It's New England fall in the Mission, as in right around early November. The green and red trees on 22nd are dropping their leaves, and it's been crisp and sunny enough for long enough that they crackle underfoot. (If you shuffle just a little.)
Yesterday I went to the only Christmas bikram yoga class, at noon. It was packed. The teacher called changes like an auctioneer doing an infomercial, but everyone seemed cheerful.
At 9, I headed out to meet Jews and half-Jews and non-Jews at an Irish bar called—wait for it, it's perfect—O'Greenberg's. We ate egg rolls. I won a round of Liar's Dice. $7, baby.
The neighborhood was empty and quiet. This is a small town when everyone's away. I know because you can cross the street wherever you want. All the cars and the cops are sleeping.
Tomorrow Gibson and Cooly and I are driving north, and eventually I'll get to the mountains. See you in 2009.
Love,
The BCB
December 26, 2008
December 21, 2008
File under: Slightly mystifying
I haven't been looking for much lately, just a few practical things: toothpicks, sandwich bags, and Chanukah candles. Here's how that worked out for me. Thanks, 2008!
Item: Toothpicks
Quest: Walgreens (4), Safeway (2), the corner store (1)
Barriers: Not only did none of these places have toothpicks, but the Walgreens staff actually looked bewildered when I asked. "Don't we have those? I'm sure we have those. Try aisle 7 [the dental aisle]." Hmm, not so much. There was a fancy pop-up dispenser at the second Safeway, but it only came with decorative toothpicks that had colored plastic on one end. Impractical and too expensive.
Solution: One of the zillion dollar stores in the Mission must have toothpicks. Now it's just a matter of always being at work on the other side of town when they're open.
Item: Sandwich bags
Quest: Walgreens (4), Safeway (2)
Barriers: Each of the Walgreens I walk past on a daily basis had a small selection of sandwich bags, but they were all too big or came with that fancy Ziploc feature. Being relatively eco-friendly, I prefer the smaller bags that just fold over. Target has them for sure, but driving 15 minutes on the highway for a $3 box of plastic bags cancels out the eco-friendly part. Also Target has this unfortunate habit of sucking all the money out of my wallet and sending me home with bulk cleaning supplies and cheap wooden DIY furniture. It's best to stay away.
Solution: Safeway #2 came through, but it took 10 full minutes of wandering the household aisle before I finally spotted them. Hiding. On the bottom shelf.
Item: Chanukah candles
Quest: Safeway (3)
Barriers: I've never had trouble finding Chanukah candles before, but this was my first time looking for them in the city. Berkeley Bowl and the Shattuck Safeway always had huge displays of Jew gear for the holidays, but grocery stores here weren't as forthcoming.
Solution: I was ready to make a trip across the bridge when the saving grace arrived: package from Mom. Instead of waiting until tonight to open it like a good patient child, I figured it might have candles and tore in early.
Item: Toothpicks
Quest: Walgreens (4), Safeway (2), the corner store (1)
Barriers: Not only did none of these places have toothpicks, but the Walgreens staff actually looked bewildered when I asked. "Don't we have those? I'm sure we have those. Try aisle 7 [the dental aisle]." Hmm, not so much. There was a fancy pop-up dispenser at the second Safeway, but it only came with decorative toothpicks that had colored plastic on one end. Impractical and too expensive.
Solution: One of the zillion dollar stores in the Mission must have toothpicks. Now it's just a matter of always being at work on the other side of town when they're open.
Item: Sandwich bags
Quest: Walgreens (4), Safeway (2)
Barriers: Each of the Walgreens I walk past on a daily basis had a small selection of sandwich bags, but they were all too big or came with that fancy Ziploc feature. Being relatively eco-friendly, I prefer the smaller bags that just fold over. Target has them for sure, but driving 15 minutes on the highway for a $3 box of plastic bags cancels out the eco-friendly part. Also Target has this unfortunate habit of sucking all the money out of my wallet and sending me home with bulk cleaning supplies and cheap wooden DIY furniture. It's best to stay away.
Solution: Safeway #2 came through, but it took 10 full minutes of wandering the household aisle before I finally spotted them. Hiding. On the bottom shelf.
Item: Chanukah candles
Quest: Safeway (3)
Barriers: I've never had trouble finding Chanukah candles before, but this was my first time looking for them in the city. Berkeley Bowl and the Shattuck Safeway always had huge displays of Jew gear for the holidays, but grocery stores here weren't as forthcoming.
Solution: I was ready to make a trip across the bridge when the saving grace arrived: package from Mom. Instead of waiting until tonight to open it like a good patient child, I figured it might have candles and tore in early.
Score! Happy Chanukah. I'm going to bed now, to dream of a world where errands are easy.
December 15, 2008
London dreamscape
During the 10 days (give or take infinity) that I've had this cold, I've been rereading my journal from 10 years ago. I spent a couple of months subletting in Dublin, then wandered around Ireland, France, and the UK after taking a semester off from college.
I don't really sound different, so that's sort of funny on its own. Then, in the final few pages, there's a description of a dream I had about a week before heading home. It's one of the most vivid dreams of my life; I still tell people about it sometimes, but only the first part, and apparently with some of the details mixed up.
So this is the BCB, Time Machine Edition: You're me, and it's 1998. Go.
Had very odd and disturbing dreams last night, which I'm putting down to nerves at my latest transition/travel. I don't remember them all, but the last sequence I do.
I was in a car, trying to drive, and a dark-haired girl took a knife and began carving a story into my chest and back. I remember that it hurt in a pinpricking way, and I had a white t-shirt on so the letters appeared in a bright blood red as she worked away. I was thinking that she was crazy, and the way to avoid being injured any further was just to let her finish. She was saying the story out loud as she carved it into me, in a hysterical and terse voice.
Then she left me in the car with the knife, and the wounds dried up instantly on my body. I got out of the car and found myself in a nearly deserted parking lot, the one next to Caldor where the Food Mart used to be. [Note from the future: That's in Northampton. I think it's a Wal-Mart now.] Got out of the car and found a set of keys in my hand, attached to a square, orange keychain. (Hey, at least I know I dream in color.) Then Erin S. was there, and a young black guy I knew in the dream but don't actually recognize.
I was trying to steal a car that wasn't mine, but I had somehow wound up with the keys. It was a very old, beat-up white thing that had a shape like Kipp's 4Runner—and it had newsprint all over it, torn off in some spots. The guy took a picture out of his wallet and showed it to me; it was a brand-new, shiny model of the car in the lot. "This is my dad's car, you can see I have a picture of it." But I kept insisting it was my mom's car, and much older than the one in the picture.
This conversation went on for a very long time. Erin and the guy both knew I was lying, but neither of them could prove it, and also I had the keys. Then I woke up.
I don't really sound different, so that's sort of funny on its own. Then, in the final few pages, there's a description of a dream I had about a week before heading home. It's one of the most vivid dreams of my life; I still tell people about it sometimes, but only the first part, and apparently with some of the details mixed up.
So this is the BCB, Time Machine Edition: You're me, and it's 1998. Go.
Had very odd and disturbing dreams last night, which I'm putting down to nerves at my latest transition/travel. I don't remember them all, but the last sequence I do.
I was in a car, trying to drive, and a dark-haired girl took a knife and began carving a story into my chest and back. I remember that it hurt in a pinpricking way, and I had a white t-shirt on so the letters appeared in a bright blood red as she worked away. I was thinking that she was crazy, and the way to avoid being injured any further was just to let her finish. She was saying the story out loud as she carved it into me, in a hysterical and terse voice.
Then she left me in the car with the knife, and the wounds dried up instantly on my body. I got out of the car and found myself in a nearly deserted parking lot, the one next to Caldor where the Food Mart used to be. [Note from the future: That's in Northampton. I think it's a Wal-Mart now.] Got out of the car and found a set of keys in my hand, attached to a square, orange keychain. (Hey, at least I know I dream in color.) Then Erin S. was there, and a young black guy I knew in the dream but don't actually recognize.
I was trying to steal a car that wasn't mine, but I had somehow wound up with the keys. It was a very old, beat-up white thing that had a shape like Kipp's 4Runner—and it had newsprint all over it, torn off in some spots. The guy took a picture out of his wallet and showed it to me; it was a brand-new, shiny model of the car in the lot. "This is my dad's car, you can see I have a picture of it." But I kept insisting it was my mom's car, and much older than the one in the picture.
This conversation went on for a very long time. Erin and the guy both knew I was lying, but neither of them could prove it, and also I had the keys. Then I woke up.
December 05, 2008
Immune system FAIL
What I was supposed to do tonight:
Feel healthy, leave work on time, go to First Fridays in Oakland, go to a housewarming party in Hayes Valley, decompress from ship week.
What I'm doing tonight:
Coughing up a lung, sitting on my couch, watching Felicity, drinking my 17th cup of tea with honey, going to bed early, resenting ship week.
Feel healthy, leave work on time, go to First Fridays in Oakland, go to a housewarming party in Hayes Valley, decompress from ship week.
What I'm doing tonight:
Coughing up a lung, sitting on my couch, watching Felicity, drinking my 17th cup of tea with honey, going to bed early, resenting ship week.
