A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Library

Life has been busy for me lately, leaving little to no time for internet surfing. In fact, its sort of twisted in a way that the internet is the only place a person's absence is mourned when they get involved with a life offline! But oh how I've missed it and missed out on so much!

I ended one year as Katy Zwick, Philosopher extraordinaire, but the dawn of a new one as seen an evolution—of rumored and hushed sorts—with the emergence of Katy Zwick, Librarian extraordinaire! This job opening took me by complete surprise, but it has been exciting to tend to such a deep well of information. So for now, though I may not get to spend the last days of Socrates with him, I am thrilled to at least be in a position to share them with others.

It's another thing entirely trying to wrap my head around the idea that all of that time spent in grade school having the ins-and-outs of the Dewey Decimal System drilled into us seems like a futile effort to teach kids today now that everything is computerized and automated.

Or maybe that's just what they want me to think!

Who is "They" exactly? This guy, apparently.

A couple weekends back, errands for the library took me past the corner of 4th street where the Game Developer's Conference was being held. Most of the crowd consisted of young, hip programmers who know that two bytes are better than one, but this guy stood out like a lustering diamond around a sore thumb. His name is Dry Bones, and he is on a mission.

Dry Bones introduced himself, though distracted and skittishly, as an agent of the Elsewhere Public Works. He offered a slew of warnings about everything from "Poly rocks in the free lunches" to, more importantly, the goon across the street he cautioned was "Subverting the neural limitations" of those in attendance.

These two contenders seemed to mostly stick to their own corners, but always ever so slightly pushing the boundary.

On my return trip to the Library I witnessed the breakdown of whatever shaky armistice originally kept both sides at bay. There was a lot of shouting and some accusations "microwave harassment" and something about "hypnotic puppetry".

I think it's safe to say their tiff was upgraded to a full scale scuffle at the time of my second visit. Dry Bones was awfully agitated by something, and when things turned physical between the two he brandished an eye-dropper against the goon with what he described as "untainted polywater."

It was quite a spectacle but over so fast! Did anyone else see them or catch any documentation of their scuffle?

Crazy stuff, or just crazy enough?

Dear Ryan (and Friends)

We rode with Allen's brother, Ryan, to the airport yesterday to provide him a proper farewell. The back things up a step or two (or week) for the uninitiated, Ryan had indicated (rather flippantly) that he wanted to visit us once we got settled. Ryan, as it were, is known to be flaky at times--which is a shocking reveal about Allen's family, to be sure--so when he mentioned it we didn't put too much stock in it.

That was a mistake, to our delight, because he came out to visit a week ago and it's been one of the best times I've had in the city since moving here. For a change I got to play tour guide with him instead of filling out the role of tourist myself, so it's been a busy week for us.

Allen and I's place isn't a palace by any means to begin with, but now that we don't have Ryan crashed out on our sofa, it feels extremely empty in there. So, here's to you Ryan. We miss you and hope you'll visit again soon!

As an addendum to my weird emails, I'd like to thank everyone that has sent along warm emails to me. In fact, I'd say the amount of affable correspondence outnumbers the off-setting ones. Now that my life has begun to settle back into it's post-graduate boredom again, I'll be able to reacquaint myself with the fun little insane things around SF that help me keep my sanity.

Diabolical Masterminds

Heading downtown on the 38, a man boarded with a small, black Yorkshire Terrier under his arm. He made a big to-do out of saying hello to the bus driver, as though he were an old acquaintance (prompting the driver to release a long, exasperated sigh, as though he were an old annoyance) then sat down next to Allen (and his brother) and myself.

I learned that the dog’s name was none-other-than Emma Peel, and was introduce quite formally to her. She was on her way to the groomers where she would have maintenance performed on her immaculately sculpted bangs, and likely topped off with an appropriately colored bow of some type.

Clearly the one in charge, Emma Peel rode on the man’s lap in a bored fashion. She feigned disinterest in me; all too accustom to this routine, nothing excited her. However, after our formal introduction (and to the man’s surprise) Emma pounced in my lap to further make my acquaintance. I seemed to have met with her approval. He informed me that she never did that to anyone, and that usually she regarded most Muni riders with apathy.

Allen thought it was cute and ribbed me about finally making some new friends in the city. We ended up getting off at a stop before Emma and only after my soles hit the pavement, it occurred to me I never got the name of the man; not that he had even thought to take the time to offer it up after introducing Emma, either.

Weird [Emails]/Arpeggi

For the past couple of days, my email inbox has yielded some strange, odd and downright creepy emails. Most make a passing acknowledgment to my blog, but just about all of them make mention of several related names and organizations. All of them repeated, in tandem, across the deluge of weird emails.

I’ve tried to put my mind off it for the weekend and just spend time with Allen, but it’s become increasingly hard to ignore. I seem to have struck a chord with something in one of my blogs. My own intrinsic curiosity is having trouble letting it rest and I am constantly reminding myself this is the weekend to turn off higher brain functions to just eat, sleep and be merry.

