Today is the second “Spare the Air” day here in the San Francisco Bay Area, a sort of snow day from paying for public transportation due to high temperatures and poor air quality.
While getting a free ride to and from work is always a good thing, the entire concept of Spare the Air is so ass backwards it makes my head hurt, especially here in Marin County.
At least two-three days a week I take the Golden Gate Ferry from Larkspur into my office in San Francisco. The other days I either carpool, and very rarely, I drive alone. I enjoy taking the boat into work although it costs almost as much as it does for me to drive, cross the Golden Gate Bridge, and park in downtown San Francisco.
In order for me to get to my ferry from my house, I have to sit through about eight miles of stop-and-go traffic. The trip takes me at least 25 minutes due to a variety of factors including school being back in session, losing a lane of freeway for a two mile stretch of road in Central San Rafael, and the most recent bane of my existence – a freeway construction project where US 101 and Eastbound 580 merge together.
There are a couple of buses that run out of my neighborhood to San Francisco, but they are express buses and they don’t run frequently or when I need to be at work. From what I’ve researched, there are no options for me to get from my house to the ferry terminal in Larkspur.
What does all this mean? It means I still have to get in my car on Spare the Air days to get to the free ride to work, thus defeating the purpose of the campaign. Part of the push of Spare the Air is to work from home, but as we can never predict when these days are going to come, it is hard to plan for working from home.
The bigger picture, at least for Marin County, is the need for better infrastructure. I looked around this morning and saw an empty carpool lane, and three lanes of single drivers. While some people just don’t care and do like to drive, I have to suspect many are people like me, who want to do the right thing and use public transportation, but have no other choice than to get into their cars.
(And for you hippies out there, yes, I could ride a bike to the ferry terminal if I A) owned one B) had a shower to clean up in at work afterwards and C) had somewhere to store it in downtown SF).
Marin County voters have shot down the last several initiatives for a light rail system in the county. Meanwhile, the roads are clogged and the quality of life in my county struggles. Not to mention the 300-lb. gorilla in the room, global warming.
So yes, I can say I rode public transportation and “spared the air” today. While it sounds noble, I know the truth. I’m a total fraud, much like this entire program is.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Monday, August 27, 2007
Mercury Retrograde
My friend Joana and I have a running joke that when things break or start going haywire, we blame it on Mercury Retrograde.
Until a few years ago, Mercury Retrograde had never crossed my path, at least not consciously. One day, while bored at work, I was sent a link to an astrology website. While I'm not someone who actively follows astrology, it is a great way to waste time reading horoscopes and how they relate to work, love, and life in general.
It is said in astrology that Mercury rules over the mind - including all communication, business, and travel processes. When Mercury reverses its direction, everything that Mercury is associated with is affected. Mercury Retrograde, astrologists warn, is an unfortunate time to make business decisions, purchase things like cars, or get married.
Suddenly it all became clear. It was no longer me making those user error mistakes at work. Obviously, it was Mercury Retrograde. If something breaks, blame Mercury! Flight delays? Oh, that pesky Mercury!
Today felt like a Mercury Retrograde period as everything electronic I touched stopped working. First, on the WebEx call where my presentation was temporarily muted by WebEx (only in front of the entire Americas sales organization for the company I work for and only during my presentation). Later today, the Mystic Tan machine that I desperately need to help me grow a tan by Saturday to compliment the rockin' pale blue dress I bought in New York last week, decided to stop working. Never mind that it had just worked for the customer ahead of me. Picture me standing butt naked in a machine pushing a button to spray a tan that just isn't coming.
The final straw came when all the cash registers at my local supermarket froze up as I was in line buying groceries for dinner. The market had to close early as they had no way to ring up our food manually.
That was the third strike. I almost didn't get in my car to drive home. At this point, it seemed dangerous to tempt fate further.
Surprisingly, Mercury is not in a retrograde period today, although it certainly feels like it is. Then again, there is a full moon tonight. I think I'll blame that for this crazy and frustrating day.
Until a few years ago, Mercury Retrograde had never crossed my path, at least not consciously. One day, while bored at work, I was sent a link to an astrology website. While I'm not someone who actively follows astrology, it is a great way to waste time reading horoscopes and how they relate to work, love, and life in general.
It is said in astrology that Mercury rules over the mind - including all communication, business, and travel processes. When Mercury reverses its direction, everything that Mercury is associated with is affected. Mercury Retrograde, astrologists warn, is an unfortunate time to make business decisions, purchase things like cars, or get married.
Suddenly it all became clear. It was no longer me making those user error mistakes at work. Obviously, it was Mercury Retrograde. If something breaks, blame Mercury! Flight delays? Oh, that pesky Mercury!
Today felt like a Mercury Retrograde period as everything electronic I touched stopped working. First, on the WebEx call where my presentation was temporarily muted by WebEx (only in front of the entire Americas sales organization for the company I work for and only during my presentation). Later today, the Mystic Tan machine that I desperately need to help me grow a tan by Saturday to compliment the rockin' pale blue dress I bought in New York last week, decided to stop working. Never mind that it had just worked for the customer ahead of me. Picture me standing butt naked in a machine pushing a button to spray a tan that just isn't coming.
The final straw came when all the cash registers at my local supermarket froze up as I was in line buying groceries for dinner. The market had to close early as they had no way to ring up our food manually.
That was the third strike. I almost didn't get in my car to drive home. At this point, it seemed dangerous to tempt fate further.
Surprisingly, Mercury is not in a retrograde period today, although it certainly feels like it is. Then again, there is a full moon tonight. I think I'll blame that for this crazy and frustrating day.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
If I Can Make it There, I'll Make it Anywhere...
