This coming weekend marks the last day of training for the Lake Solano docent program. To date, they haven’t taught me too much that I didn’t already know or had a solid foundation for understanding, but it has been a nice refresher. I should send Dr. E a fruit basket and a bottle of champagne as thanks for making me memorize almost 200 plants earlier this year. Greatly cut down on the number of new species I have to memorize as well as gave me a better grasp of on-the-fly plant identification. I’m dangerous with a Jepson Manual, yo.

I have to say, I’m wholly grateful for my education thus far, because my combined schooling in forestry, wildlife, geology, chemistry, hydrology, journalism, English, and whatever else I’ve done has given me a fairly solid foundation for turning that knowledge back towards others. One thing I’m always harping on that I’m sure my classmates are tired of hearing me say is that to truly change the way society thinks about the natural world, we must take the time to inform them and educate them and walk them through the process of understanding how everything fits together. It won’t give rise to miracles, but at the very least it’ll plant seeds of knowledge.

And if that doesn’t work, then I’ll just corrupt the youth of tomorrow with talk of boobies, tequila, and Depeche Mode. SEND ME UR KIDZ PLZ. KTHXBAI

From the “Well That Was Rather Mortifying” File

I am exhausted this morning. Absolutely fatigued to the tits. How bad is that? Well, a few hours ago I was sitting here, minding my own business, rolling through some e-mails…and the next thing I know, I’m waking up ten minutes later, slouched in my chair in what I can only assume was a thoroughly unattractive position. What woke me up? The sound of a group of people rolling by on their way to the break room.

Often times when you fall asleep on the job, you catch it quickly and can play it off, like you were just pausing in thought or trying to recall some details. Those excuses wouldn’t fly here because I was fully facing my open office door, my head thrown back, mouth open, and I’d be willing to bet I was making sleep sounds. I was only out for about ten minutes by my estimate, but all I need are two minutes to get the heavy sleep-breathing going when I’m tired.

Needless to say, I am now on my fourth cup of coffee and plan to snag a Red Bull during lunch. Hoping I can nap in the car on the way home.

Why am I so fatigued? Well I’ve finally become socially engaged with my primary guild in WoW, and I keep spending very late nights (every night this week, in fact) chatting both in-game and on Vent with various guildies while running around doing random shit (in-game, of course). It’s a hoot, I’m having a blast, and I’m suffering the consequences. This is like the time last summer where I stayed up for three straight days reading the Twilight series. Except I don’t feel the need to apologize this time. I think getting just two hours of sleep a night is far more excruciating than getting no sleep at all. These little early-morning naps are nothing more than a reminder to my body that I could desperately use a little unconsciousness in my circadian rhythm.

The fun bonus to being sleep-deprived at work though is that nonsensical shit comes streaming out of my mouth whenever someone stops in to ask me a question, so people learn very quickly to just leave me alone. Ah, blissful peace and quiet.

Happy Friday, y’all. Don’t let The Man get you down. And if he does, then…uh………I got nothin’.

The Coastal Cleanup weekend was a riot. Well, as riotous as camping and picking up other peoples’ garbage can really get.

I tell you, there is nothing more humbling than digging someone’s discarded baby diapers out of a muddy creek bottom. Or better yet, finding someone’s outdoor “toilet” as you’re tromping through seagrass looking for recyclables. And thank you, California, for deciding that beaches, bushes, and forests are the best place possible for storing your dirty and disintegrating shoes, socks, and underwear (ladies: an extra thank-you for leaving your “mark” on the latter).

I had to fight hard to remember that not everyone on this planet is a disgusting piece of shit. I’m better now, but at the time, being covered in my own dripping sweat and several unidentified substances that had leaked out of various bottles/cans/boots/plastic bags, it was difficult to maintain perspective. One positive…I got to watch a group of young’uns from the CA Conservation Corps dig out a car at Blues Beach. Just in time for some kind redneck gentleman with no shoes to hook his tow chain to it and haul it out and around the beach like some big rusted trophy. Followed by a grunt session not unlike Tim Allen’s Home Improvement “I am man, hear me roar” noises.

The absolute highlight of the entire weekend was the rapid depletion of wearable pants in my already-limited wardrobe. I started the weekend out wearing one of my favorite pairs of board shorts because it was hot as all get-out when we left here on Friday. Getting ready to leave my parents’ house, I was tasked with keeping Glen from escaping while mom closed the front door. That wily little bastard slipped out anyway and I made a desperate, deep lunge to grab him. At which point I heard a distinct RRRRRIIIIIP! and found myself with a sudden and unexpected ventilation system in my trousers. (Caught the damn cat, though) The hole wasn’t so big that it was in need of immediate changing, so I decided to just stick with it and toss them when we got to the campground. I had two pairs of jeans packed, so it was all good.

The next morning I threw on the older of the two pairs of jeans and headed off to clean those beaches. I squatted down to pick cigarette butts out of a pile of rocks at the base of a cliff, and heard that distinct and now familiar RRRRIIIIIIP! Ah, there’s that ventilation again. It wasn’t so bad that I couldn’t stick it out for the rest of the morning, but now I was definitely down to just one pair of jeans.

That night, mom and I decided to throw my now unusable jeans and a pair of her old ripped underwear in the campfire. I changed into my last unmarred pair of jeans, chucked my old ones on the fire, and joked about how well they burned and it’s good fortune that I never stood too close to an open flame in them. I poured myself a glass of tempranillo, sat down in one of the canvas camp chairs, and propped my glass in the cupholder while I attempted to light a cigar for mom and I to share.

That’s when I felt something wet and cold hit my leg, run down through my crotch, and soak straight into my jeans.

Did I mention that I’d just filled my glass? It was a pretty big glass too. And it was pretty full. And yeah, I”m aware that the cupholders in those chairs aren’t made for wine glasses, but I thought I had it propped up pretty good. SHUT UP, lemme finish my story.

I stood up to halt the absorption process (the canvas chairs are waterproof, so all that wine just pooled on the seat and wicked its way into my denim. Mom got out her flashlight to survey the damage.

My ass was thirsty.No, it's OK. I'll just go pantless.

No, it's OK. I'll just go pantless.

Yeah. Denim is really really absorbent. Really.

It’s a good thing that it was 9pm and we weren’t going anywhere for the rest of the night, because I don’t know that I can rock the flannel-pajama-bottoms-in-public look as well as most folks. That was all I had left for bottoms. So a desperate attempt was made to dry my jeans in front of the campfire. We even stoked it up and threw a bunch of extra logs on it right before we crawled into the tent, hoping that maybe…just maybe…the Dry Jeans Fairy would pay me a visit and cure all my pants woes.

Because yeah, it makes sense that jeans would end up bone dry after sitting out all night on the Northern California coast. I’m betting it comes as no surprise to you that my jeans weren’t dry the next morning. On a positive note, the sun was shining when we got up, so into the one patch of sunlight in our campsite the jeans went. Within an hour, they were dry enough to wear, and the wine stain barely showed. I would have my dignity yet!

Apparently karma decided that I’d had enough, because I stayed dry, clean, and all in one piece for the remainder of the trip. As soon as I got home, I pulled out every pair of pants I own and inspected them inside and out. I think I’m safe. And I won’t be packing less than six pairs of any pants type next time I travel. By god, I’ll never be without proper pants again!

Did I mention that those wine glasses were large?