I'm not using this journal any longer. Those of you on my friends list that want to keep me around should use the syndicated feed splicerdotcom  from now on. Or of course you can just go directly to http://splicer.com, but the syndicated feed is a way to keep my most recent posts on your "friends" page here on LJ.

In 1998 I purchased a fine point Rotring 700. This was my first foray into what some would call the realm of fine pens, although Rotring has tended to make pens that are more practical than the ones that usually get categorized that way. Until then I had used the Parker Vector, which generally gets classified as a «student» pen, and I was ready to see what spending a bit more would get me.

In part I wanted to test a point: that there is a law of diminishing returns when increasing spending for pens. As with many things, it is true but not quite so simple. There are fountain pens with extraordinary price tags that do not write any better than a fifteen dollar student pen like the Vector, and middle-range pens that give more expensive pens a run for their money. There are truly excellent pens that command a high price tag, but even then it takes someone with a bit of experience and who knows what characteristics they really like in a pen in order to appreciate what those prices will buy. Nevertheless, it's generally true that small increments in the quality of the writing experience come from large increments in price. A $120 pen will have noticeably better materials and workmanship than a $20 pen, but think about that for a moment. The difference is only «noticeable», not «stunning» or «astounding». A $350 pen will be generally indistinguishable from a $120 pen in most people's estimation. And the difference in quality, materials, and design between a $350 pen and a $1000 pen is truly subtle.

There's a secondary rule in place that causes divergence in the price/quality curve. This is the marketing rule that often perception drives demand more than quality. Because of this, with many products it is true that the quality of a product will actually decrease with increased price. Example: you can pay $60 for a pair of sunglasses designed to withstand high-velocity impacts like rocks kicked up by motorcycles or even bullets. In the $500 range, you mostly have fashion items that provide about as much protection as lenses made from cellophane. Similarly, you can spend several hundreds, even thousands of dollars on a Montblanc with great brand recognition and prestige value---walk into a law firm with a Montblanc sticking out of your pocket and be prepared to command great respect---but with quality of materials and design comparable to a $120 Parker or Waterman.

The result of my search for the sweet spot of price versus quality in a fountain pen was the Rotring 700. Rotrings generally have smooth, stiff nibs which make them both loved and hated by fountain pen users. The Rotrings are almost all steel nib pens rather than some variety of gold, which loses them points in may collector's books. Yet the 700 has one of the smoothest steel nibs ever made, so who needs gold?

I tried both the 700 and Rotring 600 at the counter when I bought the 700, and was not impressed with the 600, whereas I fell in love with the 700. Rotring was subsequently acquired by the Sanford Corporation, who trimmed Rotring's product line, keeping the 600 and eliminating the 700. Over the years I've heard countless raves of the 600 but always looked down my nose at them a bit. Sure, the 600 is a good pen, but I had the superior and substantially less-common 700.

My 700 traveled many thousands of miles with me, and never gave me trouble even when I exposed it to the duststorms on the playa at Burning Man. Sadly, the clip got bent and the 700 suffered enough abuse to take on some dings as well as some other cosmetic damage. It was when the cap stopped posting properly that I decided to retire the pen. A fountain pen with a loose cap is not something anyone wants in their pocket.

There began my search for a replacement. As I'd never seen a 700 other than the one I had, and repeated searches on eBay and Google yielded nothing, I resigned myself to seeking out other Rotrings. I had in mind as a possibility that I could transplant the nib of my 700 onto another pen body, but at the very least I would give the 600 line another try.

In the past several months I've purchased several Rotrings. My search took on some urgency when I learned that Rotring fountain pens will no longer be distributed in the United States. My search then was for stores that still had «new old stock» Rotring pens, online retailers in other countries (my thanks again to cultpens.com in the UK), begging friends and associates in Germany to look for me, and of course eBay.

My first try was the Rotring Initial, mentioned here earlier so I won't go into too much detail. It's recommended to anyone that likes a smooth pen with consistent line, but it does not have the razor-sharp lines of many other Rotrings. The Initial is a solid-feeling pen, which lends itself very nicely to writing, but is just a little heavy for drawing.

The Rotring 600 really is a nice pen, but it deserves its own post which I'll leave for another day. Instead, I intend to focus here on two interesting curiosities: the Rotring Rive and Rotring New Orleans.

The Rive is an ergonomically designed pen, but made so inexpensively that it feels like a novelty. At sixteen grams, it doesn't feel like a Rotring at all, and I have to wonder whether this is the result of creative experimentation or dumb directions by the overlords at Sanford/Newell/Rubbermaid. In fact, now that I think of it, Newell could have some strong incentive to force its subsidiaries to use more plastic and less metal. But I digress.