Vital-Orbit Human Force Field

Watching the Blue Angels was, in a word, incredible. It was a thrilling afternoon that drudged up childhood memories the way eating sugary candy reminds one of the dentist. The view from the park atop Alta Plaza was a befitting spot for someone looking to enjoy the events without taking a hit in the pocket book. We had a lovely little impromptu picnic on the north side of the park where we shared a mostly uninterrupted view of the Blue Angels as they practiced their maneuvers.

In fact, during some of their overhead stunts they were seemingly so close to us that I could easily make out the pilots heads bobbing under neath their canopies, and if my eyes were slightly more healthier than they are, I could no doubt have read the esoteric nicknames and images painted on their helmets.

From the park, Allen and I encountered a flier for the Anthro and Agoraphobic alike. It’s the Vital-Orbit personal Human Force Field device, and is designed to prevent conflict; protect life; enable personal actualization and secure ultimate privacy.

The flier touts that it channels a user’s own Hydrodynamic Activities to create the desired protective effect. As much as I’m loving my new life out here, I have to admit I think there are certainly times I’d prefer to have something of this ilk in my arsenal.

I was smart this time and snapped a photo before Allan’s impatience set in and whisked us away. I figure since I have a photo I can give it some real scrutiny later, and at ease. For now, I’ve just been enjoying the company of my oft unseen fiance. We have the whole weekend together for the first time since moving out here, and I haven’t paid concern to anything else, for once, and it’s been cathartic.

Haze gray and underway

Dear San Fracisco, I posit a riddle to you: What's Red, White and gets rattled easily by unexpectedly loud noises screaming Hell across the sky?

The answer is resoundingly Katy Zwick as she dives for cover, spilling coffee and cheerios all over herself. It was only after this point I learned what the phrase "Fleet Week" meant, and I was left startled, soggy and secure in the knowledge the Cold War hadn't heated up.

For the uninitiated, Fleet Week is when the Navy swaggers into town with all the glamor and glitz that only a branch of the military could muster. They have tours of the ships available and the flamboyant Blue Angels puts on one of their traditional air maneuver displays. I'm told they practice the demonstration in the days prior to the actual event, effectively giving off a wonderfully free show over the city.

And when I say over the city, understand what I really mean is that they fly so low (and often so close to the north bay shore) that they should almost require California driver's plates below their afterburners.

Allan's workload is finally starting to relent, so he's planned a trek up to Alta Plaza for us to watch them this weekend. It should be fun to spend some time outside of brushing our teeth together.

Emperor of the West

Growing up in Ohio, I'm no stranger to the swath of stitched tracks left across the landscape by freight train lines. When I was a child I had the same healthy fascination with trains as much as the next kid, but I diverged from any semblance of normalcy when I hit my teenage years and became more fixated on the romanticism of "riding the rails." Of course I knew this wasn't a viable option, but when you're sixteen; mad at the your parents, the town you live in and the world at large in general--all for no real reason--an easy escape from Granville was an appealing day dream to indulge in.

I used to study the history (and almost urban mythos) behind Hobo glyphs. These were, in part, a series of symbols left behind by trail-blazing hobos to guide those who followed. They spoke of food, shelter and danger.

But they were so much more than just a calling card for a free-meal. These little glyphs were an innocuous addition to the environment and most people rarely, if ever, paid them any attention. For those who knew, however, they spoke volumes of a world and a lifestyle that also went largely unnoticed. Hobos riding the rails knew what to look for and could pick them out without consequence, and that's all that was important. They were a resourceful guide, hiding in plain sight.

Back in Granville I knew where every antiquated, hidden glyph was. They were still pretty proliferated around the rail lines, where life itself was almost frozen in a bubble of undeveloped time. Where as the glyphs around town almost surely disappeared as the town modernized. When I was younger my favorites were always "Kind lady lives here" and "Gentleman lives here" simply due to how straight forward the symbols for each was.

I haven't thought about Hobo glyphs in years, until this weekend, when I found a duo in the city. They weren't far off from where Union Square is and they were remarkable to find. It was a thrilling injection of nostalgia in my life to be reminded of the joy these curious little symbols brought me. The only catch is, one was the circle-and-two-arrows of "Hit the road, quick!" (I'm sure of it), while the other glyph was something I didn't recognize. I stared at it, and studied it, and worked it over and over in my mind trying to make sense of the insensible.

I did all of this, of course, until Allan got impatient with me and drug me away--which means I never actually ended up with a picture of it, but I do remember it well. It was circular, or O-shaped, with two prongs on it, like rabbit ears. The bizarre thing about it all, is that I can't shake the sensation of familiarity it gave me. I plan to go back and take a picture when my schedule permits.

I hope it's still there.