I saw a homeless woman talking on the cellphone.  She was filthy and wrapped in dirty blankets and sitting in front the the social security office.  She was saying "I love you, talk to you later."

I tried to rationalize it, if you don't have a home a cell phone would be the only way people could contact you.  But where would the bill be sent too?  A PO Box?  Would SSI cover it?

"I love you, talk to you later".

"I love you, talk to you later".

She was just talking into a discarded cell phone. 

A bathroom in a city considered the liberal mecca of the US, in a supposedly progressive University and in an ecologically minded academic department, has groovy scribblings such as "CONSERVE NATURAL RESOURCES use toilet paper sparringly!" and "Women! Use bleach-free tampons!" etc, etc. But even these bathrooms aren't immune to an occasional wisearse. I had to laugh that under the "What does a potato plant look like? Do you know what your food looks like?" someone wrote "Your food comes out of my ass".

Today I saw a very young and fit (and thus probably employable) man begging on Shattuck with the sign:
"Need money for 2 whores, 1 hotel and an eight ball"

I chuckled, but didn't give him anything.

Odd homeless person: You have been captured by them.
Me: Huh?
Odd homeless person: When their faces go normal (sweeping arms gesture towards the downtown crowds) that means you are captured.
Me: But your face isn't normal.
Odd homeless person: Because I'm captured too!
Me: Well, I'll go now to find a way to escape.
Odd homeless person: There is no escape. There is just too many of them.
Me: I must try. Bye!
Odd homeless person: Good luck.

Oh how I love harmless crazy people (that may include you!).

The kids students are back at UCB. And perhaps because I look so wise and scholarly they are all stopping me to ask for directions. Not a bad choice, the campus is only one square mile and I've been here as a student or staff for years! (I should include the preverbial and outdated NOT here).

"Where is Warren Hall?"

"Oh, that way" I point limp wristed to the south.

"Thanks!"

Hours later it occurs to me that Warren Hall is NW of campus. I have sent yet another kid on a wild goose chase to his class.

This happens every beginning of the semester. Instead of giving the appearance I know where I'm going, I should, instead, walk around looking suitably helpless. That shouldn't be difficult.

Yesterday I was idling at the intersection of Marin and Alameda Way waiting for a green light. At this corner there is a particularly well designed circular fire station on a triangle-shaped lot. On that day there was also a particularly well built fireman washing the big fire engine (truck?) in front of this well designed station. I admired these designs for quite a while, so long that the light turned green without me moving forward.

Hesitating more than a nanosecond at a red light in Berkeley is considered a high crime. Such a horrific error is usually met with major American aggro 'tude involving a flurry of spit and blood obscenities threatening you with serious bodily harm involving guns, hammers and horns. But that day? No one peeped at me. I, in shock and awe, looked behind me to see what was wrong with these Buddha-blessed, Christlike drivers. Why were they so patiently waiting while I finished my artistic admiration of such fine scenery? Ah, then I saw the reason: the three cars behind me were driven by women admiring, wouldn't you know, the same architecture (ahem) that I was watching so intently.

Not a perfect day, but it will have to do.

Halloween is a confusing time for me living in Berkeley. I have trouble distinguishing who is in costume or who is dressed like they normal would--all crazy. I saw a group of highschool kids dressed up like Richard Simmons and toting around a big jam box playing disco. I thought, "hymm... that is sort of odd for that age group" but didn't think it was that out of place.

Hours later I realized...oh Halloween.

As I trudged along downtown Berkeley to the parking garage, picking my way through dropped pizza slices and spacey pedestrians in rain gear, I passed a man staring intently at a horror movie display. I would not have really noticed him if he had not turned to me and say "Hey, do you ever feel like this?". He was pointing to a poster with a vicious prowling wolf from a movie I've never seen. The man had long red hair parted in the middle and hanging down his back in a single pony tail. His youthful pale face was full of freckles, and he had one of those long, lean Emo builds in black gear.

"Yes, I do. Lots of times" I told him.

He starts laughing, scratching at his little red goatee, as if surprised by my answer. "Good, good, that is so good. Let it OUT, yup you need to let it the wolf in you OUT".

"Wouldn't I have a 'wolfette' inside of me though?" I said, a little embarrassed by the lameness of my comment.

"Wolfette! Yes, I love it!" And he starts laughing even harder. "Wolfette!! HAHAHA!"

I opened my mouth to say something else, then abruptly lost all confidence in my ability to say anything that would make him laugh more and closed it again. I could still hear him laughing when I finally got to my car in the garage.

Just when I'm ready to claim myself an misanthrope, something like this happens. Kids, this is what I love about Berkeley. Life is just so odd.

red_silk_robe and jvmatucha...did you feel it? Didya? A jiggle. This time IN Berkeley. (yea, geology was a great class for me).

Some wild winds tonight too.

