Happy New Year! It’s hard out here …

I just got back from an evening walk down to the harbor and over to an amazing gym in my corner of Baltimore — wearing as many layers as I used to atop the highest peaks in Tahoe. On the way back, I stopped by a rowhome so skinny in width that the washer and dryer were right next to the kitchen sink (consolidate water lines) — because there’s a 50-50 chance I may end up moving right back out of the swank pad where my cross-country journey ended on Dec. 26 (more on that later) …

The sexy ones are always a handful, aren't they?

Also, turns out my car insurance rates will go up by about a K because I live downtown; and the mechanic who now has my car overnight says it’s going to cost me $650 to bring my newish Honda Civic up to state-mandated safety standards … Hey, at least my car was delivered by the time I got here, right?

Earlier today, I spoke to the truck driver hauling all my things across the country, and he said he should be here sometime between New Year’s Day and Jan 3. (I’d bust a cable-guy joke here if the reality of things weren’t so sad.)

My move out on Dec. 15 back in Cali went smoothly. The delivery? S-l-l-l-o-w-w-w-w ...

And yet, I’m OK over here. Call me a masochist … maybe even “retard.” I asked for a challenge, and I got one. The cold makes me curse, the people are blunt, and I’m hemorrhaging money left and right. But maybe this is the thrown bucket of ice water I needed after a lifetime of being able to sport cargo shorts and flip flops year round.

Waiting for a call back from the mechanic today, I spent over four hours at one of Balto’s favorite pubs on Broadway: Max’s Taphouse. Besides having the most darling bartender-waitress — after I scribbled a $5 tip on my $14 tab, she hollered sweetly and sincerely across the bar: “Thank you, Michael!” — they have a beer menu that rivals Schindler’s List. And they have these house rules posted by the front door:

The last one says, "50 cent is a rapper, not a tip!"

They actually have these printed on a T-shirt, and I just may end up buying my first article of clothing from a bar … because these rules suit me fine.

Clarity and closure on Christmas …

It’s pathetic. But I’ve spent all Christmas day in bed — updating my Web site, my LinkedIn and Facebook profiles, and my resume … because in exactly 12 hours, I will board my one-way flight to Baltimore. So before I am overwhelmed by the weather,  madness of move in and preparations for my first day at work, here is what I’ve added to the about me section of this blog:

I now live in Baltimore and work as a science writer at Johns Hopkins University, where my job is to garner coverage and recognition for the faculty experts and scholarly work affiliated with the Johns Hopkins Berman Institute of Bioethics. Through an e-newsletter, blog and media-relations work, I aim to help the institute achieve its overall mission to inform society that important ethical issues are inherent wherever there is a bio-medical component — from everyday clinical practices to the national debate on health care.

So I guess I’ve succeeded in landing a job that will allow me to apply my experience as a professional writer and combine it with my passion for health and science … which means that my adventures in unemployment are technically over. A new adventure is about to begin, and it remains to be seen whether I continue to blog about that.

But over the past six months, I’ve hiked more than 60 miles of coastal trails, volunteered at a marine discovery center and savored every offshore breeze and intimate moment with the ones that I love. This blog is a testament to this joyous and indulgent period of my life, which I am sad to see ending — because I have truly enjoyed sharing every moment with you.

Thanks for following me,

Michael

The end?

Sleepless in West Marin …

Well, yesterday’s hike along the west side of Mt. Tam was indeed called off on account of rain. Nonetheless, I found myself driving up to the North Bay … at night,  heeding a haunting call: I decided to confront my “ghost” …

Years ago, I think it was a friend who told me that “FEAR” stands for one of two things: Face ‘Em And Recover, or F#@k ‘Em And Run. In accepting the job in Baltimore exactly one month ago, it felt like part of that decision was me doing the latter — running from a haunting heartbreak. But I don’t feel like that’s really the case today, after doing the former last night …

Granted, it did get scary at one point, when we weren’t sure what either of us should do at the end of the evening. For my part, I was torn between walking away with my passion in check, or risking reopening a wound. In the end, my heart beat out my head once again …

We awoke to this tranquil and eerie sight ...