Frank Sinatra sings in his classic song New York, New York “if I can make it there, I’ll make it anywhere.” Those lyrics really hit home while on a recent business trip to New York, where after only 15 minutes into my trip, I found myself homeless as well as going through a sort of identity crisis. Perhaps I should mention these events also unraveled as my right ass cheek was being firmly held in the death grip of a kinky lesbian grandma.
Awesome.
I flew the short distance from Montreal to New York Saturday morning on a claustrophobic express jet made for little people. You know you’re on a tiny plane when you have to do the limbo to get to your seat as to not hit your head on the ceiling. Better yet, when the pilot made the standard announcement for flight attendants to take their seats for take-off, he just called into the intercom, “Pam, prepare for take-off.”
While visiting New York, I was to stay at the Hudson, an uber-trendy boutique hotel, with what my coworker Brian likes to call the world’s biggest lobby, and the world’s smallest hotel rooms. I stayed there a few months ago, and swore I would never do that again (something to do with the feeling that the walls were closing in on me in my 150 sq. ft. room). As this trip came up somewhat last minute, I decided to go back to the prison I already knew, rather than play hotel room roulette with a different corporate hotel option.
As I attempt to check in at the Hudson, the man at the registration desk begins looking baffled. He can’t find my reservation anywhere. We try 10 different spellings of my name but it becomes clear I’m not in their system. I dig out my travel itinerary in mock outrage (hoping their obvious error will result in an upgrade for me), only to discover my corporate travel agency never received a confirmation for my stay. And just like that, I am homeless.
I pull out my Blackberry and call corporate travel to sort out this mess while the guy at the front desk attempts to hunt down a room for me that costs something remotely close to our corporate rate. While we’re doing this, I feel an arm wrap itself around my waist, and the warmth of a body standing too close to me. At that exact moment, the travel agent picks up the line so I'm momentarily distracted and don’t turn to face my molester.
That is, until the molester grabs my ass.
Horrified, I turn to face a woman, easily in her sixties, who leans over towards my ear and says in a sultry voice, “I can’t wait to see you again.”
Both the man behind the desk and I stand there stunned as the color in my almost-lovers face turns crimson. She looks at me sheepishly and exclaims, “Oh sorry. Wrong girl!”
It is all I can do to not burst out laughing in her face. Somehow ten long seconds pass as she walks away before the guy at registration and I break out in a roar of laughter. The perplexed travel agent questions what just happened, so I tell her, and we bust up again. It is not every day you get mistaken as a participant in a lesbian tryst and get assaulted.
In the end, corporate travel was able to sort out a room and the guy behind the counter upgraded me to a deluxe room (meaning my 150 sq. ft. room will be 175 sq. ft., with a hallway). I never crossed paths with my molester again, but kept looking for my evil tart of a twin, who apparently was the right girl.
The best line came from the man checking me in, who has no idea how I attract freaks like a moth to the light. As he handed me my room keys, he smiles and says, “I think this is going to be an interesting trip to New York for you.”
With a start like that, how could it be anything but?
Awesome.
I flew the short distance from Montreal to New York Saturday morning on a claustrophobic express jet made for little people. You know you’re on a tiny plane when you have to do the limbo to get to your seat as to not hit your head on the ceiling. Better yet, when the pilot made the standard announcement for flight attendants to take their seats for take-off, he just called into the intercom, “Pam, prepare for take-off.”
While visiting New York, I was to stay at the Hudson, an uber-trendy boutique hotel, with what my coworker Brian likes to call the world’s biggest lobby, and the world’s smallest hotel rooms. I stayed there a few months ago, and swore I would never do that again (something to do with the feeling that the walls were closing in on me in my 150 sq. ft. room). As this trip came up somewhat last minute, I decided to go back to the prison I already knew, rather than play hotel room roulette with a different corporate hotel option.
As I attempt to check in at the Hudson, the man at the registration desk begins looking baffled. He can’t find my reservation anywhere. We try 10 different spellings of my name but it becomes clear I’m not in their system. I dig out my travel itinerary in mock outrage (hoping their obvious error will result in an upgrade for me), only to discover my corporate travel agency never received a confirmation for my stay. And just like that, I am homeless.
I pull out my Blackberry and call corporate travel to sort out this mess while the guy at the front desk attempts to hunt down a room for me that costs something remotely close to our corporate rate. While we’re doing this, I feel an arm wrap itself around my waist, and the warmth of a body standing too close to me. At that exact moment, the travel agent picks up the line so I'm momentarily distracted and don’t turn to face my molester.
That is, until the molester grabs my ass.
Horrified, I turn to face a woman, easily in her sixties, who leans over towards my ear and says in a sultry voice, “I can’t wait to see you again.”
Both the man behind the desk and I stand there stunned as the color in my almost-lovers face turns crimson. She looks at me sheepishly and exclaims, “Oh sorry. Wrong girl!”
It is all I can do to not burst out laughing in her face. Somehow ten long seconds pass as she walks away before the guy at registration and I break out in a roar of laughter. The perplexed travel agent questions what just happened, so I tell her, and we bust up again. It is not every day you get mistaken as a participant in a lesbian tryst and get assaulted.
In the end, corporate travel was able to sort out a room and the guy behind the counter upgraded me to a deluxe room (meaning my 150 sq. ft. room will be 175 sq. ft., with a hallway). I never crossed paths with my molester again, but kept looking for my evil tart of a twin, who apparently was the right girl.
The best line came from the man checking me in, who has no idea how I attract freaks like a moth to the light. As he handed me my room keys, he smiles and says, “I think this is going to be an interesting trip to New York for you.”
With a start like that, how could it be anything but?
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