Of gale force winds and rainbows

There's truly nothing like winter storms in Northern California. Now I already hear one of my loyal readers moaning about a weather-related post, but bear with me for a minute. We had hurricane force winds last night, with gusts to 98 miles an hour just off shore, with torrential rains and downed trees. From my vantage point, the surf was so huge the surfers stayed home. Thankfully, no Coast Guard rescues seemed necessary off of Ocean Beach.

Overall, it was pretty powerful, but my lights stayed on. Though I had a few questionable hours during which I carried a flashlight in my pocket, but overall it wasn't that bad.

This morning the sun came out, and despite a few showers and some threatening looking clouds, it should be a beautiful day. I even saw a rainbow over the ocean. It was spectacular. I took photos of it, but I still can't post photos. Sigh. Take my word for it, it was great!

Home alone and brooding

A week's vacation was great, but I'm now approaching week two without an assignment, and I'm starting to get nervous. I also definitely have way too much free time on my hands right now. I'm working on two job application, but that's not the most stimulating work. My boredom has left me brooding a little. Please, allow me to vent for a minute.

A relatively new member of my choir resigned this week, in a somewhat snarky and unprofessional email that really made me mad. I'm not too particular on her staying or going, but really, have the guts to stand up for your decision in person, not in an email. Mostly, though, since my experience has been nothing but positive, and tons of fun too, and I'm sad that somebody else's perception could be so very different. And that she could spread her perception (which I think is just wrong) to other groups at the church.

Having worked as a volunteer coordinator for close to two years, and having been a volunteer in numerous groups - choral and otherwise - I know how hard it is to balance personalities and direct volunteers who may have good intentions, but whose motivations may be unclear - even to themselves. I also know that sometimes good people don't stick around because they're looking for experiences the organization can't fulfill, and you don't know that until you try it out. But if you're going to leave, do it with dignity and respect for the people you've met along the way.

There, I feel much better now. Thanks for listening.

If you're single, I could be very interested

On Saturday night, I had plans - innocuous ones really - to meet a friend for an early drink at a local bar. I had little money, no desire to be out late, and the intention of chatting with people for a little while and then returning home. We made our plans, and I arrived at the bar on time. To a zoo. It was really crowded, with lots of very young people wearing Mardi Gras beads and dancing to lousy DJ music. My friend wasn't there yet, so I thought I'd order a beer and chat with the bartenders. Ha. It turns out this Mardi Gras - themed zoo was a birthday party, and it was so crowded and loud that conversation was impossible. I drank half my beer and left to stand outside and call my friend.

"Don't bother parking the car," I told her. "We can't stay here."

She agreed. Should we go to another bar, or perhaps get some food? She was hungry, so we went to our favorite burger place in the neighborhood, and ordered some food. By this time it was about 9 pm, and I was losing my desire to be out at all. It was cold out, and I was tired. We were finishing our burgers, in a pretty empty restaurant, when an old man walked in. Probably in his 80s, and very dapper looking in a full suit with a head full of silver hair. He ordered a beer and started chatting with the waiter, in a slightly slurred Irish brogue that made me think this wasn't his first beer of the evening. I discreetly turned around to assess this new patron. As the waiter left his table and walked towards ours, I heard the Irish guy call out "Hey, Irish." I quickly realized that, in a restaurant with only three patrons, and with a dinner companion who definitely doesn't look Irish, he was probably talking to me.

"Hey, Irish," he called again. So I turned around and said hi. We chatted about his evening for a minute; apparently he, too, wanted to go to the bar down the street, and the party was too much for him also. I turned back to my dinner companion, we paid out check and got up to leave. The guy called out to us "Is either of you lovely ladies single," to which my friend (not too bright in matters dealing with men) responded "Unfortunately, yes we are."

First off, I don't find my lack of boyfriend unfortunate at all, but that's beside the point. The first rule of life is if you tell the guys you're single, you'll be hassled. And we were.

"Well, if you are, I could be very interested," he said.

Cue my really fast exit from the restaurant. He was old. Way old. And my friend, who can't understand a brogue with subtitles, hadn't heard him at all. So I pulled her out of the place, and translated for her.

