This has been a notable week. Three days ago I heard a woman scream five times in the street, around 10:00 p.m. At 10:36 p.m., a single police cruiser drove to the end of the street, turned around and drove back. At 11:05 p.m., I overheard through the window two men on the street discussing the situation. Man #1 said a man was "waving a gun". Man #2 asked if he was "black or Hispanic?" Someone called "the cops", and six police cruisers responded. The man with the gun was pinned face-down at the intersection at the end of our block. I could hear his muffled shouts until 11:22, though it was not easy above the noise of the police helicopter circling our block for the duration (until 11:48).

Why do humans continue to purchase guns and expose them to others when they know what will happen? It is similar to the high speed automobile chases which are frequently televised on local news programs. Humans persist in engaging in flagrantly illegal activity that has no productive outcome. One would expect a human with a gun to shoot someone or something with the goal of destroying property or terminating a life. Yet I often read or hear about humans owning guns they claim they never intended to fire. Or driving automobiles on the wrong side of the freeway for miles and miles, until their cars run out of gasoline and coast to a stop, wherein the police apprehend them and confine them to jail, at significant financial cost (bail, attorneys, loss of work income, etc.) What is the purpose? This futile behavior defies all logic.

Today I went to Rebecca's to pick up her mail. Lester appeared as I gathered up the papers, riding up the building's driveway on a red bicycle that was far too small for him. His knees knocked into his chest with each spin of the pedals. Running alongside him was the dog, Jughead. It was limping slightly and looked as if it might cough, sputter and request a glass of water.

"What up, dog?"

Assuming he was addressing Jughead, I didn't answer.

"Yo, Sander. Wassup? That means, 'what is up?' You know. 'How are you?'"

"Oh. I thought you were speaking to the dog. Fine, thank you. How are you, Lester?"

"Real good."

"Have you forgotten another dog toy?"

"Naw. I'm just taking Juggs here for a spin so he can drop some weight off his fat ass before Rebecca comes back."

Lester dismounted his bicycle and spoke to Jughead.

"Want some H20, yo?"

Jughead splayed flat on the ground, breathing heavily.

"Yeah, I thought so. Hold up. Hey, can you watch him while I get some?"

"Yes."

As Lester opened the door to Rebecca's apartment, I noticed he wore short pants that were excessively large for him. Though a length of metal chain ran through his belt loops, his pants slid down his backside, exposing about six inches of skin and the waist band of his under garments. The crotch of the pants hung between his knees. Was this some sort of adaptation for riding the low bicycle? Perhaps a particular type of athletic gear?

Inside, Lester ran the water to fill Jughead's dog bowl. I squatted to get a closer look at the animal. Jughead panted wildly, his eyes wide. Around his neck was a new collar -- not the pink and green grosgrain stripe, but black leather with silver rivets.

Lester emerged with a bowl of water, which he placed in front of the exhausted animal. Jughead lapped madly at it on trembling legs.

I do not like Jughead. Still, it seemed unfair that an unconditioned, spoiled, small creature, made neuter by his owner, should be forced to run a great distance when his human could move with the assistance of a mechanical device.

"Lester, may I ask you a personal question?"

"No sweat."

"Pardon me?"

"Yes, Sander, you may ask me a personal question. If you please, Sir."

"Is the business of washing cars earning you enough to survive? I noticed that neither your bicycle nor your pants fits you."

"Shit, man. I guess I got served." He reached forward and flicked the lapel of my polo shirt. "By Undead Ralph Lauren, no less. Dude, tuck it in. You look like a fucking slob."

I checked my clothing, but found nothing amiss. My shirt was tucked in and my belt was buckled.

"It's a joke, yo. Sarcasm."

"Sarcasm?"

"Irony, you know? You're not all bad, G. I got a cousin like you. A little slow on some things, but real good at math. You good at math?"

"Not particularly."

"Yeah, right. Hey. Some friends and I are having a party Friday night. You should show. S'at my place, about 9:00. Bring anyone you want. Ladies drink for free."

He handed me a business card that read:

Lester Boylan
Car Detailing and Body Repairs

And below it, his address and phone number in Van Nuys.

"You live in Van Nuys?"

"I do. But don't worry, it's not way up in the 'hood."

"And you rode all the way from there with Jughead just now?"

