Steamy

The Maker Faire more than earned its gratuitous "e" on Saturday. It was a great day down the peninsula and we saw everything from a robot dustbuster to a different color robot dustbuster. And a lot of other wild and wacky contraptions. There was a Diet Coke and Mentos fountain display by these guys, and little cupcake-mobiles that kept sneaking up on me.

But the biggest new thing for me: steampunks. I had seen them around San Francisco but since half the people here are dressed up like pirates or punks or pagans all the time I thought they were all just one-off personas. Not so - Steampunks are a whole subculture that recalls the days when everything was steam-powered and technology was fantasy. They're like Victorian punks. I will admit to being somewhat fascinated by them and I took every opportunity I had at the Maker Faire to stare shamelessly at them.

Here's a couple of Steampunks from behind (let's ease into this, shall we?). Notice the corset over the clothes and the black and white striped stockings. This is classic Steampunk. (Another term is "retro-futurism" which sort of hurts my brain to think about.)
Next we have a Steampunk mobile which is not powered by steam but is just kind of a glorified bicycle carriage. Observe:

And then there's a whole thing about wearing gas masks and goggles and lots of leather. Creepy! And yet I can't look away.

Go ahead and make me

Today we go to the Maker Faire to celebrate Nelson's birthday. It looks like it will either be really cool, or perhaps more targeted at children than one would want it to be given that we are a group of about 12 30ish year olds attending today.

In other news from the breakfast table, Eric and I were reading about a drunk driver with a blood alcohol level of .16. I have no idea what that actually means, you know? How drunk is that? I'm curious to learn.

"Looks like you can rent a breathalizer for about 20 bucks," Eric reported.

"Oh wait, that's a breathalizer costume. Never mind." He updated a moment later.

Turns out to get a really accurate reading it looks like you have to spend some real cash. That's unlikely. For more thoughts on the merits of breathalizers, here's another opinion.

Bullet: dodged

For anyone who doesn't already think I work for some sort of cult, I received this email last week:

"Next Friday, May 29th marks our first quarter gateway on the 100 day stretch and we will be having a special 2 hour team meeting that will begin at 6:30am sharp (for SF locals) at the steps in Aquatic Park. Bathing suits are recommended. You’ll also need a pen."

I resided for a moment in incredulity. Then forwarded this to Eric.

"Is this the first time you'll need to get a bikini wax for work?" Eric asked.

So as it turned out, this trip to Seattle was a blessing in disguise. I slept in this morning rather than joining my colleagues getting hypothermic in the Bay.

In a weird way I do sort of feel like I missed out on something. But then I remember that it was something bad that I missed out on, and then I am glad.

Aloha Seattle

Guess what.* I'm back in Seattle.

I flew out this morning for what really should, this time, be a two-day trip. On the plane I sat in the aisle seat next to a couple in their mid-forties that appeared to be connecting back from a vacation in Hawaii.

They were quite dear. If I had to guess I would say they were Peruvian; both were short and round with dark brown skin and black hair. I could see that her feet didn't touch the floor, and I don't think his did either.

She was wearing a flowery bathing suit cover up and may very well have had a bathing suit under it; I didn't check.

They held hands in that sweet post-vacation way, like they were extra in love with each other in this happy transitional time on the way back to normal life. She was wearing a lei and I kept getting whiffs of flowers mixed incongruously with the smell of canned air and jet fuel.

She spent part of the flight watching The Office and when she laughed should would swing her feet like a child.

I was totally enchanted with them.

The plane finally landed, taxied, and came to a final stop at the gate. The seatbelt sign was turned off. Because we were at the back of the plane, I didn't move to stand up since it was clearly going to be a few more minutes before there was anywhere to go.

"Can I get out?" she asked me in a thick accent.

"There's nowhere to go," I snarled at her.

"But I want to stand up," she said to me.

"Fine." I said shortly and squeezed out into the aisle which was already crammed with people. She squeezed out into it as well, followed by her lover. We stood there squashed together uncomfortably for at least four minutes before the aisle finally cleared.

She collected a Hawaiian wood sculpture from the overhead bin along with another beachy sarong and shuffled on her short legs down the aisle in front of me.

Aloha, lady.



*Yes, chicken butt.

The things they didn't carry

When I read "Into Thin Air," Jon Krakauer's journalistic ascent of Everest, I remember being very struck by his description of base camp: it was basically one large garbage dump and toilet. Apparently it is quite disgusting.

Mount Shasta also lacks toilets. But rather than encourage people to leave their business wherever they please, the thoughtful and practical people running Mount Shasta have implemented a human waste pack-out system which is exactly what it sounds like.

When we got our summit passes at the ranger station the nice ranger also handed us a few human waste pack-out kits to take with us. They consist of: a paper lunch sack with about a cup of kitty litter in it, a larger plastic bag and a large piece of thick paper with instructions printed on one side and a huge bullseye printed on the other.

