Earlier today I was laughing about the mention on the news of a 2.9-magnitude earthquake near Concord; 2.9 hardly seems worth mentioning, and hardly would be felt. Then, about twenty minutes ago, our own house started shaking, dishes were rattling, and the cats went ballistic, their claws scrabbling frantically on the floor as they ran wildly about trying to figure out what to do, as we experienced what is currently being classified a 5.6-magnitude earthquake whose epicenter is down near San Jose. We’re fine; the shaking lasted about ten seconds, and there was a fair amount of noise from dishes and glasses rattling around, and one picture tilted slightly on the wall, but furniture stayed put and there was no damage. All in all, pretty mild—given our distance from the epicenter—but relatively long. The 1957 quake, which had its epicenter here in Daly City, was a 5.3, so it’s a little sobering to think how this one might have been different if it had been closer.

The cats are still a little spooked, but Tiki’s just come into the kitchen to eat, so they’re starting to calm down.

As the earthquake was happening, I updated my Facebook profile with the info, and posted a twit immediately after I filled out the USGS questionnaire; I was frustrated, in fact, that it was taking so long for the USGS site to update with the current quake so I could submit our experiences. I’m such a geek.

On the commute home from work last night, I started listening to a This American Life episode, entitled “Roadtrip!”, on my iPod. Ira Glass had just finished the introduction as I pulled up to my first traffic light where, looking around, I saw an SUV parked on the right side of the street, sporting the California license tag

ROADTR♥P

Originally uploaded by thomwatson

After talking about it for a couple of months, and several trips to the Peninsula Humane Society, we came home Saturday afternoon from our most recent visit with two additions to our household, a 3-1/2-year-old male Maine Coon mix (right, top) and a 2-year-old female tortie (right, bottom; there are more photos of them on Flickr). We disliked the names they had been given by their previous owner—“Fuzz” and “Poof,” respectively—and since they don’t seem to respond to them anyway (maybe they don’t like them either) we’re planning to rename them. I’m pretty sure that we’ll call the energetic, rambunctious female “Tiki,” but we’re still searching for the right name for the male.

The two of them had come from the same home, and were offered by the shelter only as a pair; we had been planning to get two cats this time around, and Jeff had seen them on the shelter’s web site Friday and IM’ed me with the URL. The Maine Coon had a strong resemblance to Alex, and we both fell in love with them a little bit even before we’d seen them in person, I think.

At the shelter, we got to spend some time with them in one of the “get-acquainted” rooms, where the male seemed to warm up to us, while still remaining cautious, fairly quickly, but the more skittish female just kept making rounds of the room’s perimeter, not letting us get within a couple of feet before running away. Within a half-hour, though, she eventually would come over and head butt an outstretched hand before skittering away again. Knowing that we couldn’t really judge them from their behavior in such a stressful environment and such a very short time, we decided to just go for it, and we left the shelter a short while later, each of us with an occupied cardboard cat carrier.

It’s so interesting to see how their personalities differ so much from Alex’s and from one another’s, and how they’re changing before our eyes. On Saturday when we got home and let them out of their carriers, the male—who had been the friendlier, more curious at the shelter—slinking immediately over to and then inside and to the back of the fireplace, where he stayed for a while, emerging to make his way to the bedroom and under the bed, where he didn’t emerge again until just before bedtime. The female immediately started exploring the entire house, running and sliding on the wood floors. She’s still a little skittish, and we have to be very deliberate and slow when moving toward her, lest she bolt, but she is permitting some petting and head scratching. The male still likes to hide a fair amount (under furniture, on top of dining room chairs, under the bed, behind the futon), but he’s getting out and about more and more. Neither of them like to be picked up, at least not yet, nor have they shown much inclination at being lap cats (though he has jumped onto my lap at the computer desk a couple of times, though never staying for more than a few seconds). However, both already have begun sleeping on the bed, at our feet.

So neither of them is the extraordinarily social cat that Alex was—then again, Alex was perhaps the most social cat I’ve ever known, so it’s not completely a fair comparison—but they’re showing signs of warming up, at least to us, even after just two days. I’m betting that they’ll probably never be as extroverted as Alex was, and probably always remain somewhat skittish around strangers—hopefully they’ll outgrow that with us, in time—but they could surprise me.

