Snowpocalypse

...is the term I heard someone on the radio use to refer to one day of actual snowing.

Geez...and I'm from Southern California.

I found this month-old post in my drafts and thought this might be as good a time as any to finally post it -- especially considering that it's 66 and sunny here in San Diego. Here it is:

Though it only snowed a little last Sunday and all Monday, it was in the low 20s on Tuesday and Wednesday. The snow had all disappeared by the end of Thanksgiving.

I was in heaven. I had only seen it snowing for a couple minutes when I was ten and we were driving to Julian. By the time I got out of the car, it had stopped. So this was a new and wonderful experience for me. What surprised me most was how gently it comes down. I was expecting snow to fall closer to the speed of rain. Another concept I can only describe as "depth of field" amazed me about snow -- it was so...3D. I tried to capture it in this video in vain:

Snow in Occidental Square

And in Ballard

I'd always wanted to make some maple candy like they did in Little House in the Big Woods, but the snow was so powdery that the maple syrup sank right through.

It was still delicious, though.

I showed up to work the next day to find that, even though it was sunny, it was a "snow day." It was so beautiful out that I didn't want to turn around and get back on a bus for an hour, so I walked through downtown in the sparkling, 22-degree weather, wishing I had a camera with me. A man under the viaduct who was working for a historical society did, though -- a 1920 camera, one of those accordion-shaped boxes on a tripod with a hood for the photographer. He was documenting life around the viaduct (in the midst of a current debate about its future). The photographer asked if he could take my picture just walking along under the road.

In Belltown, some people with a death wish were sledding down the hill right across a busy street.

The sculpture park by the water looked beautiful covered by a blanket of pristine snow.

I just kept walking and walking and eventually I had walked the eight miles home.

I love snow.

The end.

Last of the Fall Leaves

I looked back at my old Xanga blog for the first time in five years...

9/27/05:
(Our neighbors in San Luis Obispo)
There's the "artist" who gave us a housewarming gift of an old sink on a stand filled with dirty water and flowers with the roots on them, saying "here are some crap flowers. If you don't want it, just throw it back in my yard." On the other side we have a duplex with two college student chainsmokers. One I call "baldy," and the other hits on Lana. They take very good care of their lawn, unlike us. The other half of the duplex is occupied by newlyweds. He's sitting with the front door open in his boxers playing computer games most of the time I walk by. Across the street there's either a lesbian or a gay guy (I'm still trying to figure out which) who comes and goes constantly and has two yellow mini coopers. Directly across from us is an ancient woman, "Margaret," who does gardening all day in a sweatsuit, but her yard never changes.

We later found out the "artist" may or may not have been running a meth lab in a shed in his backyard.

I hated living in that house. It's not like my life was so great back then, but why does it make me so sad to read all these old memories?

Love this girl.

These amazing mushrooms growing outside my apartment are pretty much the coolest thing I've ever seen.

Friday night and I'm at home reading my work e-mail. Yes, I am that cool, and I couldn't be happier. Sales are up THIRTY-FOUR percent from this week last year. And apparently the blog tour I organized helped Doughnuts reach the top of the chart for confectionary books on Amazon.com!

Really really good book. It makes me want to revive my childhood dreams of being a paleontologist. Unfortunately most of these places you can go help dig cost thousands of dollars even though you're basically providing them with manual labor. I might volunteer with one of the free programs, though.