Williams, Dunnigan, Colusa and Willows?

My parents are out of town this weekend, but while they're camping, they wouldn't dare miss mass on a weekend. As such, my mom has been texting me incessantly, making me look for Catholic churches in small towns around Sacramento. She's trying to find one on the way to the campsite.

She first asked about Williams, CA, then Dunnigan, then Colusa. When I finally found one in Colusa, Our Lady of Lourdes, I sent her the schedule. Knowing my parents well, I made a mental bet with myself that they would not have been down for the 10:30AM mass Sunday morning.

Regardless, I called Our Lady of Lourdes, just to double check the mass schedule. Most parishes have automated machines, but being a small parish in a small town, I didn't expect Colusa to have one.

I was right, and a kind lady picked up and informed me that mass was actually at 5PM and 10AM, meaning my parents definitely will not be visiting Colusa anytime soon. The lady also told me that the 10AM mass was Father Roy's last mass, so that made me scared that my parents would inevitably show up underdressed for a special mass. Thankfully, my mom then asked me to search for a church in Willows. God is definitely shining on Father Roy this weekend.

I find one in Willows, St. Monica Parish, and called them as well. It's a bit annoying how the online schedules aren't right. Well, I see the priest's name, Father Matthias O'Callaghan, and I thought, typical; an Irish priest. Then I thought, hey, I could have fun with this. I mean, they're never going to talk to me again, right? Why don't I ask them in an Irish accent? I could pull it off and they wouldn't know any better. Plus, it would make for a great story. What could go wrong, right?

Well, first, it was an automated machine that answered my call, so that killed my plans. However, the second revelation was much more plan-killing.

The voice on the machine had an Irish accent.

Oh, God of Irony, why do you mock me?

Cosmic Satisfaction

Two weeks ago I got a new wallet because my old one was really gross. For those who don't know, I like to keep all my receipts and all my old cards in my wallet, thus making for a rather cluttered trifold.

A few minutes ago, as I was cleaning my room, I stumbled upon a combination lock. I recognized it immediately as the same one I used nearly 3 years ago in lab for general chemistry. For years I've had this lock, and being the packrat I am, I have not had the heart to throw it away. However, I've never been able to remember the combination either, so it has always served as a memento more so than as an actual lock. My dilemma was that I had nowhere to put it, now that I was home and lacking a desk with drawers to hide my hodgepodge of personal memorabilia.

Then I remembered something, something that, if correct, would be cosmically satisfying. In my old wallet, I always saved the little piece of paper that came with the lock, which had the combination. I saved it at first in case I forgot my combination, but even as the original use went away, I kept the paper.

It first was used scratch paper, as I wrote down the combination of my lock for second semester's lab. I also wrote down my registration code, at the behest of my adviser, Dr. Vierra. He wanted me to stop coming to him because I kept forgetting the code. However, both these numbers quickly outgrew their usefulness. Thus, I had no reason to keep the small, folded paper for longer than a few months.

But I did.

And as I skipped down the stairs in anticipation, I fumbled through the mess I made on the coffee table a few weeks ago when I transferred all my stuff to my new bifold wallet (for the record, both pictures accurately portray my actual wallets, oddly enough). Looking through the clutter of faded receipts and worn-down plastic cards, I found the lock combination-turned-scratch paper.

I kept the paper on my thigh as I sat down, joyfully waiting for what I hoped would be cosmic satisfaction. I try the three numbers printed in bold on the front.

They didn't work.

I opened it up and tried the second set of numbers I wrote down.

They didn't work.

I reread the directions and tried those second set of numbers again.

They didn't work.

I tried the first set of numbers, knowing full well that this would be my last option, my last glimmer of hope to open a lock that's been closed for three years.

They worked.

Cosmic satisfaction achieved.

Dreamlog

I think I'm going to start posting my dreams on my Tumblr. It'll be an exercise in the bizarre and uncomfortable, and I think it'll be extremely interesting.

I was in the library at Pacific, but as is the case in some dreams, it wasn't set up exactly as the setting in "real life." In fact, this library seemed to double as a dormitory of sorts. There were bathrooms with a few sinks where some of the study rooms would be on the second floor. Down the hall, if you're walking with those study rooms on your right hand side toward Dave Brubeck, are tables. Except in my dream, these tables also had computers and were formed in an L.

