Nice

A smooth drive up: 3 1/2 hours from Adams Morgan to the Liberty State Park ferry in Jersey City. Squalls and wind on the ferry out, sunshine on the way back. A disappointingly long line for security on the island, complete with those awful GE air-spritzing machines.

I spent half an hour getting through security once on the island, then an hour wandering around the monument itself. It's impressive. Needless to say, I was alone, but I kind of liked it that way. I'm glad I went.

The ferries were slow and peaceful, and were full of schoolchildren and moms. The view of NYC from the ferry was really stunning, especially once the sun peeked through the clouds on the way back.

A smooth four hours back, except for some commuter stuff on the beltway in DC.

problem

I have a moral quandary.    Tomorrow is May 22, 2008.  Ten years ago, I graduated from college.   And let me forestall your complaint- I'm not whining about age; I've spent this decade well: two years in a job I liked, six years in grad school, and now two years in a job I really like.   So yeah, go me.  

The thing is, I have a promise to fulfill.   The summer after my college graduation, I stuck around for a while, working for a professor, and psyching myself up for Real Life.   My best friend at the time (or local best friend, at least), who I had been through heaven and hell with, was this fellow I'll call T.  We were the only ones in our respective majors who were double majoring, and the only ones who appeared to really be into one of those two majors.    Of our fellow majors, we each also were basically the only one the other could stand to spend a lot of time with.   There were a lot of late nights, a lot of bonding, a lot of good stuff like that.    We were pretty different personalities, but we got along out of a common thread of obsession re: our subject of study, and shared dislike for our peers.    The esprit de corps of shared suffering, if you will.    To this day, nobody has gotten me a better or more surprising birthday present, pace Cricket.

So one day, that summer, looking to a future, and being whimsical lads, we made a pact to meet ten years down the road.   The rules: it was to be at the Statue of Liberty, at noon, ten years from the date of our college graduation.   If the Statue wasn't open that day, then the immediate day following.   

 The other rule was that we couldn't ever speak of it again.    Failure to show up would be punishable by a hefty gift obligation. 

So, awkwardly enough, and it pains me to even write about it, we had a huge falling out that fall after I left.   I had been in agony the last year of college over a girl, who I was good friends with, and on who I had a huge crush.     T knew her as well- we ran in the same circles- but he had mostly been my counselor through the process, usually of the sack-up/get-a-life pep-talk variety.   I had tried to escalate with her but had been clearly told that it wasn't going to happen.   It didn't change my feelings, really.    Anyway, the fall after I left, they got together.   I was alone in the new city, and was absolutely wrecked.   I was 21.   It was really pathetic.   I hated them both.   They apologized a lot, and broke up maybe a year later.   

I've kept up with him over the years, but not with her.    He and I are ...civil.   We haven't been friends since the fall of 1998, though.

I had thought for many years that I would go to the Statue tomorrow, out of a sense of honor for my own promises and out of a spirit of the happy pre-screwing-me-over memories.    And I would, but...holy shit, is my job a shite-heap of stress and obligation right now.   I basically would waste day driving to NYC and back, although the effort would probably cost me enough emotional capital that I would need to track down one of several good friends in the city to get drunk with. 

Should I go?    I put the odds of him going at maybe 1%.   He lives in the Bay Area and is writing a thesis, so it would be ridiculously inconvenient for him. 

many worlds

In one possible universe, I could see myself doing this:

Nature Physics editor. 

It's funny how the first thought I had was that moving to England probably was a dumb idea, and second, that it probably didn't pay that well. 

On second thought, though, I bet they do pay decent; plus, weak dollar!   

For a guy who digs on both science and writing/reading, this could be a decent gig.   My quest to become Cornelius Bear would be in full motion.

bears

I went camping in Shenandoah last weekend with two grad school friends, Space-Monkey and Jakov.   They arrived Thursday night, and while packing we ate pizzas and drank beer and watched Highlander.    They slept on my floor, which they didn't mind, because they're tough.

We packed up and drove out to Skyline, picked up some fishing licenses from a tiny-ass redneck mom-and-pop ammo shop, complete with pronouncements on the gun laws of every state on the drivers' licenses we gave them.   "California is a retaaaarded state!"  

We hiked down from some parking lot about 3 or 4 miles into the backcountry, along a stream called Jeremy's Run.   There were about five or six stream crossings, which were really annoying.  I'd never had to do those before.   Jakov was Mr. Balance and probably only did two-thirds of them but I really didn't like the thought of falling facefirst off a log. 

We found a good secluded clearing to camp in, and commenced two days of trout fishing, whiskey-drinking, and exploring.   I caught my first trout.   I cleaned my first trout.   I ate my first trout!   It was exciting.      We need more whiskey, though.

When we ran out of whiskey late Saturday, after hiding in our tents waiting for a thunderstorm to pass, we explored the ridge behind our campground, and ran into a black bear.   We saw him about fifty yards away, and stopped; he then disappeared, and then reappeared from another angle about twenty-five yards away.   That was our cue: slowly get the fuck out of there.   Thankfully he didn't follow us back to camp. 

It rained a lot Saturday night, but my one-man tent's fly held.   The hike out was brutal and quick: one hour or so up out of the valley.  

We had beers and good pub food at Ventnor's in Adams Morgan after coming back.   One thing I love about DC: even the shitty bars have decent kitchens.

A decent day.

