A Second Chance

We made our quarterly "guilty pleasure" run to Popeyes recently. After I placed our order -- "'Two Can Dine' Meal with mash 'n gravy and mac 'n cheese, please!" -- the woman behind the counter repeated my request, punched buttons on her cash register, accepted my payment, and gave me correct change. Seemingly normal customer service,...except that all this took place in slow motion, with earnest and deliberate movements. That's when I recognized her.

We had met a little over a year ago at a Project Homeless Connect event, an outreach effort to connect SF's homeless with various services like medical and dental care, HIV testing, housing placement, mental health exams, and welfare programs. As a Client Support volunteer, I was assigned to escort her to the various agency and non-profit booths at the Bill Graham Civic Auditorium. I can still picture her shuffling slowly beside me, her tangled hair tied back in a bun. I had tried to make conversation, but she wasn't in the mood to talk.

On this second encounter a year later, I noticed that she wore a bun again but with neatly combed hair this time. She may still have moved slowly -- a likely vestige of her past tribulation -- but I beamed at her as I thanked her, my hope in second chances renewed.

Star Sightings

...or at least there's a chance for some this Saturday to next Wednesday. My office just received a media alert from our building management, about the half-week closure of King Street, a major road artery connecting our City by the Bay to the Peninsula via I-280. Turns out that the South Beach district will be featured in the filming of the TV pilot for "Trauma", which will include "simulated freeway crashes, explosions, and helicopter activity." The advisory goes on to say, "If you see or hear these, please know that there is no real emergency." (I sure hope Murphy's Law won't take advantage of this one...)

From Aimee Garcia, George Lopez's niece in his show; to Jamey Sheridan, formerly of Law & Order: Criminal Intent, this might be an exciting event for rubbernecking. Reminds me of some of my other close encounters with fame:*

• On a Pasadena sidewalk in the late 80s, when I accidentally stumbled onto a film set starring Patrick Duffy (who, incidentally, turned 60 on St. Patrick's Day this year).
• In a Bloomington club in the mid-90s, when I shared a smoke and laughs with bluesman Keb' Mo'.
  
• In an Emeryville office restroom in 2005, where I found myself washing hands next to the ladies of Top Chef: Season 1, who were primping (and practicing their drama-ness) before the day's taping.

Maybe I'll get to add "brush with 'Trauma' fame" to this list over the weekend.

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*Not including "crazed young person" handgrabs of rock stars during and after concerts.

Early Birds

Ever since we joined our local Y back in October, we've kicked off most days with an invigorating swim, a stretchy Yoga class, or a Nautilus gym workout. Today was the first time, though, that we were among the first dozen to not only walk through the facility's front doors, but to also be waiting in line before the front desk folks were even ready to scan us in.

As I gazed across our disheveled but cheerful gathering, I pondered possible motivations that dragged our fellow early risers to this place at 6:45 on a Sunday morning. Maybe some were early church-goers like us, or habitual dawn greeters, or perhaps hard core carpe diem practitioners. Regardless of our differing reasons, camaraderie was strong and chatter in the lobby animated this morning, ranging from commentaries on the frigid winds that blew us in, to the USC v. Michigan game this afternoon, to the day's headline-makers.

When a bleary-eyed staff member sidled up to the front desk from the back room, though, rubbing her eyes with one hand and palming a 2-liter tumbler of coffee in the other, conversations ceased abruptly. In the sudden silence, I imagined fingers being flexed and necks being cracked around me, as if we were lined up for a race.

Ready, set, go!

Bloodletting and Infectious Fainting

Fainting was in vogue at the Blood Center today. I kicked off the trend by letting my legs go on strike just 10 feet from the recliner where I had donated a pint of blood a short while earlier. It was my first time -- fainting, that is -- and it's just as people describe it. Hecka weird.

The room starts spinning, then darkens as the cold floor catches my back. Black. Voices in the distance keep repeating, "Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?" Black. I force my eyes open and squint at the ceiling through a haze, past a ring of round faces. Black. Cold napkins appear on my forehead and neck. Black. I'm nestled in a moving wheelchair. Black. I'm back on the recliner, legs raised, sipping juice through a straw.

