I took some pretty cool pictures,
I think, on campus today. The first one is of Wellman Hall, the entomology building. The inside's got a lot of nice wood paneling and exudes the spirit of the agricultural land grant college that Berkeley once was. The hallways smell like lacquered wood, and you can just swear that at any given moment, a man wearing a tweed coat and handlebar moustache, carrying his leather brief is going to stride out from behind the frosted glass pane of an office door.
Later on, I got to sitting on the steps of the old administrative building, California Hall, when I noticed a pine tree sapling poking up through a crack in the cement. I'm a sucker for tiny plants in inhospitable locales, which also explains why I took the third picture, which is of
bryophytes growing in a cement ash tray. Anyway, I took a special liking to this pine tree. The little guy reminded me of the plants I used to see while hiking above the treeline in the Sierras. Basically, they find a crack in the granite and hold on for dear life, in spite of the intense UV light, poor soil, arid conditions, and daily temperature extremes. I'm always rooting for those little guys out there.
The last picture, as I mentioned, was taken in an ashtray. This particular ashtray is located in
Ishi Court, named after the last known "wild indian." It's a pretty nice open space, with a bunch of benches and trees. The courtyard itself is tucked away in Dwinelle, the most labyrinthine of all the lecture halls; I usually make it a point to take a ball of twine with me whenever I go there. And minotaur spray. Never forget to bring your minotaur spray. Legend (or hearsay, whatever you want to call it) goes that there were these two brothers, both architects, who were working together on the design of Dwinelle. During construction, they had a falling out of sorts, and they stopped talking to each other, leading to a building filled with weird half-levels, abrupt jumps in room-number sequencing, and circuitous, redundant hallways. Apocryphal? Maybe. Fun to tell? Always.
Stairwell of Wellman Hall (the entomology building).
Pine seedling.
Bryophytes in an ashtray.
Well, later in the day, blinking in the sunlight after emerging from chemistry lab, I decided to use some of the remaining glorious sunlight (thanks, daylight savings!) to go for a run. Let me begin by saying that running without a shirt on is one of the great pleasures of being a boy. To feel one's chest tingle with sunlight is a joy I will refuse to ever surrender. I went up Strawberry Canyon, which is the watershed that the university originally bought to supply all of its drinking water. I ran past the frats, avoiding the crusted sidewalk puke that stood testimony to a weekend of revelry, and past the football stadium, eavesdropping in on the beefy Australian accents as the rugby squad strolled out onto the pitch, before I started climbing up the canyon.
Running alone is a meditative experience. I can breath and sweat out whatever demons I have inside of me when I go for a run. It's hard to describe, but running up hills always makes me feel strong. I think it has something to do with discomfort, and the discipline it takes to deal with that discomfort, which comes to stand in for whatever frustrations or anxieties I may be feeling that day. Mostly it's breathing that carries it away. Knowing that I can breathe and be fine is always a comfort.
The way it usually works for big climbs is that I feel disciplined on the uphill and cocky on the downhill. On the descent, I took the meandering firetrails, rather than bomb back down the road, which shoots straight down the hill. Cruising back, I seemed to be in the mood for greeting my fellow runners, of which there were many because of the nice weather. After a few smiles and friendly nods, I ended up conducting some observational experiments in social psychology. I made some unscientific generalizations and noted that lone female runners had the tendency to look down or away as they listened to their iPods, whereas lone male runners either made eye contact and returned the greeting (the old guys) or looked straight ahead with a neutral facial expression (the young guys). Just to keep things interesting, I alternated between the hang loose sign and a two-finger salute, both accompanied by a grin. The occasional stare or giggle from a group of girls was a nice ego boost, even if they were all wearing their identical sorority workout shirts. I try to keep my diet low in vanity, though I sometimes indulge myself.
By the time I made it back to my apartment, my legs were rather jelly-like. I still need to get used to running for an hour plus. On the upside, the slow release of endorphins was wonderful; taking that shower felt something akin to flying.