When capped, the Rive looks as though it were a prop from a bad science fiction movie, like some sort of alien seedpod. The entirety of the barrel is covered in dimples at regular intervals that must be there to promote grippiness, except that they don't do so very effectively. Removing the cap reveals a contoured section designed to mimic the curves of one's thumb and forefingers, which seems nice, but being made of the same hard plastic as the rest of the pen's body ends up not being very comfortable at all. A soft-rubber grip in this shape might be more comfortable, but I found the shape itself to be too limiting. When holding a pen my thumb and forefinger usually are not directly opposite one another. With the Rive, they must be, which results in come uncomfortable curling of my forefinger.

Despite its shortcomings, the Rive does have a few niceties. I found it to be quite clever how the section screws into the barrel with a positive click to ensure you that you're done twisting and to prevent it from accidentally unscrewing itself. It's a thoughtful feature that makes the use of the pen simpler, especially for someone new to fountain pens.

The nib is surprisingly smooth, although it may have to do with the «fine» point being closer to a medium. It appears to lay down a line broader than the New Orleans' medium point, in fact.

It's an interesting experiment and not without merit, but the execution of the Rotring Rive leaves quite a bit to be desired, even from a student-grade pen. Instead of innovative and clever, it comes across as tacky and cheap. Certainly not attributes I thought I would ever ascribe to a Rotring pen. In the end, I'm not sure that I dare call it a Rotring. It is the only Rotring pen of any variety that I've ever seen that did not have Rotring's trademark red circle somewhere on the pen.

The New Orleans, however, generally lives up to my expectations of a Rotring. It is of similar size and shape to the 700, and only two grams lighter. The cap posts and fits with a positive click---perhaps too positive, as it takes a bit of force to snap on---and stays securely. In truth, there's something about it I can't put my finger on that feels like a student-grade pen rather than a precision writing instrument like the 700 or the 600. However, as I said I can't quite see why it feels that way.

While the 700 is well-balanced enough to be used with or without the cap posted, the New Orleans has a lot of its weight in the cap. Though the New Orleans weighs in with cap at 26 grams to the 700's 28, the New Orleans cap by itself is fourteen of those versus the 700's cap which is eleven grams. That leaves the uncapped pens at thirteen and seventeen grams respectively. (Please forgive rounding errors here. I know that fourteen plus thirteen is twenty-seven, not twenty-six. My scale does not measure increments smaller than one gram. The numbers here reflect the results of weighing each component rather than simply subtracting the cap weight from the total weight. The numbers were triple-checked and the scale calibrated in between.)

Between the New Orleans' relatively short length uncapped and the lighter uncapped weight, it really wants to be used with the cap posted. I generally prefer writing with the cap posted, but I am bothered when a pen seems incomplete without the cap on the end. I know that many prefer to write without posting the cap and I consider it to be a virtue if a pen is as pleasing with or without the cap.

Nevertheless, this is a solid-feeling pen, if a bit light, and someone with smaller hands might prefer the New Orleans even without posting the cap.

The design of the New Orleans is visually captivating. There is a subtle taper to the barrel and the cap, leaving the top of the cap slightly thicker than the end of the pen. Then there are two elements which reinforce this subtle variation. First, the end of the barrel has a chromed ridge, which functions as the snap which holds the cap when posted. This ridge is smaller in diameter than the barrel itself, adding to the visual effect of the overall taper. The top of the cap similarly has a decorative headpiece wider than the rest of the cap, looking much like the echinus and abacus of the capital of a Doric or Toscan column.

This classic shape plays against the clean, modern lines and the matte black finish (as well as Rotring's red ring) to create an intriguing stylistic tension. The old and the new influences harmonize in an unsettling way, like the striking of a minor chord. The clip is rounded and tapered, making it looks something like a spider's fang. These elements add up to a quietly dramatic presentation that might be at home in one of Anne Rice's vampire novels. The name New Orleans therefore seems particularly fitting.

While more weight in the pen and less in the cap would suit me better, the arrangement does permit the option of writing with a featherweight or moderate-weight pen. One would think then that the pen with cap posted would be extraordinarily cap-heavy, but the effect is not as pronounced as expected.