They’re really gorgeous creatures; I don’t think these pictures really do them justice, especially of her. I’ve always been more partial to long-haired cats, and especially to Maine Coons or Maine Coon mixes, but I really find her extraordinarily beautiful, especially when the sun hits her fur and brings out the other tortoiseshell colors among the predominant black. Her most striking feature, though, is her round, amazingly golden eyes. Though casually the male is a ringer for Alex, there are clear differences; where Alex shaded to cream, for example, this cat shades to a fairly brilliant white. His paws and head are bigger in proportion to his body, common among the breed, but to a greater degree even than Alex’s. As did Alex, the new kitty has noticeable tufts of fur from the ears and between the toes, and the same fluffy feather-duster (as we’ve discovered as he trailed enormous dust bunnies when he emerged from beneath the bed) raccoon tail. Alex, however, had a slightly more traditional meow, while the new cat has the unusual warbling trill often heard with Maine Coons; Jeff said the sound reminds him of a tribble.

One thing I really miss, though, is Alex’s loud and frequent (nearly continual) purr, which I found very soothing and reassuring. I don’t think I’ve heard the new male purr yet, and the female only briefly and very quietly. Perhaps as they become more accustomed to us and to the house, and understand that this is their home and that they’re safe here, we’ll be treated to more frequent rumbling purrs.

In any case, Jeff and I are both really happy to have the cats here with us; the whole process has been really moving. And this is Jeff’s first time to choose a pet; Alex and I already had been living together six years before Jeff joined our family, so this is a completely different experience for him, and even more so since he’s home with the new cats all day. I think he’s enjoying going through the process.

Yes, apparently peanut butter provides proof that god exists.

As sad as the creationists are, their stupidity sometimes engenders great hilarity.

This morning on the way to work I stopped off at San Francisco City Hall, filled a parking meter with a huge handful of spare change—for a grand total of only 29 minutes—and went to the Office of the County Clerk, where 19 minutes and a check for $112 later, I was sworn in as a deputy marriage commissioner (albeit valid only for the solemnization of one specific marriage on the date of October 20).

Part of the process was kind of amusing; I was given a photocopy of my friends’ marriage license, and was asked to sign and print my name and print my mailing address. The documentation provided makes it VERY CLEAR that I have to stay within the boxes and may not cross-out, white-out or write-over any information, so this was my test run to prove that I could stay within the lines. This is serious, for as the web site points out, “The office of the County Clerk has a right to refuse deputization of a person, should the office feel that the person is unable to complete the paperwork correctly.”

I then had to swear or affirm (my choice)—right hand raised and all—that I would uphold the Constitution of the United States. Figuring that the current president and congress have set a pretty low bar for that task, I readily affirmed.

This isn’t an explanation why; it’s an honest (if hyperbolic) self-entreaty. What exactly does having a Democratic-controlled Congress give us? We haven’t seen any real pushback on Bush’s unitary executive claims. We haven’t gotten any movement on addressing civil liberty abuses and curbs. We can’t seem to get any bills out to control war spending or bring our troops home. We still have “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell,” and gay Arabic linguists continue to be thrown out of the armed services. The list goes on and on and on…

What do we get instead?

A Senate resolution, passed by a 72 to 25 vote, condemning the free speech of MoveOn.org, for its (admittedly perhaps somewhat over-the-top) advertisement that ran in the New York Times attacking Gen. Petraeus. (Buried in a Washington Post story noting that an anti-war bill was blocked by nearly the same margins.)

The time and taxpayer money that the Senate just wasted on making non-binding resolutions that would police ad content makes about as much sense as the time and taxpayer money the State of Minnesota wastes in assigning policemen to sit for hours on end in public restrooms, waiting for sexual advances. MoveOn? I say, rather, “Move on, already! Enough of this bullshit, Senators!”

I am so totally disgusted by the lot of ‘em.

From a mailing to the Harvard Gay and Lesbian Caucus:

My name is Benjamin Donner and I am a clinical psychology doctoral student at the University of Massachusetts, Boston. I am currently carrying out my dissertation research on gay identity development across cultural groups in the United States, and thought you might be willing and/or able to help distribute my survey to individuals interested in contributing to cultural equality within the psychological literature, both within the Harvard community and outside of it.

