The closest grocery store to my place is a Whole Foods. But since I have rent to pay and no diamonds to hock, I almost never shop there, except when I need a refill on good olive oil or I'm in the mood for a stroll and some foodie window-shopping.
Tonight my list included oil, salad greens, and an apparently mind-blowingly delicious blend of rice and other grains that each of my parents recommended in separate phone calls over the weekend. It comes in a plastic container with a lid and includes wheatberries. "They have it at Whole Foods," my dad assured me.
The thing about Whole Foods is that it's so clean and colorful and friendly, it makes you want to snatch up everything in the store, even when you know it's $7 a pound less at the normal market around the corner.
Aside from being numbingly expensive and tantalizingly pretty, my neighborhood Whole Foods also has the cheeriest, perkiest, gayest staff ever. The guy who helped me look for the rice was practically sashaying through the aisles. It was awesome.
Here's what I bought:
1. Bariani extra-virgin olive oil
2. Square bucket-like thing filled with "organic spring mix"
3. One orange bell pepper
4. Box of ginger tea
5. One cocktail avocado. Yes, you heard that right.
6. Organic chocolate truffles
I spent 45 minutes there and left $52.89 poorer with my little bag of stuff. They couldn't find the rice—Fred Astaire said it must be a "regional buy" available only on the East Coast—but I felt so fancy it didn't matter.
Also it was the best avocado I've ever tasted.
June 19, 2006
June 12, 2006
Fiat lux
Commonly cited in biblical and academic circles as "let there be light," fiat lux apparently translates more accurately as "let light be made."
But either way, it only means one thing to me this week:
I have a window.
The kind that looks out over the Alameda harbor, frames the occasional tree branch waving in the breeze, knocks nasty fluorescent overheads into a blessed state of cobwebby disuse. The kind that's most often politically won in the corporate world, but this time came my lucky way from a generous coworker who prefers her shades drawn. Or, rather, that there aren't even any shades to draw.
It's an unsurprising professional hazard that I read all the time. Which isn't the worst way to make a living, really. But since every single person in my family—parents, brother, grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles, the whole tribe—wears glasses except me, I've long since accepted it's only a matter of time until my first trip to Lenscrafters.
Still. It hasn't happened yet, so I may as well do my best to prolong the inevitable. My rods and cones have been kicking along with no help for going on 30 years now, and the most I've ever done to thank them is try to break my habit of reading at home in low light as the sun sets. Unsuccessfully, I should say.
Until this here window.
A hallmate and I were chatting one day about our office setups. I'd been feeling lethargic, and she'd been feeling distracted. All those people going by all day watching me, she said. And the glare. My eyes are tired, I said, and I can't concentrate. My brain is moving too slowly.
The perfect thing, we both said: A switch! Let's switch.
Requests were made, memos sent, boxes packed for union members to move several long yards. Pictures were hung, semi-ergonomic chairs were tucked into place. Shades were opened.
And it was...wicked good.
But either way, it only means one thing to me this week:
I have a window.
The kind that looks out over the Alameda harbor, frames the occasional tree branch waving in the breeze, knocks nasty fluorescent overheads into a blessed state of cobwebby disuse. The kind that's most often politically won in the corporate world, but this time came my lucky way from a generous coworker who prefers her shades drawn. Or, rather, that there aren't even any shades to draw.
It's an unsurprising professional hazard that I read all the time. Which isn't the worst way to make a living, really. But since every single person in my family—parents, brother, grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles, the whole tribe—wears glasses except me, I've long since accepted it's only a matter of time until my first trip to Lenscrafters.
Still. It hasn't happened yet, so I may as well do my best to prolong the inevitable. My rods and cones have been kicking along with no help for going on 30 years now, and the most I've ever done to thank them is try to break my habit of reading at home in low light as the sun sets. Unsuccessfully, I should say.
Until this here window.
A hallmate and I were chatting one day about our office setups. I'd been feeling lethargic, and she'd been feeling distracted. All those people going by all day watching me, she said. And the glare. My eyes are tired, I said, and I can't concentrate. My brain is moving too slowly.
The perfect thing, we both said: A switch! Let's switch.
Requests were made, memos sent, boxes packed for union members to move several long yards. Pictures were hung, semi-ergonomic chairs were tucked into place. Shades were opened.
And it was...wicked good.
June 04, 2006
Lazy, hazy
It's not that I've overcome my blogging addiction. It's just so ridiculously nice outside, it feels criminal to spend any more time in front of my computer than I already do for work.
But here's a little story for you, so you know I still care. BB King, in all his 80 years of axe-wailing glory, played the Santa Cruz Blues Festival last weekend. They may have to prop him up in a chair, but he still rocks the house like nobody else.
Between songs, BB taught the crowd a couple of key lessons about human relations. For your blues edumacation, here they are:
1. Women are not to be trusted.
2. But we should be valued above all else.
Summertime summertime sum-sum-summertime. Summerti-i-i-i-ime.
But here's a little story for you, so you know I still care. BB King, in all his 80 years of axe-wailing glory, played the Santa Cruz Blues Festival last weekend. They may have to prop him up in a chair, but he still rocks the house like nobody else.
Between songs, BB taught the crowd a couple of key lessons about human relations. For your blues edumacation, here they are:
1. Women are not to be trusted.
2. But we should be valued above all else.
Summertime summertime sum-sum-summertime. Summerti-i-i-i-ime.
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