I'm a lasagna boy!

In which it is like a violet

From Bob the Angry Flower to Frazz, it's all about my favourite piece of English punctuation.

In which we relate the parable of the builders

Three men were discussing the beauty of the human body. The electrical engineer claimed that Man must result from one of his brethren, for how else one explain the perfection of muscles, tendons, and joints? The electrical engineer protested: the nervous system testified that only God must have been one of his ilk. And then then the bartender looks over and said, "Nah, it must be the urban planner. Who else would put a sewage line through a recreation area?"

This is how I feel about Octavia Boulevard: too short, too narrow, too few signs, and too abrupt with pedestrian interactions. I see confused drivers steered onto the freeway, and turning incorrectly across multiple lanes of confluent and cross traffic; I see pedestrians frightened to cross the too-short lights, and waiting uncomfortably on the awkward median (who thought to put benches there? who in their right mind would sit on a median amidst four lanes of 60kph traffic?); and I do not see signs noting that once you are on the road, you cannot turn until Fell (northbound) or are totally committed to Highway 101 (southbound).
And why does the Boulevard not connect with Geary? A longer roadway makes more sense for moving traffic and for creating a true cross-town route.

In which it is a walrus when it rains

I uncovered some good ol' snaps of our friend down at the Surf St Aquarium.

More photos are at my website, but (warning!) they load slowly.

In which we drink the lemonade

Alleluia, La Moone has returned! After the restaurant closed in March, they have hosted a series of small dinners at other local restaurants, and now they return with catering menus for special events. Yum. Any time I eat La Moone food is a special event.

In which we count up to sixty-six

As evidenced by the mixture of joy and rage when reading (of all things!) the beer menu at the outstanding Porterhouse bar, I cherish the unflattering memories of Ronald Reagan. Aram turned up this list when I muttered something about James Watt, and I figure that it is just the sort of convenient one-sheet to start printing on various networked printers around the globe. Lest we forget.
As for the menu at the Porterhouse: it contains a delightful invective (not reproduced in the online version) railing against American politics and beer. I read it after a few glasses of their (delicious!) XXXX stout.

In which The Governor tells pedestrians and cyclists to keep it local

The Governor vetoed AB 748, which would prohibit tolls for cyclists and pedestrians on state roads. He also vetoed the bill to maintain the current level of state funding for the Bicycle Transportation Account. The Governor's veto means that the funding for bike facilities, bike parking, and signage, et al., will decrease to $5 million/year, from the current $7.2 million per annum.
The Governor's veto does note the benefits of cycling and walking, but suggests leaving management of the toll to the local districts. My response:

I strongly support Assembly Bill 748 and any efforts to prohibit bicycle tolls on all public bridges and roadways, and I was disappointed to learn that you vetoed it. You are sending a message to Californians that cycling has the same environmental effect as driving, and, implicitly, that cycling and physical activity are not especially important. Not only does cycling promote useful physical activity, an interaction with one's community and environment, it is less wasteful and costly than driving. As fuel prices continue to rise, I am dismayed that you do not come out strongly in favour of low- and no-emissions, renewable transportation.

Walking and bicycling reduce traffic congestion, vehicle emissions, and oil dependency. In addition, bicycling and walking provide the kind of physical activity necessary to fight the growth in obesity, diabetes, and asthma.

AB 748 will encourage Californians to take advantage of the most sustainable and healthy modes of transportation possible, and ensure that they are not penalized for cutting down on traffic and harmful pollution.

I ride across the Bridge several times each month, to commute and for recreation. Were the toll in place, I will be less inclined to do so: I will ride elsewhere. Placing a monetary toll on activities which are good for tourism, the environment, and place little additional stress on the bridge infrastructure is simply not a good idea.

I also use my feet as my primary mode of transit, wherever I am. I walk and cycle to work, to almost all my errands, and around my neighbourhood.

I strongly oppose the Golden Gate Bridge District's efforts to penalize people who walk and bike on the Bridge. Please support AB 748 and a healthier, safer Bay Area. Please reconsider your veto, and send a positive message that walking and cycling are special to California.

banjaxed

Thanks to the esteemed Mr O Connor, I was reminded of banjax, verb:

banjaxes, banjaxed, banjaxing

1. To ruin, stymie or destroy.

Etymology: 1930s: Anglo-Irish.

But what else did you expect from swearing dot org? Google Print cites a half-dozen works for banjax, but three are dictionaries!

Psmith in the City

Books with climactic cricket concepts:
Dorothy Sayers's Murder Must Advertise: a match between an advertising firm and a teetotalling advertiser;
Sarah Caudwell's The Shortest Way to Hades: a match between Artists and Writers in Corfu's Esplanade;
and
P G Wodehouse's Psmith in the City: a match featuring our hero's amanuensis and helpmeet, Mike.

In which I pine for blueberries

Last night marked the return of Jen (and Max, although he was off at band practise), which we celebrated by hearing stories of the blueberry-laden hike through the Olympics, the pig roast and barn party in Ohio, and hiking in the shadows of grizzlies at Yellowstone. Jen said that she did not much care for blueberries before this recent hike! to which I thought, heavens, more for me. I have been putting back a pint almost daily since I discovered how luscious and sweet these berries are.

August Wilson

The New York Times has a special and colourful obituary of August Wilson.

I saw several of his plays at the Pittsburgh Public Theater, and my father gave me several beautiful editions of his plays when I was growing up in an entirely different part of Pittsburgh from where Mr Wilson's plays are set.

In which we have a web site

Greg mentioned that some of our (now mutual!) neighbours have put up a tastefully-designed community resources web site for The Lower Haight (sometimes marked on maps as The Lower Haight Shopping District, presumably to entice tourists into spending their hard-earned monies on kindbud and outre one-off fashions). Greg stopped over yesterday after chowing down at Rosamunde's, had a glass of beer, and watched us maintain domestic tranquility (read: fold laundry and move boxes around).

In which I am workmanlike

This morning, Anna and I carefully planned our schedules (yes, even of a Sunday) so that we could consolidate errands that required a (much-hated, in principle if not in the particular) car. Much to our chagrin, we returned from some on-foot errands to find the driveway blocked by about a foot of gleaming white bumper. Anna looked desparingly at the car and realised that we could not back out unless the car moved (well, we could back out slowly enough to push the car into the road, and scrape -- literally! -- past: that is an approach more suited to ye poopmobile, however). Without hesitation, I called the DPT, and they arrived within minutes. About an hour later, the car had been tagged and was being towed, and we were just backing out when an unhappy young woman sat down on the stoop next to our and asked if we had towed her car. Beside her was a wailing four-year-old. I said yes, and, under prohibition against engaging people in fights, verbal or otherwise, kept my mouth shut. She walked over as we backed out and apologised, and Anna felt remorse.
Slightly exasperated with our calling the dpt and quite probably ruining someone's day -- someone with a kid to contend with while in the painful process of retrieving a car from the pound --, Anna tried to balance our convenience against hers. She figures that it is easier to tow someone argumentative and volatile than a nice mother, but I suggested that regardless of whoever we were towing, they had taken their chances in blocking the driveway.
The charm of calling for a blocked-driveway tow has already worn off, and I feel less as though I am acting territorial and more like I just want to finish my errands. Even when the car was going up on the dolly (it was a front-wheel drive, towed from the rear -- ouch), I was in the workshop banging on the kogswell and paying little attention to the hulabaloo outside.

I'm calling the DPT Engineering office tomorrow, again, to find out when we can have the kerb painted in official DPT Red.