Was it weird this morning? Not at all … Was it wonderful? Yes … Will there be heartburn? Maybe that’s what I’m feeling now … Still, a one-night stand is to its love-filled counterpart what a bag of corn chips is to a hearty, home-cooked meal, isn’t it? Well, last night was no bag of Frito’s …

But seriously, what if you were told that you could have your favorite dish in the whole world for dinner — but that it might also be the very last time? Would you walk away because of the thought of how bittersweet it might taste? Or would you sit down, right then and there, and savor every last warm, moist mouthful?

Obviously, we chose the latter. In doing so, I guess we agreed that it was better to chance that bittersweet aftertaste than risk the lingering flavor of regret. We also agreed that a heartbreak can be a blessing in disguise that compels you to move on to new places … like Baltimore.

So thank you — for last night … and for everything.

Just melts my heart …

East Coasters say the reward for their harsh winters and summers are the beautiful falls and springs. Out in California, the change of seasons isn’t indicated so much by colorful explosions in the trees, as it is by the shift in what we do outdoors.

The forecast does not bode well for my last group outing this Sunday on Mt. Tamalpais, with our hike leader warning that the trek will be canceled altogether if the weatherman even mentions the word “lightning.” … That’s OK. With the countdown officially on for my move to Baltimore, I’ve already turned my attention from picturesque hikes that end with the sun melting into the Pacific …

How our all-day hike south of Big Sur ended last month ...

… to the frosty slopes of Tahoe!

View from the lift at Kirkwood Ski Resort on Thursday ...

Granted, Californians are still weather wimps. Since returning from Baltimore, where my one-day house hunt all over town was graced by early-season snow fall (see previous post), I’ve watched a veritable blizzard of comments on Facebook about the quaint frosting that folks in the Bay Area discovered on their lawns and windshields last week. But all I felt was 30 seconds of hail.

Now, this is snow:

The powder was quite yummy on (and under) my board ...

I rallied two other friends and my cousin to join me for one last hurrah on the mountain. It was early-season snow up there, too. But four feet of fresh pow over the previous two days, temps in the 30s, and pretty much just us at the resort (the beauty of being jobless and able to board on a weekday) made for awesome riding conditions. Good friends made the whole day feel downright warm — as did the Irish “antifreeze” in our flasks ;^)

Adios, Tahoe ...

Seasons greetings from Baltimore!

I was out and about all day, checking out rooms for rent all over town: two in Butcher’s Hill, one north of Patterson Park, two more out east in Highlandtown. Had lunch in Canton Square and made an early-evening jaunt up to Hampden. Throughout, the folks who welcomed me into their homes also drove me to my next showing, picked me up when I missed my bus up town, and one even invited me to the bar where she works for a drink …

In any case, my fingers are still cold as I thaw out in my hotel room. So I’ll just have to tell you about my latest trip out in pictures:

On 34th Street, in the neighborhood of Hampden ...

... where the residents take Christmas decorations to the extreme.

The locals call it "Miracle on 34th Street."

That's Natty Boh: the mascot of Baltimore's local brew, National Bohemian Beer.

You know, after all the rain and snow on Saturday, I almost skipped Hampden altogether. But it turned out to be the “warmest” of all the neighborhoods that I visited — in terms of its people, and in terms of its community vibe. The bartender at the Golden West introduced himself by name and asked me what my story was; and just as I was telling him about my odyssey from the West Coast … what?!? One of my fellow hikers from San Francisco comes up to me at the bar!

I got to know Katie over the ElevationSF camping trip down to Los Padres National Forest last month (see my Facebook photo album). That’s when word really started to spread within the group that I was making the big move out to Baltimore. And so Katie came up and encouraged me that she knows the place well, that she still has a sister in Hampden, and that I’m going to love it. Well, guess who was in town visiting said sister – and having dinner at the same place where I happened to be waiting out the next bus back into downtown over a beer?!?

This is where she was telling me all about Balto ...

Well, now this photo makes me wistful for California — as I sit up in the wee morning hours, sleepless in Baltimore. That’s OK, the flight home today will drag because of the head winds, and I should be able to get some shut eye. … I wonder if I’ll dream about the snow out west that I’ll be riding on Thursday, when me and some friends head to Tahoe for a farewell boarding trip. Or maybe I’ll dream about my last hike with the ElevationSF group back on Mt. Tam this coming Sunday.