I was just "getting settled," meaning I had scoped out a place and put my stuff there and started walking around, chit-chatting and making small talk to my studious companions. But very noticeably, I was getting no studying done. The majority of the time, I was just kinda exploring this dreambrary. I felt a lot of emotions, too. I encountered people I didn't know, as you do sometimes at the library, and as a mimicry of reality, I ignored some of them and talked to some of them. It was surreal and realistic simultaneously.

In my dream, Craig was about to get some Taco Bell, a common late-night run when people are studying all night at the library. It was well after midnight. Then, as I was sitting with all the AXΣ people, a bunch of KΨ kids were being loud, just beyond the bookcase. We all turned our heads and got annoyed.

Now, this is a common phenomenon at the library in real life, too. When a group talks and all of a sudden the all get mad that another group is talking. It is extremely hypocritical, and altogether hilarious in my opinion.

But these Kappa Psi kids were being disproportionately loud. This wasn't some amusement park. Obviously, I was in my sweats and turned around to mug them. They couldn't quite see us because they were over yonder bookcase, but a few of them walked out to the side and saw all of us looking at them. Naturally, we outnumbered them and they were silenced by our intimidation factor (yeah, right).

Then later on, someone came over and got mad at me for some reason I can't remember. I don't even know what I was doing with the group of AXΣ people. Again, my spot was elsewhere, and I was just loitering (another uncanny resemblance to reality). This guy grabbed my collar and I exclaimed angrily, "Get your fucking hands off me!" making sure everyone heard. He see that I have drawn attention and lets go.

At this point, I think I am half-awake, because as he lets me go, I walk away, only to turn around and get him in a headlock and smash his face on the desk. Then I orchestrate a fight. I know I wasn't fully asleep because I kept changing the scenario in my head. In one case, I grab him by the ears and drag him to a security officer. Then I tell my sleeping self that there's a lot of anger and that I need to calm down, so I do. That's when I wake up.

The first thing I noticed was my empty wall. Then when I turned to see the other side, I looked at my frogs, Kermit and Miss Piggy. I noticed something was floating in the tank, though. I wasn't scared, because if it was a frog, it would definitely have been bigger.

I walked over to see what it was, and to my dismay it was a bubble that didn't pop. I wondered why the bubble hadn't popped yet. Then I looked at my frogs. One of them looked really pale, and so I thought to myself, "You must not be getting enough sunlight." Then I thought, "How come the other one isn't pale?"

My heart sank.

I opened the lid, tapping the sides, knowing that it usually scares them into movement. It's how I let them know I'm about to feed them every 3 days or so. One of them flits off haphazardly, but not quite as quickly as he usually does. the other one just stays still.

"Hey!" I called out, hoping vainly that my voice would waken him. "Hey!" I called out again. I felt stupid, yelling at a dead frog. The bubbles were still unpopped.

I changed the water in the tank and flushed Kermit down the toilet. Miss Piggy seemed a little sluggish but wouldn't eat. I want to think it was sadness, but more likely, it's probably because those same conditions that made it impossible for Kermit to survive are making it difficult for Miss Piggy to survive.

I changed the water and put the lid back on.

Spots of Five

via Calphotos

We collected this for my California Flora class, Nemophila maculata. Its common name is the fivespot, for obvious reasons I think. This picture looks like it could have been a Polaroid, which is why I like it. It's a nostalgic picture, like all Polaroids. The funny thing is that Polaroids can be described as nostalgic now, about two decades after they were popularized.

It's also interesting that the word "nostalgia" can be applied to things as an adjective. If you think about it, nostalgia is a wistful feeling derived from personal memories, but when we call things nostalgic, it doesn't necessarily mean we have personal memories of the object described. Oftentimes it's nostalgic because of the way it's presented. It calls to mind a certain way of doing things, a certain way of living things.

So Polaroid-like pictures are nostalgic because they bring to mind the past. I think it's more of a collective past, not a personal one, that allows us to describe things as nostalgic.

Either way, nostalgia is a wonderfully bittersweet feeling. I forgot where I heard this (damn), but someone told me? or I read somewhere? that nostalgia is bittersweet in that we remember our good experiences, but lament that they aren't happening now.

Hm.

Tufas and the Sounds of Sand

One of the requirements of California Flora is that we make a plant press containing at least 25 different species. We are responsible of gathering our own plants and figuring out what species they are. Our professor, Dr. McNeal, probably knows every single species we collect but still tells us to figure it out ourselves. How dare he make us learn.