So much I catch when I'm awake.

Just felt an earthquake! Woot! At least I was awake. I usually sleep through them. I finally get to send USGS my "did you feel it" web form. There was a little quake before it. MAYBE A BIGGER ONE BEFORE THE DAY IS THROUGH! :D

Goddamn the weather!

I mean, it is GORGEOUS!! Thanks probably to global warming, the weather can not be more perfect today: the sky is a fathomless dome of bright bright blue and toasty record-breaking springtime winds are strolling over the twinkling Pacific Ocean. ::sigh:: Our rain-chilled hearts want to just smile and smile, write dreamy, bad poetry about "love" and "happiness" and sing "I feel Pretty" at the top of our lungs. Under this gorgeous radiating sunshine I could just stretch out over the green squishy lawns and drink margaritas after margarita from frosty cool pitchers all day. I almost feel like the universe is blessed, for the briefest of moments, because of this unparalleled natural wondrous weather if it were not for the deep gurgling coughing noises coming from the old guy strolling nearby with his wobbling shopping cart of overstuffed garbage bags. It sounds like a lot of viscous fluid and malignant internal organs are involved in that hacking.

Almost...almost!

Eleven simple things that made the last few days go by a little nicer:

1. The old man who grinned broadly at Ruby and me walking hand in hand to the café


2. The old Chinese man who owns that café and smiled endearingly when Ruby ordered


3. The heavily pierced and tattooed boy who said a hearty "Y'WELCOME" after I thanked him for holding the door for me


4. My horticulture homeless friend waving and giving me his big toothless grin.


5. The wearied mother who thanked me for stopping her kid who was running away and heading towards the street


6. The high-five a co-worker and I did after figuring something out


7. Jennifer, my pilates instructor, encouraging "Relax your shoulders Carrie...right..perfect...beautiful".


8. Patty and Kris giving me my cool card.


9. The email from a friend that said "you are one of very very few who risked really telling me what you thought-i appreciate that more than you know"


10. The man that smiled at me for no other reason that we both existed together in that brief moment in time as we made our way over the crosswalk.


11. 9 year old Leia running up to me and giving me a hug (then asking for cheese-its)

Thank you.

Apparently I missed a lot of excitement yesterday. My co-worker told me that a woman with a glass baseball bat held some students and a professor hostage in the building next door. The professor somehow got out of the class and called 911. Swarms of Berkeley police descended around our buildings while I peacefully and quietly worked (my headphones must drown out all sounds).

First, what is a glass baseball bat? I've heard of wood and aluminum, and yes I'm not up to speed on those kinds of sports, but glass? Secondly, why were a classroom full of young healthy college students afraid of one woman? Why did it take so many police? I wonder what was going on in her head? She must be completely insane or gutsy to face a roomful of granola well-fit forestry majors. Maybe if I were there I would have said "Let's go for coffee, on me--I got a $20 coffee card!" and let the scared guys behind call 911. Lawd knows I need a coffee buddy.

Yesterday evening, when I was walking back to my office, I passed wailing Chinese man. He looked like the average professorial Asian immigrant (like so many we have here), yet he was on his knees in the middle of the sidewalk bawling. Hot tears ploughed down his cheeks as he screamed in a thick accent "I lost my wallet! OOOOH! Prease help me. Give me money. Preeease. I lost my wallet! BOO HOO BOO HOO" His needs seemed so urgent, so loud and heartfelt, people were throwing money at him.

Thirty minutes later when I walked past the same corner he was gone.

Today is junk day. It is when you put out all your junk (mattresses, rotted chairs, old electronics) on the curb and the city comes and takes it all away. It is very cathartic to be suddenly relieved of major junk. The day before everyone is outside putting out their junk and talking to their neighbors about their junk. People from other neighborhoods drive by slowly in their pickups and look at possibly wanted junk. It is such a neighborly social event! Half the things I put out yesterday were gone by this morning well before the junk truck arrived.

Yesterday I did my looong run (12 miles). I'm not much good for anything after that. I can wait for my daughter to finish socializing in the locker room after swimming before taking her home. I can walk the whole one and a half blocks to the library to get the three books on hold. I can do those necessities. But that is about it. Also yesterday, since Buff Jennifer has left the YMCA, I do advanced/intermediate pilates class at her own studio. I hope to see the results of all these efforts!

I won't rest until all my friends are running and doing pilates. I am so glad darthmollusc and wyckhurst are doing Couch to 5K successfully. I wonder how 8ofswords is doing with her running. I've seen the results of emmabovary efforts. I hear that cohen7 is neglecting his bike.

Professor Jasper Rine lectures at UC Berkeley. Recently his laptop was stolen by a thief who was after exam data. Unfortunately for the thief, Professor Rine had some important stuff on that laptop. The last few minutes of his biology class lecture at Berkeley is of professor explaining the terrifying consequences that will soon befall the student that stole his laptop: MP3 Link

What should this student do?