December 02, 2008
Urbanniversary
After almost eight years in the East Bay, I finally gave in and moved across the bridge to the Mission a year ago today.
What I miss: cheaper rent, quieter streets (yes—in Oakland), Mama's, La Note, Cafe Temescal, Bakesale Betty, running Lake Merritt, Berkeley Bowl, Albatross, Van Kleef, Starry Plough, Stork Club, Joaquin Miller Park, Yoshi's, Sola Lucy, Pegasus, street cred.
What I love: commute that doesn't involve driving or underwater tunnels, running into friends on the street all the time, being within walking distance of everywhere I want to go out, Papalote, Que Tal, Latin American, Aslam's Rasoi, Suriya, Ritual, Green Apple, Dog Eared Books, Elbo Room, Make-Out Room, Fattoush, Bar Tartine, Kamei, constant availability of tacos.
So how am I celebrating tonight? You get one guess. It starts with "b" and ends with "ito."
What I miss: cheaper rent, quieter streets (yes—in Oakland), Mama's, La Note, Cafe Temescal, Bakesale Betty, running Lake Merritt, Berkeley Bowl, Albatross, Van Kleef, Starry Plough, Stork Club, Joaquin Miller Park, Yoshi's, Sola Lucy, Pegasus, street cred.
What I love: commute that doesn't involve driving or underwater tunnels, running into friends on the street all the time, being within walking distance of everywhere I want to go out, Papalote, Que Tal, Latin American, Aslam's Rasoi, Suriya, Ritual, Green Apple, Dog Eared Books, Elbo Room, Make-Out Room, Fattoush, Bar Tartine, Kamei, constant availability of tacos.
So how am I celebrating tonight? You get one guess. It starts with "b" and ends with "ito."
November 23, 2008
Fall in the big city
There's a new photo essay about New York over at the long-neglected Business Casual Shutterbug, if you're feeling nostalgic for the East Coast (or, if you're already back east, for the warm weather).
But if you've had enough words for one day, you could just look at the pictures over here. So many options!
If I can't control the economy, at least I have a handle on all the high-tech routes available to encourage my narcissism.
But if you've had enough words for one day, you could just look at the pictures over here. So many options!
If I can't control the economy, at least I have a handle on all the high-tech routes available to encourage my narcissism.
November 17, 2008
RIP, Morse
I've never lost my wallet, my keys, my passport, or my phone. I've never had my identity stolen. Except for the one robbery, it's been a good run so far on the possessions front.
But somewhere on the Pittsburgh/Bay Point train between SFO and 24th Street yesterday afternoon, in a jet-lagged stupor, I didn't snap my coat pocket shut and my brand-new iPhone slipped out into the great beyond. May as well have set that freelance project on fire.
Likelihood of getting it back: 1 in you're totally kidding yourself. I hope whoever found it really needs the money.
Morse the iPhone
October 26–November 16, 2008
But somewhere on the Pittsburgh/Bay Point train between SFO and 24th Street yesterday afternoon, in a jet-lagged stupor, I didn't snap my coat pocket shut and my brand-new iPhone slipped out into the great beyond. May as well have set that freelance project on fire.
Likelihood of getting it back: 1 in you're totally kidding yourself. I hope whoever found it really needs the money.
Morse the iPhoneOctober 26–November 16, 2008
November 16, 2008
Unglamorous but ulcer-free
I'm back from a Canteenful trip to New York. Our first fundraiser, held in the ridiculously cool and weird apartment of Arnold and Pam Lehman, was a big success. Check out T magazine's video tour of their place.
I also had the chance to help teach at our new creative writing workshop for middle-school students. The kids were amazing—more on that another day.
For now, I'll leave you with these Fair and Honest Appraisals of My Appearance courtesy of The Bumbys, who provided party entertainment. For $2, they each look at you for about five seconds, then type out an index card (on an actual typewriter) that says something like this:
i feel that you're from a coastal area...
little things that upset most people
do not faze you...you will likely lead a long life
that is completely free from ulcers...
i feel that you smile when there is an awkward pause in the
conversation. luckily you have exceptionally
white teeth and fantastic oral hygiene habits.
I also had the chance to help teach at our new creative writing workshop for middle-school students. The kids were amazing—more on that another day.
For now, I'll leave you with these Fair and Honest Appraisals of My Appearance courtesy of The Bumbys, who provided party entertainment. For $2, they each look at you for about five seconds, then type out an index card (on an actual typewriter) that says something like this:
i feel that you're from a coastal area...
little things that upset most people
do not faze you...you will likely lead a long life
that is completely free from ulcers...
i feel that you smile when there is an awkward pause in the
conversation. luckily you have exceptionally
white teeth and fantastic oral hygiene habits.
—Gill Bumby
you look like a surfer chick or a snowboarder or
heck maybe even a telemarketer. if we went jogging
together, you would smoke me. your hair
is very luxurious and if you wore more glamorous
clothes you could totally rock the
flapper-girl finger waves
hippies can wear lipstick without sacrificing their morals
heck maybe even a telemarketer. if we went jogging
together, you would smoke me. your hair
is very luxurious and if you wore more glamorous
clothes you could totally rock the
flapper-girl finger waves
hippies can wear lipstick without sacrificing their morals
—Jill Bumby
For the record: I was wearing lipstick, and the one time I tried to surf was a serious failure. But I do floss regularly.
November 06, 2008
Badness of marketing
We interrupt our regularly scheduled political outrage to bring you a whole different flavor of outrage: Why is the name of the new James Bond movie so f#%&ing stupid?
I just saw it on the side of a bus, and let's just say it's a good thing they don't make enormous red sharpies that I carry around with me. Yeah, good thing about that.
Die Another Day, Goldfinger, A View to a Kill . . . Quantum of Solace?
Most Americans don't even know what those two words mean on their own, much less what they could possibly mean when they're strung randomly together. Somebody at Columbia Pictures PR should be sent back to the mailroom.
"Paradox of bloviate, Mr. Bond?"
"No, circumspect of tangent. But you look good enough to eat."
I just saw it on the side of a bus, and let's just say it's a good thing they don't make enormous red sharpies that I carry around with me. Yeah, good thing about that.
Die Another Day, Goldfinger, A View to a Kill . . . Quantum of Solace?
Most Americans don't even know what those two words mean on their own, much less what they could possibly mean when they're strung randomly together. Somebody at Columbia Pictures PR should be sent back to the mailroom.
"Paradox of bloviate, Mr. Bond?""No, circumspect of tangent. But you look good enough to eat."
November 05, 2008
Platinum lining
Last night was amazing here, with thousands of people flooding the streets to cheer Obama's victory. The only comparable scene I can imagine in modern U.S. history is V-J Day: August 14, 1945, when World War II was declared over and a sailor permanently kissed a nurse in Times Square.
In the Mission, the police looked on bemused as crowds blocked intersections and danced on cars. But a coworker said that a cop in the Castro said he was nervous what would happen when everyone found out that Prop. 8 had most likely passed.
As a left-of-left liberal and native Northamptonite, I'm hugely disappointed by the fact that my chosen home state has denied its citizens the right to marry anyone they want. It's an affront to human rights, and I can't wrap my head around the idea that anyone who was proud to elect our first black president is unable to see the prejudicial parallel between racism and homophobia. That unfairness kept me from fully enjoying last night's celebration.
But as a local gay friend was gracious enough to remind me this morning: If losing on Prop. 8 is the only downside of an otherwise triumphant election and a new direction for our country, then at least we can take some solace in having come far enough for the vote to happen at all. Eight years ago, he said, legalizing gay marriage would have been unthinkable.
Then I heard from my savta, whose lifelong political involvement (alongside my hell-raiser grandfather, when he was with us) has always inspired me.
This is a great moment! Despite the deeply serious problems facing us all, I feel much less anxious, secure in the knowledge that we now have leadership that is intelligent, thoughtful, competent, informed, and imbued with a deep sense of justice and public responsibility. Barack is a gift to us all! And I'm so grateful that you, my children's and grandchildren's generation, have responded to his challenge with determination and passion.
Her voice is wise. So are countless others I heard expressing the extraordinary joy and hope that captured millions of Americans last night. We're not at the end of the road, by any measure—but I'd be crazy not to appreciate the giant step forward we just took.
In the Mission, the police looked on bemused as crowds blocked intersections and danced on cars. But a coworker said that a cop in the Castro said he was nervous what would happen when everyone found out that Prop. 8 had most likely passed.
As a left-of-left liberal and native Northamptonite, I'm hugely disappointed by the fact that my chosen home state has denied its citizens the right to marry anyone they want. It's an affront to human rights, and I can't wrap my head around the idea that anyone who was proud to elect our first black president is unable to see the prejudicial parallel between racism and homophobia. That unfairness kept me from fully enjoying last night's celebration.
But as a local gay friend was gracious enough to remind me this morning: If losing on Prop. 8 is the only downside of an otherwise triumphant election and a new direction for our country, then at least we can take some solace in having come far enough for the vote to happen at all. Eight years ago, he said, legalizing gay marriage would have been unthinkable.
Then I heard from my savta, whose lifelong political involvement (alongside my hell-raiser grandfather, when he was with us) has always inspired me.
