Party Sunday

Yesterday Connor had a birthday party thrown by his mother at Rebounderz, a new indoor play place with trampolines, play structures, a ninja warrior-style obstacle course, rock walls, and more. I'd never been to this particular place; it's housed in what used to be the Country Club Mall, which flourished in the 1980s before recessions started wiping out businesses. I actually had not been inside what is now left of that once great mall from my childhood, in many years. Throughout the 1990s and into the 2000s, the shops there started shuttering their doors, unable to compete any more, until the mall became a virtual wasteland. It's starting to come back now, apparently, with some new stores and restaurants popping up, including a movie theatre and a Winco (for some odd reason). And Rebounderz.

It was nice to see a new place, and it certainly is a monstrosity. You could get lost in there. The party rooms are actually upstairs, and they all overlook the play area much like a box suite at a sporting arena. Which, I gotta admit, is a really nice feature to be able to have a bird's eye view of the facility. There's even a dedicated parent viewing area up there, in case you happen to not be there for a party. What's different about how they run parties at this place, as compared to places such as Wacky Tacky, is that they don't have organized play areas cordoned off for party guests. Everyone is just free to roam around the entire facility to whichever attraction they choose, mixing with people from other parties and the general public. Which sounds nice, I suppose, but what ends up happening is that people in a group party get spread out quite a bit and ultimately spend little time hanging out with anyone except their closest one or two buddies. Many kids hung out by themselves. And this was a bit of a detriment for Connor, since at this age he doesn't have a lot of close friends, really. They are more of acquaintances at best, and he sees none of them on a weekly basis being that he's shuttled back and forth each week between two homes. If his classmates from school had been invited, perhaps it would have been different, since he sees and plays with them every day anyway. Oh well.

So what happened was this: about 20 minutes or so after I arrived, I was downstairs and Connor randomly found me. I had not seen him up to this point, as most everyone had already scattered out around the facility when I arrived, and they all blended in with everyone else there that day. But when Connor found me, he was alone and kind of sad because, in his words, "Everyone left me". So I hung out with him and directed him over to the rock wall area, where I knew the only one of his school friends in attendance was. But he didn't connect much with her there, as she was just exiting the rock wall attraction and he wanted to go try it. In any case, to make a long, rambling, play-by-play story short, I hung out near him and watched him play for the next half hour, through the rock walls and ninja course and trampoline basketball court. And he seemed better, comforted even. So that was nice. He does love to have an audience.

After quite a bit of running around, he was working up a bit of a sweat, and told me he was thirsty. So we went to the snack bar and I bought him an Icee. He does love his slushy drinks! He picked out cherry and watermelon (I thought for sure he'd pick blue raspberry to go with the cherry, as he usually likes the red and blue mix). But it was good, and he really liked it. Not much after that some kid whom I don't know came up to him and said that they had announced that it was time for his party upstairs. I guess that's how they wrangle people back together after they've scattered throughout the facility, they make some sort of announcement. Not that we heard it. Good thing that kid saw him and told us, or Connor might have missed out on pizza and cake. We would have never known. Well I imagine someone, hopefully, would have come looking for the guest of honor if the party dared to start without him.

After pizza and cake, the kids were all handed game cards for the arcade by the staff, and although there was a small mound of presents there, we never got to see them opened. They were eventually loaded on a cart and taken away, as they started to clear and clean the room for the next party. I actually went by the Winco after that, because a) I had never been in one before, and b) how often do you get to go to a grocery store. In a mall. Actually, it's a pretty cool store, and has really good prices on things. Even better than Walmart (which they proudly display in the form of price comparisons every chance they get). Who knew about this place? I'll have to find one closer to me, if one exists, and check it out some more. I couldn't stay long though as yesterday was also the opening day of the Festival of New American Music at Sac State, so I had to go check in and make sure things were off and running. And they were. And it was pretty low-key, so I got home early enough to still enjoy a movie before bedtime. In the form of Coco. Well, after all, I had to do something to celebrate the recent Día de los Muertos.

So that was my Sunday. Tra la la.

6

So yesterday Connor turned 6, though he said this morning that he won't really be 6 until all of the family comes over to celebrate his birthday. Which is happening tomorrow. Perhaps he just wants more presents. But of course I had a few presents for him to open in the morning, before I had to load him up in the car and take him to school. And his Ma got him a little cake for after school, so he has at this point already ticked off the most important criteria for celebrating a birthday: cake and presents.

