Tafoni Sandstone

On Monday, Drew and I went for a drive out to Woodside, CA, to visit the Tafoni Sandstone that he has told me about for years.  To get there, we first put on our walkin’ shoes, then we drove about 30-40 minutes south.  Then he remembered how to get there (after not having been there for years).  We found the parking lot and the trail entrance and started walking.

We walked through the trees and I prattled on about the Apple IIe computer game Oregon Trail, until he said kindly that he apparently didn’t play as much as I did and didn’t remember such details.  Here is a picture of one of the many trees we saw, and imagine me saying, “And there were all these jobs that you could have, and bankers started out with more money, but money only gets you so far when your entire family has dysentery…”

Soon thereafter we saw a banana slug, which led to me theorizing why I’ve never been in a situation where I’ve had to kiss a banana slug, and why is it super mean to pour salt on a banana slug but not a regular slug?  (I’m starting to realize that Drew may have felt like something of a babysitter or possibly a camp counselor right about now.)

Then the hills started to get steeper and breath started to get shorter and I started to talk less, which may have been why he took me out there in the first place.  Eventually we arrived at the sandstone:

This particular formation is called stone lace.

Tafoni refers to any of the formations that occur in sandstone, I’m given to understand.  This particular piece used to be in a deep ocean cavern and has been pushed up over time by tectonic plates.  Geology, etc.  Water containing CO2 seeps into the stone, and meanwhile, particles build up on the outside, forming a crust.  When the water evaporates, it it sucked out of the stone, leaving pits inside where the CO2 has eaten up the rock.  Then the crust breaks and it erodes more.  But it’s pretty, right?

We completely ignored the sign about how delicate this structure is and how we should please stay on the path and preserve this for our grandchildren, and we climbed over the fence to see the other side.  There were caverns and columns over there, we were almost gypped out of seeing them.

There were also some large caverns that, I’m sorry to say, looked like they had been defiled, as there were remains of fires and possibly a beer can or two left inside them.  We did not really hurt the rock, we just climbed around it, so I think we didn’t really do any damage.  Our grandchildren are safe.

If you are ever hankering for some geological adventure, I would recommend hiking out there.  I’ve never seen anything like it (although maybe you have, if you have frequent hankerings for geology).  It was a nice little walk too, altogether quite the outing.

Next Monday: I want to cook things out of this cookbook I found today called “Passion for Cheese.”

Follow the white rabbit

Yesterday on my way to work I saw a glitch in the Matrix.

I was driving north on 19th Avenue, and as I passed Rivera St I noticed a large yellow truck parked on the east side of the intersection, on the north side of Rivera.  The truck said AMERICAN GROUT SPECIALISTS on the side of it and was covered in testimonials as to the greatness of their experience and knowledge.  I registered this the way you register anything unimportant while you’re driving, and then as I passed Quintara St I saw the truck again!  Parked in the same spot, same orientation, same truck!  I knew I couldn’t have made that up, so I thought, Wow, the Matrix does exist.  And continued on my way.  And promptly forgot about it.

This morning the truck was there on Rivera again, and I got a little excited because I had forgotten about my adventure down the rabbit-hole.  Until I passed Quintara and saw another identical truck.  I don’t think the Matrix would glitch twice like that, do you?  So I guess there are just two trucks and they happened to get great parking spots.  It’s a little disappointing.

Stereotypes

Last night driving home I was behind a Subaru that was so covered in mud I had to really search to figure out what kind of car it was.  There were two surfboards strapped to the top and a bike latched on the back.  It looked like a car straight out of one of those commercials for cars that can take you out in the middle of nowhere.  The license plate was NO SOFA.  That kind of pushed it over the edge into just parody.

Cucumber Eyes

I have been known to say that marriage (or co-habitation) is really just an extended slumber party.  The other night, rehearsal went until 9:00 pm.  And then, the stage manager and I taped the spikes onto the stage floor in prep for moving into the theatre the next day.  And then, I drove him home to San Francisco (the second time, and he still did not offer to chip in for gas or toll.  I’m pretty sure he catches rides in order to avoid paying the toll). 