(This is all very cool that the thief has been tracked but I wouldn't hire a guy that leaves all this proprietary, very valuable, very SECRET data in an unsecured, unencrypted, vulnerable place)

What is fun about Berkeley is that your plumber can be a Stanford (the Ivy League of the West) graduate. And your Stanford Graduate Plumber^TM isn't a plumber because he can't get another job because he's overeducated, or because plumbers are reveled here a rich and gold collared by the aging housing community and therefore a good way to make a living, but because your plumber likes meeting different people and playing with the tinker toyed/Rube Goldberg aspects of pipes and hydraulics. And what is even more fun is that your Stanford Graduate Plumber^TM is so world traveled. As he is wrenching the gas thingamabobby behind your oven, he talks about his six months in Australia working with the Aborigines. My girls and I sit around him like we are in circle time, listening to our plumber talk about driving a jeep through dust storms, sidestepping scorpions and starting educational programs to the world's first people.

Our tile guy was once a highly respected computer engineer in Israel. He spent three years fighting in Lebanon. Now he earns enough money doing tile in Berkeley to send his four kids to private school. He has strong opinions about the current crisis that is Israel, and how much safer he feels the U.S. is for his children. I listen to his politics with the the admiration of someone that has just been an observer, as one that never had to deal with the grittiness and challenges of true life and death struggles.

I can only live in a place that is smorgasbord of experiences, ideas and culture. The pleasure of this sort of place is that you can inhabit, temporarily, the lives of people that have lived life so differently.

Last night while walking to my car from work I passed a black woman in the park. She had the shape and size of a walrus and was yelling to her private audience:

I CAN'T SEE THE F***ING MOVIE? WHY? BECAUSE I DON'T HAVE EIGHT DOLLARS!
I COULD BREAK IN AND SEE THIS MOVIE BUT THE ANGLO POLICE WOULD ARREST ME!
I CAN'T SEE THE MOVIE!

She then saw me and added:

I'M NOT CRAZY! I JUST CAN'T SEE THE MOVIE!

I shrugged and said "movies cost $9 now".

Even with my threshold for weirdness was so high I still think life is a freak show. Eccentrics thrive here. Every nuance and quirk of personality has to grow louder and more pronounced to compete with all the other misfits out there. I pass them by fearlessly as if I have spent my whole life putting scalawags in headlocks (maybe I should learn how to do that).

Absolutely nothing interesting was happening downtown today. I did see 20000 dark and brooding highschool kids blocking the sidewalks and stores entryways with their looks of ennui and hopelessness as if torment of the spirit is a splendid thing or a sign of a superior mind. Yet those kids never seem out of the ordinary, rather typically costumed in such a way to affect a menacing "hood" appearance (like wearing black combat boots which is a thing I admit to have always wanted to do but never felt I could pull it off). Perhaps I've just gotten used to dodging around them like a slalom skier avoiding lane markers (because you know they never step out of the way for me).

And there was no reality-challenged one-shoe homeless man to harangue me about something on this beautiful afternoon. Instead I got "God Bless You Ma'm. Have a wonderful day!" I congratulated my self for being so generous in spirit to the few homeless I passed, then I wondered how much is me and how much is the 30mg of Celexa. It occurred to me that ever since my therapist diagnosed me with mild depression and got me started on Celexa a year ago I enjoy attributing all good things to that drug--I'm not nice, it just must be the Celexa!". God forbid that I should pretend that there is a genuine measure of sweetness in my nature.

So since downtown was too dull to amuse me I gradually start making up my own reality. While walking I caught a glimpse of a honeysuckle-like weed working through a sidewalk and it was like nostalgia slapping me with a fly swatter. So of course those maggots of memory started squirming and crawling in my head and I started thinking about those walls of honeysuckle growing wild in our backyard with their hundreds of little miniature yellow trumpets. My sister and I would pick off the flowers, one by one, and drink nectar from them. She would get stung my wasps over and over on her shoulder. The wasps knew better and left me alone.

Then I was back in the present and in California crossing a street where I had no recollection of seeing a walk signal. Some nerdy young man was asking me something about ^N. "I have enough experiment results for ^N, so should I be careful combining it with tenuous ^X?" He asked me. "Sounds good to me." I told him. We smiled at each other, both content with the absurdity of the situation, then the cars started honking; we were blocking traffic. I left him with his formula.

Funny, I've been here so long but in a way I feel like I'm still stealing Mardi Gras beads and running through thickets of Blackeyed Susans. There is so much of the hick towns still with me, its old way winds still move around me even as I walk down the hip western streets. Maybe it is me that is as loony as a waltzing rat to those walking around me, not those teenagers and homeless and the people asking me about ^N.