Category: Berkeley

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The Dad Saga: 8 October 2006

This morning, Thom, the younger of my two sons, climbed in a car with several friends from the University of Oregon and headed back to Eugene. The group came down for the weekend to see the Ducks (ranked 11th nationally by gridiron pundits)) take on the Golden Bears of the University of California (No. 16, pundits opined). On Friday, the Oregon visitors, who included more than one Berkeley native, went to see the A’s in the American League baseball playoffs. If you follow that kind of thing, you know the results already; I’ll just say Thom and his friends got a split for the weekend.

As I said, this morning just after 10 they hit the road back north. The road trip, the quick weekend visit, the expeditious return to business back at school–it all felt like a new chapter in our lives as parents. The kid doesn’t need us for field trips any more.

Then later, I went over to visit my older son, Eamon, for a slightly early birthday dinner at the Beach Chalet on the Great Highway in San Francisco. It was a warm, clear day, the kind you feel almost entitled to here after the damp, gray late summer and the rains to come. But when I got to the city this afternoon, I could see the fog was hanging right on the sea edge of the peninsula. But slowly, it did something you almost never see a fog bank do late in the day: It backed up over the water and receded. We got a table looking out on the highway and the beach and had a slow dinner as the sun set and the night came on. Afterward, we went out and walked up to the Cliff House, which has gotten spruced up a little after years and years as a funky tourist dump. Then we turned around and walked back down the walk above Ocean Beach with the moon rising and fires flickering far off down the strand.

(The fires led us to a conversation on the origin of the word “bonfire.” Eamon, if you’re reading, here’s what the Oxford English Dictionary says about the origins:

“[f. BONE n. 1 + FIRE = fire of bones. The etymological spelling bone-fire, Scottish bane-fire, was common down to 1760, though bonfire was also in use from the 16th c., and became more common as the original sense was forgotten. Johnson in 1755 decided for bonfire, ‘from bon good, (Fr.) and fire’. But the shortening of the vowel was natural, from its position; cf. knowledge, Monday, collier, etc. In Scotland with the form bane-fire, the memory of the original sense was retained longer; for the annual midsummer ‘banefire’ or ‘bonfire’ in the burgh of Hawick, old bones were regularly collected and stored up, down to c. 1800.]”

Try the temporary link to the full definition.)

Anything else about today or tonight? Maybe this: After 27 years as a father, I think I’m getting the hang of it.

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Albany Bulb: Dog vs. Seal

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OK — it was a fair fight, since the battle was on land and the seal was dead.

I took Scout out for a midafternoon hike around the Albany bulb. The last time we were out there, about five weeks ago, it was high tide and much of the outer ring of the old dump was submerged. Yesterday we visited at low tide and could pick our way all the way around the concrete-and-asphalt-strewn perimeter.

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When we got out to the edge, Scout went ahead of me, exploring. I kept an eye on him, but didn’t think there was a lot of trouble for him to get into. A couple of times, he stuck his nose between rocks and drew back quickly after discovering something that wasn’t to his liking. He was 50 or 100 yards ahead of me when we got to the northwestern corner of the outer bulb. Up to that point he’d been relaxed and nonchalant; abruptly he became alert, almost rigid, and started backing up. When I got nearer, I asked what he’d found. Maybe because he felt like I was his backup, because at that point he started to bark at whatever it was he’d found. Nearer up, I saw that he’d discovered a dead seal, about a seven-footer, lying on the rocks. It was mostly intact; intact enough that Scout was apprehensive of it even when I was standing right there; he’d edge right up to the carcass but wouldn’t touch it. I’m sure he was smelling something I couldn’t and can’t.

[Above: Scout and marine nemesis, and nemesis alone. Below: western edge of the Albany Bulb, afternoon low tide, October 3, 2006. Click for larger versions.]

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Berkeley: Democracy Under Fire

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A sign and personal note to the world in a neighbor’s yard. Not sure what prompted the note, since anti-tax vandals have been in short supply in these parts. And since the area is full of these “Yes on A” signs–they generally appear to go unmolested–and it seems strange that anyone would single this one resident for political harassment.

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The Case of the Missing Anchor

[11/17/06 update: It’s official–Leslie Griffith is gone for good from KTVU.]