As you may know, academic studies into the developmental experiences of gay and bisexual men are extremely scarce. It is my hope that this research project will shed greater light on those experiences that may be unique to specific cultural groups of gay and bisexual males in the U.S. so that clinicians and organizations are ultimately better equipped to both assist and appreciate our strengths and needs. With that in mind, I would greatly appreciate your distribution of my internet survey to individuals who might be willing to participate. Participants must be biological males, age 18 or over, residents of the United States, and attracted to other biological males. The survey should take between 10 and 15 minutes to complete. All responses will be entirely anonymous - email and IP addresses will not be requested or even identifiable - and will be kept in the strictest of confidence. If you’re willing to share it with others, the survey can be found online at the following link:

https://www.surveymonkey.com/s.aspx?sm=rjif1K1SdRN_2bBC3hVcT6Pg_3d_3d

Have all the copy editors at nytimes.com been laid off? Most days it feels like I can’t read an article there without finding at least one mistake. The current top feature, for example, entitled “Democrats Place Hurdle to Mukasey’s Nomination”, contains two errors in just the single paragraph below, one of which—a missing verb—even leaves the meaning, or at least the particular nuances thereof, somewhat unclear:

Mr. Mukasey himself has attracted criticism, notably from civil liberties advocates, who say he has been to [sic] supportive of law enforcement while on the bench. But he has sometimes [mollified? been praised by? puzzled? thumbed his nose at? what?] such critics, as he did with his handling of the case of Jose Padilla, an American citizen suspected of membership in Al Qaeda. Although Mr. Mukasey backed the White House by ruling that Mr. Padilla could be held as an enemy combatant—a decision overturned on appeal—he also defied the administration by saying Mr. Padilla was entitled to legal counsel.

On a more positive note, however, the Times also has noted that they will no longer charge for access to TimesSelect or recent archives. While I personally already enjoy free access to TimesSelect and the Times archives through my university, I really applaud this decision.

immaculate conception church, san diego
Originally uploaded by thomwatson

Tomorrow morning I have a 7:00 flight to San Diego, where I’ll be attending a conference at UCSD (which technically is in La Jolla) for the editors/managers of the top-level University websites across the UC system, so I’ll be meeting my peers, for the first time, from the other campuses. It’s a short trip; I’ll be returning Friday evening.

It’s my second trip to San Diego, the first having been last December when Jeff and I took advantage of cheap Southwest fares to go just for a very quick weekend, flying down Friday evening after work and returning Sunday night. As part of my attempt to live a tiki life, we stayed at the cool Humphrey Half-Moon Inn and Suites on Shelter Island and had brunch on Sunday at the Bali Hai.

Jeff posted a fairly comprehensive report about the weekend at the end of December, and his Flickr set from the trip is very representative of the things we did and saw, including the hotel, the restaurant, Old Town, Hillcrest, Balboa Park, Coronado Island, and LEGOLAND. I also have some photos from the trip up on Flickr as well, though so far of only a subset of our activities there; I just uploaded some from LEGOLAND earlier this week, though, and more photos from that trip are forthcoming.

As an atheist, almost casually, in an interview with Entertainment Weekly. Surprising that she’d admit it, but, well, I really have to give her some credit for that, at least.

Are you religious?
No, I’m an atheist. But I absolutely love religions and the rituals. Even though I don’t believe in God. We celebrate pretty much every religion in our family with the kids. They love it, and when they say, ”Are we Jewish?” or ”Are we Catholic?” I say, ”Well, I’m not, but you can choose when you’re 18. But isn’t this fun that we do seders and the Advent calendar?”

But she remains as tight-lipped and grim as ever when asked about her sexual orientation, and the magazine, not surprisingly, gives her a pass.

Over the next two hours, there’s only one subject that she firmly swats away. A recent Out magazine cover featured two models holding up pictures of her and Anderson Cooper’s faces in front of their own, under the headline ”The Glass Closet: Why the Stars Won’t Come Out and Play.” When asked if she has any response, Foster says, ”Was that the one with the Popsicle sticks?” Her thin lips tighten into a calm half smile of reproach: ”No, I have no response.”

So be it. Too many actors today flaunt their personal lives to make up for the lack of a real professional one. And then there’s Jodie Foster … a smart, sensitive actress audiences love to root for.

In her mind, then, is it worse to be known as gay than to be known as an atheist in the US? I thought that polls typically suggest the opposite, though as someone who’s both I already know that either one means I’ll never get to be President.

