Sunday, October 10, 2004

Death March With Cocktails

It's that time again. The march is on.

Left...left...left, right, left.

In order to inject a little life and insensibility into this month's journey to Bataan, I've decided to pack some produce in my kit--namely, grapes and potatoes. Fermented grapes and potatoes, if you must know. I mean, they advise against drinking the water, so we need something.

. . .


I was holding out hope that I would ovulate a bit later this cycle so that my appointment on 10/28 might be no later than three days after the start of my next period. I want the CD 3 tests, and I don't want to have to wait yet another month. Unfortunately, if the two equally magenta lines on the ovulation predictor stick are to be believed, I'm earlyish again this cycle. Feck.

. . .


The Dodgers just gave up a three-run homer with two outs in the fourth. I am in minor agony. Have not won a postseason series since 1988. Feck, feck, feck.

. . .


J. is downstairs writing an essay on road trip packing techniques. He is expounding on the proper white-to-brown and white-to-black sock ratio. I believe he has identified several variables including season, ownership of athletic sandals and the correlated ratio of long pants to shorts.

. . .


Something I learned today: Never drive on a Sunday across the Golden Gate Bridge. On Sundays, nearly everyone on the bridge is from somewhere far away--Nevada, Peru, Antarctica--and has never before seen a toll booth or, perhaps, even a bridge. This would be fine if traffic was exclusively limited to tourists, but they allow locals as well. Here's the problem: locals take the Golden Gate at 70 mph; tourists take the Golden Gate at 25 mph. Sometimes tourists even try to stop in the middle of the bridge for a picture. You can always identify the tourists because they are wearing shorts and it is 57 degrees. Sometimes an expensively dyed blonde in a Range Rover on her way home to Sausalito will simply run over a slow-moving tourist's Chevy Malibu if she's distracted by the Barney DVD her kids are watching in the back seat. She may not notice.

Fortunately, I almost never have to drive across the Golden Gate Bridge. I live in Oakland, which connects to San Francisco via the Bay Bridge. Since tourists never go to Oakland, they never take the Bay Bridge.

Oakland is a city that is most famous for the fact that it once boasted the highest per-capita murder rate in the United States. This has successfully kept most of the tourists out of Oakland. That and the fact that it is not photogenic or wealthy like San Francisco: It is often referred to as S.F.'s ugly stepsister, but I see it as an urban Cinderella. The weather is beautiful--not foggy and cold--and it has marvelous architecture, trees, hills, restaurants, arts and people. And it has the best views of San Francisco. Now if only we could find it a very, very large glass slipper...

. . .


Is it obvious that I'm stalling? I really don't feel like marching this evening.

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