Narcissus' Echo
Thoughts, tears, rants, ruminations, hopes, fears, love(s), and prayers of just another being passing through this wracked sphere...
Saturday, December 24, 2005
Thursday, December 22, 2005
Send in The Clowns...
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A contemplative ride on Bolinas Ridge Trail in winter.
For the ride report, click on the image or here.
[Spoken intro]
This is a song about a couple of adult people who have spent, oh, quite a long time together, till one day one of 'em gets restless and decides to leave. Whether it's the man or woman who left is unimportant. It's a breakup. It's a lovely marriage of words and music, written by Stephen Sondheim.
Isn't it rich? Are we a pair?
Me here at last on the ground and you in mid-air.
Send in the clowns.
Isn't it bliss? Don't you approve?
One who keeps tearing around and one who can't move.
But where are the clowns?
Send in the clowns.
Just when I stopped opening doors.
Finally finding the one that I wanted was yours.
Making my entrance again with my usual flair,
Sure of my lines.
Nobody's there.
Don't you love a farce? My fault, I fear.
I thought that you'd want what I want.
Sorry my dear.
But where are the clowns?
Send in the clowns.
Don't bother. They're here
Isn't it rich? Isn't it queer?
Losing my timing this late in my career.
But where are the clowns?
Send in the clowns.
Well, maybe next year...
Writer: Stephen Sondheim
Artist: Frank Sinatra
Recorded June 22, 1973, Hollywood, CA.
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Point Reyes Lighthouse & beaches
After a number of false starts, I finally managed to return to Point Reyes. It is true then: the place casts a spell on you. I took the easy way out and drove there with my bicycle this time. The experience paled in comparison to cycling. Sure, driving there is a lot easier. But, cocooned within my own bubble, insulated from the elements with climate control, windshield, roof and windows, I lost out on experiencing the sights and smell of the countryside that was granted to me on a bicycle. The car surrounds you. You surround the bicycle. If anything else, I console myself with the knowledge that, while I explored the roads of Point Reyes on slicks on the previous visit, this time I will get to know her trails on knobbies.
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Point Reyes is the foggiest area known in California and therefore has an uncommonly low light structure. The light was located at the bottom of the cliff near the water, making it visible for seamen navigating through the fog and along the coast in a rough storm.
(Source)
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Lots of Poison Oak around here, but fortunately, I belong to the 15% of the population that's immune to urushiol. I can roll in it, and nothing will happen to me. But if I were to shake your hand, you won't be able to really use that hand for the next 2 weeks (plus, the itching and leaking blisters will keep you awake all night). Same thing happens if you touch anything I touched. E.g. a door knobs, faucet taps. If I were to hug you, you will end up in the hospital receiving antihistamine shots for severe dermatitis. Sometimes it's not so bad to be an oddball, eh?
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Upon reaching the hostel and checking in, one of the staff, Bob, sought my help regarding his Microsoft Internet Explorer. For some reason, the address bar shrunk to the size of a button. Clicking on it does nothing. Unchecking "Address Bar" causes it to disappear. Neither can you click and expand the tool bar. I spent a good 10 minutes on it and read the usual dribble in the help section: e.g. click and drag to adjust size of buttons; pledge your first-born to Bill Gates, etc. I tried many of the suggestions. It didn't work. Then Bob came by and asked me what the "Lock Tool Bar" check mark does. I tried it, and sure enough, it worked. Bob was over enjoyed--he could get back to work. I was befuddled (but not surprised) at Microsoft's clunky interface. It is so counter-intuitive. If Microsoft produced cars, you can be sure you need to hit 20 buttons to navigate through 19 submenus to get your windshield wipers to work.
Anyways, I thought it ironic that, having escape the city to the countryside, here I am fixing someone's computer.
Part of staying at a hostel is the understanding that one should volunteer for a chore (5 - 10 mins) each morning. The next morning, Bob informed me that I already did my chore for the day by fixing his computer for him the night before. That's nice. It means I have more time to cycle or take a slower drive to the trailhead. : )
To be continued...
Sunday, December 18, 2005
X-Box Brat
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Turn the volume up and check out this video of a 9-year-old boy cussing his mother out for not bringing him a glass of chocolate milk as he's busy playing X-Box Live. The cursing builds up in intensity near the end.
It boggles the mind that a kid can behave in such a disrespectful manner to a parent. It amazes me that throughout the episode, the mother did not pulled the plug on the machine and tasered, maced or pepper sprayed her brat. Talk about enabling behavior.
Kids like that should be pushed off the top of a very tall cliff, IMHO:
Gee, I don't know what happened, Mr. Ranger. One moment I was saying, "Hey, check out those sea lions 500 feet below us!" He leaned forward for a better look, and the next moment, he was gone. Have they found the body yet?
Streaking
Patrick Rodriguez reported on the following tradition at CAL:
Berkeley Streakers
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As is tradition during finals week, a bunch of Berkeley students go streaking through the library. No one but the organizers know beforehand when and where the run will take place, but those in the right place at the right time get to witness a time-honored Berkeley tradition. Though nothing will ever take the place of being there, with the power of the internet and cameraphone technology, the rest of us aren’t deprived a peek.
Here is the inital LiveJournal report, which includes an account of the police response and some anonymous comments by an actual particpant.
Links below are NWS / NCS (Not Work Safe / Not Child Safe):
More pictures.
Video clip (22.7 MB)
3 minutes later, the cops showed up, but all the streakers were dressed and gone.