High energy

California has a bad history with energy.  A company you may know called Enron manufactured a power crisis here a few years ago, sending electricity costs soaring by switching off their own power stations and then claiming that demand outstripped supply.  It's what the free market was invented for!  This was before they started swapping the 'profit' and 'loss' columns in their financial reports, but at least they eventually got into trouble (and someone made an excellent film about it).

Now Pacific Gas & Electric is the big kid in town, and light bulbs have remained on.  Unfortunately, they too had a year to forget, with a fatal gas explosion, a failed attempt to buy the legislature, and missed renewable energy targets.  So, as I walked up our street to find a large crew of PG&E men digging up the road, I sighed at the prospect of weeks of disruption and chaos.  I grumpily crossed over because they had closed the sidewalk.

Imagine, then, my surprise at getting to the end of the roadworks to be greeted by a man dressed up as a PG&E hat!  What stroke of public relations genius was this?  Standing amongst the surly, orange-clad workers was (I have to say it again) a man dressed as a hard hat.

As is always the case when such things happen, I was lacking my camera.  To be honest, I am also not intrepid enough to walk up to a bunch of workmen and ask if I can have my photo taken with one of their number who is probably sweating uncomfortably under this heavy latex contraption.  PG&E Hard Hat Man is also tough to track down online, but I have found this rare shot:

Yes, officer, that's definitely the man I saw.

And a far more appropriate, toy-sized version:

Well...perhaps I'm breaking an exclusive on a new PR strategy from the energy company.  Perhaps their marketing gurus figured that having a mascot to distract you when driving through road works would lessen any annoyance you feel.  I mean, who's going to get angry and shout abuse at a huge squidgy hard hat?  Perhaps I have glimpsed into the murky world of energy labourer initiation ceremonies, or witnessed a punishment.  Why, frankly, didn't BP have a person in fluffy fancy dress at all their Gulf Coast disaster press conferences?

If I pluck up the courage to return and snap a photo I may have to ask these questions directly.  In the meantime, it's good to know that we have an energy company utilising every available resource at their disposal...

Brewing up baby

Dan and Fiona made a trip down to Monterey today and were kind enough to offer me a ride.  It was MLK Day, and although Chevron expected Hannah to work Vince, Christine, and Jack were all excused from their military education duties.  By coincidence, the Cannery Row Brewing Company was a convenient central location for us all to meet.

Given his heritage, what could you expect?

Still the cutest Mucker (Claire, I mean).

Not yet convinced.

Looking good, like that Athena poster.

Small and sweet.

Labor Day

The Mucker family extends by one!  Claire now has a younger brother, and I'm told that tentative introductions have been made but the jury is still out on how Mucker #1 feels about it all.  Having a younger sibling myself, I know the joy that such a relationship can bring.

Anyway, James John Mucker has the cool birthday of 11/1/11 (or 1/11/11 if you're American), was born at 9.03pm and weighed 7lbs 8oz.  Well done Christine and Vince (mostly Christine).

JJ.  So tiny!

Mother and baby doing well.

Tired, but slightly less shocked than the first time.

Someone doesn't look convinced...

New manny already hired!?

More pain, no gain

"If you're looking for rock hard, welcome to the quarry," read the poster. I wasn't, but here I stood on the weight training side of the gym with diminuitively terrifying Kim, ready for induction part two.

Having confidently stated that I knew what I was doing when it came to cardio machines - run, cycle, row... how hard can it be? - she suggested that designing a weight-training regime would be in my best interests.

At induction #1 I'd had to pick a target date, and went for my birthday as suitably far away (and I didn't specify which year). "I can whip my top off at my party," I told her with a nervous, uncomfortable chuckle. "You can, and you'll look good!" Kim responded, showing how incorrect two people can be within one conversation.

She went on to tell me I could "afford to gain some muscle" on my arms and chest, so I was now sitting on some kind of torture machine while Kim punished me, repeatedly, for unknown crimes.

I had to grab these handles and pull them back, keeping my elbows down, until I felt it in my shoulders. Did 30lbs sound about right, she asked.

Was this a trick question? Was she quietly judging my inadequacies? What's the etiquette? Would I sound more masculine asking for a heavier weight, only to be humiliated when I couldn't lift it and have to ask for it to be lightened?

And so it went while I was introduced to contraption after contraption, each designed to hurt me in a different way. "Can you feel it?" was Kim's constant question. Yes, yes I can.

Even the sanctuary of the spa, where my captor released me after 45 minutes, was shattered by having hundreds of people in it. Still, I asserted my personal space by floating naked on my back in a star shape in the hot tub, and people quickly left me alone.

"Using this spa under the influence of drugs or alcohol can have serious consequences," I read on the sign as I drifted. Serious party consequences, maybe, but I'm learning quickly it's not that kind of club.

How to feel older in one easy step

Hannah and I have joined a gym.  This isn't a short-lived-New-Year's-resolution-type-thing, because we actually joined two days before New Year.  It may be more of a recognise-you're-getting-old-thing, as all the food and drink I consumed over Christmas has betrayed me by turning itself into fat.

We didn't just join a gym.  In a pleasingly ex-pat style we joined a club.  Walnut Creek Health & Fitness Club, a short walk from the house, complete with its own pool, sauna, steam room, Jacuzzi, $0 joining fee and first month free with no commitments.