So by the time I get home it’s around 10:30 and it’s too late for dinner, but I haven’t really eaten.  Drew cuts up a cucumber that’s in the fridge and I eat some slices and then I appropriate two slices to put over my eyes and lay on the couch.  Drew comes in and changes the channel on the TV from Frasier to Golden Girls.  “Let’s play a game.  You see if you can guess the show.”

“Golden Girls,” I say immediately.  [Pause]  A male voice says something about politics and everyone laughs.  “Stephen Colbert,” I say.  [Pause]  I hear weird intonations in a female voice and I’m not sure, then I hear the familiar voice of Quagmire.  “Oh, Family Guy, it’s the one where they’re in Lord of the Rings.”  [Pause]  Music and inspecific noises.  “Is this VH1?” I ask. 

“Nope,” he replies. 

“TLC?” 

“Yes!” 

I hear someone say, “One, two, three…”  “17 Kids and Counting?” I take a stab in the dark. 

“Yes!  How did you do that?  Are you looking?”  I cross my heart I’m not.  “But the show is now called 19 Kids and Counting, but this is an old episode so it’s still just 17 kids.”  I promise I’m not peeking.

More inspecific noises and ominous generic background music.  “Is this a Discovery show?”  (I’m thinking about shark attacks here.)  It’s not.  “Law and Order?”

“Yes!”  He practically says “OMG.”

The next one is Will & Grace, I get it immediately based on Rosario’s voice.  I then have a run of bad luck which includes Millionaire Matchmaker (I know I recognize her voice, I just can’t place it, and I’m getting smug, which doesn’t help), Unwrapped (I guess Frasier again based on the theme music) and China Mandarin Intern (which I guessed as “The China Channel,” close enough, right?).  We land on The Tonight Show, which I guess right, and then I get tired of the cucumber slices which keep sliding down whenever I talk or smile.  I take them off and consider eating them but they have mascara bits on them.

So we watch Hugh Jackman be incredibly racist for about 10 minutes (did anyone catch that?) and we never do figure out what he’s supposed to be promoting.  Maybe The Tonight Show just couldn’t get anyone else.

Sometimes after a long day you just have to relax, in inventive ways.  (Also, I’m pretty sure that the cucumber slices totally did work magic on my eyes, just the way they do, well, on TV!)

The Wedding Photographer from the Black Lagoon

So, I got married last November.  It was a wonderful affair, with wine and family and dancing and cake and guests coming from New York and Spain to help us celebrate.  It was really much better than I expected and lots better than I even wished for.  The caterers were thorough and invisible when they were supposed to be, the DJ played all the right music and none of the wrong music, and the cake was 5 layers, not 4 like we were expecting, because the baker wanted to give it some extra drama.  I love me a 5-tiered cake.  The photographer and his assistant were everywhere at all times, stayed from 11 in the morning until 11 at night, and didn’t mind when our set-up shot plan changed 3 times.  They left the reception when we did, and promised us our pictures in “4-6 weeks! by Christmas!”

Here is a timeline of how the next 4 months have gone.

Dec 15, haven’t heard anything from him, so I email him just to find out if he’ll post them soon. We’d love to sit down with our sets of parents and go through the pictures.  Photographer doesn’t respond.
Dec 22, Facebook informs me he’s going to Mexico for Christmas.
Dec 22, I email him again because I haven’t heard back.
Dec 23, Photographer informs me via email that he’s “out of the country” for the holidays and will return after the New Year.
Jan 6, I email him again asking because I haven’t heard anything.
Jan 6, He writes back saying he’s almost done!
Jan 11, They’re posted! We’re so happy. I email him back asking for a couple others shots – one, a group shot with the girls I used to babysit, which I definitely remember being taken. Two, anything, from any point in the night, of me and my mom together. He tells me he’s out of town until Jan 17 so he’ll get back to me.
Jan 26, I call him. No answer.  No callback.
Feb 12, I email him. No answer.
Mar 2, I call him. No answer.  No callback.
Mar 6, I call him around 9:30 in the morning..  He answers!  Holy cow!  He tells me he’s “just looking at the pictures” and he can’t find the one of me with my babysitting girls.  Also, he says, “this has never happened before” but he can’t find anything of me and my mom.  He’s “never had to set that up before, it always happens naturally.”  I basically give up and say sweetly through my teeth, “Okay, well, everything else is great, so can you mail us the DVD?”  He says he’ll do that right away.
Mar 11, Silly me, I assumed “right away” meant he’d mail the DVD on Saturday, or Monday at the latest.  No DVD has shown up yet and shipping from San Francisco to San Bruno shouldn’t take long.  I email him asking if he’d sent it because I wanted to take it to my parents’ house over the weekend (not true).  He writes back saying he’s at a “wedding photography convention” in Las Vegas to get some new slick DVD cases that he likes.  He’ll overnight one to my parents’ address, if I’ll give it to him.  I give it to him (anything to get a copy of that DVD!).
Mar 12, In the morning he leaves me a voicemail saying he’s been to the post office, UPS, and FedEx and no one can get it there by Saturday.  I text him saying to just send it to me here.