Our little camping group from the Nov. 13-15 trip down to Los Padres

But back to Baltimore, in that quirky bar, which locals regard as one of the last bastions of throwback Bawlmer charm, Katie and I chuckled over the fact that the next time we’ll be seeing each other is back in the balmy North Bay. Small world, indeed …

No good at goodbyes …

A farewell told in photos to the warm-hearted folks at the Seymour Marine Discovery Center, where I volunteered a mere three times for Tuesday morning shifts as an apprentice at the touch pool. Plucking sea stars off the side, reaching down to grab hermit crabs and placing them in shoebox-size bins for little kids whose arms — OK, all of them — were too short to reach in themselves. My hands were in the water so much during my last shift (temperature was around 53 degrees), they were numb through most of lunch as I held my sandwich.

My cell phone takes better shots of sunsets than my camera.

After my shift, I spent a few hours away from the aquariums and read the educational exhibits … I found out that a rock fish can live to be about a hundred, whereas your typical salmon — which grows to be three times as big (if not more) — doesn’t even live to be ten!

The center’s overall mission is to ignite in young minds a love for marine life and the scientific pursuit. It also made an impression on this not-so-young science writer …

Quoting a quote via cell-phone photo ... and on a blog. Oh, how my reporting techniques have changed :^)

I also took a little time to make peace with the views off of West Cliff, an area that’s so heartbreaking to me for its sweeping and rugged beauty …

So long, West Cliff ... Ahoy, East Coast!

That night, a volunteer-appreciation party was held after hours at the Seymour Center, and if you couldn’t tell from my teal aloha shirt, they went with a Hawaiian theme: leis, hula dancers and jugs and jugs of Hawaiian Punch — spiked with champagne ;^) It was a sobering moment, however, when I handed over my navy-blue volunteer shirt just after closing to Chris Reeves, the soft-spoken volunteer coordinator at the Seymour Center.

Chris works there part time, and in October, he spent the rest of his waking hours as part of a crew that lured great white sharks toward their small boat with a seal decoy so they could tag them with devices that would help track their migration patterns. Now, as gray whales are making their way down from Alaska to their breeding grounds in Baja — and as humpbacks and blue whales also frolic and feed off the West Coast, or so Chris says — he turns to his other seasonal job: He leads educational, whale-watching cruises for Pacific Life Eco-Tours. So I guess I’ll take his word about all the whales out there …

This one ain't going anywhere.

That’s Ms. Blue, the Seymour Center’s mascot. All 86 feet and 100 tons of her washed up on Pescadero Beach in the fall of 1979. The 50-year-old blue whale died of unknown causes. But she lives on as a reminder of just how big life on Earth can get. Blue whales are the all-time heavyweights on this planet, and when she was alive, Ms. Blue’s heart weighed roughly 1,000 pounds, and together, her lungs literally weighed a ton. And around the holiday season, she just sparkles …

The staff allowed me the honor of plugging in Ms. Blue on Tuesday night.

I couldn’t bring myself to say a final goodbye to anyone. So I crept out of the party before it ended … I scooped out what was left of the seven-layer dip I made, placed it on the buffet table, and snuck around the back and penciled in my last hours on my volunteer time sheet: 10:15 a.m. to 8 p.m. And underneath, in large letters: “Thanks, Chris, Katherine, Peter and Diane! Will miss you all and this place …“

For the record: I originally wrote “Julie,” instead of “Diane.” But as I drove off, a little voice in my head said the executive director’s name was actually Diane. So I turned the car around, snuck back into the break room and erased “Julie” — which is, in fact, her name. … I blame it on the punch.

Instead of ending with a frowning emoticon, this dude's Mick Jagger-like mug should suffice.

Losing weight on Thanksgiving night?

How? Well, a huge weight just got lifted off my chest when, after dinner, I told the folks about: 1) the job at Johns Hopkins, 2) moving to Baltimore, 3) my layoff six months ago, and 4) that I’ve been hiding that from them the whole time because I didn’t want them stressing out — a four-course meal that, I thought, went down well … in the end.

