andycrews

Andy, DanO, Kris and I went off for lunch to a local Italian place. When the drinks arrived, DanO picked up his straw, removed the wrapper, plunked it into his drink, and started drinking.

"Given how environmentally conscious you are, I'm surprised you use straws. Is there a particular reason for doing so?" I commented and asked.

Kris looked over at me surprised at my directness. Andy looked over at me unsurprised, but reached for his drink.

DanO hemmed and hawwed for a few moments, trying to come up with some reason for using a straw, as I continued, "You know, those take decades to decompose. They're made of plastic."

Kris sat silent. Andy looked down, busy with something in his hands.

DanO continued to wave his hands and say little, until he finally stopped, and stated, "I like drinking from straws."

"That's fine," I responded, "As long as there's a reason, and not just a mindless use of them. Liking them and deliberately using them, say, to keep the liquids from staining your teeth, is reasonable."

We looked over at the relief on Kris' face.

And Andy's answer to my straw accusation:

It exploded five seconds after the picture.

This afternoon, as I was thinking of wrapping up work, Andy IM'd me with the single word question, "Train?"

A dozen reasons why I didn't want to train up to small groups ran through my head: I had cones I wanted to take to practice since we never seem to have any; I had discs to take since we never seem to have enough; I had warmups to deliver to teammates, even though DanO picked up 10 for the team, thereby reducing my load to 2 for today's practice; I already had my car for the day, I'd have to pick it up later; there isn't a train station within 100 feet of the fields, which is how close I can park. All sorts of excuses not to train, but not really any valid reasons not to train.

So, I packed as minimally as I could, as we'd be running from the station to the fields, a half mile run plus or minus, left twenty minutes early, and went to catch the train. Tragically, I spent the whole train ride talking about me and my failings as an ultimate player these last few years, instead of, oh, I don't know, talking about him. Yeah, that would have been better.

Once we stepped off the train and jumped over the tracks, all while thinking, huh, wow, this is a crazy silly station with a bizarre layout, as we weren't crossing the tracks illegally or unsafely, Andy prompted, "Jog?" Uh, I guess if we're going to make it to practice on time, hustle starts now, and off we went.

About a quarter mile into the run, Andy asked me, "Do you run regularly?" I thought the question odd, but answered, "I try to, yes," then asked, "Why? Am I slowing down already?" We were running at a nice clip, faster than I would have run on my own, more his pace than my pace, but I didn't think I was yet struggling to keep up. He commented, "No, you're just not breathing hard."

Huh, what do you know? No, i wasn't, but, dang, that was the nicest compliment I've had in a long time. Maybe he'll stop flustering me as much.

When I worked at VA, one of my coworkers, Richard Lee, would hike to the top of Mission Peak on a semi-regular basis. It was the closest mountain to climb to both work and his house, so it had its charms. I had intended to go several times, but never quite made it out.

Andy suggested the hike as "something short this weekend, how about Mission Peak?" A few friends were also hiking it this weekend, and meeting up with them, one of whom had a dog, would be fun. We didn't know quite what we were getting in for, and thinking it would be similar to the Mt. Diablo hike we went on 5-6 years back.

Yeah, other than the straight up, not so much.

We arrived slightly late, having left our house slightly late, having woken up slightly late. Yet, even with our late arrival and walk from the most distant parking spot, we still arrived before the rest of the group. Looking up the hill, we couldn't see the top of the hike, as the whole area was covered in smoke from the Henry Coe wildfire and some level of morning fog. There was little green, and lots of exposed areas, explaining why Andy wanted to start early. He had never come on the weekend, so was a little surprised at the number of people on the hike. There were a lot

The first three miles were uphill, with maybe 50 yards of the hike level, and none downhill.

Just before the peak, the path turned from a 12' wide, flat, practically paved dirt road to a series of rocks, not unlike the path to the Giant's Causeway in Ireland. Just as I approached the base of the rocks to climb up, another group paused to look up the rock path. Andy chose that moment to run up the path. Like a mountain goat, he pounced from rock to rock, dashing up the side of the mountain with grace.