Apple today announced some new iPods, including the new iPod Touch, which boasts a wide, touchscreen display, like the iPhone. I'd been waiting for Apple to release a widescreen iPod for a couple of years, now. What's more, it has wi-fi and web browsing.

I was really excited, and was ready to order one the minute it was available, even though I'd bought a new 80Gb iPod Video just earlier this year.

But then I saw that they're only offering it in 8Gb and 16Gb models. And the 16Gb model sells for $50 more than the new 160Gb model traditional iPod (now called iPod Classic). I'm sorry. The wide display, the touchscreen, the wi-fi and the Internet connectivity are cool and sexy, and I'd absolutely be willing to pay more for those features. But my current 80Gb iPod already is nearly full, and I'm just not willing to pay more for an iPod with only one-tenth to one-fifth the capacity. The beauty of the iPod, after all, is that I can carry my entire music collection with me; I don't have to make choices beforehand about what I might want to listen to. That's why I use the iPod and not the CD changer when I'm in the car.

Sorry, Apple. I think you really dropped the ball on this one. I know it won't matter to Apple that I won't buy one--after all, even though they limited the iPhone to a single carrier, which is the major reason I didn't buy one of those, they've still sold an insane number of them. But because of that business decision, and now this one (and a partnership with Starbucks... WTF?! Yeah, I like my frapuccinos, but does any company other than Microsoft and Walmart exemplify evil corporate empire more?), I'm also seriously rethinking my planned purchase of an Apple laptop or desktop this fall. I'm a former fanboy (I used to be a really annoying Apple enthusiast, in fact), and really thought you might woo me back. But you just keep taking me for granted.

I wonder if there's a country song somewhere on iTunes that accurately captures my sense of betrayal?

shades of alex
Originally uploaded by thomwatson

Today we spent about an hour at the Peninsula Humane Society shelter in San Mateo, scoping out the kitties. It’s been about three-and-a-half months since Alex was lost, and he still hasn’t been found or returned to us, and Jeff and I have decided that it’s time to bring a new cat (or two) back into the house.

The problem, though, is how in the world to choose. We saw two cats today I absolutely fell in love with. Three-month-old Nicolasa, pictured here, even looks like a tiny, female version of Alex. She was so sweet, gentle and calm.

Then there was two-month-old “Doc Brown”, who, on the other hand, was anything but calm. He leapt and climbed all over his cage—and his patient, snoozing mother—batting at me with his funnily oversized kitten paws (fortunately, his kitten-sized claws didn’t break the skin). He had such an amazing personality, and a striking coloration and interesting spots and spiral patterns in his gray fur.

Then there was the adorable batch of littermates named for Disney characters—Mickey, Minnie, Donald, Daisy and Goofy—and another adorable, teeny-tiny little puffball, so many cats and kittens in need of safe, loving homes.

tiki king sandals
Originally uploaded by thomwatson

Ok, I'm a bit of a shoe queen. It's almost an Imelda Marcos kind of love. Over the past couple of years, though, I've begun exercising some self-control. No, I haven't stopped buying shoes--there's no call for extremism--but I do have a commitment with myself that whenever I buy a new pair I'll get rid of an old pair.

Today was the first day of double points at DSW. Of course we had to stop in; after all, we were in the neighborhood anyway (haircut, lunch, grocery shopping). I also had a $10 coupon because of my previous purchases, from when the branch opened earlier this summer at the Westlake Shopping Center in our neighborhood.

I've been looking for something to wear around the house; my fleece slippers had gotten dirty and very worn, and hadn't survived an attempted cleaning very well. In the meantime, I've been wearing a pair of Jeff's dad's flip-flops, but they're a full size too small.

So I was excited to find, in the DSW clearance room for 30% off (even before using my coupon), a single pair of Margaritaville sandals with a sueded insole. Amazingly, they were my size. And even more amazing, the style is called "Tiki King," and features little tiki gods embossed on the leather strap. These sandals clearly were meant for me. And they're extremely comfortable (I'm wearing them now).

So I came home and pulled from under the bed a pair of Steve Maddens whose stitching and decoration had become undone. Goodbye, old shoes. Hello, new.