This is a great moment! Despite the deeply serious problems facing us all, I feel much less anxious, secure in the knowledge that we now have leadership that is intelligent, thoughtful, competent, informed, and imbued with a deep sense of justice and public responsibility. Barack is a gift to us all! And I'm so grateful that you, my children's and grandchildren's generation, have responded to his challenge with determination and passion.
Her voice is wise. So are countless others I heard expressing the extraordinary joy and hope that captured millions of Americans last night. We're not at the end of the road, by any measure—but I'd be crazy not to appreciate the giant step forward we just took.
November 03, 2008
I have a proposition for you
Actually, I have 12 of them. Plus 22 measures. This is San Francisco, man, and we just can't get enough of exercising our rights. Researching this election felt like prepping for the most obnoxious midterm ever. But I still love voting.
After yesterday's marathon study session—fueled by coffee, tacos, and sources ranging from the LPOV to lawyer brothers—and some extra cramming tonight, I think I'm ready to brave the polls tomorrow.
For local friends who are curious what other like-minded people are thinking, here's how I plan to vote. I don't have the energy to explain all my decisions, but rest assured none were made quickly or lightly. If you know me well enough to bother reading this blog, you're probably familiar with my politics also.
The BCB Slate
Prop 1A: Yes
Prop 2: Yes
Prop 3: No
Prop 4: No!
Prop 5: Yes
Prop 6: No
Prop 7: No
Prop 8: No!
Prop 9: No
Prop 10: No
Prop 11: Abstain*
Prop 12: Yes
Measure A: Yes
Measure B: Yes
Measure C: No
Measure D: Abstain
Measure E: Yes
Measure F: No
Measure G: Yes
Measure H: No
Measure I: Yes
Measure J: Yes
Measure K: Yes
Measure L: No
Measure M: Yes
Measure N: Yes
Measure O: Abstain
Measure P: No
Measure Q: Yes
Measure R: Yes
Measure S: Yes
Measure T: Yes
Measure U: Yes
Measure V: Abstain
* If I don't understand or feel strongly enough about an issue to hold a definite yes or no position, then not voting on it seems like the most responsible option.
Oh, and there's this guy:
He looks pretty comfortable, right? We may as well let him stick around.
After yesterday's marathon study session—fueled by coffee, tacos, and sources ranging from the LPOV to lawyer brothers—and some extra cramming tonight, I think I'm ready to brave the polls tomorrow.
For local friends who are curious what other like-minded people are thinking, here's how I plan to vote. I don't have the energy to explain all my decisions, but rest assured none were made quickly or lightly. If you know me well enough to bother reading this blog, you're probably familiar with my politics also.
The BCB Slate
Prop 1A: Yes
Prop 2: Yes
Prop 3: No
Prop 4: No!
Prop 5: Yes
Prop 6: No
Prop 7: No
Prop 8: No!
Prop 9: No
Prop 10: No
Prop 11: Abstain*
Prop 12: Yes
Measure A: Yes
Measure B: Yes
Measure C: No
Measure D: Abstain
Measure E: Yes
Measure F: No
Measure G: Yes
Measure H: No
Measure I: Yes
Measure J: Yes
Measure K: Yes
Measure L: No
Measure M: Yes
Measure N: Yes
Measure O: Abstain
Measure P: No
Measure Q: Yes
Measure R: Yes
Measure S: Yes
Measure T: Yes
Measure U: Yes
Measure V: Abstain
* If I don't understand or feel strongly enough about an issue to hold a definite yes or no position, then not voting on it seems like the most responsible option.
Oh, and there's this guy:
He looks pretty comfortable, right? We may as well let him stick around.
October 28, 2008
Daylight saving
The last couple of weekends are why so many people (like this person) mortgage their souls to live here. It's been beautiful. I'm trying to spend as much time as possible outside, and it's been easy to find great excuses for it.
First there was the insane soapbox derby in Dolores Park:
Then Cooly (aka Little Marlow) had three days of open studios to show her artwork:
this photo doesn't include cooly's art, but that is her hand
Then Megan very wisely decided it was picnic time:
There are more pictures of all the excitement over in my Mission album.
First there was the insane soapbox derby in Dolores Park:
Then Cooly (aka Little Marlow) had three days of open studios to show her artwork:
this photo doesn't include cooly's art, but that is her handThen Megan very wisely decided it was picnic time:
There are more pictures of all the excitement over in my Mission album.
October 25, 2008
Upstairs neighbor haiku
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP CRASH! THUMP
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP
October 20, 2008
Third time's a charm
I seem to have a constant election theme going on at BCB headquarters, but I promise I still think/talk/read about lots of other things. Just humor me one more time here.
A post I wrote about last Thursday's fundraiser was posted today in the San Francisco magazine blog. Please click through at your leisure.
And as long as we're on the subject, my fellow volunteer Rachel Sarah wrote about the first Power of Words event over on her blog, with a couple of photos courtesy of my trusty Pentax.
OK, moving on: My next post won't involve a single Obama pun. You can Barack my head if I'm lying.
A post I wrote about last Thursday's fundraiser was posted today in the San Francisco magazine blog. Please click through at your leisure.
And as long as we're on the subject, my fellow volunteer Rachel Sarah wrote about the first Power of Words event over on her blog, with a couple of photos courtesy of my trusty Pentax.
OK, moving on: My next post won't involve a single Obama pun. You can Barack my head if I'm lying.
October 15, 2008
Obamottoman
Today, in the annals of ridiculousness:
As reported by everyone's favorite snarky blogger, The Hater, a furniture store in New York has started selling a matching chair and ottoman covered in a print of Almost President Obama's face. For $2,495. Choice quote: "It's just disgusting when fancy furniture stores make their overpriced wares so partisan."
In more promising news, I'm volunteering tomorrow at another literary Obama fundraiser where famous writers say pithy things for a very good cause. Pledges are already at $150K! I wish somebody would add just a little more to the check to cover the balance on my college loans, but it's probably gauche to ask.
Photos from the first Power of Words event are over here.
As reported by everyone's favorite snarky blogger, The Hater, a furniture store in New York has started selling a matching chair and ottoman covered in a print of Almost President Obama's face. For $2,495. Choice quote: "It's just disgusting when fancy furniture stores make their overpriced wares so partisan."
In more promising news, I'm volunteering tomorrow at another literary Obama fundraiser where famous writers say pithy things for a very good cause. Pledges are already at $150K! I wish somebody would add just a little more to the check to cover the balance on my college loans, but it's probably gauche to ask.
Photos from the first Power of Words event are over here.
October 07, 2008
Yeti sighting
On my way down to the laundry room, I crossed paths with one of my neighbors. He's in his 70s, with a gentleman's brogue, and he usually calls me Jennifer (the friend who passed this apartment along to me). Tonight, he called me Anna.
Him: "Hello, Anna. So were you watching the debate?"
Me: "Yes, I was listening to it."
Him: "McCain seems much better suited for the job, don't you agree?"
Me: [Masking incredulity with broad smile] "Well. I have to say I don't. But they both . . ." [struggling for diplomacy] ". . . made some good points."
Him: "I can practically see him in the president's chair!"
Me: [Escaping out the back door]
In this month's issue of San Francisco, we published a short piece about local McCain supporters called "The Loneliest Republicans in the World." I figured they all lived in Pac Heights, but it turns out there's one just upstairs.
Him: "Hello, Anna. So were you watching the debate?"
Me: "Yes, I was listening to it."
Him: "McCain seems much better suited for the job, don't you agree?"
Me: [Masking incredulity with broad smile] "Well. I have to say I don't. But they both . . ." [struggling for diplomacy] ". . . made some good points."
Him: "I can practically see him in the president's chair!"
Me: [Escaping out the back door]
In this month's issue of San Francisco, we published a short piece about local McCain supporters called "The Loneliest Republicans in the World." I figured they all lived in Pac Heights, but it turns out there's one just upstairs.
October 01, 2008
Weddings & waterfalls
For all you romance junkies, some pictures from my childhood friend Danielle's wedding to a sweet guy named Jeremy (full set here). For anyone who's keeping track, I went straight there from my citizenry jaunt in Boston.
They had the only themed wedding I've ever been to: "The Golden Age of Hollywood." I figured it was just a great excuse to wear stuff with fringe.
While I was in Portland, I stayed with my old neighbors Nikki and Gregg in their awesome green house. On Sunday, we went to Columbia River Gorge for a beautiful hike in the rain (full set here):
Now that the epic wedding season is winding down, I think I'll rest my feet until next year rolls around (woo hoo, Avi and Jenny!). Yeah, my dancing shoes are falling apart—but I can still bring the fringe.
They had the only themed wedding I've ever been to: "The Golden Age of Hollywood." I figured it was just a great excuse to wear stuff with fringe.
While I was in Portland, I stayed with my old neighbors Nikki and Gregg in their awesome green house. On Sunday, we went to Columbia River Gorge for a beautiful hike in the rain (full set here):
Now that the epic wedding season is winding down, I think I'll rest my feet until next year rolls around (woo hoo, Avi and Jenny!). Yeah, my dancing shoes are falling apart—but I can still bring the fringe.