The group next to me watched him for about twenty seconds, then simultaneously turned to look at each other, a look of incredulity on their collective faces. I saw the looks, and turned to them. "Yeah, we think he's crazy, too."

"I'm tired just watching him," was the response.

The smoke and haze so stifling from the bottom of the hill was below the height of the peak, so we had great views of, well, cloud and smoke coverage of the Bay Area metropolis to one side of the peak, and smoke covered rolling East Bay hills to the other side. The top was, as Andy told us, windy, but pleasant. We went down the back side of the peak, away from the crowds, which was nice. We passed through a creek a couple times, and convinced the dogs to jump in a couple times. I would have taken pictures of the way down, but, well, the camera died at the peak.

At one put a couple weeks ago, when we were driving from Andy's house to 280, Andy commented there was a new restaurant along the route named Merlion. "Merlion?" one of us asked. "Is that like a cross between a lion and a fish?"

"Yes it is," was Andy's answer.

And, sure enough, when we drove by, there, standing proud, was a statue of a lion with a fish tail, spewing some water into the pool around its feet.

We had to go.

Yesterday, I asked Andy if we was up for going to Merlion with Mom, Kris and me. When he said yes, I made reservations, and the three of us, Mom, Kris, and me, went to pick up Andy last night to check out the new place.

The first thing we noticed was that the door you think is the front door, the one on the side nearest the big-ass Merlion statue-fountain along the major busy road, isn't.

The first door we went to said "go to the next one over." The next door over said, "go to the next door that way" without giving a direction associated with the "that." We eventually wandered all the way around the building, going the long way past the Potsticker King, before encountering the baby Merlion: a statue merely half the size of the fourteen foot statue we'd seen from the street and wandered past, twice, on the way around the building to the front door.

We entered, and were greeted by another Merlion, this one as big as the first, but not quite as spiffy: it was blind. Don't know what I mean? Go to the Merlion on Steven's Creek and see. Or don't. It can't see you.

So, we ordered our meal, after debating whether or not to order the $900 bottle of wine, eventually opting for the $40 bottle of wine instead (what's $840 among family and friends?).

Behind us, a large group was gathering. The tables were pushed together, and people hurried in to sit before the guest of honor arrived to celebrate his birthday.

Before the birthday boy could arrive, just after Mom had her meal set down in front of her, the lights went off.

We looked around, slightly perplexed. Power going out in a restaurant is never good. We figured if the power didn't come on in a few moments, candles would arrive for mood lighting.

Before long, the restaurant manager came up and apologized for the lights being off. The whole complex had lost power, not just their building. We didn't care much, as the rest of our meals were arriving. We had enough light to eat by, so eat we did.

As we ate, we noticed the place start to fill up with smoke. The power loss had, unsurprisingly, stopped the overhead fans in the open kitchen, though the grill was still on to finish cooking the orders placed before the power went out. When the birthday boy arrived a short time later, he and his brood of 30 were out of luck for ordering meal.

As we continued to eat our meals, the manager stopped by to apologize to us for the loss of power. We still didn't care since we had our food, so we kept shooing him away. Eventually, however, it became clear that he was concerned because, with the power out, he had no way to process credit cards, we'd have to pay cash.

Darn, Andy commented, why didn't we order the $900 bottle of wine. They can't expect us to carry $900 in cash with us to a restaurant, can they?

For some unknown reason, I happened to have a $100 bill on me, and was able to pay for the meal in cash. I have no idea what prompted me to bring that bill, as I normally have less than $25 in cash on me at any time, $20 of that being the emergency $20 that should be for emergencies only, but seems to be spent whenever.

We left our Merlion adventure shortly thereafter, passing the birthday boy brood trying to figure out where to take 30+ people at 8:00 on a Friday night without reservations. As we left, Andy turned to Kris. "Potsticker King next time?"