Caltrain

Yesterday they had to pull a person off the Caltrain tracks in the tunnel between the 22nd St. station and the Bayview station. As I sat there under the dimmed lights of the emergency sign, I realized I was more nervous about the gangster staring at me across the aisle than I was about the kid on the tracks. This morning the homeless man sharing my bench got pooped on by a pigeon. I thought it was better not to tell him since he was already swearing under his breath. The young thugged-out Latino on my other side didn't tell him either. At 8:02 the homeless man, the Latino guy, the train conductor and I shared a hearty laugh when a man wearing a blue tooth and carrying a recumbent bike, threw a fit after missing the 7:59 train.

Crested Butte: Colorado Musings

Last night we got back from a wedding in Crested Butte, Colorado and this morning I'm back on the Caltrain to work. I had forgotten all of the great things about being in a small town. The stars are bright, people smile at you on the street, and without all the noise, there's always time to think. This last one is important. I see how people from NYC, LA and SF judge small town folk and I don't think it is warranted. It's true that there are redneck towns, but there are also towns where you don't lock up your bike, where your steak is a 4H club champion and where you're welcome everywhere. Crested Butte is the latter. I'm glad I got to see it, and it's telling that Jane and Joe hold it so dear. Congratulations kids!

Chicken of Pigeons

Earlier today a pigeon flew into my internet cafe and bashed itself again the window while I screamed and covered my head. Everyone laughed at me. I'm an animal-lover, but having a molting Tenderloin pigeon graze my face is like sucking on an eyedropper full of the ebola virus. My latte had little bugs in it when I returned to the table. About an hour later, 2 homeless men got into a fight and left a trail of saliva against my window. They made amends and went away, but the saliva remains here at eye level. Chucky was a cursed doll, Christine was a cursed car and I have a cursed window seat. What are the odds?

Metropolis, Music & Moms

Nokia is paying DJ Shadow to take a bunch of user-submitted samples and create songs from various cities. San Francisco has already been uploaded and from the sounds of it, my city consists of trolley bells, seagulls, the Sausalito Ferry, the Alcatraz foghorn and Buffalo Bill from Silence of the Lambs repeating the words, "Listen...these are the sounds."

I would've included the voice of the Tamale Lady, the clacking of computer keys and the cuss of a tourist caught off guard by the price of a Blue Bottle Coffee artisanal microroast.
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Happy Mother's Day to my Mom, Mr. Wonderful's Mom, and all the Mom's I know.

Maker Faire

This is my second Maker Faire and it's still just as cool as the first time. Every time I see a bunch of giddy kids building their own bike, soldering their own circuit board or programming their own Chomby, I am impressed. If all learning were this fun, I honestly think the world would be a better place.

On the way home Mr. Wonderful fell asleep on BART and a couple of guys almost had a knife fight next to Morgan and I. There are good and bad reasons to raise a kid in the city.