You know you're getting older, part II

You know you're getting older when you arrive at the Eeyore's birthday party -- a longstanding Austin tradition that attracts hippies, drum circles, costumed weirdos, and normal people -- and when you find your friends, they're discussing a coworker who didn't get enough equity in the employee stock plan or some other financial thingamabob.

Uh, now what?

I just came home from dinner with Barbara, Andrew, and Anita, my leftovers in hand, and found myself in a strange position. First, I still have time to do stuff before going to bed. And second, I also have the energy. I'm used to coming home from an evening/night out and stretching out on the sofa to watch some TV before going to bed, or just going straight to bed. But I'm not sleepy yet.

The difference? No food coma, no alcohol coma, no residual tiredness from last night.

We had Chinese food, which is already less coma-inducing than, say, Italian or Tex-Mex no matter how much you gorge on it. Plus I made sure not to overstuff myself on top of that. And the kicker: no alcohol. In fact, none of us bothered. Okay, not surprising for Andrew, but not even Anita, Babs, or I did. So I'm not weighed down by a heavy meal or anything.

Don't get me wrong; it's not like I drink heavily or eat a huge meal every time I go out. I don't even drink every time I socialize, and even when I do drink I don't throw back more than a couple all that often anymore. I have been eating bigger meals, though ... I don't take leftovers home as often as I used to, or I bring less home when I do. So I'm trying to return to my halcyon leftovers days.

In any case, I'm home with time to kill, energy to burn, and I'm not sure what to do. I always have several ongoing projects buzzing around me constantly, whether it's creative or mundane stuff. But I feel a bit in limbo right now. I'm actually caught up on some of these tasks, I'm taking a short break from working on websites, I don't feel like starting a bigger project that I won't be able to finish for a long time, I can't work in the yard right now, and it feels too late in the day to do housework. Other than blogging, I haven't figured out where to direct this energy. I don't even feel like watching TV. I'm not used to feeling like I don't know what to tackle next. So, now that I'm done with this entry ... now what?

Annuals vs. perennials: A nursery conspiracy??

I'm now in my fourth spring as someone who actually cares about his garden. Scary to think about that. Back in 2002, as a novice gardener, I wanted to use only perennial plants. I didn't see the point of replanting everything every damn year. I bought some nice red pentas without realizing they're susceptible to frost, but other than that, everything I got was a perennial.

Not every type of plant took that first year. So in 2003, I experimented with different perennials. Had maybe a 50% success rate on the new stuff. Some allegedly hardy plants didn't even make it to summer; several times I'd plant a perennial, watch it bloom bright, and then see it wither away to nothing all under consistent watering. And perennial my ass! No signs of it the following spring. So last year I again tried some different perennials, with the same mixed results.

This year, after adding one final full-sun bed in my front yard, I finally broke down and got some annuals. Not the overly girly flowery type of annuals, but annuals like verbenas to help add some more color to my lawn. (I also added the aforementioned sod, of course).

So I started thinking, why are these plants annuals? That makes no biological sense. Live for a year, die, and that's it? Nothing to replenish the population? How can a species survive?

Then I realized the obvious. Annuals die because they're meant for other climates. Warmer climates. They ain't s'posed ta be heah! So my question is, is there really such a thing as an annual or a perennial? Or is "annual" simply a term made up by the vast green-wing nursery conspiracy that means "we want you to keep buying plants from us every year so we'll charge more for native plants that live longer and call them perennials and sell you non-native plants for less but are guaranteed to die each year and force you to come back to us every spring to start all over again bwa-hah-hah-ha-ha-ha-ha-hah!!"??

Bikers and Pandas

Dusk was just beginning to fall as I headed up Mopac for home. You could tell the sun was setting, but there was still plenty of light left. I was in the middle lane around the Steck exit when I noticed some debris up ahead. A lot of debris. Tiny rolling debris. Tiny rolling bouncing debris?! Tiny rolling bouncing fluffy debris ... with legs?!??

The entire right lane was covered with stuffed animals barrelling into oncoming traffic.

I couldn't tell if they were the kind that go in those claw vending machines or top-of-the-line toy store animals, but there was a whole menagerie bouncing free on Mopac. I slowed slightly to maneuver around what looked like a panda tumbling down my lane, its four legs spinning down the road like a pinwheel ... though I realized as I did so that stuffed animals probably wouldn't do any damage. Still, why chance it.

As I was passing the fluffy swarm of lost toys on my right, I noticed an approaching swarm on my left. A swarm of single headlights in my side mirror. Within seconds I was being passed by anywhere from 15 to 20 bikers. Not stereotypical roadhouse-type bikers, mind you. But still, you don't see a gaggle of bikers all that often on Austin freeways.