Anyways, yesterday was Halloween and Connor and I dressed up as ninjas and terrorized the neighborhood. Actually the neighborhood was already quite dead; probably 70% or so of homes in the area were not serving. Everywhere you looked it was lights out. Even several homes that were decorated for Halloween were dark. And we tried knocking, we tried. It was a weird year. Get this: I left my big dish of candy 'salad' out for trick-or-treaters, for when we were out hitting the pavement ourselves, since the cats weren't about to answer the door and hand out candy. And Connor is too young yet for me just to send him on his own. It was still almost all there when we got back. Then we left shortly after to go to a get together (pronounced: "party") at Bernie's house. So I left it out until we returned after 9pm. Not only was almost all of it still there, but there was MORE candy in it - a Butterfinger was on top, and I didn't buy that...someone actually dropped off candy. Was my selection THAT bad? Or did someone just see an opportunity to offload something they didn't like??

It was that kind of holiday. To be fair, in my neighborhood the houses are setup in rows of three that face each other, so the street alternates with rows of six garages or six front doors. And ours is the furthest back in the row. And in our row, ours was the ONLY house with a porch light on. A solitary beacon in the darkness. Not surprising that kids don't want to waste their time walking all the way to the end of the walkway just for one potential house to get candy from. But I had it, it was there. So now I'm left with a whole lot of M&Ms and Twixes and 3 Musketeers and Nerds and Milky Ways. And so on. Oh, and one Butterfinger. You know, for a little variety.

Actually, I also had some little packets of fruit snacks, in case anyone came who didn't really like chocolate. I know that's hard to imagine, but I've heard that they actually exist. Of course my thoughtfulness got slammed on Facebook for being "that guy" that hands out fruit snacks. Oh well, I just can't win. In any case, I have a lot of chocolate (and some fruit snacks) to get through, and with a birthday party tomorrow there's going to be even more junk food littering the house. This will be one fat weekend.

But hey, Connor turned six. Happy birthday to my little man, who's not so little anymore. And he did make a good little ninja, though he gave up the sword and daggers early on so he could focus on holding his candy bag. Priorities, am I right?

20

So, yesterday was the annual Staff Employees Award Luncheon at Sac State. Our department goes every year, since, well, we get a free buffet lunch out of it. The luncheon recognizes those who have achieved milestones in employment here - 10 years, 15 years, and so on. As it turns out, this past year was my 20th year. Though it took some convincing on my part, because the University apparently had the wrong hire date down for me. They had to go all the way to the State Controller's office to verify when my employment began. The benefits of this: I got my name in the program (along with a whole bunch of other people), and my name scrolled down on the slide show (along with a whole bunch of other people).

20 years. Has it been that long? Yes. Yes it has.

I frequently remind people that I was a student here just before that, so really I've been on campus now for 26 consecutive years. I do that mostly to illicit sympathy. I don't always get it. But I also don't get students saying, "Wow I wasn't even born yet when you started here!". Even though that's true, in most cases. So, there's that small consolation. I also tell people to shoot me if I'm still here 10 years from now. No, really, I'm serious. I really don't plan to be here that long. If I am, it would certainly mean that my soul had died some time before, and my body just continued on in its place, merely out of habit.

One person yesterday was honored for having worked here for 45 years. Imagine that. I wasn't even born yet when they started working here.

But anyways. We had a nice lunch of pasta and salad and garlic bread. And carrot cake for dessert. Yum! I should have taken a picture of that. It was a highlight, to be sure. They also had some sort of 'other' cake there - it looked like a marbled cake of some sort. Actually it looked like a cheesecake-cake, if there ever was such a thing. Like a cheesecake, and in the form of a sheet cake, and with frosting. I'm sure it too, was delicious. And then we got to listen to people speak who are not trained nor experienced at public speaking, and they got to have the grand finale of butchering many people's names as they tried in vain to read off the list of honorees.

Incidentally, this is a highly attended event, being just one of two times in the year that the University Staff Assembly gifts everyone a free lunch. 600? 700? I'm not really sure how many people were there in the University Ballroom. A lot. But there's a lot of people on staff here. To give an idea, in the 20 years of service category there were, including me, 24 people being honored. 24 from that one year, way back in 1999. There were even more in each of the 10 and 15 year categories, and a fair amount in the 25 year category. So yeah, a lot of people work here. Bureaucracy at its finest.

So in summary, I got fed, my name got read, people clapped, some random person came over and handed me a 20-year lapel pin (now I have a matching set with my 10 and 15 year ones, which are tucked away safely in a desk drawer underneath some packets of parmesan cheese from Round Table Pizza), and now it's back to work as normal. 20 years down. Still a few more to go...

