The Flying Spaghetti Monster is a religion, People. Straight face.

Do NOT miss the comments:

“The FSM rules his people with an al dente fist. (firm, but not TOO firm)“

This is a picture of me and Char nearly two years ago at Garibaldi Park in Squamish with Alex, who changed our lives that day.  He really did.  I’ve seen nothing like what I saw that day before or since.  I like this picture because it perfectly captures a moment that I’ll not forget.  A moment of knowing absolutely nothing.

He said he had a surprise for us and drove us from Van to Whistler but turned off the road before getting us into Whistler, which meant we were in Squamish, which has since been renamed by Alex and Char as Squishler, encompassing both towns and the entire amazing fkking area.  We really had no idea what we were headed for.  None. 

I happened to be wearing the smallest, tightest pair of jeans I own (laundry issue).  In fact, we could have used much more information so we could have prepared for what we were to experience (a 9 mile hike with practically no food or W.A.T.E.R. Got that?  NINE MILES. no water.), but oh well.  It wasn’t in the cards.  It wasn’t a physical challenge for the lithe, outlandishly capable 19-yr-old who led us, so he thought it wasn’t one for us.  And perhaps it might not have been tough for us if we would have prepared at all for it and worn like, ya know, appropriate shoes.  When Alex says he has a surprise, I now know that means utterly. 

I remember the pain of that march up to what I now know is a glacier.  I remember initial excitement for such a pretty hike, and then later realizing we weren’t even halfway there, getting internally pissed at our leader for being a kid and not preparing us, not taking care of us.  I remember peeling off sweaty layers, hour after hour.  I remember my jeans feeling like skin-tight leather after the sweat and the trail dirt and the sun and the wind. 

But Alex’s surprise was more than worth it.  Every moment of my vitriol evaporated at the revealing of the “mystery” he marched us toward.

It’s not possible that a person can’t love that hike, it’s so gorgeous.  The views were completely amazing, the entire time.  And I remember all of those hours spent with Alex and Char.  I’ll never forget them.

I think it might have taken us 4 hours to reach the mountain lake that I’ll just call the summit. Maybe it was more, maybe less.  We were passed along the way by Euros and backpackers and tons of people, but it was because we stopped constantly to breathe, to hold our sides, to bitch about our blisters, to study the light through the trees, and especially to take pictures.  We told stories and commented on everything.  We had some really solid moments together.  It was labor getting up there, but it was the kind of labor where sister leaned on brother and brother stayed strong and cheery and secretly exhaulting in anticipation of what he knew was a hell of a money shot.

When we reached the mountain lake, I thought sure, this is lovely.  It felt like we were at a place where few people were.  I loved that feeling of secretness.  And of course it was stunning.  Glacier runoff lakes are bluer than the Caribbean.

I have pictures of all of this that I have to put up here.

At this lake, I remember turning to Alex and saying, “Wow, this is great.  Thanks so much for showing us.  Ready to go now?  It’ll get dark in like a second.”  I used one of those hopefully-nice-sounding-but-kinda-bitchy monotones that tries not to be but ultimately can’t mask its fed up-ness.  He says, “Nope, we have another mile, maybe 3.”  …or something.  Char and I glared, flinched, even though we were standing around this amazing lake.

So this picture.  It’s the moment before we had any idea what we were about to stumble upon.  We were babes, walking along a path, fidgeting with our shoelaces, having no concept of what was before us.  I wonder if all those amazing explorers had these moments too – the part of life where you have no clue what’s around the corner but it unknowingly slaps you with badassness and says “Wake up, dammit.” 

So we playfully pose, traipse, take pictures of what’s in front of us…and thoughtlessly round the corner.  To our shock there’s more mountains, higher than those that we just drove up through and then hiked up on top of.  And within those rocky monsters, there was an immense glacier.  You didn’t even have to be told it was a glacier, it was unmistakable.  A mountain-sized slick of pure ice.  And the lake it fed, right underneath it, was big. Obviously shaming the cuter little lake I thought was “it”. 

It was crispy cold there, but the air felt like the purest I’d breathed.  (probably was just the thinnest, and I was just experiencing euphoria from oxygen-starved brain cells, but whatevs).  It was silent there too.  There were islands in this bigger lake with bonsai trees.  Or what looked like bonsai trees.  We came upon silent people camping and boiling their own water because there were no facilities up there except for 1 house intended for storm shelter. 

Anyway, we tried to explore all we could.  At this point the thin air and dehydration were eating our brains from the inside, or so we decided, so after way too short a time, we ran back down the trail.  Which, consequently, only took us an hour downhill.  Like Lazarus our energy returned! 

