DanO: "Lyndsay's are better. Sorry, Kitt."

Me: "If you say so."

"I haven't seen yours."

"If you want to, look at Andy's yearbook."

"You two went to school together?"

Andy: "Yeah. Kitt asked me out, too."

Me: "!!!!!!!!"

Next morning, me: "Uh, did I really? Because I don't remember that at all."

Andy: "Yes. Fairly vivid memory of it."


I'm completely mortified by this revelation. I thought I recalled every guy I asked out in college. I have exactly no memories of asking Andy out. Zero. Zilch. None.

Suddenly my crush on him has taken on new dimensions. Like, over a decade old dimensions.

Might have to stop with the Office + hot-tub journeys.



Andy, DanO, Kris and I went off for lunch to a local Italian place. When the drinks arrived, DanO picked up his straw, removed the wrapper, plunked it into his drink, and started drinking.

"Given how environmentally conscious you are, I'm surprised you use straws. Is there a particular reason for doing so?" I commented and asked.

Kris looked over at me surprised at my directness. Andy looked over at me unsurprised, but reached for his drink.

DanO hemmed and hawwed for a few moments, trying to come up with some reason for using a straw, as I continued, "You know, those take decades to decompose. They're made of plastic."

Kris sat silent. Andy looked down, busy with something in his hands.

DanO continued to wave his hands and say little, until he finally stopped, and stated, "I like drinking from straws."

"That's fine," I responded, "As long as there's a reason, and not just a mindless use of them. Liking them and deliberately using them, say, to keep the liquids from staining your teeth, is reasonable."

We looked over at the relief on Kris' face.

And Andy's answer to my straw accusation:

It exploded five seconds after the picture.

Hot tubbin'


Went over to Andy's tonight. He had sent an invite over for 'tubbing and the Office. Mike Leech had shown me my first viewing of the Office when I stayed with him the week before Regionals, and had explained the briefest of plotlines to help me along. I've seen many more with Andy, however, and, though we don't need another show to Tivo, Kris and I have been enjoying heading over for an Office and 'tub adventure.

With Kris working late before his vacation starting tomorrow (also known as "yet another ultimate tournament masquerading as an ultimate tournament"), I grabbed the dogs for a social visit.

We watched an episode or two, then went off to the hot tub. I've been trying different shorts to see which would double best as a bathing suit, too frustrated to actually go out and buy one, having purchased two that didn't quite fit, even with the mix and matching.

Now, normally when I go hot tubbing, I can last about 15 minutes in the hot tub before I'm done. Kris can attest I like my showers "tepid" so hot, hot, hot water isn't comfortable for me. Kris and Andy seem to be able to sit in for hours, though I haven't tested this theory, with my getting out after fifteen minutes, playing with the dogs, wandering around the house, washing all of Andy's dishes, rotating the compost bin, and cleaning up the dog poo in the back yard before the two of them are done.

Tonight, however, I was determined to stay in the tub. I wasn't going to be the first out tonight.

So, after an Office or two, in we went. We talked about how cool a blackout would be, sitting in the tub looking up at the sky. We talked about Nationals, about meeting up at various ones in years past, about injuries and recoveries, about dogs (especially after the dog pile that had Shadow on the bottom crying with Blue nipping him then dominating). We talked about geeky games, Portal in particular, and how the physics might work. We talked about the enzymes he was using in lieu of chlorine for the hot tub, and the rotation cycle of the alternate chemicals, and how chlorine just doesn't sit well with either of us. We even talked about the tub itself, and how some jets weren't working, and others felt really really good when aimed at the bottom of the feet.

During all of our talks, I sat in the tub, or on the edge, or in front of a jet, or leaning over talking to a dog or two. I stayed in the tub, mostly, waiting for him to get out first.

After lasting more than three times my usual tub length, I gave up. I was a prune and completely warmed all over. I didn't need to be in the hotteum any longer, as all of my muscles were all limbered. Just as I left the tub, Andy jumped out. "If I had known you were that close to getting out, I would have stayed in. I was waiting for you to get out first,"

"Well, I was, too. I was waiting for you to get out first."

"Great. Playing chicken in a hot tub."


Train up


This afternoon, as I was thinking of wrapping up work, Andy IM'd me with the single word question, "Train?"

