DEBRIS.COMgood for a laugh, or possibly an aneurysm

Quoting an emergency dispatch from the California Solar Center:

The California Million Solar Roofs bill (SB1), which would provide ten years of incentives to help Californians install one million solar rooftops by 2018, is facing a critical vote in the State Legislature. On Monday May 23, the bill goes to the Senate Appropriations Committee for a vote.

The opponents of this bill argue that California can’t afford to provide incentives for solar energy. But when all the costs of our dependence on fossil fuels are taken into account, the truth is that we can’t afford not to. Please let the Senate Appropriations Committee know how important it is for California to become the cradle of the clean energy technologies of tomorrow and pass the California Million Solar Roofs bill.

There are two ways to contact California’s senators:

• the renewableenergyaccess.com site
• the Union of Concerned Scientists’ solar action center

I always thought white asparagus was white because it came out of a can.

When our German friends found out we were headed to Germany in May, the first response — and this was universal; every one of them yelled and practically did a little dance — was to proclaim jealousy that we’d be able to eat lots of white asparagus. “Only in May!” they said, “white asparagus!” And I was like, canned asparagus has a season?

I have since been schooled in the ways of white asparagus. It’s a national delicacy (ranking right up there with currywurst). It’s white because it grows under ground — farmers mound dirt atop the plants, then cover the mounds with plastic tarps. I have no idea how it grows without sun. I have no idea why anyone would think, here’s an idea: let’s bury a plant in dirt so that it grows all pale and sickly-looking… and then eat it.

The season lasts about two months, during which every restaurant and market in the country hangs huge signs offering “Spargel!” I even saw a 10-meter-high inflatable SpargelMan, who looked sort of like the Heat Miser, albeit a tall, skinny, albino Heat Miser.

The Chronicle ran a nice interview with Larry Ellison recently. The first half is unusual in that it focused on human-interest questions like “What do you want people to remember you for?” and “Is it hard for someone like you to be friends with anybody?” In responding, Ellison let his hair down, which in the opinion of someone who let his hair down in 1992, makes for a nice change of persona.

I had a brief encounter with Larry Ellison many years ago. I was working for him at the time. Not that he’d have known it… Oracleville had only 3 of its current 6 towers, yet the complex was already big enough to sport five restaurants, a health club, and a shoe-repair business.

My group happened to work in the same building as the CEO’s office, and as I recall the nearest two parking spaces to the front door were marked “Reserved.” Presumably the executive managers’ time was so valuable that the corporation couldn’t afford the extra minutes it would take them to walk in from further across the parking lot.

Anyway, alongside those first couple reserved spaces was a striped-off area about ten feet wide, a buffer to protect the execs’ imported über-sedans from the less elite vehicles that could be afforded by the people who worked for them. This striped area was a perfect spot for a single motorbike, such as the beater red Kawasaki for which I’d paid $700. Yup: most days, I parked next to Larry Ellison.

My close encounter happened 100 yards away, in the left-turn lane from Marine World Parkway. At a red light, I checked my sideview mirror and found I was looking over the top of something low and sporty, a car I recognized as one of the few I spotted frequently in those top two parking spots. I had a brief vision of Ellison pulling up alongside as I parked my loud, farting, occasionally smoky motorbike. In the vision, I gave him a nervous wave and smile, and he called Security to have me and my p.o.s. motorbike towed up the highway to the Sybase parking lot.

So when the light changed, I did the only sensible thing: I circled the parking lot twice, waited until he was safely inside, and then I parked next to him.

Hey, at least I didn’t put mayo on the french fries.

German landscape designers love interlocking stones. Yesterday I saw my favorite design to date. I want a driveway like this.