Frisco doesn’t front. Frisco keeps it REAL. And then stabs you in the throat for calling it something retarded like “Frisco”.

Because you are probably just like everyone else I know, I’ll
explain this, first: I went to the Bay Area on Saturday for one
fundamental reason– I didn’t have enough of a reason *not* to. I could
justify it in other ways– and have done so– for people who can’t
fathom such reasoning, or who just aren’t comfortable with such
reasoning, by talking about the street fair in Berkeley, by listing the
myriad of favorite haunts within the City, by mentioning the Hitchcock
Film Fest at Stanford. But the truth is, there are always reasons to go
to the Bay Area, and, quite simply, I want to visit that place the way some
men– most men (and a whole lotta women, too, it should be noted)– want
sex: constantly, relentlessly. But most Saturdays, I just can’t get
away. This Saturday, I could. So I did. While running on two hours of
sleep.

I don’t know how to write about Saturday without being infinitely
dull. Except, I almost died! Four different ways! Yeah. Here are some
bullets. Bold items expatiated after the jump:

  • BART!
  • Berkeley = absolute college town, no street vendors that day,
    taiko drum performance, other performance groups practicing in the
    square
  • Getting rained on, and my too-long jeans soaking up the water like paper towels (from the hem up to my knees)
  • Flip-flops squeaking incessantly
  • Wading in the Bay/Pacific
  • Mexican painter from Chicago stalker
  • Piercing story
  • Possible causes of death: massive blood loss, concussion (flip-flops = no traction), hypothermia
    (refusal to buy an umbrella or use my jacket’s hood), humiliation
  • Falling on my ass thanks to the no-traction when returning E.’s movie
  • Making E. look like a dickhead boyfriend (no umbrella, no food/drink at Andale), the giggling fit
  • Pluto’s! and Hitchcock de-flowering ("Chum", "Did you think you were *God*, Brandon?", the build-up with music, the old
    theatre, "Life Aquatic")
  • Maps of the City = deceptively grid-like (always forget about the goddamn hills)
  • Demagnetized ticket at Millbrae, flight delays at SFO
  • Being grateful that this was a solo trip

Continue reading

But no beets. Or Battlestar Galactica.

I’m in Berkeley, sitting in a cafe and using their Wi-Fi. I only came in here for the Wi-Fi, actually, but I’m a good little patron who doesn’t usurp Internet, something like that, so I was going to buy a croissant but got sucked in by the omelette menu, which translates to, I bought a breakfast burrito. This far north in California, I don’t know how the quality of the Mexican food is, but– we’ll see.

The only reason I needed the Wi-Fi was because none of the other stores are open yet and I need to kill time.

The only reason I need to kill time is because the piercing shop next door is open but the piercer won’t arrive for another 20 minutes.

I don’t know where I’m going with this. I’m in Berkeley! Home of the Bears! (The non-Chicago ones, anyway.) It’s beautiful and overcast and kind of rainy and green and after I’m done here, I’m heading back south to the City, then possibly finishing up in Palo Alto, so I’m excited. I’m beyond excited. I love this place.

That Incubus album secretly hates you

During Zombie Night, it was decided that any reference to the having of the sex would, from there on out, be termed: "making it". The rest of the night contained epithets such as:

  • You mothermaker!
  • What is your makin’ problem?
  • Stop makin’ around, already.
  • Make *that*.
  • Make off!

Giving, of course, whole new meaning to the phrases: "Make yourself" and "make me".

This is what I worked hard to pay for, and, oh, it’s worth every cent

In E&M, my physics professor has just finished explaining the concept of signus. Without saying anything, he writes in an empty space on the board: "sinus".

"Does anyone know what this means?" he asks us. "Besides the thing in your head that is affected by allergies."

Silence. Most of us are trying to deal with our brains either hurting or wanting to slither out through our ears.

He turns back to the board and as he erases the word, he explains: "In German, this is what they call–" he draws in the air, a symmetrical squiggly line– "your basic sine curve."

Then, he hesitates– only for a second, but it’s long enough to notice. And then writes another word on the board in place of the one he’s just erased: "cygnet". And asks us again, if any of us know what *this* word means.

More silence. But he waits, genuinely curious, so a girl in the row in front of me and I both venture, simultaneously, "Isn’t… that a baby swan?"

He beams. "Yes! A cygnet is what you call a baby swan." We are still silent, expecting him to make a connection between this and physics, but instead, he just quietly laughs to himself and shrugs: "I don’t know why, I just think it’s funny."

*****

In geo, we’re studying formation of sedimentary rocks. The professor is talking about graded bedding– rocks that are formed, typically through flood deposits, with the larger, more dense material on the bottom and the lighter material on top.

He pauses. "Now, does anyone know what it means if you find a rock where the smaller material is on the bottom and the bigger stuff is on the top?"

There’s only a beat before he continues: "Ah, trick question. It just means the rock’s been flipped over."

*****

And I gave my geo lab TA a hard time this week about geologists’ notoriously cheesy sense of humor and their love of puns. He started out defending his kind, then ended with: "But hey, I’m a geologist; we don’t take anything for granite."

I’m coherent so long as you don’t really need to understand anything

I’m going through an apple phase right now. I’m going through a lot of phases right now, actually, I guess, none of which are even distantly related to the Acceptable Human Behavior phase.

But! The apple phase: the apple phase consists of… well… of apples. The eating of apples, more specifically. *My* eating of apples. Successively. In one sitting. And then calling it "dinner". Or "breakfast". It’s the same thing, really, since 7 or 8 p.m. is my first meal of the day (which consists, lately, of 20-22 waking hours, which I guess sounds like a crap deal to most people but man, I get so much more done! Theoretically. In practicality, I just spend those extra hours thinking about all the cool stuff I could be getting done in lieu of sleeping, and for now, that’s good enough. To paraphrase a favorite quote, I enjoy wasting the time so it thusly is not wasted time.).

Tonight, the last pair in my original favorite jeans collection died via a rip in the knee. Considering I’ve had these since sophomore year of first undergrad, they’ve held up pretty well, but I’m still sad to have to retire them since Old Navy’s current jeans don’t fit me nearly as complimentary. That was the same year (same week, even) I bought my first pairs of jeans from A&F, and to be perfectly honest here, the only thing that really won me over at A&F was their size chart. Apparently if you deign to tell me that I am a size 2 or smaller, I’ll gladly shell out the cash for your stupid goods, exorbitant price tag be damned. This way of thinking, of course, is why companies had to invent sizes like 00, but do I really give a shit? No. Make me feel tiny, goddammit.

Though, speaking of tiny, when the hell did backpacks get so enormous? Over 2000 square inches of capacity? These suckers hold more than my lockers did in high school. And it sucks because I seriously felt like a turtle trying these things on, seeing as how the bottom of the backpacks hit me at mid-ass. So actually, they were back-and-top-of-the-ass-packs. I spent two hours tonight looking at different backpacks, and the only thing I settled on was that I do not want to carry my books in an apparatus that suggests I will be jetting straight from campus to Yosemite in order to go hiking in the rain, but at the same time, I want the apparatus to be capable of withstanding Yosemite in the rain. So, dilemmas.

Mmm, Fujis.