A half hour and two beverages later, I'm waving at grinning phlebotomists who chorus, "Much better!" Then their attention is diverted to another donor who is swooning after climbing out of his chair...

My Pump and Me

We've been tethered to insulin pumps since our training with Nurse L yesterday. While my guy is diabetic and I'm not, we're sharing the experience of minuscule doses of saline pumping into us during this 3-day trial period.

When he decided to replace his 4 times daily injection regimen with a pump that would require a jab once every 3 days, I had never thought of wearing one to "try it out". But when his doctor said spouses do have that option -- to help us empathize and understand the burden (literally) of living with diabetes using a pump -- I jumped on the chance.

Over the course of 2 hours, Nurse L patiently taught us how to program our CozMore-brand pumps, get it to administer a specified bolus, load the insulin reservoir, and ultimately, inject the cannula into our bodies using an infusion set. (Amazingly sophisticated technology with its own vocabulary.) I held my breath as I pushed the spring-loaded insertion device against my waist -- felt a prick like a bee sting -- then sighed with relief.

Over these 3 days, a continuous drip of saline (simulating insulin) will pump into us -- larger amounts at mealtimes, depending on our carb intake -- as we get used to this new attachment. These pumps aim to help insulin-dependent diabetics take another step towards a "normal life", with fewer injections and more consistent blood sugar levels. The main downside is being attached to the thing all the time.

So far, my pump has accompanied me to bed, the shower, on trips to the bathroom (TMI?), and for morning stretches - and both of us have emerged unscathed. The ultimate test will be Pilates-Yoga (a.k.a. contortionist) class tomorrow.

So how does it feel, 24 hours into it? I don't think about it most of the time, but when I do, I sense a dull ache where the cannula is attached. To be honest, there have been moments when I've wanted to rip it off and chuck it out the window. But my guy won't have that option. Hopefully that sober realization will help make me a better support for him.

"Spiders with hooves?

...I can scarcely wait for tomorrow!" It was suspenseful cliff hangers like this that wrapped up each Radio Expedition podcast that kept me company on my solo Powerwalk around the neighborhood this morning.

Between friendly encounters with neighbors (e.g., exchanging 안녕하세요 [ahnyung haseyo] greetings with the Korean old lady down the street) and comments to myself (e.g., "Hey, that bookshelf next to the garbage can seems in good condition"), I caught up on my backlog of those 10-minute audioblogs, co-produced by National Public Radio and the National Geographic Society.

In a half-dozen podcasts, some dating back to mid-2006, I traveled to the Amazon, Sumatra, and Tibet; gained an appreciation for the beautiful calls of the treehopper; and shared the passion for the arctic wilderness with Olaus and Mardy Murie.

Prepare yourself for an adventure, and have a listen.

It just seems perverse...

...to have a good time or feel happy when others are suffering,...or dying.

You are in our prayers, Jimmy.

Shuttlecock Justice

For the "Yes, You Can!" category, here's an interesting story featured in the Wall Street Journal and mentioned on NPR this morning about a defiant 86-year old badminton player in our fair city of San Francisco.

The Gist: Ed Leong and his fellow badmintoners had long been playing at SF's Park & Rec courts for free. Then earlier this year, as part of dealing with the City's budget shortfall, the Agency introduced a $4 court rental fee for 45 minutes of badminton play. Trouble is, basketball and volleyball players weren't charged to use the same facilities. Led by Mr. Leong, local badmintoners cried foul, accusing the City of discriminating against Asians who comprise 90% of Bay Area badminton players. In response and after the dust settles, Parks & Rec will revise the policy and charge $1 for 45 minutes to all court users starting in April.

Nicely played.

What the...??

The barreleye fish (Macropinna microstoma), discovered live for the first time by the Monterey Bay Aquarium Research Institute in the deep waters off the central California coast.

Another amazing alien specimen, left behind to explore our world.