Today we got home and there was a (granted, pretty slick) DVD case leaning against the door.  Which means he just brought it by and left it at some point today?  There are 2 DVDs inside, one saying in Sharpie, “Copy 1” and the other, “Copy 2.”  For needing to be placed in such a slick case, the DVDs are pretty unimpressive, but if I pop them into the computer and my wedding pictures exist thereon, everything will be forgiven (if not immediately forgotten).

So here it is, over 4 months later, and we have our pictures.  The next step is to upload all 600 onto some photo sharing-and-purchasing website, send the link to everyone, and then order the prints.  Now the only thing to kind of bother me is the fact that everyone else has that one great the-happy-couple-kissing-in-a-very-posed-manner-in-front-of-a-tree picture, and we, for some reason, have none of those.  I mean, we have lots of good candids and that’s what I wanted anyway, so it’s all good.  I just kind of miss not having that gazing-at-each-other-lovingly-in-front-of-a-pond picture.

Oh yeah, and I need to write that photographer a scathing review on Yelp.  My only question is, is this the kind of thing where I should warn him beforehand?  Or should I just cut into him via the faceless internet?  Major dilemma.

The Starbucks Exchange

Last fall, I had this running joke on Facebook about the Starbucks employees having major problems getting the name “Drew” onto my drinks.  By all rights, at some point, I should have just switched to another one of the several thousand names in the world that are easily recognizable and have one spelling.

(Like…”Drew”??)

But I thought it was funny and each day I wanted to see what new perversion the baristas could come up with.

I stopped going to Starbucks to save the money, and for months I drank coffee brewed at work.  A three dollar bottle of generic vanilla creamer could last two weeks.  Such thrift!  My mother would be so proud.  But no one ever wrote on my cups for me. 

Then, after the fiasco with our wall (which is, in fact, finally finished and repainted!) the rental office very thoughtfully gave us a gift card to Starbucks, as a way to say “We are so very sorry about the ridiculous delays, and thank you for your patience.”  I basically grabbed it out of Drew’s hands and ran-not-walked to the nearest Starbucks to rediscover my addiction.  (Not true.  I did wait maturely until the next morning.)

And here is where, can I just say, Starbucks, I missed you.  I have been rediscovering the joys of my morning venti-nonfat-vanilla-latte.  I fear I may be off the wagon.

One morning recently, I gave the young gentleman behind the counter “my” name, and he looked at me thoughtfully for a minute, pen poised, before asking “D-R-U?”  I said with a tight smile, “D-R-E-W.”  And he said, “Oh, right,” and wrote it down. 

“Is that a girl’s name?” he asked.  It was high time for me to have moved down the counter.

“Drew Barrymore,” I offered.

“Right,” he said.  “Is it short for something?”

Should I have said, “It’s not my real name, here, write down my real name, it’s Syche”?  I just said it wasn’t short for anything, grabbed my drink and made a hasty exit, noting the correct spelling on the cup.

Maybe it’s time for me to pick a new name.  Maybe it reads too “clingy girlfriend” that I use Drew’s name.  Maybe I should just give them a number.  What’s the consensus here?

In the meantime, I leave you with today’s cup of fame.  Today, my name is Drak.  Address me accordingly.