The nib is exactly what should be expected from Rotring: a smooth, stiff point. As some have said, it's a nail tipped with glass. Anyone expecting a pen with flex should avoid Rotrings generally, and this is not an exception. Be warned though, that while stiff, the Rotrings, especially the writers like the New Orleans, are not totally devoid of personality. The points of Rotrings are known not just for their clean, consistent lines, but as well for pleasing if sometimes surprising variations that show up in flourishes.

One final reservation about the New Orleans. Its matte black finish looks to be quite susceptible to being marked. Just a few weeks of use has already begun to leave a shinier ring around the barrel where the cap posts. This underlines my hesitation to suggest it for those that prefer a moderate-weight pen. For someone who likes a small, lightweight pen and who does not post their caps it will make a very pleasing writer.

After years of searching, I did finally find not one, but two Rotring 700s made available on eBay. Both are new old stock EFs, still with their stickers showing a price of DM 120,-. Although I still have not removed the stickers, I did successfully transplant the fine nib from my old 700 to the body of one of these EFs. It's writing like a champ. If the soul of a pen lies in the nib, then this is new life for the Rotring 700 so dear to me, simply with a new tube and furniture. Having this new lease on life and knowing now how difficult it was to find, I think the 700 will deserve better protection than I gave it before.

Rotring 700: 28 grams

Rotring Initial: 47 grams

Rotring Rive: 16 grams

Rotring New Orleans: 26 grams

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Tags: stylii

A horse keeper or handler, someone employed to look after horses. Also hostler.

This was part of a collection prints from the 1880s depicting letters of the alphabet, with a profession starting with said letter. A was for Artist, R is for Robber, X is for xylographer. O, of course, is for Ostler.

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Tags: vocab

For years I've been singing the virtues of the Pilot Varsity, which is a sort of odd duck in both of the worlds it straddles. It is a disposable fountain pen, and so far as I know, it is the only disposable fountain pen. It is by far the most inexpensive fountain pen on the market, but please, lets not call it cheap.

The Varsity is a featherweight of a pen, weighing in at nine grams full of ink and with cap. Some prefer such a light pen, I personally like a bit of heft to my writers. However, I cannot deny that the Varsity is a great writer. The nib glides across paper with just a touch of toothiness, making it as close to ideal a fountain pen as you could ask for. Smoothness and scratchiness is a matter of personal taste (within reason) but most folks like to be able to feel the paper just a little bit. I think it helps the impression of smoothness to feel what little friction there is, to remind you that you're using something very smooth, rather than something undetectable.

The nib, while not a lot to look at, is simple, functional, and even elegant in its way. The Varsity is a minimalist fountain pen, and the nib seems economical in the best sense of the word. There's no waste in its flat, angular design.

As far as flexibility, well, we shouldn't expect miracles. That said, this steel nib is not at all what I would call a nail. It's absolutely possible to get a bit of flourish and variation to the line with a bit of practice. For the most part, however, it lays down a very even, consistent, unvaried line.

The section of the pen is really what astonishes me. It's transparent, showing the feed and what on another pen would be called «comb serrations.» The purpose of these serrations is to regulate the flow of ink, making sure it does not go too fast and leave the pen in a huge blot on your page. While many pens leave that job to a half dozen or so serrations on the underside of the feed, the Varsity has what looks like twenty very tiny discs surrounding the feed on all sides. These discs are protected inside the pen's section, sealed off where even if ink does overflow it won't simply drip off.

It's a very smart design, and accounts for the Varsity's even flow of ink. Perhaps this design was used because some other part that regulates ink flow is missing, but if so, it is not missed. I've had several of these over the past few years and never had a problem with one drying up or leaking. This is a lot more than I can say for many pens ten or twenty times the price.

The nib is available only in a medium, but like most Japanese pens, they run on the fine side of what can be expect from an American or European pen. I'd say it splits the difference between the fine and medium points of a Waterman or Parker fountain pen.

The Varsity is convenient, reliable, and low-maintenance. Being a disposable pen, of course there's not a lot of choice for ink. I've heard that someone has devised a hack to refill the Varsity, which would permit any variety of inks to be used, but frankly, while I like the Varsity, I don't like it enough to go to the effort to refill one. I can keep one around anywhere, lend it out, leave it on a table with a guestbook and not be concerned that it might disappear. I can leave one in my pocket or pretty much anywhere. I cannot say the same for most of my other fountain pens.

At about three dollars, the Varsity is a great starter pen for someone who isn't sure whether they would enjoy using a fountain pen, or for someone who has gotten so hooked on fountain pens that a disposable ballpoint is out of the question. It's not substantial, will never be a family heirloom and is not at all a work of art. Instead it's a humble, practical and dependable writing instrument that despite it's light weight is a pleasure to write with.