September 28, 2008
Sunday city sidewalks
1. Head east on 22nd St. toward Guerrero St. 33 ft.
2. Turn left at Guerrero St. 1.0 mi.
3. Turn right at Duboce Ave. 387 ft.
4. Turn left at Elgin Park 0.1 mi.
5. Head northwest on Elgin Park toward Market St. 23 ft.
6. Turn right at Market St. 207 ft.
It’s Tops – 12:30 p.m.
7. Slight right to stay on Market St. 246 ft.
8. Turn right at Valencia St. 0.2 mi.
9. Turn left at Duboce Ave. 0.1 mi.
10. Continue on 13th St. 0.2 mi.
11. Turn left at Folsom St. 0.4 mi.
Folsom Street Fair – 2 p.m.
12. Head northwest on 9th St. toward Clementina St. 0.4 mi.
13. Slight left at Hayes St. 0.4 mi.
14. Turn left at Gough St. 344 ft.
15. Turn right at Fell St. 0.4 mi.
16. Turn left at Webster St. 0.1 mi.
Dina’s Barbecue – 3:15 p.m.
17. Head south on Webster St. toward Rose St. 351 ft.
18. Turn left at Haight St. 0.3 mi
Helena & Jordan’s Tea Party – 4:30 p.m.
19. Head west on Haight St. toward Octavia St. 0.2 mi.
20. Turn left at Laguna St. 0.2 mi.
21. Continue on Guerrero St. 1.1 mi.
Home – 7 p.m.
2. Turn left at Guerrero St. 1.0 mi.
3. Turn right at Duboce Ave. 387 ft.
4. Turn left at Elgin Park 0.1 mi.
5. Head northwest on Elgin Park toward Market St. 23 ft.
6. Turn right at Market St. 207 ft.
It’s Tops – 12:30 p.m.
7. Slight right to stay on Market St. 246 ft.
8. Turn right at Valencia St. 0.2 mi.
9. Turn left at Duboce Ave. 0.1 mi.
10. Continue on 13th St. 0.2 mi.
11. Turn left at Folsom St. 0.4 mi.
Folsom Street Fair – 2 p.m.
12. Head northwest on 9th St. toward Clementina St. 0.4 mi.
13. Slight left at Hayes St. 0.4 mi.
14. Turn left at Gough St. 344 ft.
15. Turn right at Fell St. 0.4 mi.
16. Turn left at Webster St. 0.1 mi.
Dina’s Barbecue – 3:15 p.m.
17. Head south on Webster St. toward Rose St. 351 ft.
18. Turn left at Haight St. 0.3 mi
Helena & Jordan’s Tea Party – 4:30 p.m.
19. Head west on Haight St. toward Octavia St. 0.2 mi.
20. Turn left at Laguna St. 0.2 mi.
21. Continue on Guerrero St. 1.1 mi.
Home – 7 p.m.
September 22, 2008
Newly minted
I'm home from Boston and Portland, having witnessed a citizenship, a marriage, a big green house, the final episode of Firefly, a waterfall, and the insides of five planes.
My only plans this week are to make it through each workday vertically, get Gibson's tail lights fixed, and sleep a lot, so I'll save the travel stories for now.
In the meantime, here are some photos of my adventures in Fenway with my American mom and about 3,000 other brand-new citizens of this fine and very large land.
While I'm recovering, may I offer you an Obamint?
My only plans this week are to make it through each workday vertically, get Gibson's tail lights fixed, and sleep a lot, so I'll save the travel stories for now.
In the meantime, here are some photos of my adventures in Fenway with my American mom and about 3,000 other brand-new citizens of this fine and very large land.
While I'm recovering, may I offer you an Obamint?
September 14, 2008
"I can see Russia from my house!"
It's never been a big mystery, but now I really understand why every guy I know is in love with Tina Fey. This is one of the funniest sketches ever made—even if Fey and Palin hadn't been separated at birth, it would still be comic genius. Just watched it about 17 times in a row, and it keeps getting better and better.
It couldn't matter less to me that Palin is a woman, any more than it does that she's a brunette. I wouldn't vote for her if she were a member of my family. She's toxic.
"In conclusion, I invite the media to grow a pair. And if you can't, I will lend you mine."
It couldn't matter less to me that Palin is a woman, any more than it does that she's a brunette. I wouldn't vote for her if she were a member of my family. She's toxic.
"In conclusion, I invite the media to grow a pair. And if you can't, I will lend you mine."
September 08, 2008
Colorful imagination
On my way to the market yesterday, I stopped by Papalote to pick up lunch. It takes just about a generation for them to fill orders, so I was waiting outside in the sunshine, reading a magazine, my ears peeled for number 38.
A slightly strange guy was also waiting. That's normal enough—people have to be exceptionally weird around here for anyone to care—so I didn't pay attention until I noticed him staring at my feet and shuffling back and forth.
After a few minutes, he sidled over to me, visibly worked up his courage, and said: "Um, excuse me. Are you a stripper?"
Um, what? Was it my T-shirt and grubby jeans, the New Yorker in my hand, my choice of soyrizo tacos? I don't even know if all strippers have the same favorite taco. I was mystified.
"No," I answered. "Why do you ask?"
"Well . . . your toenails. They're red."
It's true. I got a pedicure in honor of tomorrow's Canteen party, and my toenails are red and sparkly. But it's safe to say that half the women in San Francisco have painted toenails at any given time, most of them some shade of red, so I had no idea what to make of this. The angels of Papalote called my number, and I left.
Red toenails: the new scarlet letter, at least in the seedy underbelly of the taqueria world at 2 p.m. on a Sunday. You can ask Pitbull Palin or you can ask me, but it's clear that America is going to hell in a handbasket. At least my feet will look cute for the ride.
the toes (and pajama bottoms) of a fallen woman
A slightly strange guy was also waiting. That's normal enough—people have to be exceptionally weird around here for anyone to care—so I didn't pay attention until I noticed him staring at my feet and shuffling back and forth.
After a few minutes, he sidled over to me, visibly worked up his courage, and said: "Um, excuse me. Are you a stripper?"
Um, what? Was it my T-shirt and grubby jeans, the New Yorker in my hand, my choice of soyrizo tacos? I don't even know if all strippers have the same favorite taco. I was mystified.
"No," I answered. "Why do you ask?"
"Well . . . your toenails. They're red."
It's true. I got a pedicure in honor of tomorrow's Canteen party, and my toenails are red and sparkly. But it's safe to say that half the women in San Francisco have painted toenails at any given time, most of them some shade of red, so I had no idea what to make of this. The angels of Papalote called my number, and I left.
Red toenails: the new scarlet letter, at least in the seedy underbelly of the taqueria world at 2 p.m. on a Sunday. You can ask Pitbull Palin or you can ask me, but it's clear that America is going to hell in a handbasket. At least my feet will look cute for the ride.
the toes (and pajama bottoms) of a fallen womanSeptember 02, 2008
The precious gift of knowledge
Somebody out there must have said once that each day of your life is another opportunity for a small but valuable lesson. Assuming that's true, here is today's:
No matter how great it feels to run because it's so crazy beautiful outside, don't be tempted to keep going for even another 10 minutes, especially if you're already late for work.
Because then you'll rush, a clumsy and unhelpful sort of rush, and when you leap out of the shower to turn on the fan (which you forgot to do because you were rushing), you might accidentally catch the corner of the bathroom cabinet with your shoulder and open up the door, and when you reach out to balance yourself, you might accidentally knock into a half-full bottle of perfume so it shatters all over the floor.
Because if you run that little extra and the rushing happens and then the breakage, it's 100% guaranteed that—even though you cleaned it up right away, including mopping with industrial-strength chemicals and taking out the trash with the bottle shards and all the perfumey paper towels—your apartment will still reek of perfume when you get home 12 hours later.
Not a faint, pleasant whiff of perfume. More like an anvil made of perfume whacking you in the head.
Please tuck today's lesson in your back pocket on an unscented page of an organic notebook, and never ever misplace it.
No matter how great it feels to run because it's so crazy beautiful outside, don't be tempted to keep going for even another 10 minutes, especially if you're already late for work.
Because then you'll rush, a clumsy and unhelpful sort of rush, and when you leap out of the shower to turn on the fan (which you forgot to do because you were rushing), you might accidentally catch the corner of the bathroom cabinet with your shoulder and open up the door, and when you reach out to balance yourself, you might accidentally knock into a half-full bottle of perfume so it shatters all over the floor.
Because if you run that little extra and the rushing happens and then the breakage, it's 100% guaranteed that—even though you cleaned it up right away, including mopping with industrial-strength chemicals and taking out the trash with the bottle shards and all the perfumey paper towels—your apartment will still reek of perfume when you get home 12 hours later.
Not a faint, pleasant whiff of perfume. More like an anvil made of perfume whacking you in the head.
Please tuck today's lesson in your back pocket on an unscented page of an organic notebook, and never ever misplace it.
August 30, 2008
Know anyone in Memphis?
One of my closest friends from college is looking for a kind soul in Memphis who can put up her younger brother temporarily. He's being evacuated from New Orleans due to the impending storm.
If you know anyone who's willing and able to help, please be in touch. Thanks.
If you know anyone who's willing and able to help, please be in touch. Thanks.