According to today’s Future Tense podcast, reporting on an LA Times article, effective September 2007 AT&T is discontinuing its free time-of-day service in California and Nevada, which, it turns out, are the last two states in which the service still is available. The generation growing up now will never know the soothing voice of Jane Barbe or any of the preceding time ladies reciting the current time and temperature. Californians will no longer be able to dial POP-CORN (actually, POP—767—and any four digits provide the time, but only for one more day) to hear Joanne Daniels recite the current Pacific Daylight Time.

Granted, I can’t recall the last time (until tonight, when we called just for nostalgia’s sake, and before it’s too late) I called such a service, and didn’t even realize it was no longer available back in Virginia or DC. These days, I find out the time by checking my cellphone screen, or on my PC, which synchronizes with a time server. Still, this does feel like the end of an era.

OK, you know I can’t resist:

There’s just no time for such things…
The times they are a changin’…
That’s it, folks, we’re all out of time.

Tonight we’re seeing the new traveling production of Sweeney Todd, in which the actors provide their own accompaniment, playing all the instruments onstage.

On the one hand, I do feel some Schadenfreude at the predicament of Republican Idaho Senator Larry Craig, who pled guilty to “disorderly conduct” in an airport restroom, seemingly having been in the process of soliciting sex from a stranger in the next stall, who just happened to be an undercover cop there specifically to investigate reports of frequent sexual activity taking place therein. Despite persistent rumors about his own sexual orientation and/or activities, Craig has long been an opponent of gay rights, having voted for the Defense of Marriage Act, having supported a Constitutional amendment to ban gay marriage, and having voted against a bill prohibiting employment discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation. So yes, I feel a little bit of pleasure that such an odious man has been caught in a trap somewhat of his own, or at least his own party’s, making.

On the other hand, I’m really disturbed that the specific activities of which he was accused even are considered grounds for citation or arrest. Had he actually been having sex in the restroom, ok, I can understand why that might be deemed illegal. But merely indicating that he might wish to have sex, by tapping his foot on the floor, moving his foot over to touch another man’s foot, and waving his hand beneath the divider between stalls, not so much. Was his behavior unwise? Given his identity, his political affiliation, and his position, most definitely. Unseemly? Yes. Creepy? Yeah, a little, not to mention unsanitary. But should these actions really constitute something for which he should be charged with a crime? Had he even gone so far as to directly ask the other man “Would you like to have sex?”, I don’t believe that should be an illegal act in and of itself. One should use good judgment about where and when to make a sexual proposition—Craig didn’t use good judgment (as Tucker Carlson made clear in his juvenile and sickening description of the bashing he and his friend gave to a guy who propositioned him in a public restroom once, Craig might have been lucky that he just got a citation rather than a broken nose or neck; as an aside, who looks and acts more like a closet case than Carlson?)—but that still doesn’t mean that propositioning someone for sex should be illegal. Are we going to start arresting people at singles bars and high school proms?

And should we really be spending public dollars on having policemen staking out public restrooms—moreover, rudely monopolizing a stall in a crowded, busy restroom—for hours, just waiting for someone to proposition them? And the cop in this case even responded by tapping his own foot (in the sign he says is indicative of people wanting to engage in illicit sexual activity), thereby encouraging the senator to continue his actions. That feels really slimy to me, and a real waste of taxpayer dollars.

That said, Craig didn’t fight the charge, but pled guilty to it. And, while I can’t know for sure what he thinks, it’s probably a pretty safe bet that if asked before this incident took place, he would have said that he believed that others arrested for doing the same thing should indeed be charged. And he compounded the whole thing by potentially trying to use his position as a US senator to get preferential treatment.

I can understand the difficulty for someone of his generation, serving as a Republican official, to live openly and honestly, but my sympathy stops at the line at which he abuses the power he has gained through his willingness to stay in his own closet—and the harm that does to himself and his family—to deny other gay men and women the rights to live freely and happily. And even now Craig continues to imply that being gay is wrong, sinful and that the mere suspicion of such puts a “cloud over the state of Idaho.” Excuse me? It wasn’t the state of Idaho that pled guilty to disorderly conduct, or that was lying to its wife while trying to get a little man-on-man action in a public restroom.

So, in the end, I won’t be too sad to see a sorry old hypocrite like him ushered off the political stage.