If you like the Varsity, let me introduce you to its big brother. This is the Pilot Knight. The Knight carries a suggested retail price of $45 but can be found for around $35. The Knight then is an order of magnitude more pricey than the Varsity. Compared with other fountain pens of the Knight's quality, design, materials, and workmanship, it's an absolute steal. In general terms the Knight is easily the equal or better of a Rotring Newton, Waterman Hemishpere, Parker Sonnet (steel-nibbed variety), Cross ATX or Shaeffer Prelude, all pens that carry price tags half again to double or more the Knight's. These examples may have specific qualities that one prefers to the Knight, but there is no arguing that the Knight is a pen in a class above its price.

The Knight's nib, like the Varsity's, comes only in a medium. As stated before, Pilot's medium point is certainly suitable for those preferring a fine. A look at the nib shows some basic similarity to the Varsity. It has economical lines, made more elegant than the Varsity's with the rounding of corners and a smoother polish. The Knight's nib writes smoothly and reliably like its smaller sibling. The qualities of smoothness with a sensitivity to the texture of the paper mentioned regarding the Varsity apply here to an even greater degree. Writing with the Knight is like a trip on a mountain road in a car with a sport-tuned suspension. The pen glides over texture rather than insulating the writer from the texture.

Unlike the Varsity, the Knight is not a disposable and comes with a squeeze-style sac converter. Pilot/Namiki cartridges are available, but I prefer the converter.

The Knight weighs in at 36 grams with the cap or 21 grams without, making it much more my kind of pen. The weight of the Knight rests in my hand nicely; I've never been the sort who wants to forget there's a pen in my hand. The balance is good and the pen feels solid and trustworthy. The clip on the cap is substantial and looks as though it could not be bent. A tug on the clip reveals that it is on a sprung hinge the pivot of which is near the opposite side of the cap. The pen will withstand serious damage before that clip bends.

The only shortcoming I can attribute to the Knight is the overly short section. There's a pretty short space between the nib and the ridge the cap snaps to, and the step in width from the barrel to section means the options for gripping the pen are limited. I use the Knight with my index finger on the section and my thumb on the barrel. With most pens my thumb and forefinger are closer to opposite one another, but the adjustment is minor and not at all troublesome.

The section is not transparent and I have not disassembled the Knight far enough to see how the ink flow is regulated, but I have not had any trouble with the Knight. It's on the dry side of moderate as a writer, but never threatens to stop---unless it has run dry, of course.

The Knight's nib is certainly stiff, but not so stiff that you can't get some personality from your line when you want to. At the same time, when you want a clean, consistent line it cheerfully delivers exactly that.

These two pens have a great many differences but also a great many similarities. I would not hesitate to recommend either. The bang for the buck cannot be matched, which is not to say that these are bargain pens. Yes, there are compromises with the Varsity's design that permit it to be produced inexpensively, but both pens are manufactured with enough precision and designed so well that they can be relied upon not only for function, but to provide a pleasurable writing experience. Remember that Namiki, the company that makes Pilot pens, makes fountain pens priced in excess of ten thousand dollars. It's heartening then that they are versed enough with their craft that the pens they make for us regular folk are simply excellent. It's encouraging that to at least one company, inexpensive means straightforward and functional rather than cheap.

Pilot Varsity: 9 grams

Pilot Knight: 36 grams

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Tags: industry, stylii

I hear all the time about John Law. He's the guy with a long arm, who will catch you when you do bad things. I became curious: I've heard about him many times, but I don't really know who John Law is. Fortunately, I have my set of Chambers's Encyclopedia, 1883 Edition handy. Yes, I could have googled it, but that takes all the fun out, doesn't it?

Turns out John Law was born the son of a Scottish banker and goldsmith in 1671. He showed tremendous talent for mathematics, and had great promise of a career in London's fashionable circles. He fled London after killing a rival in a duel, and spent time as a fugitive in Amsterdam, studying the workings of banking and credit. Upon returning to Edinburgh, he lobbied the Scottish parliament to adopt a paper currency, a proposal which was met with much skepticism.

Turning his energies elsewhere, he wandered around Europe amassing a great deal of wealth from gambling while he tried to convince various European governments to change their finance laws. After starting a private bank in France, he eventually convinced the French government to form a national bank and issue paper notes. He was made the Comptroller-General of Finances in France until the national bank became insolvent, whereupon John Law fled France and spent the rest of his life gambling in Venice.