[10/8/06 update: The San Francisco Chronicle’s Matier and Ross weighed in on Leslie Griffith’s absence. KTVU’s general manager said she’s on leave at least until October 27; in late September, he was saying he expected her back early in October.]

I didn’t catch the top of the KTVU “10 O’Clock News” Thursday night, but the show undoubtedly opened with one of the anchors saying something like, “Leslie Griffith has the night off.” It’s not news when a TV co-anchor takes a vacation day, but what’s odd is that Leslie Griffith, who’s appeared opposite Dennis Richmond for eight and a half years, has had the night off, from both the 10 o’clock show and the 5 p.m. newscast, for six weeks running. Griffith’s departure wouldn’t be shocking; from my perhaps unforgiving viewpoint she’s been giving empty, off-key performances for years and just doesn’t appear suited to the straight-ahead news operation KTVU fancies itself to be.

But if Griffith is out, why doesn’t the station say so?

The reason: Griffith is not out. She’s just not on the air. And there’s no telling when she’ll be back. According to a KTVU staffer, “Management is saying, ‘Leslie is on extended leave, and we look forward to her return.’ ” The staffer added that Griffith “has been gone on her own accord. She has not been forced out.”

[Update: Another source says that while rumors swirl at the station about whether Griffith will return or not, more attention is focused on the upcoming launch of “The 10 O’Clock News” in HDTV. That’s scheduled to happen October 9.]

(Even though most of the local papers seem to have taken a pass on this story–I guess there’s a war on or something–the Contra Costa Times’s TV writer has taken notice: “Where’s Leslie Griffith?“)

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Last Chance 1,000 and Something

First, the basics for those who might be interested in the story but not so interested that they’d entertain the notion of getting on a bicycle themselves for three or four days and pedaling from long before dawn to well after dark: The Colorado Last Chance Randonée is a 1,200-kilometer ride from the Boulder, Colorado, area to north-central Kansas and back; the event has a 90-hour limit, meaning you have to finish the 750 miles in six hours less than four days to have your result recognized by the people who recognize such things. What that boils down to is the necessity to ride 200 miles a day, on average, day after day after day after day. And you do it because? Because it’s a challenge to get it done and I’m not doing other challenging things like — well, you can fill in the blank.

As I explained earlier, I was riding the event in a two-part formal: a 1,000-kilometer (623-mile) portion that would allow me to qualify for a long-distance cycling award, and a finishing 200-kilometer portion. For whatever reason, my left Achilles tendon became very painful about 40 miles from the end of the 1,000; I managed to finish that, but didn’t do the final 200. I finished riding Friday, September 15; I went to the Last Chance dinner in greater Boulder on Saturday, the 16th; I flew home to Berkeley on Sunday, the 17th; on Saturday, the 23rd, I took my bike out of its case and put it back together and went for a ride, wanting to see how the Achilles is doing. Still hurts. It might be a while before I do another long ride. We’ll see.

Anyway, here (follow the link) is the rest of the Last Chance story, all however-many episodes.



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The Uni Experience

Uni is what’s left of United Airlines after you subract Ted, whatever that is (I’ve never flown Ted, but gather it’s the kinda cool pared-down Southwest-like version of United; one shudders at the thought). I’ve flown United for years and years; one of the big things it has going for it is that it has skads of flights between San Francisco and Oakland to O’Hare, and it’s usually cheaper than those alternatives that don’t force you to connect or fly overnight.

To save money and help cut its workforce, Uni (and most of its competitors) push online reservations and checkin. That’s great if you don’t need to check a bag; you print out a boarding pass at home and go directly to the security checkpoint when you get to the airport. If you’re one of those who needs to check bags — more and more of us in the new no-fluids-in-the-cabin era — the check-in process is pretty bad, at least in Oakland.

On the Friday before Labor Day weekend, United’s “Easy Check-In, with Baggage” lines were ridiculous — at 5 a.m. It only took a minute to see why. The scores of people waiting to check bags were being served by three or four clerks. Luckily, I got moved through the line because my flight was only an hour off — only an hour! — and they wanted to get all the baggage on board.

