It's 12:01 a.m. Merry Christmas, everyone!
Between bouts of gluttony and gift-opening, please stop by my photo blog for an exciting tribute to my old apartment. You'll laugh. You'll cry. Afterward, you'll be overwhelmed by the urge for more eggnog.
I'll be thinking of you later today, while I go to the movies and get Chinese food with all the other good Jewish children.
December 25, 2007
December 18, 2007
Tiny slice of fame
It's no secret that I'm a little shutter-happy.
After making the unprecedented decision to merge that hobby with the wide wide world of the Interweb, I started with a photo blog that I'd use a lot more if I could upload batches, instead of one picture at a time (any Bloggerheads out there know a shortcut?).
Then I finally succumbed to the lure of Flickr, thanks to wheedling friends who kept telling me how easy it was. And it really is. Less space for rambling photo essays, but more motivation to post stuff when it takes a few minutes instead of hours.
Anyhoo, that's all by way of letting you know that a random guy in the UK who works for an online travel company found my Flickr pictures of China, and he asked to publish one. And it's up!
It's not an exciting photo (see here for my favorites from the China rolls), but it's still neat to see the copyright symbol next to my name on someone else's travel site.
After making the unprecedented decision to merge that hobby with the wide wide world of the Interweb, I started with a photo blog that I'd use a lot more if I could upload batches, instead of one picture at a time (any Bloggerheads out there know a shortcut?).
Then I finally succumbed to the lure of Flickr, thanks to wheedling friends who kept telling me how easy it was. And it really is. Less space for rambling photo essays, but more motivation to post stuff when it takes a few minutes instead of hours.
Anyhoo, that's all by way of letting you know that a random guy in the UK who works for an online travel company found my Flickr pictures of China, and he asked to publish one. And it's up!
It's not an exciting photo (see here for my favorites from the China rolls), but it's still neat to see the copyright symbol next to my name on someone else's travel site.
December 09, 2007
By the way, I moved.
You probably guessed that by now. But just to confirm why BCB posts have been shorter and farther apart than usual: My life is stuck in a cacophony of boxes that I'm slowly breaking down into bite-sized wavelengths. Or some other profound metaphor.
The point is, I just managed to unearth my living room today. It's very nice. I'll tell you all about it when things calm down.
Also coming soon: a photo tribute to North Street. I really do miss Oakland, but things are sweet in the big city.
The point is, I just managed to unearth my living room today. It's very nice. I'll tell you all about it when things calm down.
Also coming soon: a photo tribute to North Street. I really do miss Oakland, but things are sweet in the big city.
December 05, 2007
Bzzzzzzzz
I rarely drink coffee, especially the caffeinated kind, but I had a cup this morning to gear up for what I knew would be a crazy long day.
And now! I'm! totally wired!
There's a giant pile of work on my desk, but I can't seem to stop watching this very fantastic thing made by two adorable geniuses I know. Also I think I'm actually levitating.
Coffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffee
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
And now! I'm! totally wired!
There's a giant pile of work on my desk, but I can't seem to stop watching this very fantastic thing made by two adorable geniuses I know. Also I think I'm actually levitating.
Coffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffee
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
November 29, 2007
Dude with a tuba
Walking toward me while I headed for BART tonight was a tall, lanky guy wearing a big, shiny tuba. He looked a little self-conscious but pleased with himself.
There's also been a bagpiper at the corner of Sansome and California all week during the evening rush hour, in full Scottish regalia. So every time I pass by, it's like I'm graduating from high school again.
There's also been a bagpiper at the corner of Sansome and California all week during the evening rush hour, in full Scottish regalia. So every time I pass by, it's like I'm graduating from high school again.
November 21, 2007
Spectacular times for shopping at IKEA
1. Friday, 7:30 p.m. (except holiday weekends)
2. Saturday, 7:30 p.m. (except holiday weekends)
3. The day before Thanksgiving, 4:30 p.m.
If you know what you're looking for, you'll be in and out in less than 20 minutes. No lie. Plus you'll get a killer parking space near the entrance.