August 27, 2008
August 26, 2008
You define me.
During my senior year of college, when I realized I might want to work in publishing, I interned over winter break at Merriam-Webster. Before then, I had no idea the dictionary gurus were headquartered 20 minutes from my hometown.
On my first day, my boss gave me a tour of the building. We turned the corner from the computer lab and entered a room full of tiny cubicles and the biggest card catalog I've ever seen. "These are the definers," she said.
The definers? It sounded like the most powerful job in the universe. Turns out it's done by a bunch of twentysomethings who spend all day reading magazines, websites, newspapers, and books. When they notice a new word appearing frequently, they write all its sources on an index card and put it in the card catalog. (This is probably done on computers by now, but I kind of hope not.)
When it comes time to update the company's collegiate dictionary, about every five years, they go through all the words in the catalog to see which ones are still in common usage. Then they nominate the most popular—and, I'd like to imagine, the most logical—for inclusion. I forget how many make the cut, but I think it's no more than 25 or so per new edition.
I'm remembering this today because Laurence Urdang just died. According to his obituary, he edited more than 100 dictionaries, including the first edition of the Random House Dictionary of the English Language, which weighed around nine pounds. "Mr. Urdang’s view of language," writes the NYT, "was that of an enjoyer, someone who delighted in its flexibility and invention, rather than that of a guardian always on alert against violations of precedent."
It's my job to be a guardian on high alert, so it's good to be reminded of the incredible pleasure inherent in working with words. Mr. Urdang, sleep well. You're my kind of definer.
On my first day, my boss gave me a tour of the building. We turned the corner from the computer lab and entered a room full of tiny cubicles and the biggest card catalog I've ever seen. "These are the definers," she said.
The definers? It sounded like the most powerful job in the universe. Turns out it's done by a bunch of twentysomethings who spend all day reading magazines, websites, newspapers, and books. When they notice a new word appearing frequently, they write all its sources on an index card and put it in the card catalog. (This is probably done on computers by now, but I kind of hope not.)
When it comes time to update the company's collegiate dictionary, about every five years, they go through all the words in the catalog to see which ones are still in common usage. Then they nominate the most popular—and, I'd like to imagine, the most logical—for inclusion. I forget how many make the cut, but I think it's no more than 25 or so per new edition.
I'm remembering this today because Laurence Urdang just died. According to his obituary, he edited more than 100 dictionaries, including the first edition of the Random House Dictionary of the English Language, which weighed around nine pounds. "Mr. Urdang’s view of language," writes the NYT, "was that of an enjoyer, someone who delighted in its flexibility and invention, rather than that of a guardian always on alert against violations of precedent."
It's my job to be a guardian on high alert, so it's good to be reminded of the incredible pleasure inherent in working with words. Mr. Urdang, sleep well. You're my kind of definer.
August 24, 2008
Wedding encore
I was one of three official friendtographers at Bene and Aisha's sunny, pretty Piedmont wedding last weekend, so I took about twice as many rolls as usual. It was a pleasure to do, since everyone was beautiful and in a fantastic mood.
The full set is Flickred, of course—here are some of my favorites.
The full set is Flickred, of course—here are some of my favorites.
August 21, 2008
When editors get punchy
I don't understand why even when I say it "i-boo-pro-fen," it comes out sounding like "i-bee-pro-fen," or why there's a u in there in the first place. They should officially rename it Wal-Profen and call it a day.
There's really no good reason for Emeril to design a line of clogs, or for clogs to exist at all. I guess people think they're comfortable, but so are my jammies, and nobody claims those are fashionable or fills entire store racks with them in different colors. Plus my jammies aren't made of neon plastic.
The prefix über just doesn't apply that often. And yes, it needs the umlaut. I don't care if you think it looks weird. I'm the decider.
There's really no good reason for Emeril to design a line of clogs, or for clogs to exist at all. I guess people think they're comfortable, but so are my jammies, and nobody claims those are fashionable or fills entire store racks with them in different colors. Plus my jammies aren't made of neon plastic.
The prefix über just doesn't apply that often. And yes, it needs the umlaut. I don't care if you think it looks weird. I'm the decider.
August 13, 2008
Weddingpalooza
Here's a handful of photos from last weekend. The whole set is up on Flickr, if you're feeling matrimonial. Remember that all brides should wear red, and nobody should ever drink Manischewitz.
August 11, 2008
I can hear the bells
I'm back from Seattle and my oldest friend Claire's sweet, mellow, beautiful wedding on a small stone patio beneath a tremendous weeping willow tree. The bride wore draped red satin and pearls and looked like she was attending the Oscars in 1925. The groom included Cyndi Lauper lyrics in his vows. Songs were sung, tears were shed, and pie was eaten.
Photos coming soon, though sadly not of her new slightly round, bespectacled, Chinese American in-laws dancing to "Billie Jean" in the basement rec room. You'll just have to trust me on that.
In fact, her wedding was so nice, I think I'll go to another this weekend. Three cheers for love! Plus an extra cheer for the fact that this one is in Oakland, so I don't even have to get on a plane.
Photos coming soon, though sadly not of her new slightly round, bespectacled, Chinese American in-laws dancing to "Billie Jean" in the basement rec room. You'll just have to trust me on that.
In fact, her wedding was so nice, I think I'll go to another this weekend. Three cheers for love! Plus an extra cheer for the fact that this one is in Oakland, so I don't even have to get on a plane.
August 04, 2008
Fourth (and probably final) half
Another season, another half-marathon. You'd think my body would be used to this occasional punishment by now, but it really wasn't happy during the second half of yesterday's SFM.
After three miles, I felt as exhausted as it usually takes seven or eight miles to feel, with none of the euphoria. My feet hurt, my breathing hurt, and my vision got blurry for the last mile or so. Around the 10-mile mark, I had to stop and walk for a while—that's never happened to me in a race before.
It was an incredible relief to finish, as always, but without the adrenalin rush that makes the whole experience worthwhile. I just felt sore and tired and nauseated, and I couldn't even eat. I took a shower and slept for almost three hours.
I felt a little better when I woke up, but it still seemed like a sign that it's time to switch to 12K races. I've never been a natural runner, it's always work—but this was very unpleasant work with little reward. It's been in the back of my mind that my body would tell me when the long runs got to be too much, and I think that happened yesterday.
This realization brings a potent combination of disappointment and relief. I still love the camaraderie of official races, the numbers and timing chips and water stops and free granola bars at the end. It's just that 13.1 miles is really far for a regular human body to run. My legs are staging a protest, and they're unionized.
I'm proud of myself for having trained to the point where I can run a half-marathon at all. My objective was never to beat a certain time or hit a loftier goal—I don't secretly want to run a full marathon or triathlon or become one of those people who dress entirely in wicking. The half was my goal, and I got there. But in the end, if something makes me feel physically terrible, then it's no longer healthy.
And no, this isn't all because I'm in my 30s now. Shut up. Unless you mean that it's the wisdom of age talking, in which case . . . you might be right.
After three miles, I felt as exhausted as it usually takes seven or eight miles to feel, with none of the euphoria. My feet hurt, my breathing hurt, and my vision got blurry for the last mile or so. Around the 10-mile mark, I had to stop and walk for a while—that's never happened to me in a race before.
It was an incredible relief to finish, as always, but without the adrenalin rush that makes the whole experience worthwhile. I just felt sore and tired and nauseated, and I couldn't even eat. I took a shower and slept for almost three hours.
I felt a little better when I woke up, but it still seemed like a sign that it's time to switch to 12K races. I've never been a natural runner, it's always work—but this was very unpleasant work with little reward. It's been in the back of my mind that my body would tell me when the long runs got to be too much, and I think that happened yesterday.
This realization brings a potent combination of disappointment and relief. I still love the camaraderie of official races, the numbers and timing chips and water stops and free granola bars at the end. It's just that 13.1 miles is really far for a regular human body to run. My legs are staging a protest, and they're unionized.
I'm proud of myself for having trained to the point where I can run a half-marathon at all. My objective was never to beat a certain time or hit a loftier goal—I don't secretly want to run a full marathon or triathlon or become one of those people who dress entirely in wicking. The half was my goal, and I got there. But in the end, if something makes me feel physically terrible, then it's no longer healthy.
And no, this isn't all because I'm in my 30s now. Shut up. Unless you mean that it's the wisdom of age talking, in which case . . . you might be right.
Bib: 23041
Gender: F
Age: 30
Hometown: San Francisco, CA
Place Overall: 1195 out of 1984
Women: 579 out of 1145
F 30-39: 207 out of 395
FINISH: 2:15:21 Pace: 10:20
1.7 miles: 15:59 Pace: 9:25
Gender: F
Age: 30
Hometown: San Francisco, CA
Place Overall: 1195 out of 1984
Women: 579 out of 1145
F 30-39: 207 out of 395
FINISH: 2:15:21 Pace: 10:20
1.7 miles: 15:59 Pace: 9:25
July 28, 2008
I want a new drug
It happened so fast—I finished another TV series on Netflix. There are a few nostalgic standbys in my queue (Party of Five, My So-Called Life), but really, I'm looking for a whole new thing.*
People of the Internet, please help me decide what to watch next. Some helpful guidelines:
Yes: Families, drama, escapism, intelligent rapid-fire conversation, witty banter, likable people, complicated relationships, excellent outfits that someone might actually wear
No: Homicide, crime rings, cops, laugh tracks, plucky underdog sports teams, open-heart surgery, home improvement, monsters with giant slimy jaws, Manolo Blahniks, "reality"
Acceptable: Lawyers, if there aren't too many court scenes
Best shows ever: The West Wing, Flight of the Conchords
Any ideas? My mind is waiting to be wasted. It needs you.
