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Since our recent relocation, Kira and I have been filling our space with things. We’ve opened boxes, that had been sealed for years, to revile in our pasts and have scoured the internets for giveaways that may help us fill the empty space. We’ve visited junk stores and high-end retailers. I’ve spent most of the time being a grump about overpriced overseas plastic products and Kira has made sure to allow me my requisite geocaching interludes as we have crisscrossed the city.

Among all the options for buying ‘new’ things, we’ve come to find that there is one form of used purchasing that seems to sit well with us. The estate sale. It’s a no-pressure, make me an offer, cultural time machine of an experience. The products are immaculate, meaningful, and interesting. We’ve acquired bits and pieces of our home that were once a beloved part of someone else’s home, not just the discarded junk from the dorm. Our can opener, a runner, a tin cup that is the kid-brother to my beloved camping cup (photo), American Flag pins, and the $5 Braun MP80.

Now normally I wouldn’t be too eager to pick up just any MP80. From my days of coming home for lunch during the summer, after hours of waterpolo practice, and flicking on the tube to get my 45 minutes of rest in, I’ve been a devoted follower of the Jack Lalane. His enthusiasm, energy, and the practicality of the machine really sold me. I’ve never owned one, nor even used one, but the daily info-mercial told me it was a good decision and I’ve stuck to that advice. That is until my good-buddy ChadlyD gave me some advice. ChadlyD Everybody! Mr. ChadlyD didn’t go with the Jack Lalane. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve asked him about his decision making skills, but he maintains that the Jack Lalane simply doesn’t hold a candle and I needed to get out there and explore the  world for what it is, and not what television wants me to think it is. Humbled, I had to agree.

So here I am, in a home that is on the edge of the Pacific ocean, filled with the debris of change and the ensuing sale and I’m looking for a can opener and maybe a bread knife, because we don’t have those yet, and what do I find? A supercharged MP80, clean and ready to go. A small green sticker was affixed to the device that read, ‘juicer $5.’ Twenty minutes later I had two American Flag pins and a new power tool and I think the video tells the rest.

The phone rings at 4:30 AM. Or did it?

This time is reserved for John, Kira knows that and she has to scratch my head or sing me songs to warm me up to opening my eyes. Kira’s in Santa Cruz until Friday, so there’s no one to warm me up this morning. My phone is down the ladder. I’m up the ladder. I have Not been vigilant in keeping the room spick and span. I’m aware that I’m about to learn a very good lesson with respect to clutter and cleanliness. Belt buckles are sharp and step ladders are sturdy. I get to satans glowing noise machine in time to see a 510 number just before it goes black. Now I’m curious and instinctively double tap the call button to redial. The phone is locked and I angrily smash the key pad to achieve normalcy, then repeat my double-tap forgetting that I’m about to interrupt someone at 4:30 AM. I’m a jerk.

The voice on the other end answers me by name before I say anything and I answer questions about my employment before understanding why and who I’m talking to. The engine begins to warm up and my cognitive abilities begin to sharpen (albit far from sharp). I repeat a couple of actions I’m to preform before the voice asks if I’m writing anything down. I fumble for something flat and something pointy and then proceed to request the information again, hang up, and run into the wall face first.

Now awake, I slip on my new blue pants, a toxic-orange shirt, and blue ball cap. Unaware of my assigned task beyond transporting myself down the hill, I collect my helmet & headlamp, GPS, first aid kit, jacket, and compass. As it turns out, all I needed was a ClifBar, fortunately I had two. I then activate my SAR-Scooter and race down the hill to meet the unknown 5 minutes away in Berkeley. My navigation is confirmed accurate by 10 police officers standing around and a SAR dog handler preparing her pal.

I’m not at an assisted living facility in Berkeley and I’m feeling good. Berkeley PD size me up based on, what I assume to be, the size of my mustache. They greet me as the SAR boss-man. I respond,

“My team should be here shortly, anyone else here?”

“Yes. Lt. ____ from your team with her K-9″

“Great. She’s the best at what she does.”

Fearing I may be found out for a rookie, I make small talk and then look busy fiddling with my scooter and pack. My scheme is found out once the real SAR Boss-man shows up. I am relieved.

We are giving a quick rundown on the situation, background, and our task. The story goes, an 86 y/o woman with dementia had escaped her maximum security senior facility sometime between an eight o’clock dinner and now, 5:00 AM. Holding a flier complete with a terrible DMV photograph and general description we set out.  The objective of the search this time around was a little more direct in that based on the subjects known last point of contact and some personal effects, we could set our k-9 team to the task of sniffing her out.

We set out following the highly trained 2-year old around Berkeley. About an hour in, with several miles under out belt, we consider the mileage one could achieve with an eight-hour handicap and ask our lead the probability of success at this rate. She winks at us, spins in a circle, and sits down. It was clear, to some, we’d be hard pressed to make any more effort useful. Fortunately, our hired driver was on the block with us running interference when we need to zig-zag across the boulevard. We signaled and piled into the truck, making our way back to ‘Command.’ Returning to the group we reconnoitered our findings and did one last evaluation of the building for information or signs. Nada.

As the day begins, our team debriefs and demobilizes. In all my haste I hadn’t bothered to lawfully secure parking and was relieved to find my scooter infraction free. I am up the hill and back in bed before any of the team is to the 580.  I fall back to sleep promising myself to clean the clutter and prepare my ‘SAR-ready pack.’

The subject was found healthy at 9:30 AM in North Oakland and I woke up at 2 PM to do as promised.