In other, more hypothetical news: I may or may not have bought the Sexiest Man Alive issue of People, with Matt Damon on the cover, from the impulse rack at Safeway.
If perhaps I possibly did, rest assured it's strictly for research—k2 asked the other day who would be on my celebrity list, and I couldn't think of anyone except Mos Def, Clive Owen, and the character of Josh Lyman on West Wing. So it's clear that I'm out of touch on the critical issue of celebrity sexiness.
School me, People. Hypothetically. Ahem.
2. Saturday, 7:30 p.m. (except holiday weekends)
3. The day before Thanksgiving, 4:30 p.m.
If you know what you're looking for, you'll be in and out in less than 20 minutes. No lie. Plus you'll get a killer parking space near the entrance.
In other, more hypothetical news: I may or may not have bought the Sexiest Man Alive issue of People, with Matt Damon on the cover, from the impulse rack at Safeway.
If perhaps I possibly did, rest assured it's strictly for research—k2 asked the other day who would be on my celebrity list, and I couldn't think of anyone except Mos Def, Clive Owen, and the character of Josh Lyman on West Wing. So it's clear that I'm out of touch on the critical issue of celebrity sexiness.
School me, People. Hypothetically. Ahem.
November 16, 2007
The little town that reads
Two posts in one day! Unprecedented. But I have to give props to my hometown (and home valley), featured today in the New York Times for being the readingest spot in the land.
If you click on the slideshow to the left of the article, you'll see nice shots of the Odyssey Bookshop, my childhood bookstore down the street from my dad's house; and the Montague Book Mill, one of my favorite places on the East Coast. Broadside Bookshop, also mentioned in the piece, is another long-time family staple about a mile from my mom's house.
Born in the "Valley of the Literate" . . . that probably explains why it's taken me a week to pack just the books in my living room.
If you click on the slideshow to the left of the article, you'll see nice shots of the Odyssey Bookshop, my childhood bookstore down the street from my dad's house; and the Montague Book Mill, one of my favorite places on the East Coast. Broadside Bookshop, also mentioned in the piece, is another long-time family staple about a mile from my mom's house.
Born in the "Valley of the Literate" . . . that probably explains why it's taken me a week to pack just the books in my living room.
Snaps, sir
If you think copyeditors are reserved, formal, heady creatures permanently chained to our desks, you're a little bit right, but we can also kick some ass. Um, verbally.
Case in point, this recent excerpt from The Chicago Manual of Style's hilarious (if you're in my line of work) Q&A section:
Q. About two spaces after a period. As a U.S. Marine, I know that what’s right is right and you are wrong. I declare it once and for all aesthetically more appealing to have two spaces after a period. If you refuse to alter your bullheadedness, I will petition the commandant to allow me to take one Marine detail to conquer your organization and impose my rule. Thou shalt place two spaces after a period. Period. Semper Fidelis.
A. As a U.S. Marine, you’re probably an expert at something, but I’m afraid it’s not this. Status quo.
Case in point, this recent excerpt from The Chicago Manual of Style's hilarious (if you're in my line of work) Q&A section:
Q. About two spaces after a period. As a U.S. Marine, I know that what’s right is right and you are wrong. I declare it once and for all aesthetically more appealing to have two spaces after a period. If you refuse to alter your bullheadedness, I will petition the commandant to allow me to take one Marine detail to conquer your organization and impose my rule. Thou shalt place two spaces after a period. Period. Semper Fidelis.
A. As a U.S. Marine, you’re probably an expert at something, but I’m afraid it’s not this. Status quo.
November 11, 2007
Newfangled
Walking home today, I saw a middle-aged guy careening down the sidewalk on what appeared to be wheels. But he wasn't riding a skateboard or wearing Rollerblades. Did he have wheels attached to the bottom of his regular shoes?