No Answers, Just Questions

I went for a walk, and looked at the stars. They're always there, dependable, reliable. Shining down and smiling at us, showing us the way. Or trying to at least. I used to recognize more of the constellations, or at least my memory fancies that I did, back in my youth. But now I just know a few. Maybe it was always so.

I just finished a made-for-TV mini-series on Hulu called Looking for Alaska, based on the novel by John Green. I haven't read the book, but it's on my hit list to acquire. I think I just liked that it references Alaska, but in the book (and show) it's a person and not a place. Still, small details can attract us to things which we may have otherwise overlooked.

The story is about a group of friends at a private high school that more resembles a camp than anything. Several of them have troubled pasts - including the main girl, Alaska, who has a fairly serious drinking problem that no one seems to really notice until she drives off upset one night and dies in a car crash. But it's never clear whether or not it was an accident; in fact evidence seems to suggest it's not.

But wrapped within all of this happiness are serious questions about life and life after death, and why we're here, if there's a reason at all. And it ends with the hope that there is some place for us after this life, and that it's beautiful. But the reality is no one knows. To paraphrase one of the professors: the only questions worth asking are the ones that have no answers.

So tonight, I have no answers. Only questions. The show left me unusually emotionally drained. I'm not sure why, as I don't really relate personally to anything in it. But I found that I could not quite function, so I had to go for a walk. To get some air and clear my head. The characters in the show are prone to doing this too.

So now I swing on my swing, to and fro like a pendulum, and look at the stars. And they stare back at me, and everyone else, just as they have for millennia. Unchanging. They don't have any answers either. Maybe no one has any answers, just questions.

Kid Thoughts

Kids say the darndest things. And no, I'm not referring to that failed late-90s comedy TV show hosted by the formerly revered Jell-o salesman. My son turns six, two weeks from today. We know that because he asked me this morning how many days it was until his birthday, and I asked Siri, and Siri told us. He automatically began processing the timeline, and pointed out that after this week it would be mommy's week, and then my week again, and that's when he would turn six. Kids at this age have such a unique way of looking at the world. It's so innocent and unfiltered - and often so profound. We could learn a lot from them. We should already know these things that they seem to know; after all, we were all this age once. Perhaps we've forgotten much, in all of the hustle and bustle of life and of growing up.

This morning as we drove to school along the massive building construction going on along East Commerce Way, Connor suddenly started babbling about construction. "I know how the guys make buildings. First, they do the walls, and second they do the roof. Then third is the lights. They do the lights third. And fourth is the windows." Then he paused for a second, so I prompted him, "What comes fifth?". "Oh! Fifth is the painting and the flooring. Carpeting and pretty flooring. And they paint the walls. Then sixth they do the rain tubes." (he means the exterior downspouts. Apparently those are so important that they require their own dedicated step). "And seventh is the last step, that's when they move in the furniture." It's a pretty accurate, if overly simplified, description. He's not wrong.

Of course we, in our adult wisdom, know that there's innumerable steps in between all of these things. There's the concrete slab, and the pre-wiring, and laying out of the plumbing groundwork, and insulation and sheetrock and on and on. And it occurs to me just then, that we make life pretty complicated. I mean obviously the building of a house or office building IS complicated. It needs to be structurally sound and pass all the necessary inspections. So, too, does life need to be complicated sometimes, I suppose. To a point. But maybe we make life a little TOO complicated. Maybe we should take a lesson from an almost-six-year-old, and just focus a little more on the basics. The things that are really, truly important. The things that matter. Perhaps, in the end, that will help to solidify the foundation even more so than if we constantly nitpick all of the little details that pass us by in our daily routines. (Don't try this in 'actual' construction though; you certainly don't want your roof collapsing on you...)

On the other hand, last night's conversation with Connor as he sat soaking in the bathtub went more like this:

Connor: “I have my two tentacles!”
Me: “TESTicles. They’re called testicles.”
Connor: “....I have my two balls!”

So, there's that. Pure unfiltered wisdom from a little tiny package. Well, not so tiny anymore; he's 48.25 inches tall and weights 55.2 pounds, as of his physical this past Tuesday. But of course he still has a long ways to go. And in life, don't we all? Well we hope so anyway. We could drop dead tomorrow. Who knows? Better not wait to live, I guess, just in case. Just in case. That warrants repeating, because it's important: better not wait to live. For who knows how many tomorrows you have?

