jeremyrandall / blog /

Jeremy: Hey Hillary, how’s it going?

Hillary Clinton: Hey JR, nice to see you! How you doing?

Jeremy: Oh, I’m fine. Hillary, could you make me a bagel, and fix all of our healthcare problems?

Hillary Clinton: Of course, JR, I can do that. Do you want cream cheese on your bagel?

Jeremy: Mmm, yes. And butter.

Hillary Clinton: JR, I think getting rid of the butter is going to be part of solving the healthcare problem…

Spondork and I went for a walk on Mt Tam yesterday, in the rain.

I don’t think that walking on a mountain in the rain is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. And I don’t think it’s the smartest.

We stopped at Walgreens on Lombard before crossing the Golden Gate Bridge. I bought a poncho, since Spondork pointed out that carrying my gigantic blue and yellow umbrella into the woods would be dumb and “un mountain man -like.”

Right, that would be the dumb part.

We also bought a couple more of the “three dollar Walgreens hats” that we tend to buy every time we head out on a poorly planned outdoor adventure. They’re cheap, bright and goofy, and I think they are starting to litter both of our homes. I know there are at least two of them sitting on my bookshelf already.

On the drive up Mt Tam there is this ridge that actually has houses on it. It’s some weird zoning aberration that goes on for maybe a mile; as far as I know the entire rest of the mountain is National Forest and is protected from development. As we drove on the ridge and looked at the valley below, all we could see was a gray wall of clouds and rain. We passed a VW bus on the side of the road that looked like it was just one or two more gusts from being thrown off the ground into the canyon that presumably still lay below.

We got to the parking lot three miles below the East Peak and pulled in; it was so foggy all we could see was a wall of white in front of us. I joked that we were either pulling into the parking lot or we were about to drive off the side of the mountain into the abyss. Sometimes I make jokes when I am scared.

There were other folks out hiking (that was reassuring). An older couple advised us where to go, incorrectly, as it turned out. So we found ourselves on an unmarked trail alongside a rushing creek. Spondork walked animatedly ahead of me, talking loudly and gesticulating wildly.

The walking was great; I’ve been back on my game lately, so I was mowing up that hill with ease. But the roaring creek three feet below the crumbling earth that we walked on was making me nervous. Spondork started to totter as he crossed a log and I grabbed him and shoved him back onto the trail. Fucking shit. It occurred to me that it’s totally possible to get lost on Mt Tam. And, for some reason, I remembered the Blair Witch Project.

Forty five minutes and seven jumps over the creek later, we came up on a real trail, a fire road perhaps. Suddenly I could see the sheer beauty around me. The tall trees, the mist hanging in the air, the rocks and moss and leaves all around, everything drenched and sated by the water dropping out of the wind.

We walked down the big trail until we got to the part where it flooded over. We took turns peeing in the woods. And then we turned around and came back. We talked and joked and made fun of each other and everyone we know. And instead of taking the unmarked trail that we came on (we couldn’t find it again, thank goodness) we found a well marked trail with a name that we recognized and knew would lead us back. This trail was narrow and came down the grade on switchbacks. Spondork and I walked and yelled at the top of our lungs and made bad jokes and bad imitations of people we know. This is how we bond, I guess.

I’m not sure how to describe the beauty of the woods in the rain, but I think anyone who has seen the woods can imagine looking across a field as the rain comes down in torrents, hearing the water floating and dropping from all sides, hearing your own footsteps crossing through puddles, yelling and laughing like little kids and going from feeling lost to feeling found.

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We dedicated our trek to Walking Bob, our friend and a hell of a guy, who is now hiking around somewhere beyond where we can currently go. We miss you, Bob.

Years ago, my friend Elvispope moved to New York City. I talked to him after his first week there and asked how it was going. He said that he had done this and that, and that he had immediately obtained a library card.

When I was a kid the library was a second home. It may have actually been a first home, some of the time. Amid the raging chaos in my young home life, the library was a safe place, a warm place, an inviting place. And it was filled to the rafters with books, of course. My parents were readers, and the importance of literacy was instilled in me at a very young age.

I would go to the library and seemingly spend entire days there, from opening time to closing time. It was across the street from the elementary school and the front double doors opened at an angle to the street corner. I think the doors were a worn brown and the building was an older-style beige stucco. I suspect it was built in the 1920s, it had that “old enough to be old but once was new and beautiful” look.

Inside there were two wings, and in one of those wings sat a claw foot bathtub. It had been painted blue on the outside, while still white on the inside, with a wooden mast propped through the drain hole, and a small white canvas sail rigged to a thin boom. Yes, it was a sailing bathtub! And it was filled with pillows and stuffed animals and various soft and cushion-like things.

I was the captain of that vessel many a day, the sail rustling above me as I lay there on the soft stuff and read stacks and stacks of books. I’d get up occasionally to get a new book or to use the bathroom. There was a whole series of mystery books where the answer to the puzzle was written reversed and backwards at the end; I would carry the books into the bathroom to read them through the mirror.

I don’t remember the exact details of my comings and goings; whether I rode my bike (which was likely the case) or walked. I’m not sure if I was there after school or just on weekends. I do know that while it provided comfort and a lot of learning, the library was also a place to escape and hide from the difficulties of my reality. Everything has mixed blessings, I suppose. There was a lot of burden in my young life; someone had to take care of things around the house when those who were tasked with the job couldn’t be relied upon to perform, or even to show up. But for awhile on some days, I had a time and a place to be the captain of my imagination and to feel a little bit safer.

A few days ago Subby and I were out for a walk, talking and enjoying a crisp clear afternoon. We stopped at the beautiful SF Main Library; she was picking up a book that was on hold for her, so she could take it home and read it with her partner, MDT (I think it’s unbelievably cute that they read together). The library’s first floor was recently remodeled and she showed it off to me with barely contained excitement.

Over the years, as my life and work have dictated my digital existence, I haven’t been much of a library patron; I feel sort of ashamed to admit that. I’ve bought umpteen zillion books of my own, and given away most of them to keep my library from getting as big as the public one. I love books and I have to remember that I don’t need to own every book that catches my fancy, that I can read them and let them move on to the next person.

Or I can borrow them from this amazing library here in my amazing city. I was impressed by the automated checkout, the email notifications when books are due, and how much cool stuff they have.

I’d love to say that I checked out War and Peace and read it clean in an evening; I didn’t. I borrowed some DVDs, including the first season of Taxi. I hadn’t seen it in years, and I don’t know if I ever saw the first episode before (it’s brilliant).

Taxi was on TV at night back then (the theme, “Angela,” was the first song I ever had recorded on a cassette tape), back in those early days, when I’d come home from reading in my bathtub sailboat, check on the apartment, make sure everyone was accounted for and hope that I’d have chances to get back there again on other days, during the calms between the storms.

It’s 2008!

For the last day of 2007 I went to work, met up with a lunch group, came home, did laundry, called someone and made a date, took a nap and then took the bus to the Castro area to attend two New Year’s Eve parties. I met some fun new folks and marked the new year with close friends and an intimate late night. Then I walked home, enjoying the exercise, the cool breeze and the city lights. The Transamerica building is blinking its regular red light; the multicolored holiday light has been retired until next year. The holidays are over (except for having today, New Year’s Day, off, I suppose) and it’s time to dive back in to the regular day to day.

2007 was a big year for me; I have a lot of optimism about 2008. Out with the old, in with the new, positive choices, making progress.

On another note, my Mac is at the Apple Store getting a new hard drive, under warranty. I hope it’s back soon!