Why is it I seem to do so well with the under-20 set and the old guys? Where are the lads in their early '30?

The ants go marching ten by ten, hurrah, hurrah

The ants go marching ten by ten, hurrah, hurrah
The ants go marching ten by ten, the little one stops to start again
And they all go marching down, into Clair's pantry, to get out of the cold

For anyone who wasn't a Girl Scout or never went to summer camp, you won't notice the liberties I've taken with the above composition. The rest of you will get the picture. Ant infestation. Kitchen. Bug spray. A week taken to rid my kitchen of ants. A week. Ten loads of dishes in the dishwasher. Umpteen trips up and down the step ladder to reach the ridiculously high top shelf. And all because my roommate, when she saw the first ants, WHICH SHE CALLED SCOUTS FOR THE REST OF THE COLONY, didn't do anything about them. Nada. Nothing.

We're lucky we weren't carried off in the middle of the night.

But I believe I've won. The kitchen still smells of Raid, but I haven't seen a live one in three days. I have vanquished the ants! This time anyway.

Don't take guilt trips

I've been grappling today with whether or not to attend an event at which I know I will be receive the mother of all guilt trips over doing something I can't and don't want to do. In the strange workings of my universe, I received this funny email forward today with this phrase in it:

Don't take guilt trips. Take a trip to the mall, even to the next county; to a foreign country but NOT to where the guilt is.

Now, I know how to ward off the guilt mongers, and I effectively did so when they attacked the other day. But I don't want to take time out of my very precious Sunday afternoon to be harassed by a room full of people who want me to return to an old job; a job I loved dearly but without the salary or benefits I need. The first instance of guilt tripping happened when I met my former boss for lunch on Monday. Our whole conversation revolved around how awful my replacement was and how tough it was for my boss to have to fire her. Bummer. I really do feel bad, but it's not my responsibility, nor is it my fault that the organization can't afford to staff the position at full time. But really, she asked me to come back, and when I flat out said no - and did I mention that the office is in a location 25 miles outside SF and NOT near public transit - she kept pushing about how I could come in while I'm not working - um, not a permanent situation, but whatever - and somebody could meet me at the train.

Now, I loved that job, and really care about the people I worked with. But I had to leave in order to pay my bills. And I needed new challenges. And I'm Irish and Italian and Catholic. I have more than enough of my own guilt, thanks. In fact, I'm happy to share with anyone who feels they need some extra. Any takers?

Just to set the record straight

I know I'm a barrel of laughs. Excuse the ego, as it appears so rarely. I seem to have created quite a stir in Clairnation, but I know I'm generally fun. And really, y'all are laughing (and that phrase was for Brian, because I know he's laughing even if he's not commenting). There was just all this stuff in my head yesterday, triggered by the stupid temp agency phone call, and it was all so much better after my conversation with my neighbor. I think the moral of this story is that we should all talk to strangers more often. But friendly ones. Please, do not use this blog as a reason to engage in conversation with ax murderers. I don't know how I would live with myself.

I also think you all need to visit me and check out my great new haircut, since Safari won't let me post the photos. Happy hour, anyone??

You're fun. You should come to my art show

There's something truly magical about San Francisco. Or perhaps I just invite special moments. Like today. I was walking home from the hair salon after a fabulous haircut (I'd post pictures, but Blogger is still resistant to that). Sitting in front of a house halfway down my block was a woman with her dog. As I walked by them three dogs in an adjoining house starting barking. I stopped in front of my neighbor and her Golden Retriever and commented on how I felt overrun by dogs, and was sad I couldn't have one. We started chatting, introduced ourselves, and talked about her dog, Hunter, and the art studio in her basement. I signed up for her mailing list, and as we chatted about neighborhood stuff, she said "you're fun. You should come to my art shows."

On a normal day I might not think too much about this, but I'd just been hassled by my stupid temp agency about a stupid job, and was feeling a little down. I'd also been reflecting on a particularly hellish point in my last relationship, when the other half of that relationship told me I was no fun. He also said I didn't make him laugh, to which I responded he just didn't get my jokes - his loss. So, with all these things going on in my head as I walked down the block, a nice comment from a neighbor really meant a lot. And her art is pretty cool. And most art shows have free snacks. And wine if you're lucky.

