10.06.07

    Congrats to Dez! View the pictures here.

09.06.07
    Last Saturday was one of those days, the ones which happen but rarely, characterized by ridiculously early mornings followed by an inexplicable rush of energy resulting in accomplishing an appalling amount of things during the course of the day. Two others stand out in recent memory.

    One occurred about two years ago after sending my family to the airport, we were up at 4:30am and I got them there by 5:30. This meant I hit campus at 6 and found free parking on a weekday for the first time ever. This was when I was working in the lab and my plan was to sleep in one of our comfy armchairs for a while. This plan was foiled by our custodial staff, who were opening up the building, their approaching and receding footsteps echoing through the ventilation system and creeping me out too much to nap. I gave up and fired up the computer and microscope long before anyone else in the hallway arrived. A planned coffee run (caramel latte, darn you Katsky for turning me on to those) got me through the first few hours and I finished a full day of work before 3pm. Of course this was also the day of an open meeting where we would be brainstorming ideas for the visual identity of the Beaty Museum. Rabid wild horses with grappling hooks on adamantine chains couldn’t drag me away from that one, so in the late afternoon I was sitting around a table with various other artistically-inclined or well-placed members of the department presenting ideas and firing out sketches on the spot. By the end of the meeting the basic logo had been designed. Leaving the building, I called Jen, and since I had a vehicle, I offered her a ride home. She accepted, and since it was her and Frank’s regular night eating out, she invited me along. With the family off on vacation, I gladly butted in. They noticed I was unusually energetic and talkative, which lasted until I went to bed around 11pm.

    The second day was in Athens last summer, which I’ve already written about. After sleeping through half the previous day, Tree still managed to sleep through the night. I was wide awake sometime after 3am. I lay there weighing the merits of getting up vs. trying to sleep. When 4am rolled around and I was still vividly conscious I decided to head out by 5. The bathroom had the odd feature of a window between the bathtub/shower and main sleeping area. There was a double pane of glass in between which was an inaccessible closed Venetian blind. You couldn’t see through it but turning the light on in the bathroom flooded the rest of the hotel room with light. This and my bumping into things in the dimness woke Tree up.
    “What time is it?” she asked blearily.
    “Five AM, go back to sleep”.
    “What are you doing?”
    “I’m going out; I’ll be back by seven.”
    “Don’t get lost” or something were her final words to me before she went back to sleep likely muttering in disbelief at my insanity.
    Outside the room, the neon orange lighting of the hallway and shiny metal elevator seemed garishly out of synch with the time of day. Mornings are for pale neutrals, soft surfaces, and soundtracks featuring woodwinds. I passed through the empty lobby, giving the surprised-looking guy at the front desk a cursory nod before being absorbed into the still dark morning.
    I returned punctually, having run the last few blocks in a downpour. “Oh look, it’s raining” said a woman as I entered the lobby soaking wet.
    I was tempted to turn around to the windows, feign surprise and go “Oh, so it is!”
    Tree was getting out of bed when I got back to the room. She glumly noted my level of enthusiasm despite the hour and my state of saturation. I changed into dry clothes and we headed to breakfast.
    The rest of the day involved getting out of the hotel, taking a bus to the port, standing in lines waiting to board the ship, getting pulled off the ship because of a pointy souvenir, getting back on the ship, orientation and lifeboat drills, a couple meals in there somewhere, sailing to Mykonos, running around the city and heading back on board with nary a nap in between.

    Last Saturday involved a 6am birding outing at the lake. I was undecided on whether or not to go, reluctant to sacrifice a day of sleeping in. Just in case, I packed everything I needed and set the alarm for 5, saying I’d asses my mood at that time. I woke up at 4:45.
    I drove to the lake; the few other cars out all seemed to be going to the same place. We went down the entrance road where we were stopped by a railway crossing, the gates down and bell ringing. There was no train. Five minutes later there still was no train. The absurdity of a 6am traffic jam on a weekend in the middle of a park was painfully obvious. I pulled off the side of the road, parked, and walked the last 50m, causing everyone else around me to do the same thing.
    The group was large, consisting of several regular volunteers and staff as well as experienced birders, photographers trying out their telephoto lenses, and newbies lacking binoculars and clamouring for field guides. The birding was good, nothing shocking turned up, but we did see a textbook contrast between Violet-Green and Tree Swallows and I learned to differentiate the calls of a few nondescript olive green songbirds. A particular highlight was a male Rufous Hummingbird doing a courtship display for our benefit, repeatedly zooming several stories straight up, then diving down in an arc, stopping abruptly with a squeak and a flash of iridescence right in front of us. Afterward we all gathered around coffee and a bake sale and told tales of weedbusting and weird wildlife.
    I did a pit stop at home and walked to the train to get my tourism passport at the stadium. We had a thing where they want to cross-merchandise the tourist centers in the city, encouraging us to earn a free year-long pass to the bulk of them in the hopes that we recommend each other to visitors. I got there 15 minutes to opening, greeting a short lineup, but nothing like the horror stories experienced by some of my co-workers. They opened 10 minutes late, after which we were allowed to stand inside, listening to the reverberations of The Police rehearsing in the main bowl. Twenty minutes and one horrible photo later and I had my pass.
    Since I was downtown anyway I went to check out a photo show by an artist I know. I didn’t know the exact location, but a casual wander of the neighbourhood got me there. The place was a café, packed with brunching minions, so a quick walk-through was all I could stand to do. The photos were good, better than I expected actually, so hey.
    The day was sunny and heating up rapidly, so I headed down to the beach. The kites were out across the water at Vanier and the seawall was rife with babies and dogs. A short walk got me to a ferry stop, where my new pass got me onto a blue bath toy of a boat headed for science world. A dragonboat extravaganza was going on, where the ridiculously young and healthy gathered for inspirational workout routines.
    One merciful train ride later and I was at the library, pulling books to prep for my course later this month and finding an in-stock copy of Douglas Coupland’s latest book (see below). From the library I took the scenic route home, the train passing along the riverfront for a good stretch.
    I read my books through the afternoon before tagging along to my Dad’s annual (but first time I’ve bothered going) work family bbq. I’m the same age as their youngest employee (actually I may be their youngest employee, if under an hour of contract work a year counts), and there’s a big gap between me and the next youngest spawn. I stood around a lot, ate some good food, and watched their annual lawn bowling championship, won by the same two guys for the third year running. My co-workers are young-ish ecologically and socially minded mostly female arts people. You forget what it’s like to be around my Dad’s crew of old-school all-male (except reception) politically incorrect scotch-and-cigar engineers. The sun went down and people trickled home. I ended another long day, a day in which you feel like you’ve accomplished a lot, but wouldn’t particularly like to repeat it.

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