Another requirement, that goes in tandem with the first one, is to go on three out of four field trips, one of which is mandatory for all. The required one is a weekend trip, which was this past weekend. We were to leave Friday morning at 6:30 and arrive back at school today, Sunday, in the late afternoon.

However, Josh and I had a biennial banquet to attend for AXΣ. I guess the fact that it happens every two years made us tell Dr. McNeal that we had to leave early, thereby prioritizing our fraternity brothers over our potential academic endeavors. We didn't think our grades would be jeopardized, though, so we sought to leave early. He said it was okay, but we would had to drive down ourselves and leave ourselves. Also, there would be no reimbursement for gas and whatnot. I don't think I've truly understood the life of a poor college student until this semester. I seriously spend 80% of my funds on booze and haircuts.

So Josh and I left Friday morning to go to Death Valley National Park. We made a quick detour to check out the beautiful Mono Lake. I felt a bit guilty because I had a lot of fun, while still learning. It has a rich history and wonderful sights as well. Josh waded in an admittedly disgusting-looking carbon dioxide spring, but it looked really warm and pretty fun as well. The warm water went up to his chin, and the lurid scent of sulfur made its home on his skin. We learned about the tufas of Mono Lake (shown below), which are just rocks made beneath the surface of the lake that stand tall as the water level drops.



The most beautiful part of Mono Lake was the fact that we were walking on a marshy beach, but the skies retained the blue clarity of a tinted diamond. The sun was bright, but we were surrounded by snow-capped mountains. I think we were driving at the foothills of the Sierra Nevada mountains, if not in the range itself. The views were consistently spectacular.

We also stopped around to pick up a few plants, but when we got to the campsite around 6PM after almost 9 hours of driving, we were understandably tired. However, at Dr. Brunell's challenge, a few of us decided to climb the 680 feet Eureka Dunes, ones he claimed were the tallest in North America. I have since learned that this isn't so but only by about 50 feet.

We started off as a big group, probably about a dozen, walking up the dunes with only our eyes to guide us through the night's scarce light. We had flashlights, but if we turned them on to see what was in front of us, it was difficult to see further away. We knew we had to veer left and then upwards because a direct path to the peaks would yield a journey riddled with rises and dips that would not only disallow us to see our campsite light, but also make our work much more difficult in terms of energy expense.

However, because it was dark, we veered only a bit to the left, and ended up climbing the steepest part of the dunes anyways. Josh had to pee, so he and I started off behind the group. Then, as we moved to catch up, hiking with great difficulty, we joined a few of the slower members. Walking with them, I guess I felt a bit of camaraderie, since we were not physically fit enough to climb all the way up. We were told it would be difficult, but I guess we did one or both of two things: overestimated our own fitness level and/or underestimated the sand dunes. Either way, we climbed up to this last stretch, three of us, before it got really steep.

I actually went up a bit further, thinking I could easily follow the main group all the way up. Halfway up the steep part, though, I gave up, sweating and tired, muscles crying for respite. I sat alone for a long while.

As the nine others climbed up, leaving me solitary on the sandy slant, I began to hear a low hum. It was a deep timbre, as if the dune itself were singing to me. I forgot about my fatigue, while ironically catering to it, and laid down to listen. I felt the reverberating note vibrating all throughout my body, like an internal echo. It was something so alive, yet I knew that it came from the inanimate. I thought about how it had always been like this, since the hundreds of thousands of years ago that the dune developed, it has always sung, at least before humankind had developed. Thus, in a sense, I was listening to a song that was older than time itself. I don't think there could be a noise more beautiful on this planet, at least not one of human origins.

Justin and Monica were below a bit, and the three of us ended up meeting in the middle. I yelled down to the other two stragglers, after Josh and the others had left. We hung out for a bit, waiting for them to come down.

After about an hour or so, we got tired of waiting. Justin and I looked at each other and we knew. We had to go to the highest point. This was an opportunity that we couldn't pass up, maybe once in a lifetime.

So the three of us climbed up, determined to reach the highest point possible. We crawled and slid, but we kept going. Upon reaching the top of the steepest part, Justin and I felt an amazing rush of satisfaction, as if our greatest goals had just been achieved, and in some way, I felt as if it had been. I felt as if my accomplishment represented what I can do, pushing myself beyond what I see are my limits. If I work at it, I guess I can do things I never thought I could do, and I love that it was Nature that inspired me to realize so.

In other news, when I got back to the AXΣ banquet, I was awarded "Fraternity Clown," which doesn't mean I'm funny. It just means I look good with make-up and a red nose, I suppose.