Stay tuned for photos...

I'm trying in vain to post photos of the biggest plant in the elevator, but Blogger keeps booting me off. Bad blogger!! Stay tuned. I might figure out how soon. Once I've conquered image files, I wonder if I can post audio files....

You have the biggest plant in this elevator

At the end of December, when half the staff at the law firm was laid off, I inherited a plant. A small tree in fact, that was root bound and half dead and living in an office whose occupant didn't want to travel to Russian Hill with it on her last day. It lived in my office space until Thursday, when I was faced with the reality of getting it home. On the bus. After an hour-long stop at physical therapy.

The tree and I left my office, boarded the elevator, and left the building (not using the revolving door, as I thought that would be problematic). We walked the four blocks to the physical therapy office with a few odd stares, but no serious complications. I got into the building, boarded the elevator, got off on the 8th floor, and entered the PT office. Again, with no trouble, but some comments from the front desk staff. My co-worker didn't want the tree, I explained, so I'm taking it home. They let me keep it in the lobby, hidden from view so it didn't offend the much healthier plants in the office.

PT was rough, but I left, with the tree, boarded the elevator, and began my descent to street level. We stopped on the 6th floor and several people boarded. Most smiled and ignored my tree - which I was carrying in my left hand, slightly propped on my shoulder and with my right hand supporting the base. One guy who got on smiled, looked at my tree, and proclaimed, "you have the biggest plant in this elevator." I had the only plant in the elevator.

We disembarked on the ground floor, and I made my way down Market St. to the bus, figuring it would be easier to have room on the bus during rush hour, rather than on a crowded Muni train. I boarded with no problem and sat in the back, in a seat promising room for me and the tree, which, when placed at my feet, obstructed most of my view of other passengers.

A few blocks after I got on, a guy boarded with a bag from a hardward store and a long, yellow, metal pole. Perhaps he was painting. He sat next to me - which others had avoided because of the foliage - and tried to place his pole unobtrusively under the feet of the people sitting near him. It didn't work too well, and I was quite amused. I don't think he saw the irony of our situation.

The bus remained relatively uncrowded, and my plant and I made it to our stop unharmed. We got off the bus, and walked the four blocks home with only one small incident. The tree leaves didn't quite clear some low-lying tree branches, and I got a little tangled. But, all in all, we made it home just fine - with no damage to anybody's limbs. And now there's a small tree in my lobby. Hopefully, the relocation trauma won't kill it, since it was such a hassle to get home in the first place.

This is the end

The kitchen is packed, the computers are being unhooked, and I'll leave at 4:30 never to return to this assignment. As a parting gesture, I'd like to share what I've learned from this law firm foray:

1. Always proofread the letterhead BEFORE you send it for 500 copies.

2. As long as you can do your work, or hit on the female employees if that's not possible, it's ok to come to work drunk. Just please, remember to shower first.

3. Coming to work drunk may be ok, but coming stinking of booze will undoubtedly tip people off to the fact that you really can't hold your liquor.

4. Free food is a beautiful thing.

5. The world will end in a fire-y rage if you forget to turn off the light in the supply closet.

6. It doesn't matter if you've never used a computer mouse, don't know how to write a resume, and have only worked in one office you're entire adult life. A new job is surely right around the corner, and you'll be hired faster than people with advanced degrees, well-written resumes, and a great variety of experience.

7. While you can't actually die of boredom for having nothing to do at your job, you can definitely share your stories from the looney bin, and hopefully make a few people laugh in the process.

Pitchers and catchers report

Today is undoubtedly the greatest day of the year. My only wish is that Derek Jeter makes it to October. Bring on the Red Sox.

"I shot my friend"

"Not since 1804, when Vice President Aaron Burr mortally wounded Alexander Hamilton in a duel in Weehawken, N.J., has a vice president shot someone."

This is from the San Francisco Chronicle. I don't feel much need to elaborate, except to say that at least Aaron Burr was defending his honor.

The joke grenade

So you know when the perfect opportunity comes for a joke, or a witty pun, or a clever play on words, and you execute it perfectly. And it falls flat on an audience who doesn't get it. Sadly, that happened to me today. My co-worker Todd, to whom I relayed the incident, calls that a joke grenade. You throw it, and either it explodes or you have to jump on it to contain it from backfiring in your face.