Despite the swanky surroundings, this place isn't messing about.  "Pain is temporary, quitting lasts forever," says the banner that hangs behind reception.  "Check CAN'T at the door," reads one in the gym.  "Blood, sweat, and tears.  If only it were that easy," proclaims another.  Hmmm.

Part of the joining deal is an hour's fitness appraisal with one of the trainers, so yesterday I popped down and said hello to Kim.  She was very short, which was useful as she assessed me to be six foot tall when looking up at the height chart.  I then had to step up and down onto a platform for three minutes, have my pulse and blood pressure checked, and answer a long list of questions about my exercise, my aims (physical and mental!) and my family history.  "My Dad's 77, and he still ice skates three times a week," I told her.  "So one of your aims could be to get as fit as your father," Kim suggested.  It's still hard to tell when Americans are mocking me.

The culmination of all this was a nifty computer program that calculates your "health age" and sets out your targets, then e-mails nagging reminders to you.  Hannah's result had put her a year younger than her actual age, so I was desperate to top that.  The moment of truth arrived and my body is apparently...37.  Thirty seven!  That's three years older than I actually am!  I'd already told Kim about Hannah's result.  "Remember that this is your personal assessment, and you don't have to show it to your wife," she advised.  Was it really that bad?  The shock meant that I didn't hear much more of what she said, but left her office determined to shake off those extra years as quickly as possible.

My eye was caught by an interesting looking piece of equipment.  It was a recumbent bike, but more importantly had a huge video screen attached to it.  It turns out that it's part of the Expresso Cardio System, where you can see yourself riding around virtual tracks as you pedal in the real world, which is a little bit like a Nintendo Wii.  They also have one track that's around a space station.  How could I resist?

After ten minutes I began wondering if the lack of oxygen wasn't just on the computer screen, and if the liquid gushing down my face was the tears I'd read about on the poster.  But no, I seemed to be sweating from my hair.  I didn't know you could sweat from your hair!  Still, I pushed through the pain, and managed another five minutes before discovering that although quitting lasts forever it also has many immediate benefits.

I hobbled down to the steam room.  These are segregated, with a full spa set up in both the men's and women's changing rooms.  Perhaps I've been spoiled by our trip to the hot springs, but single-sex nudity just seems a bit, you know, weird.  Especially when there's an old man walking around wearing a white t-shirt and bottomless.  When is that ever acceptable?  Yet even his presence couldn't detract from the warming comfort that sitting in a hot whirlpool bath brings to limbs pushed to their limits by 15 minutes of exercise.  If this place offered a full bar service my lifetime membership would be guaranteed.

Where have the years gone?

Not sure what this is telling me, but that's not how I look.  I don't even own any blue shorts.

Works! Free!

With my Christmas money this year I bought myself a Nintendo Wii.  Several people have mocked me for not opting for an Xbox 360, with its greater power and new motion-detecting Kinect attachment.  And to them I say three words: Super Mario Galaxy.

Completely out of character, I'd chosen to buy everything the cheapest way possible - a selection of secondhand and dodgy online retailers.  One of the downsides to this approach (apart from things usually arriving in a less-than-working state) is that delivery dates vary wildly, and today I rode a roller coaster of emotions from the euphoria of the Wii arriving to the despair of not having the leads to connect it to my computer monitor.  Out of the box it will only work with a telly...

Walking home yesterday past some nearby apartments, what should I see sitting in the driveway but a 28" monster tv-and-video combo!  A folded piece of paper attached to the front read: "Works! Free!"  I looked for the angels who had left it there, but they had already flown away.

It might also be the heaviest thing I've ever carried.  Having to a take a break every 30 seconds did prolong my journey somewhat, but I remained focussed on my goal of being able to play computer games.  What, frankly, can be more important than that?

Back in our flat I nestled the behemoth into the corner and turned it on.  The piece of paper hadn't been lying, but after a while the screen began flickering and a strange crackling sound emanated from the back.  I decided to let it dry out before trying again (did I mention it was raining?)  A further challenge was getting the set tuned in to the Wii itself, a task only possible using the missing remote control.  After following several online how-tos about turning your laptop/phone into a remote I gave up and popped to Radioshack to find a cheap universal one.

And then it worked!  I was soon skydiving over Wii Sports Resort, a worryingly better-than-life island of white beaches and crystal clear seas.  I then headed into the cosmos with Mario.  Perfectly normal things for a 34-yr-old male to spend his afternoon doing.  Bizarrely Hannah didn't notice the mammoth black box in the corner when she came home, which means I get to keep it.

(The monitor leads, of course, arrived this morning.  Does anyone want to buy a telly?  Pick up only.)

You hardly notice it really.

Wuhu Island, where I'll be spending a lot of my free time.

Skypey New Year

We were enjoying the hospitality of the Singers last night as the clock struck Pacific Standard Time twelve, and were woken early this morning by 3-yr-old Sofia who performed a thirty-minute monologue (including singing and ballet) in front of our air mattress.

Earlier, at 4pm, once again through the magic of technology, we'd welcomed in the British New Year.  And when you own the Greenwich Meridian, it really is the only one that counts.  On one computer my sister played us the chimes of Big Ben, while on the other Hannah's parents let off fireworks in a very dark and very cold garden in Dorset (proving there are some things that are better when experienced in person.  Fireworks, that is.  Cold darkness can stay where it belongs).

Ooooh!

Aaaaah!