A dozen reasons why I didn't want to train up to small groups ran through my head: I had cones I wanted to take to practice since we never seem to have any; I had discs to take since we never seem to have enough; I had warmups to deliver to teammates, even though DanO picked up 10 for the team, thereby reducing my load to 2 for today's practice; I already had my car for the day, I'd have to pick it up later; there isn't a train station within 100 feet of the fields, which is how close I can park. All sorts of excuses not to train, but not really any valid reasons not to train.

So, I packed as minimally as I could, as we'd be running from the station to the fields, a half mile run plus or minus, left twenty minutes early, and went to catch the train. Tragically, I spent the whole train ride talking about me and my failings as an ultimate player these last few years, instead of, oh, I don't know, talking about him. Yeah, that would have been better.

Once we stepped off the train and jumped over the tracks, all while thinking, huh, wow, this is a crazy silly station with a bizarre layout, as we weren't crossing the tracks illegally or unsafely, Andy prompted, "Jog?" Uh, I guess if we're going to make it to practice on time, hustle starts now, and off we went.

About a quarter mile into the run, Andy asked me, "Do you run regularly?" I thought the question odd, but answered, "I try to, yes," then asked, "Why? Am I slowing down already?" We were running at a nice clip, faster than I would have run on my own, more his pace than my pace, but I didn't think I was yet struggling to keep up. He commented, "No, you're just not breathing hard."

Huh, what do you know? No, i wasn't, but, dang, that was the nicest compliment I've had in a long time. Maybe he'll stop flustering me as much.

What is it with Andy?


So, what is it with Andy Crews that when he shows up, I fluster and feel like a gangly, uncoordinated teenager? I swear, that man is going to be the death of me one of these days.

We're all at practice today. Andy agreed to be the team's coach, so he was helping out coordinating the practice, keeping us on time, explaining drills, giving pointers, inspiring the lot of us. When he talks, everyone listens, which is absolutely wonderful. When he explains some skill, or some drill, or some finer point to some technique, there is no ego in his explanation: the explanation is very much to help the recipient become a better player. I'm fairly certain we all lurve the Andy. Just lurve him.

During practice, Tyler explained a drill he wanted us to run, one that showed and ingrained certain cuts that are very effective for him. The paper Tyler showed to us had very good explanations for each cut, each change of directions, and the timing of both. It was well written, and clearly well thought out, as the end of the cuts flowed easily into the line of the next step in the drill.

One step of the drill involved faking to the first cutter to signal to the cutter to change direction, as the thrower dumped the disc for a give and go. After the team had run though each of the four steps in the drill several times, Andy started marking the thrower, then following the thrower to put another mark on the upfield throw after the give and go. Simple.

He started by marking other people. Somehow, I managed to avoid being marked by Andy.

Until I didn't.

He flustered me. He always flusters me. I hate that he flusters me. Hate it.

I turned and ran with the disc. I moved until I heard Doyle yell, "TRAVEL!" I stopped, threw the disc to my dump, who was standing in front of a large number of very humoured teammates, then ran for the give and go. I ran as hard as I could, received the disc, turned, and there he was again. My continuation pass was pathetic.

I moved to the side of the field, bent over, and nearly cried from embarrassment. DanO asked if I was okay, which, well, technically, I was. Except for the embarrassment part. Could I curl up into a little tiny ball and disappear? Please?

Beth does this to me, too. I notice her when she's marking me. I don't notice a lot of marks, at least until they handblock me, then I'm way more careful the next time I'm marked, but Beth I notice every time. Though, not as bad as Andy.


Mission Peak


When I worked at VA, one of my coworkers, Richard Lee, would hike to the top of Mission Peak on a semi-regular basis. It was the closest mountain to climb to both work and his house, so it had its charms. I had intended to go several times, but never quite made it out.

Andy suggested the hike as "something short this weekend, how about Mission Peak?" A few friends were also hiking it this weekend, and meeting up with them, one of whom had a dog, would be fun. We didn't know quite what we were getting in for, and thinking it would be similar to the Mt. Diablo hike we went on 5-6 years back.

Yeah, other than the straight up, not so much.