So here's what happened. Granted, it's an obscure reference, but I didn't think it was that far out.

Two people in my office space were discussing computer coding for a group of clients coded as 86. One says to the other that there's another group with a different coding number that he can't remember. I asked if it was 99. Dead silence and strange looks followed it, and I was forced ask if anyone got the joke, and then to explain that 86 and 99 were the secret agents on the '60s television show Get Smart.

By this point, one of the people sitting in here had figured it out, and started laughing. I much appreciate her delayed response. The others still didn't really get it. Sigh. I'm glad to have taken the risk, though. And I hope somebody out there would have found it funny. I know Steph and Bill (if he read clairnation) would have gotten it. I hope I've given somebody else a virtual chuckle.

Typing. You mean, like, with a typewriter??

In yet another chapter highlighting the wonders of this 19th century office in a 21st century world, I am excited to report on my latest conquest. I think I have learned how to use a typewriter. Yes, indeed, it seems that pre-word processor, post stone tablet and chisel device has not yet been banned from offices worldwide. In fact, one is alive and well, and plugged in so that I can fill out 50 IRS forms. Most of the forms have the same information, which I have been forced to enter anew each time. And since this particular model, which most of the office figures is way older than I am, has no correction fluid button, I have to re-type each form every time I make a mistake. I was averaging two forms for each individual for awhile there yesterday.

Happily, my battles with this anachronism have ceased for the day. Because we've run out of forms. They're not in any of the boxes, and since they're carbons in triplicate, they're not available on the Internet. Somebody will have to go to the court building and pick them up tomorrow morning. I'm glad to say that period-appropriate costumes are not required at this job site. Which is a relief, since a good girdle is hard to come by these days.

One day

One day, 21 hours, and 55 minutes. Spring training, here we come!!

In solidarity

Packing up and closing out

Today was my last bagel Friday. The ladies' room is closed for maintenance. The first aid and emergency kits are packed and sealed. The whole contents of the kitchen have been boxed up. The water cooler is being removed from the kitchen today. And even the free sombreros left in a vacant office have all disappeared. Nobody quite believed it would happen, but this really is the beginning of the end.

As with most moves, I have a feeling this one won't go smoothly. Not nearly enough is packed. The furniture is all labeled, but has yet to be loaded up for the move down the street. Nobody who's moving to the new office knows where they'll sit. And the little graph paper diagrams I've seen aren't at all clear.

But I have only four more days of data entry boredom, and then it's on to something new. I'm very excited. It's really time to make a change. And maybe, if I'm really lucky, I'll wind up in an office where people are friendly, and chaos is at a minimum, and everyone comes in sober. At least Monday-Thursday.

Ice bags in the freezer, or, the saga of physical therapy begins

I had my first physical therapy session last night, and even the muscles in my uninjured leg hurt. There's really nothing more rewarding than 45 minutes of a big guy with large hands twisting and turning your knee, trying to lift your leg over your head, and then saying, as you limp away, that'll you'll be fine if you do a maneuver that involves standing on your right leg and twisting to the left. I think I'll just land on my ass, but I'm willing to give it a try.

Actually, overall it was a pretty good session. I'm sore today, but it doesn't look like it'll take to long to get the rest of the range of motion back in my knee. And I can get back on my bicycle this weekend, which is great, as I'm missing the best weather of the year while sitting inside with a bag full of ice on my knee. Maybe next week he'll let me play with the leg weights.

I will follow

25 years. 19 Grammy awards. 2006 song of the year. 2006 album of the year. 2006 rock song of the year. 2006 rock album of the year. There were more, but I think you get the point. Even my grandma, at 80-plus, knows about U2. Granted, that's because she often sees Bono on the PBS talking head show she likes to watch, but I think she is a prime illustration of how U2 has transcended generations. And they're still making amazing music. And their live shows are unlike anything I've ever seen - and I have a lot to compare to.