"He's all right. He's a hunting dog. He can walk for miles. Right, boy?"

Jughead was lying down again and breathing heavily. I felt pity for the beastly little thing.

"He must slow you down. Why don't you let him stay with me tonight? I can return him
at the party tomorrow."

"Right on! But you don't have to bring him back. He's going home soon anyway. Rebecca's coming back on Sunday."

Sunday! Because of the Asian spy, and then the workers next door, and lastly the Olympics, I have not been inside to finish my survey, nor to look at the contents of the white trunk in the front hall closet. My time is limited. I will try to visit tomorrow or Saturday.

Jughead is asleep in the kitchen. I have the door closed; he is a flatulent animal. Rebecca's passion for the pathetic is limitless, perhaps even toxic. As the humans say: "Blech!"

I am quite far behind in transmissions, but I have paper notebooks full of observations, too many to type at the moment. Please cross reference Paper Journals 2/17/10 - 2/23/10.

I have made some progress in the garden excavation. I've been finding potsherds, mainly, about 5cm in length and with a barely discernible pattern. I have also a series of soil samples, some miscellaneous historical era cultural debris (seed packets, broken bits of plastic, one penny coin from 1981) and samples of the root bulb of the invasive though attractive plant species, Bermuda Buttercup. There is enough preliminary data at this point to forward findings to a Field Technician for analysis. I am still only at 20cm, however. Progress is slow as occasional visits by friendly neighbors causes me to interrupt my work, covering it with a dark burlap screen meant to be mulch.

More soon.

Attempts to enter Rebecca's house and further investigate the white trunk have been hindered. Workers have been re-paving the driveway and painting the outdoor of the building. I have intercepted her mail, but do not dare dwell inside her unit lest I incite suspicion.

I have been busy regardless. The Winter Olympics are on television almost constantly, and I confess to enjoying them and discussing them at length with fellow Zerbedas via an internet forum Zerbeda 11279 established for the purpose of real-time information exchange. All of us agree, the extent to which humans can push their bodies and psychologies toward achievement is astonishing. Human physicality far exceeds anything we experience, and seems to me a gift, one that most humans do not appreciate nor employ. To have a body capable of so much strength, speed and flexibility must be a great joy. It is unfortunate that in the short life spans humans possess, most choose to use their bodies for fat storage instead of sport. What is the purpose of storing so much fat when one might soar instead?

Speaking of fat... I have been watching repeated broadcast airings of the television program "V" on SyFy, a science fiction network. The program makes laughable attempts at foreseeing a "distant future" in which aliens imperil the survival of humans by threatening to eat them. Ridiculous! We prefer far leaner meat. (Just kidding -- see also "joking", "joshing", or "pulling your leg" in the idiomatic database).

Notes on the Zerbeda conference:

Banff is a beautiful city with notable topography - large mountains, frozen lakes, deep snow, and biting winds. The resort itself is designed to look like a castle, both inside and out, and is dark and gothic without feeling cold. It is a perfect example of the progress humans have made in insulation, while at the same time representing one of the essential paradoxes of humanity -- that humans simultaneously dwell in the future and in the past. It is a wonder they can ever get anything done.

We got a great deal accomplished at the conference. 250 researchers made presentations over a period of three days. I am relieved to note that I was not the only researcher to present a Single Human Study, that in fact there were a dozen such presentations, most of which covered the lives of relatively unimportant individuals like Rebecca. I received positive feedback on my data on her personality and lifestyle, and a number of questions. Many were curious about Rebecca's relationship with Jughead, and some shared similar findings about human-pet relations in their regions. It appears that although the desire to pamper or "spoil" domesticated canines is common everywhere in North America, it is particularly extreme in Los Angeles, where animals seem to experience more specialized services (spa treatments, psychological analysis, bakeries, dedicated resort vacations) than in any other known city.

Rebecca's altruism also seems to be part of a larger trend. Humans in many communities "want to help", "contribute" or "be greener" in an effort to "save the planet", polar bears or the poor. Most, however, have no idea how; and, confined to their offices for 40 to 60 hours per week, lack the time in which to make a significant impact beyond the many small steps encouraged by their governments (e.g., recycling cans, carrying reusable shopping bags, and resisting the urge to assault the homeless).