* At least until they release season 4 of Weeds on DVD.
People of the Internet, please help me decide what to watch next. Some helpful guidelines:
Yes: Families, drama, escapism, intelligent rapid-fire conversation, witty banter, likable people, complicated relationships, excellent outfits that someone might actually wear
No: Homicide, crime rings, cops, laugh tracks, plucky underdog sports teams, open-heart surgery, home improvement, monsters with giant slimy jaws, Manolo Blahniks, "reality"
Acceptable: Lawyers, if there aren't too many court scenes
Best shows ever: The West Wing, Flight of the Conchords
Any ideas? My mind is waiting to be wasted. It needs you.
* At least until they release season 4 of Weeds on DVD.
July 27, 2008
There will be blood
This is my last blood post, I swear. And it's a much better story this time.
I was talking to Savta yesterday on my way home from the donation center (I didn't faint and they had a fine selection of donuts—two thumbs up), and she said, "Oh, your saba would be very proud." I asked why.
She told me that during World War II, he was in charge of the blood donation program at Hebrew Union College, where he was a rabbinical student (he later served as an Army chaplain overseas). On Sunday nights in the dining hall, he'd make a short speech after the meal to try and recruit donors. Eventually, the other students knew what was coming—so every time they saw him head to the front of the room, they'd stomp their feet and start chanting, "Blood! Blood! Blood!" He was a lifelong donor.
The fierce, the proud, the bloody Lipmans.
I was talking to Savta yesterday on my way home from the donation center (I didn't faint and they had a fine selection of donuts—two thumbs up), and she said, "Oh, your saba would be very proud." I asked why.
She told me that during World War II, he was in charge of the blood donation program at Hebrew Union College, where he was a rabbinical student (he later served as an Army chaplain overseas). On Sunday nights in the dining hall, he'd make a short speech after the meal to try and recruit donors. Eventually, the other students knew what was coming—so every time they saw him head to the front of the room, they'd stomp their feet and start chanting, "Blood! Blood! Blood!" He was a lifelong donor.
The fierce, the proud, the bloody Lipmans.
July 23, 2008
Platelets
It's been more than a year since I last gave blood—it's harder to motivate when they don't park one of those donation vans right outside your office, like they did quarterly at Wind River, and HR would send lots of encouraging emails about all the lives we could save. So it was effortless. But I'm in the big city now, and there's no convenient bloodmobile.
Then today, I realized: The perfect storm of editing projects that all landed at once (yes, they're done!) has been followed by a perfect storm of open space before the perfect storm of weddings swings back around in early August. If I may bludgeon the metaphor to death.
Suddenly, I have most of a weekend with nothing pressing to do, and also someone brought insane-looking fancy donuts to work this morning. I think they involved maple and bacon.
Donuts? Yes. Almost never my food of choice—except right after I give blood, when my sugar level drops to my ankles and my body can actually handle the sucrose blast of the common donut. So there was the plate of donuts, and the storm of calm, etc., so I called and made an appointment to give blood this weekend.
What a long story, with a not very interesting ending! It's true. I'm just glad the onslaught of work is over and I can get back to posting about things that don't involve the number 30.
Also, I've always enjoyed the word platelets. I feel like a parade of little tiny plates should appear every time someone uses it.
Then today, I realized: The perfect storm of editing projects that all landed at once (yes, they're done!) has been followed by a perfect storm of open space before the perfect storm of weddings swings back around in early August. If I may bludgeon the metaphor to death.
Suddenly, I have most of a weekend with nothing pressing to do, and also someone brought insane-looking fancy donuts to work this morning. I think they involved maple and bacon.
Donuts? Yes. Almost never my food of choice—except right after I give blood, when my sugar level drops to my ankles and my body can actually handle the sucrose blast of the common donut. So there was the plate of donuts, and the storm of calm, etc., so I called and made an appointment to give blood this weekend.
What a long story, with a not very interesting ending! It's true. I'm just glad the onslaught of work is over and I can get back to posting about things that don't involve the number 30.
Also, I've always enjoyed the word platelets. I feel like a parade of little tiny plates should appear every time someone uses it.
July 16, 2008
The other side
Yes, I made it. No, I don't think I'm any wiser yet . . . give it time.
My trip back east was action-packed, to put it mildly, and my liver is still recovering. It was amazing to see old friends and all kinds of family for three sunny days of talking, dancing, eating, hiking, cooking, and polishing off a vat of sangria. Everyone either generously traveled or hosted to make the weekend happen, and I can't say thanks enough times.
Photos of the birthday tribe are here on Flickr. The only party animals not pictured are the approximately 10 million bugs who bit me everywhere. But let's not speak of them.
Also posted: Some mementos of my weekend in Santa Monica last month. Viva Erinia!
left to right: too much pasta salad, too much potato salad,
the perfect amount of sangria
My trip back east was action-packed, to put it mildly, and my liver is still recovering. It was amazing to see old friends and all kinds of family for three sunny days of talking, dancing, eating, hiking, cooking, and polishing off a vat of sangria. Everyone either generously traveled or hosted to make the weekend happen, and I can't say thanks enough times.
Photos of the birthday tribe are here on Flickr. The only party animals not pictured are the approximately 10 million bugs who bit me everywhere. But let's not speak of them.
Also posted: Some mementos of my weekend in Santa Monica last month. Viva Erinia!
left to right: too much pasta salad, too much potato salad,the perfect amount of sangria
July 09, 2008
30 till 30: Days 28 & 29
Squeaking in under the wire: 36 minutes to go until my youth is a distant memory. Spent a million hours in transit yesterday (thanks, JFK air-traffic control!), but now I'm sweating safely in my hometown, watching the summer lightning.
But this post isn't about me. It's about my mom, who just passed her certification test to become an American citizen—after living here for 36 years. For a secret peek into the inner workings of our country's bureaucracy, check out the six questions they asked in her citizenship test:
1. How many stars are there on our flag?
2. Whose rights are guaranteed by the Constitution and the Bill of Rights?
3. How many senators are there in Congress?
4. What is the most important right granted to United States citizens?
5. Who is the vice president of the United States today?
6. In what month do we vote for the president?
So how'd you do? My mom, soon to be sworn in as our newest citizen, got 100%. Then she went right out and bought an Obama sticker. I think we should all be proud.
But this post isn't about me. It's about my mom, who just passed her certification test to become an American citizen—after living here for 36 years. For a secret peek into the inner workings of our country's bureaucracy, check out the six questions they asked in her citizenship test:
1. How many stars are there on our flag?
2. Whose rights are guaranteed by the Constitution and the Bill of Rights?
3. How many senators are there in Congress?
4. What is the most important right granted to United States citizens?
5. Who is the vice president of the United States today?
6. In what month do we vote for the president?
So how'd you do? My mom, soon to be sworn in as our newest citizen, got 100%. Then she went right out and bought an Obama sticker. I think we should all be proud.
July 07, 2008
30 till 30: Day 27
I just ate the last Mission tacos of my 20s. A burrito would've been more poetic, but I didn't have the stamina tonight. Luckily, an old friend took the fall and put most of one away.
It's getting late, and BART beckons at the wee hours to whisk me off to the airport. I should edit another chapter now, but I won't, because sometimes things don't tie up neatly and closing my eyes for a while feels like a much smarter idea.
See? I won't even be old for another 49 hours, but I'm already getting smarter. Watch out for this firecracker, New England. Your humidity can't stop the wheels from turning.
It's getting late, and BART beckons at the wee hours to whisk me off to the airport. I should edit another chapter now, but I won't, because sometimes things don't tie up neatly and closing my eyes for a while feels like a much smarter idea.
See? I won't even be old for another 49 hours, but I'm already getting smarter. Watch out for this firecracker, New England. Your humidity can't stop the wheels from turning.
July 06, 2008
30 till 30: Days 25 & 26
I don't think I could possibly have done more work this weekend, but my projects still aren't finished. Oh well. At least I learned these fun! facts! about the animals of the Galapagos Islands:
! Flamingos are actually white, but they turn pink from the carotene pigments in the shrimp they eat.
!! The harlequin wrasse is covered with spatters of orange, red, black, and white. It's also a protogynus hermaphrodite, meaning it can spontaneously change sex from female to male.
!!! Male lava lizards do pushups.
!!!! Albatross couples were thought to mate for life—meaning for up to 50 years—but a recent study counted 1,724 matings among 300 albatrosses. (One female mated with 49 different gents.) They also demonstrated other human relationship behaviors, like adoption, adultery, and rape.
! Flamingos are actually white, but they turn pink from the carotene pigments in the shrimp they eat.
!! The harlequin wrasse is covered with spatters of orange, red, black, and white. It's also a protogynus hermaphrodite, meaning it can spontaneously change sex from female to male.