Today, the Easy Check-In, with Baggage line was a lot less intense at first glance. Maybe 15 people in line, some who had already gone through the automatged check-in process and were just waiting for some kind Uni soul to come along and tag their bags so they could go to their gates. This time, though, just one person was working the half-dozen kiosks at the counter. She was doing double duty trying to take care of someone whose flight had been canceled. Another worker was dealing at length with the two people in the first-class line; she wasn’t in a hurry to address the plebeian mini-throng growing at the counter. Meantime, a supervisor type and another worker were standing behind the counter beneath three signs that said “Economy Check In/Position Open.” When I approached them and asked whether I could check in at that counter, the supervisor guy gave me a look like he had caught the scent of dog crap and said, “No.” After a few more minutes of conversation, he went over and talked to the lone worker at the Easy Check-In desk, then said, “See you later,” and sauntered past the people waiting along the counter without a word to them.

In the end, it was really no big deal to me. The reason I have time to sit and write about it now is that my flight to Denver, where I’m going to ride my bike, is two hours late. And the experience was not entirely negative: I admired the patience and aplomb of the single counter worker who managed to deal with a lot of impatient stares without losing her cool; it was pretty impressive. But Uni — what are you trying to do? Make me find another airline?

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Big-Ass Tree Fungus

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Encountered on Francisco Street, between Milvia and Martin Luther King, earlier this week: A large mushroom-like fungus growing on an old non-flowering plum of some sort; it’s about 16 inches wide and 12 inches high and protrudes maybe a foot from the tree trunk; big enough to be considered a fellow citizen here in Berkeley. I took a couple pictures, but they didn’t come out. Went back today expecting that it had shriveled up or that some bored passer-by had decided to knock it off the tree for the fun of it. But there it still was. My mycologically inclined neighbor and friend Jill says this kind of organism actually is pretty woody and durable and likely to last a long time. She also said that it’s likely non-toxic and that if you ever find yourself hard up for food in the woods, the thing to do would be to break it up and boil it and drink the broth; of course, you’ll need to be carrying the right equipment to do that when you’re hard up for food in the woods.

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Third Grade Confidential

Kate’s back in school this week. She’s teaching third grade in East Oakland. Most of her kids were in her second-grade class a year ago. The first day, a student asked one of last year’s boys, a troubled and particularly disruptive kid, wasn’t there. “He’s at a different school in a special class that will try to help him calm down,” Kate said. One of the girls raised her hand and asked, “Is it anger-management class?”

Yesterday, the class played a game of tag at recess — the variation that starts out with one kid as “it,” and everyone runs from one side of the playground to the other, and whoever gets tagged joins the first person in catching the others. So finally, there were just two boys who hadn’t been tagged. They were getting ready for their next and probably final dash through their waiting classmates. One of them looked at the other and said, “Let’s do this.”

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Albany Bulb

Albany Bulb

The western tip of the Albany Bulb, about an hour before high tide early Friday afternoon. Not sure where the bulb name comes from, but Albany is the next town north of Berkeley, a little patch of stucco bungalows squeezed between the foot of the hills and the shore. The bulb is the old town dump, and juts several hundred yards into the bay just north of Golden Gate Fields, a working horse track. Unlike Berkeley’s dump, the bulb hasn’t been reclaimed; there’s lots of debris and broken concrete everywhere among the thickets of wild grass and fennel; but it has turned into a park anyway; as you get out to the western end, the terrain becomes more hummocky and overgrown, and people have set up impromptu art installations with stuff that’s worked its way out of the dump (and, by the look of things, with plenty of fresh rubbish and artsy castoffs).

In Memory of Emily Wagner

Here’s a home-made memorial along one of the paths: “In memory of Emily Wagner,” Oakland’s 33rd homicide victim in 2004. I remember hearing about the case briefly at the time — she was run down by a driver who was having a fight with her boyfriend and died a month later.

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And this — you tell me what this is. Out on that spit on the western end of the bulb, there was a rotting carcass of some kind (at least I think it was a rotting carcass; it smelled dead, and Scout was determined to sample it). The part closest to the camera looks like a head and beak to me. But the head and beak of what I can’t tell, and the rest of the “remains” were too gelatinous for me to poke around much to see if I could identify more body parts.

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Butt End

It’s the butt end of the week. And the month. And the summer. More because I like the sound of “butt end” than because there’s anything to complain about in the day or season. Though it is getting dark earlier each evening. And the August fog has arrived thick and cold. And the daylight doesn’t break as soon in the morning. So yes, we’re at the spent end of summer, just before Labor Day, and there’s nothing to do but enjoy the warm, dry hours we have left as we move toward equinox and solstice and dark.