I actually started compiling Connor's random spoken thoughts, which have become somewhat infamous on Facebook under the umbrella of the "Connor Quote of the Day". I started this right after the new year, this past January. I suppose initially it was a device to distract me from my separation, which was very fresh at that time. It was also something new to start in the New Year. Not so much a resolution per se - I don't make those, really. But the Connor Quotes have grown throughout this year, and I have quite a collection now. I'm thinking of publishing a book of them soon. Not really for public use, just for myself and my family, really, and eventually someday for Connor. Perhaps they will be wedding gifts at his wedding, someday. That would embarrass him, I'm sure. The first of these, recorded on January 4, 2019, was this:

"Did you know I’m allergic to bad guys? I might cough at them and make them gross."

Well. That's not a particularly profound way to end this post. And I do like to leave my handful of readers with something to think about throughout their day. So I'll jump ahead to March 14, and offer this profound little bit of five-year-old wisdom:

“I still love you even when you do mistakes.”

There. Think about that for awhile. That's almost as good as this little gem from five days later:

“Daddy, I love you. I love you even when you’re sad. I love you even when you’re dead.”

Well. That's a little morbid. But unconditionally sweet. And it is Halloween season after all, so I'll call this "holiday appropriate". Perhaps it's a bit of a stretch. But I don't care. I'm going to be more like a five year old, more carefree and simple about the way I approach life. That's what we should learn from these little kid thoughts. My kid has so much to teach me...

Exploring Humanity

So this past Saturday I took another of my frequent trips to San Francisco. Unbeknownst to me, it was "Fleet Week" there (shows how much I pay attention), and much of the Marina Green area was closed off for the pending festivities of military prowess. Who knew? That was my normal go-to parking location, as it's free to park there, usually. And it's right next to Fort Mason, which makes for an easy walk over to the Embarcadero area. Fortunately the area around Chrissy Field was still open, although they had traffic monitors with orange vests and little orange flags, frantically directing people where to park in order to maximize the available space. And it was already filling up at 9am; they were already given to having people park on the gravel areas. Packing us in as if at a sports stadium, and with no trees for shade to boot. But still, it was free. In a city as expensive as San Francisco, free is always a nice option to have.

This put me an extra mile or so away from where I needed to be, but I don't mind the extra walking. And I was early enough that I had time. I actually got another discounted ($49) ticket to see the matinee showing of Hamilton, as I had done back in early June. Really fantastic seat - row K in the Orchestra section, and just two seats left of exact center. It was a sign when I saw it online, saying "Buy me...buy me...". So, I did. The walk was as usual quite pleasant, if not a little tiring due to all the hills. There's so many interesting neighborhoods and cool architecture and store fronts and on and on, not to mention the panoramic views you are treated to as you reach the top of the hill near Hyde and Lombard Street.

Along the way I also stopped at a little local bakery for a chocolate croissant. I'm not even sure the name of the place, but they had a quaint neon sign in their store that proclaimed "I got baked in San Francisco". It made me wonder what exactly they put in their baked goods... Their to-go bags were long and pink and adorned with big block letters: "C6H1206". Not being too well-versed in coded languages, I had to google that; if only to make sure I knew what I was really ingesting. Turns out, it's the chemical formal for simple sugar. Whew! I guess I don't remember much of my last chemistry class, way back in...1992 or so. I'm sure they probably went over this. Stay in school, kids!

In any case, as the walk progressed back down the hill it came closer and closer to the theatre district, and that's when you start seeing more of the interesting locals. And by "interesting", I mean "crazy". Literally. Like, truly suffering from mental illness. It's the homeless population of San Francisco, and just like in Sacramento, ever appearing to grow and grow. It's society's cancer, and it's spreading unchecked. And it's quite sad really. At first you see random people just milling about, yelling mostly incoherent obscenities at each other, or at themselves, or at walls, or at blank space. There's the guy at the bus stop, straddling some lady sitting on the bench. She's fairly unresponsive, and you can't tell if he's trying to help her, put more drugs into her, or rape her. An older lady at the stop must have seen my concerned look, and assured me, "She's fine, she's fine". I guess that sort of thing is just normal routine for that neighborhood. I grew up far more sheltered.

Then you get further along and find rows of people camped out along chain link fences that block off vacant lots. They have nothing to do, nothing to say, and seem to not even be too aware of what's going on around them. One guy in particular had visible red track marks up and down his arm. He was so out of it already that he moved clumsily and as if in slow motion. He was completely unaware of anything around him. But he was desperately trying - still in slow motion - to get a needle back into his arm. That's all he has anymore. That's all his life is. So many people like this, they hardly even seem human anymore. Most of their humanity was long sucked away. That's why, I suppose, society does little or nothing to address these problems. They don't see these people as "human" anymore. As "alive" anymore. And there's so many, it's become an insurmountable problem to even begin to deal with. I don't know if that guy ever succeeded in getting that needle in, in finding a vein. He probably did. He's probably still there, right now, doing it all over again. It's all he has left.