!!! Male lava lizards do pushups.
!!!! Albatross couples were thought to mate for life—meaning for up to 50 years—but a recent study counted 1,724 matings among 300 albatrosses. (One female mated with 49 different gents.) They also demonstrated other human relationship behaviors, like adoption, adultery, and rape.
July 04, 2008
30 till 30: Days 22 & 23 & 24
Happy 4th! I suppose I should write something patriotic, but since I already gave my little homage to voting a while back, there's not much more that seems worth celebrating under this administration. Also I just edited for six hours and my neck hurts. Grump.
On the upside, it's nice and chilly outside, and I'm going to try and find some fireworks with friends. Watching things explode might actually be the perfect backdrop for my mood.
On the upside, it's nice and chilly outside, and I'm going to try and find some fireworks with friends. Watching things explode might actually be the perfect backdrop for my mood.
July 01, 2008
30 till 30: Days 20 & 21
Recommended drink of the day: bitters and soda. Free of alcohol, it looks and tastes kind of like beer, except without the aftermath. A fine alternative for weeknights. I was told I'd feel zingy tomorrow, and I think it's already working.
June 29, 2008
30 till 30: Day 19
I saw Wall-E last night, and now I have the entirety of Short Circuit running on loop in my head. If you think that's helpful when you're trying to put together the table of contents for a literary magazine—well, no.
Separated at birth? Perhaps. Indelibly etched in the BCB's mind? Oh yes.
Separated at birth? Perhaps. Indelibly etched in the BCB's mind? Oh yes.
June 28, 2008
30 till 30: Days 17 & 18
The last few books I've read make a weird trio: John Berger's Here Is Where We Meet, Lisa Lutz's Meet the Spellmans, and Sarah Vowell's Assassination Vacation.
The first is a lovely, spare novel by one of my favorite writers (try At the Wedding by way of meeting him), the second is a cheesy but entertaining local mystery that I snagged from the shelf of advance copies at work (I heart free books), and the third is by a very funny writer who turns up on NPR a lot—but it took me an incredibly long time to get through, because I just don't care that much about the minutia of dead presidents' lives. Daughter of a historian and all.
The main lesson I learned is that mysteries aren't great bedtime reading. My brain is active enough when I'm trying to make it rest. I should stick with short stories that tie up neatly and don't complicate my dreams.
The first is a lovely, spare novel by one of my favorite writers (try At the Wedding by way of meeting him), the second is a cheesy but entertaining local mystery that I snagged from the shelf of advance copies at work (I heart free books), and the third is by a very funny writer who turns up on NPR a lot—but it took me an incredibly long time to get through, because I just don't care that much about the minutia of dead presidents' lives. Daughter of a historian and all.
The main lesson I learned is that mysteries aren't great bedtime reading. My brain is active enough when I'm trying to make it rest. I should stick with short stories that tie up neatly and don't complicate my dreams.
June 26, 2008
30 till 30: Days 15 & 16
Happy halfway point!
To celebrate the fact that I get to spend the remainder of my 20s reading about Ecuador, I just went to Peet's for one of their new blended tea thingies with the sort of human name. I'm not sure what was in there, except for tea and a lot of whipped cream, but it was a good excuse for a walk.
To celebrate the fact that I get to spend the remainder of my 20s reading about Ecuador, I just went to Peet's for one of their new blended tea thingies with the sort of human name. I'm not sure what was in there, except for tea and a lot of whipped cream, but it was a good excuse for a walk.
June 24, 2008
30 till 30: Day 14
I like to think of myself as pretty quick on the uptake, but it took a really long time to dawn on me that I didn't just have to suffer in my sweat lodge of an apartment. That's why natural selection made landlords.
One phone call and one plumber visit later, the insatiable radiator in my living room has been shut down for the summer. Apparently, the whole building is on the same heating timer, so I have no control over it when it's attached to that system. But it can be disconnected at will.
All together now: The heat is . . . OFF!
One phone call and one plumber visit later, the insatiable radiator in my living room has been shut down for the summer. Apparently, the whole building is on the same heating timer, so I have no control over it when it's attached to that system. But it can be disconnected at will.
All together now: The heat is . . . OFF!
June 23, 2008
30 till 30: Day 13
Say that on the way home from work, you get the urge to make soba sesame noodles. Then you realize how delicious it would be to have some sautéed spinach with garlic on the side. So you stop at the little market a block from the subway to buy spinach, and there's a display of enormous red cherries. Fruit and greens in hand, you head home and drop your bag and take off your winter coat, because San Francisco has no idea if it wants to be Hawaii or Iceland. Then you cook up the noodles and the vegetables, and the whole thing only takes 20 minutes, and you put it in a bowl and eat it and it tastes exactly like you imagined it would. Then you have some cherries, and they're sweet and perfect.
Instant gratification in real time. That's the only reason (well, plus Netflix) I can sit down to edit again after editing all day, and maybe even enjoy it.
Instant gratification in real time. That's the only reason (well, plus Netflix) I can sit down to edit again after editing all day, and maybe even enjoy it.
June 22, 2008
30 till 30: Days 10 & 11 & 12
So the daily post isn't turning out that way, but I promise I'm doing my best. It's probably smart to reset expectations by saying that I'll post as often as my gorilla-size schedule allows between now and birthday time. A few random snippets from the weekend:
First my electric toothbrush died (but it did set longevity records first), now my electric kettle seems to have died. The funny part is that I stood there for a full five minutes being pissed that I couldn't make tea, then turned about two degrees to the left and saw my regular old teapot all squat and red and functional on the stove. Poor outdated technology gets no respect.
The heat wave broke none too soon—I loved that I had to wear a coat today. But my leather jacket fell apart a few months ago (today's theme: possession death), and I'm really sensing the void. I can't remember ever not having a leather jacket as an adult. It feels like a weirdly critical part of my style. But I've spent some long afternoons in Mission and Haight thrift stores, and my new leather baby just hasn't shown up yet. Keep your fingers crossed.
I got to walk through a tunnel and swing on a swing and slide down a slide and climb around on a jungle gym yesterday. Remember being a little kid? Those were some fun times.
First my electric toothbrush died (but it did set longevity records first), now my electric kettle seems to have died. The funny part is that I stood there for a full five minutes being pissed that I couldn't make tea, then turned about two degrees to the left and saw my regular old teapot all squat and red and functional on the stove. Poor outdated technology gets no respect.
The heat wave broke none too soon—I loved that I had to wear a coat today. But my leather jacket fell apart a few months ago (today's theme: possession death), and I'm really sensing the void. I can't remember ever not having a leather jacket as an adult. It feels like a weirdly critical part of my style. But I've spent some long afternoons in Mission and Haight thrift stores, and my new leather baby just hasn't shown up yet. Keep your fingers crossed.
I got to walk through a tunnel and swing on a swing and slide down a slide and climb around on a jungle gym yesterday. Remember being a little kid? Those were some fun times.
June 19, 2008
30 till 30: Day 9
For the past few days, I've had that nagging about-to-get-a-cold feeling, made worse by nights of tossing and turning in my extremely warm apartment.
I'm a believer in trying homeopathy before reaching for the hard drugs. But staying home, going to sleep early, avoiding caffeine and alcohol, not running too hard, inhaling steam, popping the occasional Wal-Profen, and drinking so much water that I feel inflatable haven't done much.
This afternoon, my wise friend Mary recommended hot water with lemon, honey, and a little whiskey. I have a jar of honey from my stepbrother's bees, but the only liquor I keep on hand is clear. Then I remembered: that fifth of a bottle of Maker's Mark left over from my 28th birthday party. Did it survive the move from Oakland?
It did. I put a few drops in my tea, and my throat feels about a thousand times better. I'm still heading to sleep at a preschool hour tonight, but my mental magic 8-ball says the outlook is good for a healthy weekend.
I'm a believer in trying homeopathy before reaching for the hard drugs. But staying home, going to sleep early, avoiding caffeine and alcohol, not running too hard, inhaling steam, popping the occasional Wal-Profen, and drinking so much water that I feel inflatable haven't done much.
This afternoon, my wise friend Mary recommended hot water with lemon, honey, and a little whiskey. I have a jar of honey from my stepbrother's bees, but the only liquor I keep on hand is clear. Then I remembered: that fifth of a bottle of Maker's Mark left over from my 28th birthday party. Did it survive the move from Oakland?
It did. I put a few drops in my tea, and my throat feels about a thousand times better. I'm still heading to sleep at a preschool hour tonight, but my mental magic 8-ball says the outlook is good for a healthy weekend.
June 18, 2008
30 till 30: Days 7 & 8
Two things I'm proud of today:
1. A little, in a nostalgic way: The Celtics winning their first championship since the mid-'80s, which is probably the last time I saw them play. (My bro was a huge Lakers fan when we were kids. Guess we were destined for the West Coast even back then.)
2. A lot, in an it's-about-time way: All the absolutely thrilled couples getting married at San Francisco city hall and across the state. Seriously, even a 30-second report about this on NPR makes me cry. I've never heard people sound so happy.