We arrived slightly late, having left our house slightly late, having woken up slightly late. Yet, even with our late arrival and walk from the most distant parking spot, we still arrived before the rest of the group. Looking up the hill, we couldn't see the top of the hike, as the whole area was covered in smoke from the Henry Coe wildfire and some level of morning fog. There was little green, and lots of exposed areas, explaining why Andy wanted to start early. He had never come on the weekend, so was a little surprised at the number of people on the hike. There were a lot

The first three miles were uphill, with maybe 50 yards of the hike level, and none downhill.

Just before the peak, the path turned from a 12' wide, flat, practically paved dirt road to a series of rocks, not unlike the path to the Giant's Causeway in Ireland. Just as I approached the base of the rocks to climb up, another group paused to look up the rock path. Andy chose that moment to run up the path. Like a mountain goat, he pounced from rock to rock, dashing up the side of the mountain with grace.

The group next to me watched him for about twenty seconds, then simultaneously turned to look at each other, a look of incredulity on their collective faces. I saw the looks, and turned to them. "Yeah, we think he's crazy, too."

"I'm tired just watching him," was the response.

The smoke and haze so stifling from the bottom of the hill was below the height of the peak, so we had great views of, well, cloud and smoke coverage of the Bay Area metropolis to one side of the peak, and smoke covered rolling East Bay hills to the other side. The top was, as Andy told us, windy, but pleasant. We went down the back side of the peak, away from the crowds, which was nice. We passed through a creek a couple times, and convinced the dogs to jump in a couple times. I would have taken pictures of the way down, but, well, the camera died at the peak.

Coal Creek


Coal Creek hike with Mom yesterday. We took a wrong turn and almost finished the hike in 45 minutes. I set us straight, we back back-tracked on the trail to go the long way. 3 hours later, and Mom was too tired to be angry with me.

I really should realize that not everyone is an ultimate player with a start-stop-start-stop all day fitness mode.

Then maybe Mom wouldn't need to be mad at me.



At one put a couple weeks ago, when we were driving from Andy's house to 280, Andy commented there was a new restaurant along the route named Merlion. "Merlion?" one of us asked. "Is that like a cross between a lion and a fish?"

"Yes it is," was Andy's answer.

And, sure enough, when we drove by, there, standing proud, was a statue of a lion with a fish tail, spewing some water into the pool around its feet.

We had to go.

Yesterday, I asked Andy if we was up for going to Merlion with Mom, Kris and me. When he said yes, I made reservations, and the three of us, Mom, Kris, and me, went to pick up Andy last night to check out the new place.

The first thing we noticed was that the door you think is the front door, the one on the side nearest the big-ass Merlion statue-fountain along the major busy road, isn't.

The first door we went to said "go to the next one over." The next door over said, "go to the next door that way" without giving a direction associated with the "that." We eventually wandered all the way around the building, going the long way past the Potsticker King, before encountering the baby Merlion: a statue merely half the size of the fourteen foot statue we'd seen from the street and wandered past, twice, on the way around the building to the front door.

We entered, and were greeted by another Merlion, this one as big as the first, but not quite as spiffy: it was blind. Don't know what I mean? Go to the Merlion on Steven's Creek and see. Or don't. It can't see you.

So, we ordered our meal, after debating whether or not to order the $900 bottle of wine, eventually opting for the $40 bottle of wine instead (what's $840 among family and friends?).

Behind us, a large group was gathering. The tables were pushed together, and people hurried in to sit before the guest of honor arrived to celebrate his birthday.

Before the birthday boy could arrive, just after Mom had her meal set down in front of her, the lights went off.

We looked around, slightly perplexed. Power going out in a restaurant is never good. We figured if the power didn't come on in a few moments, candles would arrive for mood lighting.

Before long, the restaurant manager came up and apologized for the lights being off. The whole complex had lost power, not just their building. We didn't care much, as the rest of our meals were arriving. We had enough light to eat by, so eat we did.

As we ate, we noticed the place start to fill up with smoke. The power loss had, unsurprisingly, stopped the overhead fans in the open kitchen, though the grill was still on to finish cooking the orders placed before the power went out. When the birthday boy arrived a short time later, he and his brood of 30 were out of luck for ordering meal.

As we continued to eat our meals, the manager stopped by to apologize to us for the loss of power. We still didn't care since we had our food, so we kept shooing him away. Eventually, however, it became clear that he was concerned because, with the power out, he had no way to process credit cards, we'd have to pay cash.

