A Grain of Salt

The mysteries of Lake Merritt

So. I live near Lake Merritt, the so-called "jewel" of Oakland. (It's nice, all right, but for a jewel, it has more than its fair share of goose shit.) Nonetheless, I love the lake. Love walking around it, running around it, have even been known to paddleboat on it. The one thing I can't imagine doing on it is actually touching the water. I was upset, therefore, a few months ago when I saw two parents standing on the sandy/goose-infested beach by the bandstand urging a small child in water wings -- presumably their offspring -- to go swimming. Horrifying. I considered calling child services.

Anyway, all that is neither here nor there. What I really wanted to write about is a mystery of Lake Merritt: Today, Peter and I were driving past it and we caught sight of a floating platform in the middle of the lake (itself a strange sight) with an outhouse sitting on it. Yes. Floating platform with outhouse, moored in the middle of Lake Merritt.

I do not understand what is going on. True, tomorrow is the yearly "Lake Merritt Rowing Club Regatta," so presumably the outhouse is for the race officials. But come on, people. It is not like Lake Merritt is the San Francisco Bay. That platform is within view of actual park service bathrooms -- how was it possibly worth renting an outhouse, attaching it to a dock, and pulling the dock into the middle of the lake? Very, very strange.

This is up there with the time when we saw a ten pound fish -- clearly not the sort that usually populates the lake (I think anything over a pound might die from contamination) -- floating dead in the water. Did it get swept in from the bay? Did a fish monger in Chinatown dump the day's leftovers? Was it a beloved pet? Unclear. But at least fish are *supposed* to be floating in the water. Port-o-potties? Not so much.

To the artsy looking man in the annoying hat

Why do you think it's okay to go into the cafe bathroom and take a huge, smelly dump? And spend your time on the toilet playing some weird hand-clapping game that I, sitting at a table next to the bathroom, could hear through the door?

This is the blog for Salt Magazine.

The birds

Just in case anyone thought I was exaggerating.
Notice how it is not hovering, but sitting on the edge of the feeder.

This is the blog for Salt Magazine.

I just got back from the gym and . . .

. . . while usually I really do enjoy my Tuesday afternoon "spin" class, I just want to say for the record:

I cannot sprint to Kate Bush's "This Woman's Work."

I don't think the rest of the class could, either.

Please switch back to Fergie.

This is the blog for Salt Magazine.

Orchid Killer

I was reading through some old blog posts from the winter of 2004 the other day and had a moment of nostalgia for my former self, living in a shag-carpeted Berkeley apartment with a termite infestation in the bathroom. These days I'm living in a lovely place in Oakland, where I actually am able to see from where I'm sitting two, count them, two bouquets of flowers. (And while I could suggest improvements over the bathroom's linoleum, there are no termites yet.) Granted, said flower bouquets were impulsive New Year's purchases and are unlikely to indicate a fresh flower trend, but for the moment, they're lovely.

Anyway, point being that I was trying to figure out what inconsequential domestic anxiety could take the place of another 2004 issue: a large spider dangling outside of my bedroom window. I think I've figured it out. It's the orchids.

A couple months ago, Peter's parents were visiting the west coast. We took a walk around the lake, and stumbled upon an orchid show. It didn't take long before what started as a casual curiosity about an orchid display morphed into a capitalistic desire to take some of the orchids home. They were so pretty. I wanted all of them.

So we ended up with two orchids, a stereotypical white and pink one that's sitting in a tree-stump-turned-orchid-pot in the living room, and another orchid sprig attached to a cork wedge that's dangling off the kitchen window. I am relatively sure that both are going to die. But I don't know what to do about it -- the bigger orchid's potting chips don't hold water, so every time I try to give it some moisture the water just leaks out the bottom. And the one in the kitchen keeps developing yellow leaves that fall off when I touch them (this wouldn't be such a big deal except that the plant only had like, six leaves to begin with). I know what you're saying: Water it! But the thing is, the kind man who sold it to me (who admitted to having over 300 orchid clippings growing on his apartment walls) said that yellow leaves were a sign of too MUCH water. How this can be reconciled with the fact that I rarely remember to water it is unclear. All I know is that I think its days are numbered, and I just hope it manages to pop out a flower before I do it in.

The termites were so much easier.

This is the blog for Salt Magazine.

America, The Priorities

So let's see. Here are some things that are going on in today's news, according to The New York Times:

-Nebraska is segregating its school system
-Rumsfeld is asked to resign
-Dozens are reported killed in an attack on the Taliban

But want to know what the most-emailed article is right now? A piece called "Fraidy-Cat of Hudson Street Is Yanked To Safety," a touching tale about the rescue of a kitten named Molly stuck in the wall of a Greenwich Village food store for two weeks.

This from the wire:

"I saw her eyes shining in the light," said Kevin Clifford, 33, the worker who pulled her out. "I was calling her, and she was meowing to me. She was scared."

Peter Myers, the owner of the shop, said he took Molly shortly after she was freed and fed her a lavish meal of lean belly pork and sardines in olive oil.

I mean, really, people. At least read something a *little* important, like this, a gripping tale of international intrigue masquerading as a Sunday Styles Vows column.*

*The author of this blog may or may not have a personal interest in this piece.

Senate, You Disappoint Me

Here I go, getting all excited that maybe--just maybe--a bipartisan agreement had been reached to figure out the question of illegal immigration, and then you senators get into a fight. This is like when you're a little kid and you're really excited because on Saturday morning you're supposed to go to Great Adventure, and then your parents get into a huge argument the night before and the trip is cancelled. And you're left standing in your bedroom in your bathing suit, dreaming about water rides. Damn you, senators. Damn you.

In other news, here's something kind of funny: George Bush and Tony Blair lipsynching "Endless Love" to one another. It numbs the pain.

Clubbing Baby Seals

If anyone has ever wondered why they club baby seals instead of just shooting them, well, here's the answer. Just thought I'd share that.

I [heart] Nutrition Reviews

One more thing before I go back to working: I'm doing research on sugar consumption for an article, and have been reading a study about American food trends. It's fascinating. Some horrifying things I've learned:

-apples, oranges and bananas alone account for 50% of Americans' fruit consumption

-iceberg lettuce, frozen potatoes (mostly as french fries) and potato chips make up a third of our vegetables

-in 2000, the average American ate 2.8 pounds of canned pears

The best part about this report, though, is that while it tries to be objective about the information it is reporting, its authors can't help but indicate their dismay at how crappy our food habits are. They sneak in titles to their statistics like, "Too Few Fruits and Vegetables, Too Little Variety" (relatively innocuous) and this, my favorite, "Average Consumption of Dark-Green Leafy and Deep-Yellow Vegetables and Legumes is Woefully Low."

Speak for yourselves, my nutritionist friends. I'm eating kale for lunch.

Daily Dancer

Speaking of inspiration, if anyone is feeling down about themselves or about life in general, I suggest that you check out Daily Dancer, a site brought to my attention yesterday by Vanessa, who is getting major blog points for her observations of things that I find amusing.

Seriously. This is what happens if you're armed with a webcam--it's a guy who turns on his computer, cranks up the music, and does a new little dance every day. Gold Digger, Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy, Numa Numa--it's a very simple concept, but one that is both fascinating to watch, and also strangely joyous and uplifting. It also suggests that the fact that my new computer has a built-in camera could be very, very dangerous.