So there it was ... dusk on Mopac with bikers on my left and stuffed animal roadkill on my right. Wish I had a punchline, but instead I just have this mildly odd moment to share from my Sunday evening.

Psychic friends

On Tuesday, Barbara was speculating about whether people really did have a sort of psychic connection with each other ... how the chances were that if you were thinking of someone, they'd start thinking about you too. But then we rarely act on these impulses and contact the other person, and so we never really know anything happened. And then I remembered that just hours earlier, I'd had lunch with Trish. Spooky, huh? Okay, maybe not. Except that the day before, I met Trish for lunch P.F. Chang's. Okay, still nothing eerie there. However, on the way to P.F. Chang's, for some unknown reason what popped into my head was that Trish and I used to meet every so often for lunch at Chick-Fil-A, but we hadn't done so in months. I was gonna mention this to Trish, but by the time I got to P.F. Chang's, I'd already long since forgotten about it.

That is, until Tuesday, when the first thing Trish asks is if I want to meet for lunch at Chick-Fil-A.

Until that point, I'd never told her I'd thought the same thing the day before. Neither of us had even ever suggested Chick-Fil-A since last year. And yet, the day after I had that thought, so did Trish. Coincidence? I'm sure it is. But still...

But wait, there's more! After sharing this tidbit with Babs, I went back to going through stacks of papers that I'd stuffed in my filing cabinet, trying to sort/recycle old stuff and file away what I needed to keep. Among the piles from 2002, I found a Post-It note with Meredith's name and number on it. I sent an IM to Andrew telling him of my discovery (since she used to work with him too). Less than 5 minutes later, Homer Simpson's voice informs me that I have new email, and who is it from? MEREDITH. I've barely had any contact with her the past few years. The last time we had any email contact was last fall. And yet, right after I find something with her name on it...

Okay, so it's still not Sixth Sense eerie. But it's real. It didn't allegedly happen to a friend of a friend's niece's dental hygenist's aunt. It happened to my uncle's sister's daughter's brother. And both incidents occurred on the same day that Babs brought up this topic (okay, the lunch thing started the day before, but everything came together on Tuesday). So, there you go.

The most disturbing thing about all this, though, is the fact that two people can go to P.F. Chang's, order only one Coke and one water ... no alcohol of any kind ... share an appetizer and have one entree apiece, and still end up spending $38!!! On LUNCH?!?! For only halfway decent Chinese food at a place that thinks "spicy" means "almost as hot as a drop of Tabasco sauce"??!?! On price alone, P.F. Chang's gets a big thumbs down from me...

You know you're getting older when...

...you help a friend score some grass over lunch ... and it's St. Augustine sod.

...she's not the only one who's bought sod lately ... so have you and several of your other friends.

...yet another friend is jealous that you and everyone else is buying sod.

...you're blogging about sod.

SIGH...

Batpost

Okay, I'm going off the geeky end here, but I have to say, I'm really liking the design elements ... this whole sunset motif ... that they're using for the Batman Begins movie posters. (Works nicely with my current template's color scheme, too). I'm very hopeful this movie will actually be good for once and wash away the bitter taste of the last two stinkers.

(click posters to enlarge)

The grass is always lighter...

Spring has sprung, which for many white Americans means time to bask in the sun and get a little color. Needless to say, this has never been an issue for me. In fact, I suppose I feel the opposite way. I like my normal pigmentation, but I don't wanna get too tan. (This may be because Indonesians tend to be a lighter than Indians, but that's another issue entirely). So after canoeing on Friday, playing tennis at 3 pm on Saturday, and doing yardwork all afternoon on Sunday, I couldn't help thinking that dammit, it's only April and I'm already getting darker. Earlier than usual. And sure enough, there's more of a difference between my lower and upper arms today. Which made me wonder what I'd look like if my whole body were the tint of the skin in my "T-shirt area." Which is surprisingly pale ... though most likely still an enviable shade for many whites. Don't get me wrong, I don't want to be white. But still, I'd never really thought about the fact that, whatever the reasons, I'm not that fond of getting darker either. (But I do like that it's a lot harder for me to get sunburned!)

And on a similar note, why is it that no matter what your skin color is, everyone is Caucasian on their palms and the soles of their feet??

Basic Instinct

Instinct is an amazing thing. Instinct, reflex, that split-second reaction that snaps you into action without thinking. So even when you're dumped into a racing, frothy current, somehow you can pluck the most important thing you're carrying out of a swirling river.

