Fresno, no one goes to Fresno.

Evidently it's rainbow time in Fresno again. No, not that rainbow, this Rainbow. The one with all the weird alliterative names (like Gregarious Grizzlies, Pandering Pandas, Jumpin-Jesus Freaks). (I do believe the two organizations used to share a flag.)


It seems Tropical Heaven in 2007 is the theme for this year's assembly of the ole' clan. Wow, does this thing really go on for 4 days?

Some of you may have noticed, I am not a 12 year old girl; I have no ballroom dress; and hey, I was not even invited.

Therefore, I am now taking suggestions for things to do this weekend. Currently in consideration: running, bicycling, sailing, heavy drinking...that sounds like every weekend.

If you have a better suggestion, it must pass the official Rainbow test: It must be more fun than 12 year old girls walking around in ballroom dresses. (Dr. Laura does not approve of 12 year old girls walking around in ballroom dresses, either.) Also, the suggestion must in no way involve Service. This will be an anti-Service weekend.

Emancipate yourself from mental slavery. None but ourselves can free our minds.

From a guitar lesson I am reading today:

Also known as the "12 Bar Blues", this form was created in southern cotton fields by black slaves around the early 1900's.

I have spent way too much time wondering whether this sentence is a political statement or a typographical error. I should probably be working, or something.

The One Where Chandler Becomes Boss...

Actually, the episode was called: "The One With the Ick Factor"

Filling in (a tiny, little bit) for one of the supervisors for a couple of weeks. Already I have been called Bing. Loyal readers, please rest assured I have not grown up, and I am taking my career no more seriously than usual. In fact, today I am learning to play "Sittin on the Dock of the Bay" and "I Shot the Sheriff" in my cubicle. No, I did not bring the guitar to work...I guess I am just reading about learning to play "Sittin on the Dock of the Bay" and "I Shot the Sheriff". Tomorrow is Friday, I think I'll bring my guitar to work.

Keep on skanking...

Learned to skank tonight.

This will eventually be "One Love"

Hey, screw you. I never said I was very good.

I can play this here guitar...

(I was going to title this post "I got blisters on my fingers," but it sure feels like I already gave a post that title. I can't seem to locate it now, so maybe I just imagined giving a post that title.)

I am sure Snake Woman has written a guitar class post, but I am still boycotting her blog, so I cannot link directly to it. Actually, please support my boycott by not clicking that link; you can read a little about my guitar class right here:

I'm taking this guitar class at Coastline College. Coastline College is a strange college in that they have no campus; rather, the guitar class meets in the band room at Estancia High School. Class is frequently interrupted by band geeks getting and/or putting away their instruments.

A little too advanced for me, the instructor (a master guitarist), has scared most of the absolute beginners out of the class. (Please don't click that link.) If nothing else, the class has inspired me to play the guitar a little more often...every Monday as a matter of fact, with a couple of more senior classmates (Lee, world champion Harbor 20 racer; and Joe, amateur guitar builder). So last night, walking towards Lee's house on the beautiful Balboa Island, Joe and I get stopped by this old man who just happened to be an original member of the Kingston Trio. I am not sure if he was replaced by another third guy, or if he was the fourth member. He said he played with them at Stanford, but the rest of the band was too heavy into the drugs, so he had to quit the Trio. When I think banjos and matching striped shirts, I think hardcore narcotics, how about you?


I guess Lee invited him to play with us, but the former Kingston Trio member declined because he uses an unusual open C tuning, and cannot play a conventionally strung guitar. So instead of 1950s folk rock, we played Margaritaville a few dozen times. My fingers are killing me. Joe says my guitar needs new strings. Yeah, I rock.

We were somewhere in the desert around Barstow when the drugs began to take hold.

Weekend in Vegas visiting my very favorite Vietnamese pharmacist and his old lady. They were rather surprised that there is a Pho restaurant in Treasure Island...I'm guessing Vietnamese restaurants are not terribly common in the Pacific Northwest.


In case that last paragraph was unclear, my favorite Vietnamese pharmacist lives in Seattle, not Las Vegas. Like most of my friends from pharmacy school, he is a little afraid to visit me in California (our proud state only makes the news when there are earthquakes or drive-by shootings)...however, none of them are afraid of Sin City, so I try my hardest to make the drive out there whenever any of them are also making the trip. Speaking of pharmacy school, the Butler Bulldogs made me $18 with their upset of Maryland.

Also at Treasure Island: Mystere. I do not really get the French.

Nico's #1 complaint about Vegas: Slot machines no longer have slots or arms...unless you search really hard downtown. Here's Nicole and a one armed bandit:


On the way home, we stopped in the Mojave National Preserve, searching for California Desert Tortoises. The tortoises proved most elusive, perhaps because they can run at speeds of up to 30 miles per hour. Nicole claims to have seen one as we were getting off the freeway, but after an hour or so of searching, I still haven't found what I'm looking for.

In the year 2000...

The computers have been down since yesterday morning. More correctly, the pharmacy computer systems have been down. As you can see, I can still do the important stuff.

Speaking of faulty computers, this new Daylight Saving Time has had a far greater impact on my life than did Y2K. For starters, my DVD player kept resetting to the wrong time (resolved after I unchecked the auto-adjust for DST)...as it turns out, I would have been better off not fixing that problem, as all the programs scheduled on the satellite receiver are still off by the same hour (though I cannot say I am that disappointed about recording the World Poker Tour instead of Lost).

If I took my career more seriously, I would also have a rant about all the appointments in Outlook and/or my cell phone being off by an hour...

Since I have nothing else going on, I guess I will start a "Training for the RockNRoll Marathon" mileage log.

So far this week: 15 miles (all on treadmill).

I am not really sure how treadmill miles compare to regular miles, but Nico will only run on the boardwalk at tortoise pace.

This blog thing is really starting to catch on...

This just in: my second favorite Korean pharmacist now has a blog. It is far more Korean than my third favorite Korean pharmacist's blog (which I am no longer reading due to the continuing preponderance of racial slurs).

I do not read Korean, and #2's translator link was not translating for me. Fortunately, Google helped me out. That link probably won't work again. Please trust me when I tell you that the entire thing is poetry.

As it is. Secretly secretly.
At soul pine nut end.
It loves. It is grateful.
In order to become we, and roll up. Okay?

If I was a Mekon, we'd talk about a tour.

First Too Much Joy concert in 10 years, and Nico says we have to go to a wedding. I hate weddings. Come on guys, play the west coast. You can sleep on our floor.

It was really hot on Sunday, until the smoke started providing shade. Smoke and raining ashes...very pleasant afternoon.