Not waffling on gifting

So, when two threads of a conversation converge into one amazing idea, you know you're doing something right.

It all started when we crashed a birthday party by accident. Which, by the way, is a great way of making new friends.

The first thread involved carrying large, bulky objects and the total lack of convenience that they often have in their size, shape, and materials. One example presented: a waffle iron.

We also discussed the finer points of riding the Max light rail for extended periods. With long commutes, it is common to spend most of the time avoiding eye contact by burying our face in the four inch world of our phones. And what would be the worst fate imaginable on such a trip? That's right, your battery dying. Then you might actually have to talk to someone who is in the same space as you.

But what if there were outlets on the train that you could plug your device into, keeping it healthy for the rest of the day? Of course, such practical things could never become a reality. Often what stands in the way of progress is a large group of people trying to make a joint decision. But in this case it's really a question of abuse. You know everyone will bring their TV's, mini-fridges, portable AC's, and other appliances then spend all day on the train.

This is where things took a sudden turn. A waffle iron is another appliance. Wouldn't it be great to cook waffles on the Max?

"Well, you know," my wife interjects. "There are outlets under those towers that have the train schedules at the Max stops."

Wait! What?

WE CAN MAKE WAFFLES AT THE MAX STOP?!

We had to do this.

Plans were made to meet at a likely station downtown within the week. We went to Costco and purchased bulk waffle mix. We stirred up huge batches and headed downtown.

Disappointment greeted us immediately. There was no power in those outlets where we planned to set up shop. Luck was on our side, however, when it was discovered there was a live outlet in front of an adjacent and empty building. We plugged in and got to baking... Frying? Ironing.

Cooking up a tall stack, I'd take the fruits of our toil to Max trains as they arrived, offering our fresh, hot  treats to any who wanted one. This lead to looks of indifference and distrust, but also smiles and some that would actually accept! I would run onto a train as soon as the doors opened, sprint down the aisle holding out the goods between two paper towels making my call "Waffle? Waffle? Waffle?", then jump out as the doors were closing again.

Those who caught our stand on the sidewalk could not only get the waffle fresh off the press, they could claim some of the toppings that we'd brought along: maple syrup, whipped cream, strawberries, and bananas.

We called to the masses. We made signs. We walked up and down the streets to give the things away. Many a homeless person and street kid got a special treat that day. One person told us we were the most amazing thing he'd seen all week. Just one week? We weren't trying hard enough. Another person asked, "Why waffles?" I could only answer, "Because pancakes would be crazy."

In the end, we'd had a great deal of fun and made the day of an untold number of commuters. We've vowed to do it again and to apply some of the ideas and solutions we'd encountered along the way.

Team Sports Training

So, I'm not much for watching sports. I know how it works, I understand the rules, I appreciate the athleticism. But I don't follow any teams, in any leagues, and could care less if this team defeats that one. I find watching the endeavor on TV to be extremely boring.

However, being a live spectator is a whole other experience.

I went to a fair number of professional sports games when I was a kid growing up in the LA area. I have very distinct memories of seeing the Angels play on their home turf. But it's been decades since I've attended a pro match.

All grown up now, I do a fair bit of travel for work. This often sees me going to Adobe headquarters in San Jose. I've been here so many times that I have to seek new thrills. Most of my colleagues were staying at the luxurious Fairmont hotel. For adventures sake, I opted to stay at the less posh, but more historic, Saint Claire.

Generally our boss will entertain the team with a fancy diner. This time we got a special treat: travel up to San Francisco to catch a Giants game.

Like all such situations, there was a plan in place. It was simple, would satisfy our goals, and was foolproof. Take Caltrail up the length of the bay, arrive early, enjoy the festivities. No problem.

When we got off work, Pete and I headed back to the Saint Claire together to drop off our work materials and get changed before meeting everyone else at the Fairmont. But we needed to pick up something from his car first and our hotel was further away. There was a time table for the plans, so everybody else took off: we'd catch up. This, it turned out, required a bit of running. We arrived just as our boss had finished purchasing the last of our tickets and we made it to the train on schedule.

But the universe had other plans.

Seems a BMW got clipped on the train tracks. Not our train, but one in front of us. We were delayed while things got cleaned up. Half of our train had reached the platform and many passengers sensed a long wait. These opted to BART the rest of the way, leaving only Giants fanatics behind. More than half an hour later we were cleared to travel again. But now our schedule was entirely off. So much for well-laid plans.

Instead of arriving early, we got to AT&T Park somewhere around the end of the second inning. The Giants had already scored and we hadn't even entered Willie Mays Gate. Bing handed out our tickets and I was assigned a seat next to Jeff. The two of us decided to stick close because everyone got split up as we entered the park. Our tickets were for the third terrace and we'd only made it to the top of the first when we'd lost nearly everyone. We found Baxter and the three of us continued to take the long way round to our seats.

We were in the View Box, a bit of seating that hangs off the main stands area. It offers a spectacular view of the field but makes it a little harder to find. Our section was near the top of the third base foul pole, which made the likelihood of a ball batted into our region about nil.

I headed to the gift shop to pick up some souvenirs. I got a shot glass for Joy, a key chain for Atheana, and Tim Lincecum in Lego form for William. While I was shopping the Giants scored again when someone hit a triple.

Participating in the national pastime is a strange mix of enthusiasm and Pavlovian shepherding. People cheer when a good play is made, boo at a bad call, and go nuts when there is a home run. But we also clap and sing on the demands of audio and visual cues that are staples at any game. The video cameras also sweep the crowd and encourage specific behavior. There was the "kissing cam", which would show a couple sitting together on the jumbotron until they did the deed. It could be cute, romantic, or downright steamy. Toward the end of the game we had the Gangnam Style cam, rousing folks to pony up.

There was a fight in the stands behind us at one point. Don't know many of the details, but I watched a wide-eyed bald man make an attempt at escape but he was caught by security. Later the paramedics came and picked up a woman who was limping and upset but didn't seem to be in terrible shape.

And what's a game without the Wave? The section above us also tried to get this going. While some participated and others merely ignored, other folks got rather heated and started screaming for this nonsense to stop. If you're not going along with the crowd, what's the point? If your main concern is watching the game uninterrupted, why not watch it at home?

Physics can occasionally play out strangely during a sporting event. At one point when a batter hit the ball, the bat split. The largest chunk went flying toward the shortstop and landed near the edge of the infield sticking straight up like a spoon in thick chili.

The greatest hazard faced during the entire event though was the seagulls. They would perch, pick their targets, and then head out in massive bombing runs. I was never hit, but there was a close call a couple seats in front of me. But we always had half an eye on the sky.

Most of my team left at the top of the eighth to catch a train back. The next wouldn't be for another hour, but I'd come to watch the game. We'd missed the beginning, I'd missed a chunk of the middle for shopping and to food lines. I would be damned if I was going to miss the end as well. Not that there were going to be any surprises. The Giants were up 5-0 and had been dominating the game. By the end they scored one more time, not even completing the ninth inning as the game was already over.

I caught the next train, but it was an all-stop special, so it took nearly an hour and half to get home. It was nearly 1 a.m. by the time I made it back to the hotel and I still wanted to hit the gym. Waking up the next day for work was nearly impossible, but I don't regret any of my decisions that night.