I am not joking.

The instructions suggest that you find a comfortable spot, take out the paper and make sure to weigh down the corners with rocks or snow to avoid the wind playing a nasty trick on you, and then - ready, aim, fire!

Once you've hit your target you take the paper by the four corners to deposit the contents into the brown lunch sack which in turn is placed into the plastic bag. I would think you would want to seal that really really carefully before packing it up into your bag. Double bagging does not seem overly cautious.

For better or worse, we packed these handy kits in and then back out without having to use them, so I can't report on how well they work or don't. I can tell you that the three young men camping next to us spent a lot of time talking about them and were, I would say, kind of eager and excited to use them. I think they may have picked up some more fresh ones on their way out of town to continue their target practice at home.

Up

Over the weekend I fulfilled a dream. Ever since I saw Mt Shasta for the first time almost ten years ago, I've wanted to climb it. Yesterday morning at 7:30am, I stood on top of it.

Mount Shasta, both the mountain and the town of the same name, sit about five hours north of San Francisco close to the California-Oregon border. We arrived at the town of Mount Shasta late afternoon Saturday after renting crampons and ice axes at the Berkeley REI in the morning and attempting to drive through Lassen Volcanic National Park on the way there only to discover that that road is still closed for the winter. So we had to drive around. Note to self: call ahead next time.

Sunday midday, after a big breakfast, we parked the car at the Bunny Flat trailhead, elevation 6,950 ft, and started up to Helen Lake at 10,600 ft where we would be camping. The six hour hike up was wonderful but trying. The sun was hot and very intense reflecting off the snow, which was melty enough to make climbing in it slow and a lot of work. You can see Helen Lake up above you on the mountain about two hours before you get there and it looks a lot closer than it is.

I was thrilled when we finally arrived at Helen Lake and the small tent city that had assembled there. We had learned at the ranger station that there were over 170 permits out for Saturday night and a girl we talked with on our way up and her way down confirmed the story saying she had counted 80 tents. Happily, there were many fewer tents and people on Sunday night and we got a good spot right at the edge of the ridge.

After a dinner of trail mix, raw almonds and granola, we tucked in for the night at 7:30pm. This was when I discovered that my sleeping bag is not warm enough for camping on snowpack in a tent that is mostly made of screen instead of tent. As it turned out, though, it didn't really matter since I wasn't going to be spending all that much time in it. We woke up a little after 1am and by 1:30am we were ready: crampons strapped onto our boots, ice axes in gloved hands, pockets lined with Clif bars and a few emergency Snickers bars just in case. Off we went up the mountain.

There's something about climbing a wall of snow in the dark at 2am that is just kind of magical. There was no moon and it was very dark. All the climbers were wearing headlamps to light their way and looking across the face of the mountain you could see little pods of bobbing lights where people were climbing.

At dawn, we came over the first ridge and were rewarded with some spectacular views of the sunrise as the sun came up on the far side of the mountain. We were surprised for a moment to see another large mountain looming on the horizon until we realized that it was actually Shasta's shadow cast by the rising sun on the landscape below.

Three false summits and more than two hours later, we were both in tears as we finally arrived at the true summit. It was extraordinary. The climb had been more exhausting - both physically and mentally - than I had expected and I was thrilled and relieved to have finally made it to the top. Amazing. We paused a moment there to enjoy the view from 14,162 feet and savor the sweetness of finally realizing a long-held and hard-earned goal.

Coming down is supposed to be the fun part because you glissade, which is basically a fancy word for sliding down the mountain on your butt. If I ever doubted the value of sleds, I don't anymore.

We were back at the car about 24 hours after we had parked it. We calculated that of those 24 hours, we'd spent 16 of them climbing (12 hours on the ascent, 4 hours on the descent). Neither of us was in any shape to be operating a moving vehicle so we took turns driving home and at one point stopped at a rest stop and napped in the grass for a little while until the bugs got to be too much. Then we got in the car and drove the rest of the way home.


Climbing a wall of snow in the dark
Climbing a wall of snow at dawn
Shasta's shadow at dawn
Happy, and cold, at the top

Against all the odds

I'm not sure what came over me on Tuesday when I was shopping for clothing for the rest of the week. Maybe I was delirious, or simply feeling audacious. I did something that I normally have the presence of mind and superior judgment not to do: I bought a white blouse.

I know, I know. Foolish. We all know that I am not adult enough to be left in charge of caring for a white blouse.

In fact, I own very few white items at all. We have two white tablecloths that we use for our eating table* and one of them is totally stained and shabby: this we call the kids tablecloth for obvious reasons. The other tablecloth is the one we use when anyone other than the two of us is present. Also for obvious reasons.

So, despite better judgment, I'm wearing it today. I'll let you know how it goes. Smart money is on at least one stain before lunch.

*It's like a kitchen table that's not in the kitchen and not in the dining room. Is it just a table?