Life's getting away from me.

What is this, Tuesday? I think it's Tuesday night.

I've been at work—the office—for a day and a half, using an inferior machine and suffering technical and cognitive challenges that cause the gyri to expand and contract at vision-warping levels. I'm talking about writing on a brand new XP machine on the Microsoft network and the shit just won't go. I can't seem to translate that godawful marketing crap into normal language, nor can I get those software siblings to talk to each other meaningfully for any productive length of time: I've been chewing on one document for two days, all the while gettng intermittently booted off the network and suffering excruciatingly slow (like 2600 baud slow) connectivity. We don't know the root of the connectivity issues, and as I sit there enduring the lag, I can't imagine a quick way to discover it. Instead, I'm contemplating work arounds. For each hour I spend recovering lost work or reconnecting, somebody loses a lot of money.

Microsoft should know how long it takes people to set up and use its products.

I'm so glad I didn't buy XP for my new computer. I don't like the bubbly interface and the fluff that persists after you turn off the gloop. I'm calling it Windows Taurus.

So I'm in the office and the office has no walls. There's maybe seven of us, and I forgot that thing about offices where people blurt out stuff all day. Environmentally induced attention deficiency and I keep forgetting headphones. But it's obvious I'm working with very witty people, which is engaging and fun.

I love spending the day in Fremont, browsing the wacky doodad stores during brainbreaks and buying lunch at PCC. I really want to commute by bicycle, but I'm not yet comfortable enough with the demanding schedule to work in the time. I'm also reluctant to ride the Cannondale because it requires regular pre-ride maintenance and will not tolerate a rack.

This weekend Andrew and I escaped to Portland for the sake of escaping but under the guise of looking for used mountain bikes that we can use for commuting. What we learned is that most stores are closed on Easter and that shopping for used bikes is considerably more time-consuming than shopping for new ones. In the end, I borrowed Tom's trusty Univega. But when I rode it briefly yesterday, the frame felt too small to ride the distance to work and back comfortably. We like the lower-level Marin urban bikes, but no one in the northwest carries them. A few shops carry the high-end model, but that's a rip-off. In general, I've noticed that bike shops tend to carry the high-end and the bottom-rung models of all types of bikes, leaving consumers no choice but to pay more for a decent mount.

Ahh, but Portland!

Andrew says visiting Portland is like visiting your wacky unpretentious friend.

We like to stay at The Mallory because it's one of those old, nice hotels that's lost a little of its niceness along the way. There's usually a few interesting characters in the lobby; this time there was a dog sleeping behind the counter. It's lounge is called the Driftwood. The rooms are small and charming; the fixtures are old but the place boasts wireless Internet. We stayed up late watching cable; woke late and ordered room service. We always check out late, no matter where we stay.

We like walking around the city together, traveling block after block and crossing and recrossing our path in the process. At first I'd worried this trip wouldn't be as fun as the first one, but it turned out to be equally so in its own way. I loved the reminiscences of the first time we visited Portland together, when we were new. I love how it's different, the degree of comfort with and entitlement to each other are higher now, and so the city is something we approach unified and not as a prop each of us needs to negotiate the courting. Both experiences are thrilling, however, and having had both feels miraculous.

Easter eve, Tom and Luana made dinner for us. Afterward we all colored Easter eggs, which was an unexpectedly good time.

Finally, last week my rejection letter from the UW arrived, as I knew it would. It was the same form letter they send to everyone at every stage of rejection and it was benign like that. I'd been waiting for it as the signal to start again, and so the process for this year has begun. This process includes extracurricular goals such as a trip to Beijing to see Yvonne and perhaps some accompanying Chinese language instruction. Of course, SARS is a damper, but perhaps the epidemic will be under control by fall.

The UW also informed me that I am qualified for two or more of the research positions I applied for, and that I must fill out another form within 24 hours if I wanted to be considered for an interview. So I did that. Now it's back to not hearing anything.

Also, Andrew and I have started training rides for the RSVP in August. The rides so far are short and intensely satisfying. My knee and hip seem to be holding up, but spinning in good form is tiring and fit-inspiring.

This quote by Chris Hedges, Pulitzier Prize winner, was in the Sunday (April 20) Oregonian: "We're going to pay for every bomb we drop, as we should. You have to remember, war is always a betrayal: of the young by the old, of soldiers by politcians, of idealists by cynics. I wish it weren't true, but it is, and it breaks my heart."

I appreciate his talent for brevity. In particular, I am glad he could declare so clearly that politicians betray soldiers. I have not heard that simple statement uttered by anyone about the nature of support for troops.