Callers to KFOG this morning were trashing the band, their overblown stage theatrics, and Bono's non-music related activities, but I disagree. They were revolutionary when they started, and political in a time of 80s pop rock, and they've sung about some things people would rather not think about. But if you've got that platform, and millions of people listening, shouldn't you try to make them think? There's a big difference between hearing a song on the radio and thinking, "gee, that was a nice tune," and hearing something that makes you angry, or sad, or evokes tears, or makes you want to take action against something unjust. And that's what they do. And they still rock.

Ditch day

I came into work this morning after a fierce battle between getting on MUNI and staying home. It's entirely too nice to be inside, so I'm leaving. Well, I'm leaving the office to go for an interview with another agency, then I have an errand or two to run, and then I'm bound for the beach.

I realize that once I get a legitimate job I won't have the ability to take a ditch day. I need to get them in while I still can.

Life in transition

My job here ends a week from Thursday. I've found an agency with a much better pay scale and assignments that will probably be more in line with my interests (read: no more days spent with Excel spreadsheets or boring hours with nothing to do - like right now). I started cleaning up my workspace today, recycling old notes and getting rid of papers from projects I've finished. It's a good feeling, but a little strange. I really like the people I work with, and come Feb. 21 we won't be having lunch together in the little kitchen.

Change is good, and I've really learned a lot from this and my previous temp jobs - especially a lot about what I want in a work environment - free food, lots of caffeine, and people who come to work sober everyday. I think these are good workplace criteria. I'm pretty sure I'm not asking for too much.

As I type this, somebody is making all sorts of noises in the kitchen, which borders my workspace. There's lots of packing going on. Even the emergency and first aid kits have been boxed and sealed. I have my own ibuprofen and band aids, but what happens in the event of an emergency? Maybe it's time to dig out my extra flashlight. And some candles. And matches. I know I have those around somewhere. Maybe I'd better go make a cup of tea. Before the tea bags are boxed up too.

Men who ride mountains

The annual (sort of) Mavericks surf contest is happening today about 30 miles south of San Francisco. The waves are huge - some more than three stories tall - and though 24 surfers started competing this morning, only six are left, with the winning heat underway right now.

I have yet to venture to the contest, partially because it's announced a day or two beforehand - after the surf conditions are determined - and partly because the contest takes place about half a mile offshore, and there's only one observation point, and it's a pretty steep hike down.

However, even without seeing it in person - or in person through binoculars - I know the waves are amazing. Imagine a wave - one that's not about to wipe out a small city - that's three stories high. I'm constantly amazed by the surfing on Ocean Beach, and those waves are puddle ripples in comparison.

Actually, the waves along the Pacific are at their peak right now. I don't really know why, but I know the surfers have flocked to Ocean Beach to tackle the waves amid summer-like weather (well, not San Francisco summer, but sunny and warm nonetheless).

So, since most of us can't be there today, which is a pity since the weather is beautiful, the sun is sparkling off of the ocean, and there's only a slight sea breeze, I thought I'd include a photo, ripped off of the San Francisco Chronicle website.

Nine days, 20 hours, and 25 or so minutes

Until pitchers and catchers report. Feburary is undoubtedly the best month of the year.

Adventures on the 22-Fillmore

I think the 22 bus is one of my favorites. The route I usually take crosses Market at Church, goes along Fillmore through the Lower Haight, the Fillmore District, and then up into Pacific Heights, before, I think, ending in the Marina, though I've yet to travel that far.

Yesterday, I got on the bus and sat towards the back, in one of the sets of double seats, so I was facing backward and staring at the folks in front of me. I usually dislike those seats, but there's a lot of space between them to stretch out my legs and keep my knee from getting stiff.

So there I was, with my headphones on and Bruce Springsteen on my ipod, marveling at the beautiful weather and blooming Cherry Blossoms in February. The girl opposite me was on the phone, the girl next to her listening to music, and the man in front of me - a guy in his 70s - was bringing home his groceries. The guys behind him were mostly quiet, though one had head phones on and was sort of bouncing quietly in his seat.

Somewhere near Geary, two cell phones rang. Now the girl opposite me is still on the phone - carrying on a conversation in English about her friend's little brother and his impending visit to San Francisco. Her seatmate has removed her headphones and is talking in Spanish about her location and approximate time of arrival somewhere. And the guy behind the shopper now has one ear to his phone and the other still has an earbud in it, and he's still bouncing to the music.