Darn, Andy commented, why didn't we order the $900 bottle of wine. They can't expect us to carry $900 in cash with us to a restaurant, can they?

For some unknown reason, I happened to have a $100 bill on me, and was able to pay for the meal in cash. I have no idea what prompted me to bring that bill, as I normally have less than $25 in cash on me at any time, $20 of that being the emergency $20 that should be for emergencies only, but seems to be spent whenever.

We left our Merlion adventure shortly thereafter, passing the birthday boy brood trying to figure out where to take 30+ people at 8:00 on a Friday night without reservations. As we left, Andy turned to Kris. "Potsticker King next time?"

Cleaning up


Growing up, I hated to clean. I hated to clean up my room. I hated helping clean up the family room. I particularly hated to wash the dishes, but that's to be expected. Who doesn't hate to wash dishes?

Kris taught me the trick to minding washing dishes less: use rubber gloves.

Learned that lesson 20 years too late.

There was one exception to the cleaning-hate rule, though, an odd one that. I didn't mind helping clean up over at the Kleins.

I wish I could say the "not-minding" extended to all of my friends. I wish I could say I wasn't such a rotten child about cleaning up. But I can't, because I was, and I'm mostly embarrassed about it these days. I'm sure eventually I'll forgive myself about being a horrible child, but not. quite. yet.

Yesterday morning, I managed to finish all of my A-tasks: the tasks I have to finish over the weekend, or I'll just explode come Monday morning. You know, the really important tasks like, oh, I don't know, watering the plants, and folding the laundry, and eating all the sugar in the house.

Since I was done, and didn't really want to start on any of my other tasks, I called up Andy and asked him if he wanted help with his tasks around the house. He said sure, and off we went, the girls and I, to Casa Crews to help with the outdoor plumbing and the patio.

We glued together the pipes for an irrigation system extension for the wisteria on the side of his house. We dug up some of the patio area, narrowly missing Shadow as he ran under the pickax as I dug. We rewarded ourselves with a walk over to the nearest Jamba Juice for a smoothie, and discovered Jamba Juice had been bought out by Nike.

Right. Like that's a connection I should have made: they totally fit together.

As I left before dinner to head home with the girls, I couldn't help but wonder why working on someone else's chores and projects is so much easier than working on my own chores and projects. Maybe it's because I can walk away from others' chores even if I'm not done. Can't really walk away from mine: they're still there when I return.

Evening Ft. Funtown!


Went to Ft. Funston (Fun Town!) with the Andy and the dogs yesterday. Andy already had already had a full day, so we ended up leaving late in the afternoon. Having never been except in the morning, I was curious how the experience would change.

Well, it was foggy. Does that count?

I, surprising everyone but me, didn't take my camera along for any part other than the drive over. Managed a lot of lovely photos of the dogs in the truck, but that conveys not much.

The dogs listen to Kris, they don't listen much to me. They may react slightly to my voice, and their names, but, for the most part, all they hear is "BLAH! BLAH BLAH BLAH!"

Kris, however, is in Colorado this weekend, so Andy and I played zone defense with the dogs, one on two. On the hike around Ft. Funston, we went the opposite way the three of us normally go, several people commented, "Wow, have enough dogs?" My thoughts, "Only four? Nah!"

At one point, Annie decided to run ahead of us. Since we were walking in the opposite direction, the first part of the run was close to the highway. The first part of the walk - you know, the part where Annie has boundless energy, and wants to fo run run running. The highway seemed like just as good of a place as any direction.

Silly dog.

After yelling at her every time she wandered toward the highway, I'd run along in front of her to show her where I wanted her to run. She'd run along next to me, then pass me ("I'm the alpha dog! I need to be in front!"), running somewhat along the path, but not quite.

At one point, Annie ran ahead, towards the cliff. Rather than stopping at the edge, she ran up and over. Full sprint.

Images of the warning sign of the "Aroo?" dog falling off the cliff in my head, I started to run after her. Andy, being a bit more rational at the moment, called to me, "this way!" and starting running down the path which lead along the top of the sand cliffs and down to the beach. Full sprint I ran, trying to keep up with him, as he ran along and down.

Eventually, I rounded the corner of the cliff and sprinted back down the beach towards Annie, worrying about her, wondering how far she fell down the cliff. As I rounded one of the corner, I found her, munching happily on a dead seagull.

Stupid dog.