Of course, it was a lot for Mom and Dad to digest all in one sitting. But I indeed took the advice of dear friends, casual acquaintances, and yes, my younger brother — the same dude who encouraged me to keep up the deceit when I felt like giving up the ruse altogether a few months back. On the drive out to the Central Valley, where our parents live, he told me to keep it simple, keep it positive and leave out the part about getting laid off … Wow, and I thought I was the spin doctor in our family :^\

Marshall was definitely in the driver's seat this time ...

OK, so I served up a little fudge for dessert: I told our folks that it looked like I was going to get the job — when in fact, I had accepted it more than a week ago. But to tell them that I’ve been out of work for the past six months, been lying about it the whole time, applied for a job on the other side of the country, have flown out twice for interviews already and — oh, by the way — got it and will be moving to Baltimore right after Christmas? Well, that would’ve been too much for any parent to stomach …

Nonetheless, Dad was initially stunned and hurt. Mom, bless her heart, was instantly supportive. And my cousin, who also knew everything already, even played a stellar supporting role by acting pleasantly surprised. “You should go for it,” he chimed in, right on cue. “It’s the chance of a lifetime!”

And that was, by far, the most important point to hammer home: that this is indeed a true step up in my career — to write about science, and to work for another top-tier university … So in terms of talking turkey on Thanksgiving night, how was it overall? In my humble opinion: well done.

On that note, let me give thanks once again to all the other cooks in this kitchen — my friends, family and colleagues — for your advice, sympathy, patience, and most of all, unwavering support … Let’s be sure to make the most of my last month in the Bay, before I ship off for Balto, by raising a glass (or four) and celebrating the holiday season as if it were our last … together.

Talking turkey on Thanksgiving …

I began this blog by talking about the places I would go for work, and yesterday, I found myself talking with a group of people I barely know about where I will be going in a little over a month. My move to Baltimore was the topic du jour throughout our 11-mile hike from Stinson, up Mt. Tamalpais to about 2,300 feet and then back out to the beach.

Watching the drizzly morning melt away ...

But more than what a drastic move my relocation from the West to the East Coast will be, folks were fascinated — and incredulous, in fact — that I still haven’t told my parents about Baltimore, or for that matter, about getting laid off … last May. That’s right, because they are overly doting, I have hidden the fact that I have been unemployed for the past six months. Besides being parents, their coddling instincts are amplified by the fact that I am still single, don’t own a home or have a family of my own, and, well, still look boyish enough that I still get carded if my basket full of groceries includes a bottle of wine. For all those reasons, they essentially think of me as a kid.

If I needed their sympathy or financial help, which I definitely didn’t because of the generous severance package I got from Stanford, I would’ve turned to Mom and Dad. And because of my contacts throughout the university and employee recommendations from several high-ranking officers there, I was confident that I’d land back on my feet before long … Granted, the job search was an intense time that tested my patience and ingenuity. But if I would’ve had to hear the pity and sadness in my parents’ voice on the phone everyday, what would that have done to my confidence and motivation to press on? With the help of my friends and colleagues, I seem to have reached my goal on my own. So did I need my parents’ sympathy after all?

Wait, perhaps a more objective voice — but from one who also truly knows Mom and Dad — is needed here to tell us once and for all whether I was wrong in hiding all this: my brother … Well, when we told our parents to meet us at a restaurant for dinner a few months back, he and I arrived first. And I told him I was thinking about letting them know that I was laid off. Knowing that they are empty-nesters and would’ve gotten all worked up because they are bored out of their minds in their glum, isolated suburb, my brother said simply this: “I wouldn’t do that. They’ll be calling you everyday.”

So now, am I a bad son for depriving my parents of the chance to express their care and concern? Or did I do them a favor by saving them all the worrying that we now know I never really needed? Perhaps it’s somewhere in the middle — with the part about me hiding my unemployment being not so good.

Well, like the gray skies over Mt. Tam yesterday morning, this will all get cleared up soon …

Looking out over the Pacific ...

On Thanksgiving, I plan to break the news to the rest of my family — with a little garnishing of the facts over here, a sugar-coated omission over there …

Summitting for lunch. The two hikers heading up, both training to climb Kilimanjaro after Christmas.

