Battle of Braintown.

Sincere apologies for no post yesterday.  I got distracted by cramming for my exam, which is not usually how distraction works for me.  I just returned from the testing center and feel…suspicious.  Suspicious of success, suspicious of failure…who can say.  We shall see.  The exam was Construction Documents and Services AKA How Not to Get Sued/Screwed/Taken Advantage Of/Bankrupt by the Owner/Contractor/Consultants/Users.  Riveting stuff…jk that was the Structures exam.  (Ah ah.  Brain fried.)

So this exam was two parts—multiple choice and a design vignette (a building section through structure/HVAC/etc).  Everything is going along smoothly enough until I get to the vignette and read the word “parapet” in the instructions…and then HAMILTON (the musical) is UNLEASHED in my brain.  “After a week of fighting, a young man in red coat stands on the parapet.”  So all while trying to draw this wall section, I have lines like “FREEDOM FOR AMERICA FREEDOM FOR FRANCE” and “WE WON WE WON WE WON WE WON” playing over and over in my brain.  Not the best concentration music, but I did manage to finish the drawing.  I may need to take a break from listening to Hamilton/I just turned it on...I’m gonna go rendezvous with Rochambeau.  BYE.

Wingapo.

I must not have noticed the colorful leaves swirling around me as I left the house for my run this morning, but by the time I got back, I felt like a regular Pocahontas.

My first wildlife encounter was in Buena Vista park.  When there was no person attached to the off-leash dog ahead of me, I realized it was in fact a COYOTE.  A nice looking coyote.

Do you have an owner?

No, I am WILD.

But even better was the flock of PARROTS all chomping on breakfast berries in a tree right by my house.

I spy...

PARROTS

Oh hello.

Just brunchin' with mah buds.

(San Francisco has a population of wild parrots, thanks to a homeless dude who kept them as pets on Telegraph Hill back in the day.  We see them flying around a lot, but this was the first time I had seen them this up close.)

Then, from the shower, I watched a falcon/hawk/big bird as he surveyed his domain from a tree in our backyard.  I’ve been browsing “Birds of San Francisco” websites, but can’t figure out what exactly it was.  (I think I have mentioned here that I can foresee an old Claire birdwatcher…)  Birdwatching readers, I welcome your thoughts on what kind of bird this is, if you can tell from these bad pictures.  It had white spots on its wings, a white throat and belly, and a brown/gray head.

Ok, back to studying/tearing my hair out watching the Patriots. 

The wonders of Muni.

(I had wanted to avoid writing this post, but the universe conspired against all of us this morning and I am now compelled to write it.  Forgive my sass.)

You know what really grinds my gears?

Inane people on Muni in the morning. 

Does your morning commute need more adults behaving like children?  Come to San Francisco and have your fill.  Perhaps you’ll witness a dramatic businessman yell at and physically block a mother from exiting the train after her running four-year-old.  Maybe, when another woman tries to help the mother, you’ll hear the man accuse her of hitting him.  You may even hear him loudly call her a bitch—all before eight o’clock!

Grown men throwing fits not your cup of tea?  Would you rather feel like the only sane person in a mental institution?  Muni can help you out here too.  A half full train will regularly leave behind a platform full of people because no one can board the train.  Why can’t they board, you ask?  The people on the train don’t seem to understand that they don’t have to stand directly in front of the door.  Here’s where you get to feel like you’re stuck in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest: ask people to move so you can get in.  First try asking the general group: “Can we make some room?  Will you all move in please?”  You’ll get blank stares, perhaps a shrug, and zero movement.  You’ll probably have to stay on the platform for this one.  When the next train pulls up, single out just one of the offenders.  Use your go-go-gadget arms to reach inside the car and tap the shoulder of the guy who has room for three people to do the Macarena next to him.  Politely point to all that space and ask him to move over.  Oh darn, no can do—he tells you he prefers to stand by the pole.  How about you try the average-height girl next to him?  “Miss, can you please move in?”  Strike two, she shrugs and lamely mimes that she can’t reach the overhead bars (she can).  You know the doors are going to close soon, but you are resolved not to miss this train.  Time to barge through.  Miracle of miracles—there’s room for you and the flood of people from the platform behind you.  But, you accidentally bump the average-height girl with your backpack as you squeeze by her. “Um, take off your backpack?  It’s proper etiquette,” she informs you.  It will be very difficult, but limit your response to an incredulous scoff.  You’ll do better than I did.

These displays of absurdity do not even include the ACTUAL crazy people of Muni, of which there are plenty.  One of them might tell you that she is your super brain, but not your super head.  Another may just sit in a corner and twitch.  These people can’t induce rage, however.  Save that for your supposedly sane brethren who are trying to get to work, just like you.

“Never argue with a fool, onlookers may not be able to tell the difference.”

Sad day.

Friends, I am depressed tonight.  This will be a short post.

1)    I did not win Powerball.

2)    Will and I just finished watching Making a Murderer on Netflix.  Spoiler alert—you will lose faith in the criminal justice system and never want to set foot in Wisconsin.  I kind of want to change careers and become a defense attorney.  Ken Kratz, you are one slimy son of a bitch. 

I was planning on writing a “Grinds My Gears” post about my morning commute, but after that last episode/entire show wreaked havoc on my faith in that "innocent until proven guilty" thing, I just don’t have the heart.  Maybe next time.  Speaking of heart…

My heroes.

New year, new me.

Happy new year to my adoring fans.  I made many resolutions this year and too many have already fallen by the wayside ("Dry January" began on January 3rd and ended on January 4th.  “Eat healthier food”—a frozen pizza is heating in the oven as I write this).  The resolution I am most serious about, however, is to write weekly in this blog.  I will do so on Wednesdays, so I hope you will tune back in and keep me honest.  Without further ado...

2015 by the Numbers

Blog posts: 20

Presidential biographies finished: 1

Remember me?

Weddings attended: 5

Times I flew from sea to shining sea: 14

Architectural Registration Exams passed: 2

Architectural Registration Exams failed: 1 :(

Dollars the National Council of Architectural Registration Boards swindled from me: 1,485

Times I correctly identified an earthquake: 1

Times I was fooled by the spin cycle: 1

Times I was fooled by loud noises or perceived vibrations: pleading the 5^th

I think that covers the vital statistics.  For me, 2015 was a gratifying year—exciting move to San Francisco, Erin’s wedding, etc—but for the world, 2015 seemed to be when the crazies took hold…everywhere.  Here’s to hoping everyone can CALM DOWN in 2016.  A vain hope for an election year, I realize.

A small glance forward at 2016, by the numbers:

Blog posts: 52

Architectural Registration Exams to knock out: 5

Weddings on the docket: 6