Last night we had dinner with Rob and Espie. As earlier reported, we first met them last September, when we went to a talk Rob was giving, and later attended a book-launch party at their house. Since then, we’ve become friends, and regularly have been getting together with them, Richard (a fellow UCSF employee whom I first met at their party), and some other local pals and fellow mid-century enthusiasts. Along with some other friends of theirs, we even started bowling every month earlier this year (at the fabulous Sea Bowl down the coast in Pacifica), which gave Rob and me great opportunities to showcase our collections of hipster shoes and Hawaiian/club shirts. Earlier this summer, however, Espie left for a ten-week language/history/culture course in the Philippines, so the bowling’s been on hiatus since then. She returned this past week, but bowling will continue to wait a bit, as their weekends over the next two months are devoted to wedding planning activities. After nine years together they’re getting married in October.

And I noted that we’ve become friends. Apparently, pretty good friends. (Let’s even set aside Espie’s friendly suggestion a few months ago to Jeff and me—admittedly, after several strong cocktails, and in any case roundly rejected by Rob—that perhaps she should serve as a surrogate for us, since a baby with her and my genetic material would look most like a biological baby of Jeff’s and my own.) In fact, the two of them asked me if I would be willing to officiate at their wedding in October. Ham that I am, I agreed.

You see, in San Francisco (and some other California counties), a private citizen can be deputized for one day for the purpose of solemnizing a civil wedding. No religious wording is allowed, which obviously suits me just fine. I just had to promise Rob and Espie I wouldn’t wear Renaissance Faire garb or make any Star Trek or Tolkien references.

Espie brought Rob a barong back from the Philippines to wear for the ceremony, so I’ll probably wear mine as well.

• Scientists should unite against threat from religion [nature]
  In a letter to Nature, Sam Harris takes the journal to task for fawning over a religious book, and in general for the tactfulness, “to the point of obscurantism,” with which it treats religion
  (tags: science religion christianity islam atheism nature sam_harris reason unreason)

I guess I’m not completely as sanguine about having gotten that ticket, as I’ve been continuing to brood on it a little this evening. I don’t mean to imply that I’m the paragon of driving virtue—I make occasional mistakes just like anyone else, but I’m not deliberately reckless—yet on a near constant basis I witness all kinds of appallingly bad and dangerous driving that seemingly goes unremarked and unpunished, and that then ends up being emulated by other drivers when they see there are apparently no consequences. It sometimes makes me feel like I’m a bit of a sucker, especially the times when it appears I’m the only person obeying a given traffic law: there’s a stretch of Fulton Street, for example, about a block and a half long, that I drive every day both going to and coming from work, where the speed limit briefly drops from 35 to 25 because there’s a senior center there. I always slow down when I reach that stretch, yet hardly anyone else ever does. In fact, it’s not uncommon for me to get dirty looks and sometimes even honked horns from the drivers who pass me, frustrated that I’ve slowed them down (unfailingly, of course, I catch up to them at the next traffic light, which does give me some perverse pleasure at least).

On the Great Highway on the way to work, as another example, there are a series of traffic lights every few blocks, even though there’s no actual cross traffic; the lights are designed, rather, to keep traffic on that route from moving too fast. On many occasions I’ve stopped at one of those lights, not only those that are turning yellow but some that already are red, only to have a driver behind me pull around and speed through the red light in the other lane. A few weeks ago the driver behind me didn’t even bother to slow down, apparently assuming I’d run the red light too, and nearly plowed into me when she finally slammed on her brakes at the last minute; I actually had to step on the accelerator and go halfway under the red light in order to keep from being rear-ended. If last night’s cop had been there, I’d probably have been the one ticketed for running the light.

Along those same lines, the car last night—the one I was allegedly following too closely—had been changing lanes without signaling, driving in the left lane five to ten miles below the posted speed limit, and even abruptly cut in front of me into the left-hand turn lane after having initially stayed in the through lane. Yet the cop singled me out for punishment.

OK, yes, life isn’t fair. But couldn’t it be at least a little more fair?

In thirty years of driving I’ve never had a traffic violation, never even been stopped for speeding (I was involved in a fender-bender a few years ago, but the circumstances were sufficiently murky that I wasn’t issued a citation for it). My streak ended last night, though, and not, I think, fairly.

I was returning home from dinner with Jeff and his mom, around 9:15; we’d come in separate cars, and since I knew it would take him a little extra time to drop her off at her house before returning home, I went to the bookstore for a few minutes before heading out.

