A Whole Little Shakin'.

Here's a brief report on My First Earthquake (TM), occurring Tuesday, September 28, 2004, at approximately 10:12 AM PDT.

So, I had gotten into work a bit late, taking a little "me" time along the way, sleeping an extra hour. So I got in around 9:15 as opposed to my newbie norm of around 8:20. Naturally, it takes me a little while to settle in, grab a juice, read Achewood, check my work email, check the calendar for the day, down some Smart Start, etc. I was about into that zone that Peter from OfficeSpace describes-- those 15 minutes of real, actual work (I do more, trust me), and rockin' out to The Killers' "Believe Me Natalie," when I noticed my monitor rocking back and forth, and that I was vibrating in a circular motion in my chair. No low-pitched rumble, just the collective low drone of blinds hitting windows, and the collective exclamation of surprise from my fellow employees-- "hey, whaddya know, earthquake!" Not yet sure if it was a distant rumble from far away or a much more threatening foreshock from the Hayward or San Andreas, we briefly evacuated the building. Our grown-up fire drill ended when we learned that it was almost 200 miles away, and there was no immediate danger. Hardened Californians asked newbie Easterners if they had lost their seismic virginity, and all in all, about 13 minutes of productivity was all the damage the 6.0 Parkfield tremor caused in Redwood Shores. Our 11am meeting went as scheduled, and yielded a surprisingly animated discussion about the value of unit tests. The clouds broke around 2pm, and a brisk Pacific wind ushered in the first truly fall-like day I've had (at work) since arriving. No biggie.

AN ASIDE: MUSIC WITH EXTRA CHEESE

That for all the Journey that gets played in the dining room during drinking games and in general, there should be twice as much Chicago. 1980s Chicago is the cheesiest band in recent memory-- and as much of a guilty pleasure, if not more so, than Journey. Both have the sound of a once sort-of rock band that needed to pander to the mainstream, which had gone very soft by the time the Atari 2600 rolled out. Both "You're The Inspiration," better known as the theme from The Karate Kid Part III, and the epic "Hard Habit to Break" toe the line between uncomfortably bad and upliftingly good. And they had seven '80s hits that do just about the same thing. It may not be good for repeated listening, but it's good for a curveball, getting both the "I can't believe you're playing this crap" and "I can't believe I enjoy this song" response at the same time. And I support its dining room airplay more than "Thriller," which I now realize is a plea from Michael Jackson to nine-year-old boys scared of monsters to instead join him in bed.

I only bring this up because the Safeway in-store radio played Journey's "Send Her My Love" (very underrated) and "You're The Inspiration" back-to-back, and the battle of the cheesy bands was on. So no, I have not been paid by Peter Cetera, nor did Steve Perry nearly sideswipe me on the 101. But the quake may have rattled a few of my dendrites, yes.

¿Dónde está, Pedrito?

I'm sure you Boston folks know this by now, but news takes a while to filter out here. Sox pitcher Pedro Martinez has a little friend. A little, 28-inch tall friend named Nelson. Here's some coverage.

There's enough there to stand on its own. But really, why limit midgets to baseball pitchers? If men or women of such diminuitive stature are willing to be part of an entourage, there's any number of things they would be able to do.

THINGS I WOULD DO WITH MY PERSONAL MIDGET

• Keep my files organized within the drawer, automatically
• Deliver classroom-style lectures on my in-cubicle whiteboard
• Wage gladiator-style battles with neighborhood terriers
• Push around in a baby carriage to freak the hell out of other Marina babies
• Place in cupholder of car, act out scenes from Star Wars (midget as R2D2)
  
• Replace plastic green man in famed board game Mouse Trap; see what happens
• Place in carry-on at SFO; watch hilarity ensue as he jumps out on the X-ray machine conveyor belt
• Start "Physical Midgets for Mental Midgets" pro-Bush drive for voters
  
• Start "Short on Inches for Short on Resolve" pro-Kerry drive for voters
• Get the Libertarians to make him the vice presidential candidate
• Give him a can of beer and watch him recall frat stories and challenge me to arm wrestle
  
• Start a farm with Flora's guinea pigs

Following that logic, I guess I should wait a while before having kids. Look out!

Do Not Feed the Volunteers.

This week is Oracle Volunteer Week, where Oracle people around the world try to make their immediate surroundings a better place to live and work. I had two options, considering I'm trying to give back to the community (well, not the Marina... the Marina doesn't need to take anything from me; it would be like giving change to Trump)-- to clean up Ocean Beach, or to clean up the zoo. The beach is always free, so I chose the zoo. Good call.

The project was two hours of good, solid, manual labor-- unearthing the moat/drainage area in the Siberian tiger cage. We probably moved a ton or so of dirt up to the main tiger habitat, and totally cleared out that moat. Then the zookeepers let the tigers out, and it was every man for himself in an adrenaline-fueled flight to safety. Well, maybe not.

Almost everyone came with a significant other or some family, so I chatted up everyone that looked like they needed to chat with someone-- especially the main zoo guy at the beginning of the day. I was collecting stories, for the sake of retelling to Rahul at some point. Anyway, I asked him what the craziest thing he had encountered at the zoo was, and he came up with a story about a male ostrich that started laying unfertilized eggs. That's right, kids, a transgendered ostrich, right at home in the San Francisco Zoo.

We also saw a giraffe making out with a tree, (thirsty thirsty) hippos that seemed to be mating, gorillas, antelopes, lions, penguins being openly mocked by seagulls, a mandrill (which is an orangutan with a nifty decal job), a sad elephant and a river otter (Philippe!). Then I promptly went home and made the scratches on my car a billion times worse by trying to take them off. Uh oh, better get Maaco. Such is life. It was still a good day, even if that car's a self-inflicted money pit.

As it is that time of year, I'd write more about The Apprentice, but let's face it... Trump needs to throw some bombshells like last week's boardroom to liven up this snoozefest of a cast. (Mosaic and Apex... the first web browser and a manufacturer of cut-rate DVD players... nice. nice.) Except I like that Raj guy. But the women are a uniform wall of well-groomed cattiness, and none of the guys are all that bright (except for Raj, I think). Even the guy who wears his Harvard degree like a Sox cap. This brass rat is for teaching guys like you some street justice. Anyway, I think he should fire people at random regardless of which team wins. Like the Yankees with Esteban Loaiza ("listen, I know you're winning and stuff, but damn you suck, so... you're fired."). Or, conversely, if the Sox take the AL East, Nom-- I mean, BK Kim.

Final thought: after seeing the tigers up close today, say what you want, but Siegfried and Roy have some serious cojones. Damn.

A Slice of Home...

In that I have about 20 bugbites on my person right now. Whatever's going on, it's more insidious and worse than blackfly season in Maine. I think I've been getting them while sleeping, because I don't see 'em. I look hilarious and pockmarked right now, and it's not just because I haven't found a place to get my hair cut yet.

And now, some haiku or senryu, or whatever, in response to recent events:

PeopleSoft ruling
Fortune beams a glowing smile
On employee stock.

High school reunion
Five years-- what are you up to?
I moved far, far away.

Fucking mosquitoes
Die, die, die, die, die, die, die
You sons of bitches.

And scene.