On Friday, I went canoeing on the Guadalupe River with my coworkers on a department offsite. I'd never canoed before. Nor had most of my coworkers. Yet for some reason my manager chose to take our group on a 7-mile stretch that included several rapids/mini-waterfalls, one of which required us to beach our canoes and spend 15 minutes studying the current just to figure out the best theoretical passage. Half our group ended up walking their canoes past the danger area instead.

In situations like this, I usually secure my glasses with a tight, floatable, fluorescent yellow strap. And during my and my canoe partner's first two wipeouts (both in rapids), my glasses stayed put with no problem.

However, the final rapids, the fastest we faced, were deceptively tricky. We made it through the first rapids fine, but we bobbed so much that we took on water, destabilizing our canoe. And then surprise! Another set of rapids right after the first.

Immediately, our canoe dumped us over the left side. And contrary to how some people experience moments like this, nothing was in slow motion. All within a split second, I hit the water, went under, abandoned my paddle ... and then my right arm snapped out in front of me like a frog's tongue, snatching my now-liberated glasses from the raging green water. My glasses were in my hand before I even realized they'd been ripped from my head, strap and all.

I swam to shallow water in the middle and stood up, clutching my glasses. I just stared ahead for a few seconds, slowly starting to comprehend what had happened. My overturned canoe, paddle, and canoeing parter were already blurry specks downriver. The rolling, awkward thump of another capsizing canoe brought me back to the present. (In all, three canoes lost it in those rapids, including my manager's).

Now, even if I'd missed, it's unlikely I would've actually lost my glasses. The floaty strap was still firmly attached to the frame, so my glasses should've been easily retrieved by my coworkers in calmer waters downstream.

So in the end, this may not sound like much. But I'm still amazed that I saved my glasses before the current swept them out of reach. I can't even write it off as a lucky grab because I nabbed my glasses dead-center. I didn't catch them by the strap or barely snag one side. I latched onto the very middle. So it's like I knew exactly where they were after they were pulled off me, even though I was basically blind and going under in rapids. Pure instinct, reflex, whatever. I didn't even have to think to save them.

If only situations that require more than basic instinct were as easily conquered.

Fever all through the night

So, during my fever/cold/flu/whatever two weeks ago, after spending endless hours on my sofa feeling too tired to sleep, I finally decided to start blogging, if for no other reason that to write down pithy observations during brain-fog times like that. But I was too tired at the time to actually start the blog until after I was upright ... and after that I went almost immediately to Vegas. So now I'm catching up with the subjects that made me wanna blog in the first place.

First, I couldn't get the song "Fever" out of my head for days. It kept running through my brain: "FEVER! Fever in the morning, fever all through the night..." But only that part. Sigh.

There was also one thing I discovered after a full day of having a fever of 102 or higher (which, as I said before, I suspect reached 103 or higher earlier in the day, since I didn't make myself get the thermometer until late afternoon). Namely, that walking around with a high fever is a lot like being drunk.

After having spent most of the day immobile, I dragged myself out of the house at 10 pm because I wanted to get my work laptop. Yeah, I know, stupid, like I was gonna be able to do any work, but I wanted to at least put in a good-faith effort. Plus I'd started craving a Wendy's double burger for some reason. Driving to work was fine, though I realized my reaction time was WAY slow. Then, walking from the garage to my office was a little surreal. Each step I took was tiny ... and slow. It was the definition of trudge. I was still somewhat dizzy, and I was exhausted. But I made it. But it really felt like I was drunk. My senses felt heightened even though they were clearly dulled. My movements felt exaggerated. I'd notice things two seconds after they happened. My brain was molasses. I also finally started sweating a little, so I was hopeful my fever was breaking.

Still, I managed to get to my office, then back to my car, and through the Wendy's drive-thru. I felt hungry for the first time in a day, and I wolfed down the fries. Then I tackled that burger that smelled so good. And it was ... until less than halfway through the burger, I felt full. But still, it hit the spot.

The next day, with a fever still above 101, I was going stir-crazy on my sofa. But after having slept some during the night, I was once again too tired to sleep during the day. That is, until I had the rest of my Wendy's burger for lunch. That, strangely enough, gave me enough energy to almost-nap. Go figure; I had to get more energy in order to sleep. Except I didn't ever quite fall asleep completely. But I still managed to get to a half-asleep state for a couple of hours after eating. And it still seemed to help; my fever started going down more and I got more energy after that near-nap.

The best thing about that illness? For four days, my girls got to curl up with me on my sofa for 8, 10, 12 hours a day...

Santa Pope

Not to be disrespectful or anything, but ... is it just me, or do the robes on the pope while he's lying in state make him look like a beardless Santa Claus or what?



I know, jolly old St. Nick's outfit probably originated from that, what with him being a saint and all. But still...