“Another email address John?”
“Yeah, pretty fancy eh?”
“But what’s this business all about? Did you buy another domain in a half-baked social-manipulation money-making scheme?”
“Well, kind of. I suppose it’s called government. Unfortunately, someone already beat me to the punch and the market is saturated.”
“Is that suppose to be some kind of political statement?”
“Yeah, I suppose.. forget it.”
“Okay.. But seriously, what’s the deal? I call, I write, nothing. What are you up to? I mean it is raining every day after all. You can’t be all that busy with bees and gardening.”
“Well, since it started raining and, you’re right, the bees are tucked away for the winter and the flowers are all soggy, so I’m trying out this new thing.”
“Oh? What’s that? Is it some kind of martial art?” (with skepticism)
“Noo” (understanding the reason behind the skepticism.. after all, I wouldn’t put it past myself to learn to disable a 280 pound man with a shotgun)
“Well…”
“I started working.”
“No! Get out.”
“Seriously”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“No I mean.. regularly?”
“Yeah.. well 4 days a week to start, but eight-thirty to five-p.”
“Doing what? Are you pushing?”
“Well, I suppose you could say that.”
“Really? Cause I’ve been looking.. and prices aren’t so good after they found those grows up in the Sierras last week…”
“NO. But kind of.”
“Well, what then?”
“I got a badge though.”
“Ooooh you’re a cop? Do part-time cops get a shotgun?”
“No and I assume so”
“No what?”
“I’m not a part-time cop.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.”
“Yeah.. only because that means I don’t get a shotgun.”
“I know. Bummer.”
“Serious bummer.”
“What were we talking about?”
“Drugs.”
“Oh yeah.”
“So here’s the scoop.”
“Give it to me”
“I work on the Nth floor of a building in downtown Oakland, __ Broad__ to be exact.”
“Go on.”
“And I use my badge to get into the office, otherwise Tony has to open the door for me. Nice guy.”
“Sounds like it.”
“Right? I only started showing up last week. This is day five? yeah, day five.”
“Sweet.”
“Yeah. So I’m working for the, ready for this?”
“Yes. – Well, hold on a sec I’m chewing an apple… makes it harder to hear.”
“Totally.”
“Okay, ready.”
“The Alameda County Public Health Department (ACPHD) Division of Communicable Diseases Control and Prevention (DCDCP).”
“So the ACPHDDCDCP?”
“Exactly”
“That’s a solid acronym.”
“You’re telling me, but that’s not all.”
“No?”
“Nope. Within the ACPHDDCDCP I’m in the Emergency Preparedness and Bioterrorisim Unit (EPB)”
“So you’re telling me if I were to write you a postcard it would go to John M___, C/O ACPHDDCDCPEPB, # Broad___, Oakland CA?”
“Uh.. kind of. Don’t forget the Nth floor in there someplace.”
“So, John Mizell, C/O ACPHDDCDCPEPB, Nth floor, # Broad__, Oakland CA?”
“I guess. Though I haven’t really checked that out. So I don’t think I’d waste a stamp on it.”
“Yeah.. cause with twenty-eight cents I could buy some dirt off a third-grader.”
“Exactly. Then plant a tree in that dirt.”
“I don’t think I’d get enough dirt.”
“Well, maybe enough to just wet it’s whistle.”
“Wet it’s whistle for twenty-five seconds?”
“Sure, why not?”
“I’d rather see how far I could huck it off the W-hotel’s balcony in Minneapolis.”
“Minnesota?”
“Yeah. You been?”
“I was just there. Not a bad town.”
“I know, right?”
“Nice sculpture garden.”
“I liked the wind chimes in the trees.”
“Those were cool.”
“So, going to work now. Right on.”
“Yeah, it’s all right. Gotta wake up early.”
“Like ten-thirty?”
“Naw, real person time, seven-fifteen.”
“Bummer.”
“Such is life. Good news is it’s right next to the BART station.”
“Nice.”
“Yep.”
“Yep.”
“Anyway, that’s why I’ve been slacking on el-communication-es”
“No worries. Once you’re settled into your new routine, you’ll learn to slack and spend eighty-percent of your day emailing friends.”
“Maybe. My current job is to ‘stream-line’ their processes’ so I can’t imagine being inefficient as I’m asking the office to become More efficient.”
“Wait, aren’t you the guy who was pushing hammocks as a way to become more efficient?”
“Maybe.”
“I see.”
“Hmm… You make a good point.”
“That’s because it is your point.”
“I make a good point.”
“Touche”
“Seriously though, I’ll get you my real address so you can send letters. I work in Bioterrorism after all.”
“Haha.. don’t tempt me.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Send letters to Kira full of sand. She’ll decode the ingredients for you.”
“Sweet. Now That sounds like a challenge.”
“Oh, it is.”
“Done.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
“Okay.”
“Anyway, time to get back to it.”
“Do it.”
“Right. Adios.”
“Peace out.”
*click.

(Or something like that.)

Yep.. it’s a beard.

The Word is Here

Hiked the southern side of Hetch Hetchy, Yosemite National Park, from Mather Station along the Smith Meadow to Smith Peak and back.

Vistas, Views, Environment

Weather: clear and beautiful

Trail Conditions: over grown

Trail Traffic: very low

Water: moderate

Animal Count: low

Record Keeping:

Hiking Yosemite Photos: not public :(

2011-07-11 Yosemite, Smith Peak Route – kind of fucked up. :(