Afterwards we drove into Whistler and fought each other for the hot-tub, thankfully built-in to the ski-resort hotel we had, built for skiiers but morphed for our purposes  into aloe in the summer to our shaking muscles.  I really can’t describe what that drive is like, and what that trip was like, and even now that I’ve been there more than once, I’m still floored by the beauty of that place.

Our experience there had such an impact that although we both promised ourselves to bring those we love back to this magical place, only Char can be credited with making good on the promise.  A little more than a year later, we return.  but this time for Char’s wedding.  And we all go back.  Alex, me, Char, friends and Char’s beloveds.

This time though, it wasn’t the summer.  And we couldn’t hike to the glacier, but we could ski and we could crunch in the snow.  Anyway, something to behold.

Two months ago last Wednesday, I moved to San Francisco.  I’d love to say that I gave Houston a hell of a heartfelt kissoff, but really, I just had lunch with a couple of people, got some help packing up a uhaul and then drove across 3 states to California.  It wasn’t so hard, I barely said bye.  I never even had to drive the uhaul; just played navigator and middle-seat sitter and music/podcast maestro.  It was 3 across in that weird-smelling cab with 1 bench instead of “captain seats,” but it was just fine.  I’m posting pictures this weekend. 

Leaving the old job was stressful and weird, mainly because someone got offended and made things uncomfortable and never let me cash out 30 days of accrued sick time and took it personally when cordially would have been sufficient.  And I really could have used that money, moving to CA.  I sold Benzi to make it work.  *tear*

The truth is, I knew I’d miss that weird retarded completely unique place; it won’t even have a contract after another 8 years, it’s to disappear.  But it’s memorable to me because it was the first time that I’d found a job in a field that I loved (the field, not the job) and I’d been there long enough to own it completely.  Over Christmas, an office friend mailed cards I’d received with the note, “Who’s gonna take over your fan club now that you’ve peaced out?”  One even came from Japan.  What?  I kinda blinked back from my cube in CA.  Really? 

Of course, I know no one here in my cube in CA.  No one. 

I joined UCSF, started 4 days after I got into town, and I still like it.  I like being back in an academic setting; I like being around all these students and world-renown researchers and doctors.  Thousands of people whizzing around me; I like that. I even like talking to reporters again, and I never thought I’d say that.  I like that there are so many campuses and traveling between them takes up half my day.  I like the view from the school (this is the school).

I realized something uber nerdy about myself over these last 4 years in these last 2 job choices.  I really seem to like science.  I never, NEVER realized that before.  (I like a million other things too, but for work… I seem to like this).

I moved near the top of Market Street, seriously right in the center of the city.  And I still don’t know how to tell cabs how to get there.  “Ok.  It’s like Upper Market, 3550 Market near Portola.  Near Twin Peaks? Top of Castro, cross streets are…”  You get it.  The view there is really fun since I’m on a hill.  Though there are literally thousands of wonderful views in a hilly town like this one.  Everywhere I go there’s some kind of view of something textured and interesting.  I catch them all the time, by surprise, like just riding on the cantankerous bus system with muddied windows, I look out and find myself exclaiming things in my head. “Holy Shit!  24th Street is precious!”

I’m worried about germs since I depend on the public so much.  And because, by the 2nd day I was here, my stomach was wrong.  Like drinking water in India wrong.  I try not to, but I touch things all day long that 2 million people just touched or slept on or peed on or whatever.  I’m not phobic…but utility wise, I used to sorta eat all day, things like gum or gummi bears.  Plus, I’m often in a hospital for work and there, doctors won’t even shake your hand.  It’s a public health no-no, apparently, learned the girl from, hell, Texas. 

I’m geeking out in lotsa ways it turns out.  Seriously, shhhhhhhh.  I started a Google Docs spreadsheet of recommended places and things to do and to eat and to see, and I update it constantly with websites and neighborhoods and directions everytime I read something that sounds worth visiting.  Hopefully, by the time you visit me, I’ll know exactly where to recommend to you and how to get there.  And that’s something, because I don’t know sh*t yet…except that this place was FANTASTIC and the chef came to our table and gave us the lowdown.

I joined all kinds of Meetups and started volunteering with random groups and signed up on “e-news’ lists of lotsa galleries and parks and local magazines and at Ameoba Music so I can find out about their in-stores.  Like, I just want to get in there, meet people.  Not miss the life here.  I’m not doing a good job of meeting people yet.  I’ve met a few already, but no sparks flying or anything.  How do people do this again?

I drove west on Geary last Sat. and ran into the Pacific Ocean.  Just right there, right down from Cliff House, right there in Sea Cliff, the end of the continent.  The waves were blue and crashy and broke for miles before reaching the shore.  I love that that’s just right there. 

May try to catch this tomorrow.  I’m interested to learn what exactly meth coffee IS and what are absinthe lollipops actually?  I know, I know, plain coffee and plain lollipops, but see, that’s how it is in this town.    Lots of random fun.