Today was the sort of day off that I haven't had for a while.    I slept 'til 11, made myself pancakes, and headed to a coworker's apartment in the distant suburbs to watch basketball, drink beer, and have Chinese food delivered.   The basketball games sucked, the Chinese food was forgettable, and I don't think I'll be hanging out there often.   But it was relaxing.  

I decided not to turn it into a Saturday like last week's, so headed home to eat pie, clean my apartment a little, and watch season 4 Wire eps.   Tomorrow's a big day; I think all the pieces of the last month or so might come together in the lab. 

I'm reading A Prayer for Owen Meany, mostly because my supervisor who I respect made a casual reference to it in a meeting and I'm kind of curious about what sort of books he reads.   John Irving is one of those authors who I've perpetually avoided for no particular reason.   It's OK, but I probably won't pick up more of him.   I mostly liked the parts about the old man in the "present" (1987) day, and the evocation of the 60s.   I didn't really care for the the New England WASP fetishization.    But Cricket went to a private school in Cambridge, MA, and then Princeton, so I really need to be careful about how I say these things.   But technically she was born in Cali, so fuckit.

Poor me

Sorry no blogging.

It's feeling like tough times in Katzenklavier land.   I'm working twelve-hour days out of vague whim that it's my "scientific style," and I'm not getting much done.   That's partially because I'm an inefficient scientist, but also I'd like to think it's because I'm working on a tough problem.     The person a year ahead of me in the pipeline is getting the complete hairy eyeball from academia, and I don't think it bodes well for me, as this person is sexier on paper than me.   Granted nobody is sexier in person than myself.    I think I've really gotten decent at communicating the whole audacious enthusiasm thing in person, but I need to be able to get shortlisted somewhere. 

In other words, I'm definitely starting to freak out about where I'm going to be in the fall of 2009. 

Cricket is in Tanzania right now so I have nobody to talk to, which is fine, as I'm only thinking science and life strategy these days.   In grad school I had roommates and friends and people to drink with.   I don't dig too much on the phone conversations, so I pretty much isolate.   Last weekend I hung out with a friend from those days who lives around here, M, and another one who was in town visiting, P.   There was a lot of drinking.   I can't drink like I used to.  I also was pissed that the house party ran out of booze and my people wanted to go to Wonderland.   What would have been a $10 evening (Delerium Nocturnum, donated to party stash) turned into a $50 evening.   But I had fun.   P and M were my cohort in grad school, and it's always sweet to see them.   I wonder where we'll all be in ten years.

Also, in good news: Cricket will be cohabitating with me this summer.   The prospect of a girlfriend who isn't a million miles away is a nice one.    I like her friends who live in DC, too.    They class up my boring-ass joint, something sorely needed since I couldn't be fucked to even go to a show these days. 

I'll probably play hooky and watch basketball and drink on Friday, though.

travel

I was in Santa Fe this weekend.    I'd never been to New Mexico before, except for crossing time and maybe a campsite during a roadtrip back in 1997.    That was a good road trip.   I took the train out of Berkeley down to Bakersfield, where my pal Smith picked me up in his truck.   We were both rising seniors in college; I was playing hooky from a summer job working for a professor, and Smith was just willing to fuck off for a week from whatever summer action he had going.     We drove to College Station, TX, to visit a mutual friend from high school we hadn't seen since high school, mostly because said friend has the bizarre desire to  go to college in distant Texas and never return for holidays.   We probably should have taken that as a sign.  

The clear memories I have of that trip include living off of a gallon can of refried beans we kept in the back of the truck along with a few bags of tortillas and a lot of water.    We exited California through Death Valley, near the bottom of which the truck overheated.   It was July, so a little bit scary.   We didn't really know not to take the radiator lid off when it was hot, so we both got sprayed with hot steam, thankfully not melting any features off.   Texas itself was boring, our friend wasn't a terribly great host, and we left after one night.   I was harassed for being purportedly gay in College Station, around the apartment complex in which my friend lived with a bunch of other undergrads.   I had long hair and an earring at the time, which must not have sat well with the Corps of Cadets.    I've thought ill of A&M every day since then, and am sad that not one but two close friends are taking jobs there.

Along the way back to California I had my arm out the window for half a day.   I don't remember if I put on sunscreen; either I put on lotion that wasn't sunscreen or I just plain forgot, because by the time we made camp I had bubbles rising on my arm.    By the time we  got to Santa Barbara for Smith's brother's graduation, my full upper arm was a single, sheet-like bubble.    We sat outside that afternoon for the graduation, me in an agonizing button-down, in too much pain to even notice the unending stream of clingy sundresses and freckles.    When the light hits my arm just right ten years later, I still think I see a little scarring. 

Smith and I are great travel buddies- we've gone on long trips to Scotland and Wales since then- but we finally got a little snippy toward the end when I didn't really know how to navigate the disaster of freeways around the Bay Area.   A few weeks apart (he was at Davis) and we were back to normal, though.   For better or for worse, he's constantly challenging a lot of my basic assumptions about life, which comes off as pointless argumentation to my other friends, but I get off on it.   I just hope he doesn't turn into some loopy old autodidact who's traded in curiousity for misanthropy.  

The point being, I'd only been to New Mexico once before.   We drove across White Sands, or near it, and it was pretty.    This past weekend I flew DC,ORD,ABQ, and rented a car on work dime to get to Santa Fe.   I'll preserve anonymity and not talk about the work stuff there, but I spoke to 200 people for 40 minutes or so, and it went pretty well.    I even got sucked up  to by some students afterward.