As a side note, I actually found the entry on John Law when I was looking for information on Porcian and Sempronian Law, having read mention of them in Edward Gibbon's The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. It turns out that John Law had a brother William, with whom he went into the banking business for a short period. It's not clear whether it is the same William Law, but Chambers's has an entry on a William Law who was John's contemporary just fifteen years John's junior. William Law was famed for his religious writings and was for some time the tutor to Edward Gibbon, father to the historian Edward Gibbon, author of the book that led me to look up Law in the encyclopedia.

Talk about your six degrees of Francis Bacon. Kinda spooky, eh?

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Tags: liberty and justice for all

To whip, beat, or thrash severely. Also as a noun, the instrument of punishment.

Once again, I would have told you that I knew what scourge means. And I would have been generally sort of right. I would have used it in certain contexts as a synonym for threat or to mean a damaging influence.

But when I came across the second Porcian law, which according to wikipedia, «prohibits scourging of citizens without appeal», it became painfully clear that I had no idea of its specific meaning.

Now it's 2:30 in the morning and I've spent the last few hours researching definitions from reading two or three paragraphs earlier this afternoon, including a word I had to look up in the middle of looking up other words! Is there any wonder why I'm nine books behind on my 52-in-52?

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Tags: vocab

The most sacred rights of freedom, confirmed by the Porcian and and Sempronian laws, were suspended by the military engagement.
---Edward Gibbon, The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire

I can tell by the context that these are proper names, and so sort of falls outside the normal parameters of my hunt for vocabulary words. But I did have to look these up, and so here we are.

Sempronian Law refers to a set of laws written by Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus and put in place by his brother Gaius Sempronius Gracchus after the death of Tiberius. These laws first claim vast regions of agrarian land for Rome and second, provide for inexpensive corn to Roman citizens. Sempronian therefore refers to the Gracchus's nomen, or clan name.

Porcian Law refers to Roman laws that protected citizens of Rome from injury and death. Porcius was the nomen of the clan of which the Cato family, of which Cato the Censor and Cato the Younger were members. If I've got this right, Marcus Porcius Cato Licinianus was Cato the Censor's son and the great-uncle of Cato the Younger. The second lex porcia prohibited corporal punishment of Roman citizens without appeal. The first and third of these laws also concern the right of appeal, the first guaranteeing Roman citizens the right of appeal in capital cases and the third provided the right of appeal for Roman citizens in military service, preventing summary execution. The first and third of Porcian Laws were proposed by members of the Porcius clan but not part of the Cato family.

By the way, Cato the Younger's beloved half-brother Quintus Servilius Caepio died at Thrace. The younger of the Gracchus brothers responsible for the Sempronian Laws was Gaius. «Gaius» and «Thrace» are names that should be familiar to viewers of Battlestar Galactica.

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Tags: liberty and justice for all, sci-fi, vocab

A melted or melting, softened or softening state.

According to Slate, early twentieth-century fashion designer Paul Poiret wrote, «The taste for the refinements of the eighteenth century had led all women into a sort of deliquescence.»

Even having looked up the word, I have no idea what he was talking about.

(article originally seen at moleskinerie.com)

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Tags: vocab

I did mention several weeks ago that Armenian Remembrance Day had arrived. I've been meaning to write about that day for some time now. Armenian Remembrance Day, April 24th, is one of the two days out of the year in which the Mount Davidson Cross is illuminated so as to be visible for miles. The idea to go shoot some photos up there had been percolating in my consciousness for some time, and as I gathered my things at the studio after dance lessons that Tuesday night I thought that I really should go. I was tired, it was late, and I was supposed to be on-site with a client the next morning. I had every excuse running through my head when I went to the window of the studio and looked West-Southwest. Only the very top was visible, but the cross was there on top of Mount Davidson, shining in the night. All my excuses evaporated in that moment and were replaced by a single thought: game on.

I had to ride home to get my camera, and spent a little time packing up my kit. I forgot to remove the polarizing filter from my 28-80mm zoom, and in retrospect considering the conditions I probably should have taken it off. The fog was rolling in, and I ended up with some very nice effects from the light and fog that probably would have been somewhat more pronounced without the polarizing filter. Plus it darkens my shots by a half-stop, and at night taking long exposures, every bit counts.

I knew where the cross was, but had forgotten entirely how to find the path to get to the top. I rode around the Miraloma Park, taking every chance to make an uphill turn no matter which direction I was facing. Eventually I found the bus stop near where I'd come out of the woods on my last visit, parked my bike and hiked up into the woods.