On the way back, just about a mile from home, I passed a California Highway Patrol vehicle sitting on the right shoulder. I didn’t really think anything of it: I wasn’t speeding and I was, I thought, driving safely. After all, given that I’d seen the patrol car, if I were doing anything deliberately unlawful, I’d have stopped doing it; but I kept on driving along, blissfully unaware that he had pulled back onto the highway and was following me.

At the intersection where I turn off the highway onto the local streets, as I was sitting at the red light in the left turn lane with my turn signal flashing, the patrolman turned in behind me, turned on his car’s flashing lights, and announced over its loudspeaker, “Silver Prius, I want you to turn left here, then turn right into the parking lot and stop.”

I was stunned. I pulled in and parked the car, he pulled up behind me, and I sat and waited. I could only imagine that perhaps I had a tail-light out, or some similar mechanical problem. When he walked up and asked me if I knew why he’d stopped me, I admitted that I didn’t know. He said that I’d been following the car in front of me much too closely and could have caused an accident, and requested my driver’s license, registration and proof of insurance.

There was a car in front of me, but I honestly don’t believe I was following too closely. There were no other cars on the road around us, so I had plenty of room to maneuver in case of a sudden stop. And, as I pointed out, I was even driving five miles below the speed limit the entire time. He said that he’d noticed that, but suspected I was only doing so either because I’d seen him, or because I was intent on tailgating the car in front of me, suggesting that I was doing so deliberately rather than inadvertently (if at all).

What bothered me perhaps most of all about the incident, though, even more than actually getting a citation, was that the patrolman seemed to go out of his way to be condescending, high-handed and accusatory, even though I remained respectful. It started with the directive to “turn left” when I was already in the left turn lane and signaling my turn, and continued through his suggesting that I didn’t seem to be “from around here.” I told him that I lived just four or five blocks away, and was on my way home, and he said, “Well, I saw that you have a GPS in there, so I thought maybe you were looking at it instead of watching the road.” (In fact, I didn’t even have my radio on, and hadn’t hooked up the iPod, so I didn’t have any distractions while I was heading home.) As I was getting the registration from the glovebox, he saw that I had my Virginia registrations in there as well, and started questioning me about whether the car was legally registered in the state, or if I might have illegally put California plates on an out-of-state car. At that point, though, I showed him the California registration and, apparently satisfied that my papers were in fact legit, he went back to his car with my information, returning about 15 minutes later with a citation.

He told me that he was issuing me a ticket, because he “didn’t ever want to see me doing that again.” I mentioned at that point that I’d never before gotten a citation, or even been stopped for speeding (I think I’ve received at most three parking tickets in my entire life). He said, in his most understanding moment of the encounter, “in that case, you’ll want to take the traffic school option when they offer it, so that you won’t get the point on your driving record.” When I thanked him, and said that I really hadn’t thought that I’d been driving unsafely, he retorted, “Well, when you have a beer or two right before getting into the car, this is what’s likely to happen.” I clearly was sober, so that comment seemed particularly unwarranted. Then, as he turned to leave, he said “Now I’m parked right behind you, so make sure that you let me pull out before you try to leave, so that you don’t hit me.” With the searchlight from his car window shining directly into my side mirror and reflecting into my face, that fact was pretty apparent to me, but I merely thanked him again, put away my license, registration and other papers while he drove off, and then drove the remaining few blocks home where Jeff was waiting with the garage door open, wondering what had happened to me.

Now I wait for the letter to arrive telling me what the fine is, and decide if I want to try to contest the ticket. Given how “following too closely” has no clear legal definition, though, it would be my word against his, no matter how clean my driving record is, so it’s probably easier just to pay the fine and spend the eight hours in traffic school (which, apparently, tend to be run by stand-up comics, so maybe it won’t even be all bad—though depending on the level and quality of the humor, that could make it worse). It feels, though, almost like I’d been chosen at random for some perverse reason—my boss said, “Maybe he just doesn’t like people who drive Priuses”—or to fill a daily quota; and “driving too closely” sure seems a conveniently subjective infraction to level against someone when you don’t have any real charge to level against him.

I was pretty upset last night after I got home, but I guess I’ve reached a shrugged-shoulder, “ah well, that’s life” mental accommodation since then. And in the end—given his disrespectful, insulting and authoritarian behavior towards me, with no provocation on my part—I’m pretty sure I’m the better man.