With this, the old guy turns around, assesses the situation, and starts to laugh. I do to. He shakes his head, looks at me, and says "I thought I was the only one." I explained that I wore my headphones mostly to block out the cell phone conversations that usually went on around me. He studied the talkers again, nodded his head, and agreed it was a good idea. I wonder what he'll be listening to the next time I see him.

The office gods have been looking out for me

And they've answered my no-more-spreadsheet pleas. I may have to label boxes and stuff envelopes in advance of the office move, but at least my time with Excel spreadsheets has ended. Yay!!

And today was bagel Friday - fresh bagels and all the spreads you can imagine. I'll miss bagel Friday. I think next week might be the last one. I'm hoping my next place of employment has either free sodas or fresh fruit. Though my friend Todd recently suggested drunk Thursdays. But people here used to do that anyway.

Please, no more spreadsheets

I've indexed so many documents in the little Excel fields that I'm starting to see them in my sleep. This really has to stop. I am again fearing for my brain cells. I can feel them slowly dying off. What to do? My two best job opportunities - as an exotic dancer and with the SF Giants - both look like long-shots since my knee's not working right. And really, with the Giants in the shape they're in now, I'd be better off playing baseball in Canada or Afghanistan. I wonder if there's a charity out there bringing baseball to the third world. That would be fun. Dangerous, but fun.

Obviously, my brain has checked out. And pitchers and catchers report in 13 days, 15 hours and about 57 minutes. Maybe I could get a temp assignment keeping baseball stats. That would be fun data entry.

Boxes, boxes everywhere

My office is moving in the middle of the month - really, even if nobody is ready for the move. On Monday, everyone got an email reiterating how to label their files, and reminding them that they could NOT take their furniture to the new building (only because it probably won't fit in the new, smaller offices). Today, I came in to discover that all the mugs, utensils, and plates have been packed away, and we're relegated to paper cups and plates and plastic spoons for the duration. The boxes are sitting rather forlornly in a corner of the kitchen. It's really quite sad looking. I think I'm glad that I won't be moving to the new location.

I'm hoping to have a new job, or at least another assignment, by the time they move. I applied today for a really great job at Santa Clara University. The commute would be long, but the job in their public affairs office would be really interesting. And I'd get to write again (professionally, that is), which I really miss. And working for the Jesuits would be an experience. The job is actually similar to one I had at SF State. Unfortunately, neither their PR office nor the one at USF (again, the Jesuits) is hiring right now, and I'm not sure I'd return to SFSU, but just knowing that there's a possibility or two out there makes me feel better. Yay for job applications!

Ponderings

I have the opportunity to go on retreat next month, and with the registration deadline fast approaching, I'm having a hard time deciding whether or not I should go. Since I can usually make decisions without any wavering, I thought I'd throw this out to everyone (well, the seven of you who are reading) to see if anyone can help me out.

I've been on retreats before - with close groups of college campus ministry friends -and they were very powerful experiences. I know some people from this group, but I'm not close to anyone, and I'm wondering if that would make for a less, I don't know, intimate or substantial experience.

The cost is substantial (for my little budget, anyway), but I'm sure it would be worth it.

I'm not sure that the topic is something I can completely relate to - or how much small group discussion it would entail - and I'm not too keen on small group discussion with strangers.

But then, am I missing out on the opportunity to get to know some really great people?

Part of me says I should go because it would be a great experience and probably tons of fun. But the frugal side says save the money and stay home.

Any suggestions, thoughts, good or bad retreat experiences to share?

No amputation required!!

Whew! I just returned from a rather pleasant (all things considered) visit with the orthopedic and sports medicine clinic at CPMC - hopefully they will be covered by my insurance, because I got very good care, a great doctor, and happy X-Rays. Well, aside from all that radiation exposure, anyway. My knees look pretty good - no visible bone or cartilage damage and no need for an MRI. At least not right now. We'll see if physical therapy improves my lopsided walk and inability to fully extend my leg. It's annoying, but I really can't complain about prescribed workouts. And maybe I'll be back on the hiking trails, and back on my bike, in a week or two. Yay!