There was a first-quarter moon in the sky but the tree canopy kept it pretty dark in the park surrounding the summit of Mount Davidson. Clearly I've been in the City too long, as I didn't bring a flashlight into the woods. My instinct when going into a closed park at night is not to attract attention to myself; seeing where I'm going comes in a distant second. My eyes are pretty good in the dark. I count among my blessings that I am the son of an astronomer. Or maybe it's my love for carrot juice that does it, I'll never know.

Miraloma Park is a pretty quiet neighborhood, and I didn't have to go very far into the park before I really seemed to be in the woods. Looking back there were some lights visible through the trees, but nothing to provide me illumination save for the indirect light of the moon. Yet there wasn't really any question of being lost. No matter whether I were East or West of the cross, my objective could only be in one direction: uphill. About a halfway up (though I didn't know how much further it would be when I was on my way up) I began to see light up ahead. At first just a glow, then as I got closer it started to appear as an otherworldly radiance. As I got closer my heart started pounding. The light was flooding the air around me.

I got close to the top and the cross itself began to become visible. Let me tell you: that thing is huge. Stepping up to see a 103-foot tall cross flooded with light is an amazing experience. Add on to that all the clichés you've ever heard: coming from the darkness into the light, climbing to the top, and so on. It would be a moving experience even if it weren't a religious icon.

Once upon a time the fact that it is would have bothered me. Today I try to take my spiritual cues in whatever form they take. I try not to be prejudiced by symbols but instead try to find meaning in them. I've heard the rector of an Episcopal parish talk about seeking Jesus in other people, and a priest from the Zen Center giving instructions to find the Buddha, the enlightened being in all people, whether or not we like or agree with them. Why not then look for the light within a religious symbol? Why not ponder its meaning? One does not have to believe in the literal truth of a story in order to be moved by it. Believe me: I am not trying to evangelize when I say that being in the presence of that cross was powerful.

I shot over a hundred and twenty photos that evening. I stopped three times to meditate, pray, contemplate, whatever you want to call it. I had quiet time. The last time I stood and placed my hand on the base of the cross. Adding on to the experience were the flowers left on the plaque commemorating the Armenian genocide. That Remembrance Day was the reason I was able to be in the presence of the cross that night. I've been a lot of places significant for their consecration to the spirit, but that night was the first time I truly felt I stood on hallowed ground.

I went to Twin Peaks to see if I could get some shots of the cross from a similar elevation and some distance. By this time the fog was rolling in thick. I parked at the parking lot overlooking the City and went to the nearest of the peaks. After a few steps up the hill it occurred to me that climbing a hill in strong wind and fog at night with unsure footing might not have been my wisest choice. I looked at the rolls of fog flying past me, and down the mountain, and pressed on upward, being perhaps a little more careful of my footing, moving slowly and carefully in the dark.

At the top of the Northern Peak I couldn't see a thing from Mount Davidson. I have trouble believing that the fog was so thick that I couldn't see through to light that bright, but I stood there on the top of the Northern Peak waiting in case I might catch a glimpse. I told myself that if I could see even a little I'd come back down and climb up the Southern Peak, farther from where I parked but closer to Mount Davidson. The fog rolled over me, pushing me steadily from the West, but I never saw the light of the Mount Davidson Cross.

What I did see were stars. The fog was all around me, but not above me. Below me was the hazy light of the City, but above me was more or less clear depending on how thick the fog rolling past was. I spent about twenty minutes watching in the dark, up above the hustle and noise, as the wind and fog swept past.

As I prepared to make my way back down the rocky path, I smiled to myself thinking that most folks have more sense than to climb a mountain, albeit a tiny one, in the middle of the night during brisk winds. And having more sense than that, most people never get the opportunity to feel the fog on their face as they watch the stars appear and hide, with no one else around and no sound but the wind over the rocks. And then the thought came that capped the whole night off:

Not bad for a day in the office.

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Tags: crazitivity, industry, inner life, life-hacking, san francisco

Despite my recent grumblings about the paper quality of Moleskines, I'm pleased enough with the design to have a few in my current rotation. I'm embarrassed by how many notebooks I have started right now, each with its own dedicated purpose, at least vaguely. The one that I'm most intrigued by as a project is the Moleskine City Notebook for San Francisco. The idea is simple: they provide the basic ingredients of a city guide, the rest is essentially blank.

Check this out on sfthis.com

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Tags: crazitivity, san francisco