in Dayton, Ohio. Half an hour passed while crew and remote operators ummed and erred as to whether we should get off. Eventually they decided we must all de-plane, if only to use the restrooms, and handed us nifty plastic boarding passes to show we belonged. I used the free internet console down the hall and considered getting a drink. I didn't, which was just as well as we shortly re-boarded, found all of our stray passengers, clipped in, revisited the safety lecture, and shot back into the sky. It was 7:30pm.

The pilot had been offered a small window of opportunity by the meteorologists as they projected the storm would have moved a few miles away from the airport, if briefly, in about an hour and a half. We flew to a strict timetable and were able to land comfortably, even as a giant lightning storm raged a stone's throw away. It was highly cool to watch from just under the cloud level, as electricity coursed down from our elevation to make contact with the ground below. A few more minutes and I was marching toward the Metro station and eventual freedom.

Except. The first train was no problem. I had to connect in Chinatown. The connecting train conductor caught my eye as I ran toward the open doors, arms flailing, and pressed the Close button. We all shouted, helpless, as the near-empty train raced away, and settled in to wait the measly ten minutes until the next one arrived.

I arrived in Union station ten minutes too late to get a ticket for the 9:30 train to Baltimore and settled in to wait for the 10:45. A young Starbucks employee suggested I get a triple-shot mega-massive latte, and I took him on it. He was nice, and rather cute, if a bit young. I pondered my rapidly-increasing age and read a little further into Something Happened, by Joseph Heller, which I'd picked up in Berkeley a day and a half before while waiting to go to the airport.

The waiting area filled up slowly, and when time for our train to arrive arrived, we were asked to follow a pleasant train employee...not to the train, but to a smaller waiting room. He apologised, but the 8:40 train had broken down en route, and our train was being used to push it to the mechanic. It was around this time that I started laughing maniacally and the air filled with little golden stars. They wouldn't go away, but I knew they weren't real. I called my mom. She informed me that I was hallucinating from exhaustion, but I wasn't crazy. Reassured, I began to cry and said if the train broke down, I was going to walk home. She suggested that this was a bad idea, and said so in such a calm, soothing voice that I figured she was probably right.

11:15 rolled up and we all boarded, midnight rolled around and we all got off. I got a cab, shared some jokes with the friendly cabbie, was dropped off at my door, showered, and crawled into bed. It was 1:00 this, Tuesday, morning, 29 hours after I left Berkeley, 16 hours after I was supposed to be home. I missed a day of work but my coworkers were glad I made it home safely.

And I did it all without screaming.

nag champa

I knew there was a reason I should only call my mother from the grocery store--it provides me with means by which I may wander aimlessly and look at things without wandering aimlessly across town until I'm lost. Today I foolishly called her from outside a cafe and wound up following the harbor halfway to the marine terminal before my battery died. I looked around, gained my bearings, and immediately ran for cover as the storm which had been tiptoeing behind me suddenly leapt. The nearest shelter was a head shop with a patient kitty in the doorway who graciously allowed me to scratch his ears before ushering me toward the rack of colorful, beaded skirts. Compelled to at least browse while the sudden downpour ravaged the streets, I did my best impression of a shopper and examined their wares with what I hoped was a look of genuine discerning interest. The store was packed with low-cut summer dresses in Egyptian cotton, which I've always coveted but have always found disappointing on my own form. Typically these frocks are cheaply made for growing teenage girls who will have only fleeting encounters with them--the bust is cut for small, high breasts, the waist is practically aligned with the hips, and there's simply no allowance for a behind of any kind. I must pause here and note that I never had this figure--by the time I lost my baby belly I'd grown the large, jiggly thighs I continue to despise today and completely bypassed the svelte high school body so many women regret losing.
Imagine my delight, then, when I idly tugged one of these gossamer garments from the hanger and found it was cut to flatter a grown-up's shape! I tried several on and found each delightfully comfortable and attractive. Gleefully I skipped from one rack to the next, for the sheer joy of trying something on and having it fit. Thirty dollars and the backside of a raincloud later I emerged from the shop, triumphant, resplendent in bright, flimsy fabric and a pair of $3 paint shorts. Ah, consignment.

I'm heading to Berkeley for a wedding later this week. I'm excited to revisit my old haunt and hopefully will have time to catch up with friends. If you're going to be around, do let me know.