As Zerbedas 17456 (Seattle, WA) and 10999 (Reno, NV) noted, humans have no visible outlet for coping with this frustration; instead of using their emotions to fuel change, they seek to distract or soothe themselves through watching television (a dangerous balm I've seen in action!) or making purchases of clothing, digital devices, or other items. When their finances allow, they purchase expensive "investments" like houses, automobiles and kayaks, and go on costly travels. Almost every method by which humans seek to "take action" results in the burning of fossil fuels or other finite resources, and most contribute to a growing obesity epidemic.

Though these are unsurprising and sobering harbingers, they are exciting to share because they give us researchers the sense that we are slowly piecing together a puzzle.

There was little time to do anything at the conference but present data and respond with questions. I do believe we befuddled the hoteliers, who served us three meals per day in the conference hall, then were met with total silence when the doors shut behind them. At times I wonder why we don't build our own private retreat center for these gatherings, but our supervisors insist that constructing or purchasing an estate of that size would be breaking the cardinal rule of Earth Research: never build, destroy or alter.

Nevertheless, one has to wonder whether we are building suspicion. I had overheard a woman at the reception desk comment that all the mathematicians she checked in had a "he/she quality, right down to their names". Name changes, something I petitioned for in Year Three, are considered acceptable by the supervisors only in the event that a researcher is relocated to a different city, breaking all former informant ties. One would like to see this rule overruled for the sake of smoother integration. For some time I have known that names like "Sander Ionescu", "Firestone McClusky", and "Beekman Jones", while technically reasonable and statistically probable, are in reality somehow unnatural to human ears. Given a chance to reassign, I would like to reside in Canada -- the Canadians are friendly and very pleasing to look at -- and go by a simpler name like "John Sander".

Perhaps on my next research tour.

Settled back in Los Angeles, I have been spending my week communicating with Zerbedas I befriended in Canada, and making occasional, brief trips to my garden. This week the residents have been chattier and more curious. A Russian woman in her 70s came by to criticize my fence (she says animals can burrow under it) and to complain about the neighbors' compost buckets drawing rats. An elderly Mexican man, his face twisted by the aftereffects of a stroke, traded me several good pieces of scrap wood in exchange for the temporary use of my saw. My brussels sprouts are growing but have yet to produce fruit.

At home there is no news. I have not seen the Asian man on the roof, which heartens me, as I have a good deal of work to do. Zerbedas 20012 (Navajo Reservation, NM) and 19012 (Mountain View, CA) are very eager to know the contents of Rebecca's white trunk. I plan to go over tomorrow and take another look. But first -- groceries and Project Runway.

Apparently the transition has started:

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/02/07/fashion/07campus.html?pagewanted=1&em

Not news to me, nor to any other field researchers, and apparently little recognized on an anecdotal level, but that will change soon enough.

The Zerbeda conference was invigorating. There is so much fascinating data being collected, it almost makes me feel hopeful about our work on this planet.

I will write more as soon as I am able. In my absence, it rained a good deal, causing the weeds in my garden to multiply. I have spent most of the last 36 hours weeding and, to my surprise, interacting a good deal with neighboring gardeners, who have become friendlier and more curious of late.

Tomorrow morning I fly to Canada for the Zerbeda conference, to be held in the city of Banff, just west of Calgary, Alberta. We're taking over the Banff Fairmont Springs Hotel for this purpose. It is my understanding that the Hotel believes we are the International Society of Applied Mathematicians. This, apparently, is to be our excuse for not partaking in the skiing, skating and other rigorous outdoor activities which are the chief attractions of this Canadian Rocky Mountains resort. I expect it is also our excuse for near silence, as perhaps the Hoteliers will assume us to be doing mathematics.

I have prepared myself to present my in-progress close study of Rebecca. Single Human Studies are not as popular as they once were, but in my absence of comparative data I'm left very little choice. My findings on dog-human relations are insufficient at the moment. I have been researching local area dog parks (recreational spaces wherein dogs are allowed to run "off-leash" and communicate with other dogs, as well as urinate and defecate without punishment). I have yet to visit one, as I have been too distracted by revisiting past field notes and avoiding being seen by the Asian man on the roof, whom I have taken to calling Secret Asian Man (SAM, for short), named after a popular song from the 1960s.

I expect to transmit field notes during the conference, and of course upon my return. In the meantime, tonight I pack for very cold temperatures and deep snow.