While my fellow hikers shook their heads, some being parents themselves, they also suggested a few ways to more gracefully broach Baltimore with my folks — like waiting till dessert …

After lunch, we hiked into the amphitheater on Mt. Tam ...

My family’s Thanksgivings are decidedly drama-free. But I expect things will be a little spicier than usual this year …

After our Sunday hike, we chowed down at a taqueria in Mill Valley that sold gourmet hot sauces.

On Thursday, if for nothing else, I guess you can be thankful that you’re not me ;^)

Baring all … and beginning again.

For those of you with whom I’ve done this, literally or otherwise, you know of the tattoo on my right shoulder. It came from the cover of a book I really liked, way back in college, that spent much of its time railing on the failure of modern technology. Although the days of rattling my fist at “the man” are for the most part over, there’s still an assertion from that book that has stuck with me after all these years: Technological advances have traditionally been something we buy into without question — and deal with the consequences later.

That’s changing, especially in the bio-sciences. Whether it’s inserting human brain cells into a lab mouse, or deriving sperm and egg cells from the stem cells of same-sex partners so gay couples can have a child created in vitro who bears their genes, bioethicists are trying to get us to think about how to morally navigate these uncharted areas now … and I’ll be helping them.

I just accepted an offer to be a communications specialist for the Johns Hopkins Berman Institute of Bioethics. With more than 30 affiliated faculty across the university’s schools of medicine, public health and arts and sciences, this truly multidisciplinary institute is the largest university bioethics center in the nation. Technically, my job title is “science writer” … finally.

I find conversations that dwell on our dilemmas and the reasons why we act and behave the way we do to be much more fascinating than sports stats or motor sports. And to me, few topics are more meaningful than those that affect our health and examine our humanity. In short, science is where my heart is at — and the progressive, intellectually charged atmosphere of a university is where I see myself thriving.

The fact that this lifelong Californian will be starting over on the East Coast is scary and exciting … But I guess it wouldn’t be an adventure if it wasn’t both. So here we are, almost six months after my adventures in unemployment began, at the start of a new journey:

looking across Inner Harbor at downtown Baltimore ...

Bawlmer's charming Federal Hill neighborhood ...

the Mount Vernon area north of downtown ...

Row homes by the Hopkins Medical Center, not so nice ...

This 'hood is probably more my speed ...

A few years ago, I started something called “New Year’s in a New Part of the World.” First Madrid, then southern Brazil, and now after a year off, the tradition is back. I move to Baltimore in January.

Extending unemployment benefits? To hold out or take a hike …

Another extension for unemployment benefits: your thoughts? … One of the first arguments I heard against stretching them out, although it’s now a done deal, is that some jobless folks will now be able to kick back for a lot longer on this much fluffier financial cushion and hold out until just the right opportunity comes along — instead of going out and becoming a tax-paying member of society again ASAP.

As an unemployed native of the Bay Area, where most people wouldn’t think of leaving — even with the absurd cost of housing and extremely tight job market — I can’t totally discount that critique. After all, there’s a reason to hold out:

million-dollar views ...

But that argument doesn’t hold true for me. Whether it’s good or bad, I simply cannot stand to be unemployed. And yes, I do receive unemployment benefits … and no, I am not sitting on my ass: I am back in Baltimore. Just finished my final-round interview for a job at Johns Hopkins and am staying for two more days to check out the different neighborhoods — pumping all that money right back into the economy: the hotel, the meals, the impending moving expenses. No lounging on the dole over here …

However, there has been more hiking! The day before I flew out, I felt compelled to do the Dipsea — a must for any self-respecting Bay Area resident. Although I’ve not yet visited Alcatraz or ridden a cable car, the thought of my time in this beautiful corner of the world coming to a close pushed me to take on all 667 steps … and that’s just at the trail head:

the journey of a million steps ...

... began here.

into the Bay Area's backyard garden ...

i gotta reach Stinson by sunset!

 

ok, had to stop for this one …

gotcha!

... and still enough light for one last shot.

I started at 3 p.m. sharp and reached Stinson Beach at a quarter after 5 p.m. In between: just over 7 miles and a total elevation gain of about 2,200 feet.

The Dipsea? Done … This weekend: Big Sur. But for the last time?