1. A little, in a nostalgic way: The Celtics winning their first championship since the mid-'80s, which is probably the last time I saw them play. (My bro was a huge Lakers fan when we were kids. Guess we were destined for the West Coast even back then.)
2. A lot, in an it's-about-time way: All the absolutely thrilled couples getting married at San Francisco city hall and across the state. Seriously, even a 30-second report about this on NPR makes me cry. I've never heard people sound so happy.
June 16, 2008
30 till 30: Day 6
Today marks my head-first dive into enormous piles of work that will munch away at my sanity until early July. Three things: Canteen #3, Moon Handbooks Ecuador, the August issue.
I wish I had more exciting news, but sometimes this is just how I roll. So sleepy. See you tomorrow.
I wish I had more exciting news, but sometimes this is just how I roll. So sleepy. See you tomorrow.
June 15, 2008
30 till 30: Day 5
Every time I go to L.A., it feels like a difference place, and I haven't liked any of those places too much. But now I think I've finally found my Brooklyn of the lower West Coast: Santa Monica.
Thanks to my enthusiastic and creative hostess, I learned that there are great bookstore/cafés and really cheap massages and underground dance parties and an uncrowded waterfront for strolling, plus a Big Blue Bus™ that shuttles you around when you're too weary for the afternoon walk home.
We also discovered the world's most delicious potato tacos at 3 a.m., which is exactly when potato tacos should be eaten. Please stash that bit of wisdom in your back pocket.
Thanks to my enthusiastic and creative hostess, I learned that there are great bookstore/cafés and really cheap massages and underground dance parties and an uncrowded waterfront for strolling, plus a Big Blue Bus™ that shuttles you around when you're too weary for the afternoon walk home.
We also discovered the world's most delicious potato tacos at 3 a.m., which is exactly when potato tacos should be eaten. Please stash that bit of wisdom in your back pocket.
June 14, 2008
30 till 30: Day 4
Ladies and gentlemen, the birthday card bar has been set—and set high.
(Grandma warning: Mild obscenity to follow, with flagrant use of italics. Cover your eyes.)
Cover: Two women chatting.
W1: "Where's your birthday party at?"
W2: "Don't end a sentence with a preposition."
Inside: Same two women.
W1: "Where's your birthday party at, bitch?"
As always, the Semi knows what's what, and I dare you not to love her for it.
(Grandma warning: Mild obscenity to follow, with flagrant use of italics. Cover your eyes.)
Cover: Two women chatting.
W1: "Where's your birthday party at?"
W2: "Don't end a sentence with a preposition."
Inside: Same two women.
W1: "Where's your birthday party at, bitch?"
As always, the Semi knows what's what, and I dare you not to love her for it.
June 13, 2008
30 till 30: Day 3
It's so nice out, I think I'll go to L.A. to visit the Semiotician.
Tales of southern hijinks coming soon.
Tales of southern hijinks coming soon.
June 12, 2008
30 till 30: Day 2
I was obsessed with musicals when I was a kid. My Fair Lady, South Pacific, A Chorus Line, Oklahoma, Bye-Bye Birdie...I'd listen to nothing else.
My family sat through epic performances by the children's theater company I joined. They patiently watched me play Elsa in The Sound of Music, the Artful Dodger in Oliver, a pregnant hooker in Kurt Vonnegut's God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater. All the standard roles.
In college, musicals started to annoy me. Since then, I haven't been able to listen to one without wincing. Except for a few nostalgic favorites—see above—I don't have the patience to sit through that kind of show today.
Unless it's free. Last night, I took advantage of some press passes and went to see Hairspray at the elegant Orpheum Theater. And I have to admit, it was kind of awesome.
The lights! The songs! The costumes! The hair! All around us, delighted schoolgirls and flammable men applauded and whistled and danced in their seats. So now I'm not afraid to say: Every decade or so, bring on a good musical. I'm in.
My family sat through epic performances by the children's theater company I joined. They patiently watched me play Elsa in The Sound of Music, the Artful Dodger in Oliver, a pregnant hooker in Kurt Vonnegut's God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater. All the standard roles.
In college, musicals started to annoy me. Since then, I haven't been able to listen to one without wincing. Except for a few nostalgic favorites—see above—I don't have the patience to sit through that kind of show today.
Unless it's free. Last night, I took advantage of some press passes and went to see Hairspray at the elegant Orpheum Theater. And I have to admit, it was kind of awesome.
The lights! The songs! The costumes! The hair! All around us, delighted schoolgirls and flammable men applauded and whistled and danced in their seats. So now I'm not afraid to say: Every decade or so, bring on a good musical. I'm in.
June 11, 2008
30 till 30: Day 1
In exactly 30 days, I'll wake up with no more 20s left. How about that?
To commemorate the transition to adulthood, I think I'll post a little something every day from now until then. Last time I did this, I was getting ready to leave Paris (warning: very ugly, outdated website), and it really helped pass the time.
I'll also buy a house, throw away my "Fabulous Disaster" T-shirt with the skull and crossbones, and register for a complete set of CorningWare.
Or, you know, not. But the posting idea seems good.
To commemorate the transition to adulthood, I think I'll post a little something every day from now until then. Last time I did this, I was getting ready to leave Paris (warning: very ugly, outdated website), and it really helped pass the time.
I'll also buy a house, throw away my "Fabulous Disaster" T-shirt with the skull and crossbones, and register for a complete set of CorningWare.
Or, you know, not. But the posting idea seems good.
June 09, 2008
This is my brain on ship week
Our daily lives consist of work and human connection. Even when we're not doing one of those two things, we're trying to do them or thinking about them or worrying about them or feeling pleased about them.
During the day, I work and I communicate. Reading, typing, talking, fixing, disseminating, running into old friends in the street, assessing strangers from behind sunglasses. When my brain kicks into overdrive at bedtime, I'm either going over work in my head or anticipating it, or I'm thinking about my relationships and where they are and where they're going, including the ones that don't exist yet. Sometimes it all melds into an impossibly tangled panorama called dreams.
My dreams are often long, colorful, shot in widescreen format, full of people I haven't seen in years or never knew very well. Childhood friends whose real faces I'm not sure I could pick out of a lineup. Or entire work days, totally banal and so realistic that I feel like I haven't slept when it's time to get up and start all over. Nightmares are always anticipation, too—nothing bad ever happens, but I know with complete clarity that it will. It's just a matter of waiting.
When I run, I tell myself I need to stay healthy because of the energy my life requires, because I have to be able to take care of friends and family and children, of everything on my desk and in my house. Also because of how lucky I am that my body has the strength to run in the first place. Don't fool yourself, exercise is work. It's also meditation, but meditation is work.
When I take photographs, it's a matter of capturing that moment so I can share it. Also for the pleasure of preserving it, because otherwise it's only ether. Then I wind the film and stop at the photo place on the way to the office, get it developed and pay for the prints and scan them, post them and comment on them and show them to people who care because the images came from me, or are of them, often both.
When a flight is about to take off, I hope it won't crash in a big fiery ball, because I have so much left to do and so many people to know better.
It's not that I mind either of these two reasons for operating. I actually love most of it, most of the time—feeling useful and productive, feeling connected. But it's also essential to remind myself that not every moment and action has to be in service of something or someone, including myself.
It's all very well to take a picture or record a word for its greater utility, but sometimes it's best just to sit on the couch and not worry about it. It doesn't all have to get done, and sometimes the meaning gets lost in the doing. Sometimes empty is best.
During the day, I work and I communicate. Reading, typing, talking, fixing, disseminating, running into old friends in the street, assessing strangers from behind sunglasses. When my brain kicks into overdrive at bedtime, I'm either going over work in my head or anticipating it, or I'm thinking about my relationships and where they are and where they're going, including the ones that don't exist yet. Sometimes it all melds into an impossibly tangled panorama called dreams.
My dreams are often long, colorful, shot in widescreen format, full of people I haven't seen in years or never knew very well. Childhood friends whose real faces I'm not sure I could pick out of a lineup. Or entire work days, totally banal and so realistic that I feel like I haven't slept when it's time to get up and start all over. Nightmares are always anticipation, too—nothing bad ever happens, but I know with complete clarity that it will. It's just a matter of waiting.
When I run, I tell myself I need to stay healthy because of the energy my life requires, because I have to be able to take care of friends and family and children, of everything on my desk and in my house. Also because of how lucky I am that my body has the strength to run in the first place. Don't fool yourself, exercise is work. It's also meditation, but meditation is work.
When I take photographs, it's a matter of capturing that moment so I can share it. Also for the pleasure of preserving it, because otherwise it's only ether. Then I wind the film and stop at the photo place on the way to the office, get it developed and pay for the prints and scan them, post them and comment on them and show them to people who care because the images came from me, or are of them, often both.
When a flight is about to take off, I hope it won't crash in a big fiery ball, because I have so much left to do and so many people to know better.
It's not that I mind either of these two reasons for operating. I actually love most of it, most of the time—feeling useful and productive, feeling connected. But it's also essential to remind myself that not every moment and action has to be in service of something or someone, including myself.
It's all very well to take a picture or record a word for its greater utility, but sometimes it's best just to sit on the couch and not worry about it. It doesn't all have to get done, and sometimes the meaning gets lost in the doing. Sometimes empty is best.
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