In any case, I made it to the Orpheum Theatre a little after 11am and picked up my ticket. Even the guy at the window said, "Oh you got a great seat, right in the middle". I smiled. Yes, yes I did. Then, to kill a little time, I went and had lunch at a little local diner about a block away. It was called, curiously enough, Local Diner. Not very creative, but it works. They seem to specialize in breakfast, but also have lunch selections. I had a club sandwich. It came with crinkle cut fries. Seriously, who serves crinkle cut fries? That seems like something you'd buy in the frozen food section of your local supermarket, then promptly burn the edges of in your oven at home, as you curse your poor luck.

I then went to the same CVS that I had once bought a homeless guy lunch in, much to his surprise as he was only asking for change so he could buy something, anything. I let him pick out whatever he wanted, and he got a free lunch that day. Guess I was in a good mood back then. In any case, I saw no homeless people in the store on this day, so I just bought some snacks for the show. Why not? Snacks are always good. There was a religious group of musicians playing for and yelling at passersby across the street. Occasionally getting in arguments with the mentally deranged homeless population. They were really, really, concerned about our everlasting souls, and wanted us to find Jesus as quickly as we can. But alas, I had a show to get to.

Hamilton was, just as last time, amazing. It's so intelligently put together, the crafting of actual historical elements with modern-day hip-hop music. Really, quite brilliantly done. And expertly performed! You can tell the actors are really enjoying their roles. I may have taken video while the exit music was playing at the end. Shhh! Don't tell anyone! I feel like such a criminal! After the show I walked back down Market Street all the way to the old Ferry Building. You can see firsthand the transition as you leave the theatre district: from homeless and crazy people, milling about with nothing to do, trash floating along in the breeze everywhere, it slowly transforms into a more respectable city with a diversity of pedestrians heading off in every direction, and eventually you hit the more famously known tourist areas along the waterfont.

The Embarcadero was quite crowded; apparently the Fleet Week festivities had concluded, the Blue Angels were done performing, and the crowds were all out trying to enjoy the touristy spots. And they were EVERYWHERE. I have a general disdain for large crowds, so I sped through the area as quickly as I could squeeze through, stopping only at the last Ben & Jerry's near the end to get a milkshake made out of their Half-Baked ice cream. So good! I should have gotten a large one instead of a small. In any case I sucked that puppy down right quick. Or as quickly as I could given a paper-based straw that stared disintegrating partway through. Stupid paper straws.

In any case, I followed my typical path along the waterfront and up through Fort Mason. The sun was already getting low on the horizon; I had entertained the idea of taking a walk along Baker Beach and watching the sun set, but I don't think I would have made it in time. Even my favorite bookstore at Fort Mason was closed, as it was just after 6pm. So instead, I hit the Chrissy Field beach area, which was still quite nice and not too crowded.

I'd never really walked along this particular beach much, though I've walked past it many times when heading directly to the Golden Gate. It was nice to get my shoes off and get my feel wet, though it was a bit cold. The changing of the seasons is upon is. But who doesn't love watching the sun set with the Golden Gate Bridge in the background, as you walk through the soft, sandy beaches as gentle ocean waves chomp at your feet? It's a beautiful and awe-inspiring experience. I suppose it offers a glimmer of hope, by showing that there is still beauty to behold in the world. and I kind of needed that after traipsing through the not-so-good parts of San Francisco. What a diverse world it is! It's hard to have hope sometimes, when you so often see only the dark side of humanity. And I drive through downtown Sacramento everyday, so I see it, everyday, even if it is just quickly passing by in the car.

I ended up staying later than I normally do in San Francisco, but it was worth it to see the sun fully set and darkness set upon the world once more. Another day and another adventure, come to an end. And of course now it's back to the real world with work and responsibilities and raising a child and all of that. I'm glad I'm able to get out from time to time, though, to get away and experience things. I think it's human nature to explore, and not just our own world and surroundings but our own humanity as well. I can't really help those poor souls along the otherwise barren streets of San Francisco. But I can't help thinking, they were once like me, a child with parents who grew up and went to school and probably fell in love several times. They, too, once lived. I hope they do have some humanity left in them, somewhere, and that they might someday stop and look around and decide to explore it for themselves. Maybe they'll find some salvation. But I imagine, pessimistically, that those who survive this day and the next will still be there, the next time I visit. Things rarely change. Sad.