Stressed

Last night, I barely made it off BART before movement in Oakland became impossible. We had planned to take Ray to the vet, but there weren't any cabs at 13th street. I called Al to beg a ride, but it turned out that the streets were so clogged that he couldn't get to our house. And we had no idea whether we'd be able to get home from the vet. So we rescheduled.

Note to cops: maybe the day of the riot, you could see to it that the staging area gets cleared of dumpsters filled with kindling? All night long there were big explosions coming from downtown.



BART was crawling with cops this morning. Mary had to restrain me from going up to them and administering a quick quiz: "Pronto, Officer! Which one's the taser? Which one's the gun? Could be important some day...."

In San Francisco, walking down 24th street, every firetruck and heavy rescue vehicle in the city came screeching past me and then deployed smackdab in my path a block ahead of me. I had to crawl over EMTs & firehoses to get to work.


Anybody know where there's a place where you can sell your cortisol? The stress bank? I could make a killing there.

So glad I don't live in Basra or Kandahar.