No. He had two mini skateboards, one for each foot. They were squarish and silver, and they looked hard to manage. His legs kept shooting away from each other, since he basically had to face forward and sideways at the same time to stay balanced.
It was all kind of ridiculous, but he seemed to be having a blast. What will they think up next?
No. He had two mini skateboards, one for each foot. They were squarish and silver, and they looked hard to manage. His legs kept shooting away from each other, since he basically had to face forward and sideways at the same time to stay balanced.
It was all kind of ridiculous, but he seemed to be having a blast. What will they think up next?
November 08, 2007
Comfort zone
What comfort food has meant to me since as far back as my memory goes: mashed bananas on toast, cream of mushroom soup, and Domino's pizza. Don't worry, not in one repulsive three-course meal. It's situational.
English mother + any kind of ailment = mashed bananas on toast. I don't know if it was an honored Yorkshire tradition or an early parenting inspiration (can't leave the house, the kid's too sick...those bananas are about to go off...hey, here's a loaf of bread), but it stars in all my childhood sickbed memories. During a holy trinity of illnesses in spring 2005—flu, strep throat, double ear infection—it was the only thing I could stand to eat, once I could swallow. But if you offered it to me on a normal day, I'd be nauseated. Seriously, I don't even like bananas.
From seventh grade onward, staying home sick from school meant ordering Domino's pizza (terrible) and watching Dead Poets Society (fantastic). Every. single. time. Then I saw the Congo, creeping through the black, cutting through the forest with a golden track....
Following a round of jaw surgery when I was 15, I couldn't eat anything but protein milkshakes and soup for six weeks. "Eat" is the wrong word, really, since my teeth were busy being wired shut. It was a dark, dark time that turned me into a weepy pile of teenage angst but somehow didn't spoil my taste for milkshakes. I couldn't touch soup for about three years afterward, though.
That exciting anecdote doesn't explain why cream of mushroom soup is one of my comfort foods. It just is. It's warm and filling and doesn't require any real effort to make. Even so, I almost never get a craving for it unless I'm upset or diseased.
The end. Tra la la.
English mother + any kind of ailment = mashed bananas on toast. I don't know if it was an honored Yorkshire tradition or an early parenting inspiration (can't leave the house, the kid's too sick...those bananas are about to go off...hey, here's a loaf of bread), but it stars in all my childhood sickbed memories. During a holy trinity of illnesses in spring 2005—flu, strep throat, double ear infection—it was the only thing I could stand to eat, once I could swallow. But if you offered it to me on a normal day, I'd be nauseated. Seriously, I don't even like bananas.
From seventh grade onward, staying home sick from school meant ordering Domino's pizza (terrible) and watching Dead Poets Society (fantastic). Every. single. time. Then I saw the Congo, creeping through the black, cutting through the forest with a golden track....
Following a round of jaw surgery when I was 15, I couldn't eat anything but protein milkshakes and soup for six weeks. "Eat" is the wrong word, really, since my teeth were busy being wired shut. It was a dark, dark time that turned me into a weepy pile of teenage angst but somehow didn't spoil my taste for milkshakes. I couldn't touch soup for about three years afterward, though.
That exciting anecdote doesn't explain why cream of mushroom soup is one of my comfort foods. It just is. It's warm and filling and doesn't require any real effort to make. Even so, I almost never get a craving for it unless I'm upset or diseased.
The end. Tra la la.
November 01, 2007
The sweetest words ever spoken by an automated phone system
"Your jury duty is complete for one year, and we thank you for your service."
Since it's ship week and there are piles of paper the size of an overgrown toddler waiting in my inbox, this means justice has been served.
And I didn't even have to leave my desk.
Since it's ship week and there are piles of paper the size of an overgrown toddler waiting in my inbox, this means justice has been served.
And I didn't even have to leave my desk.
October 30, 2007
A little fall
The BCS is back! Is it her swan song? Possibly.
But before she'll even consider exiting stage left, she invites you to take a gander at these autumnal scenes.
Yes, it is a royal sort of day. Or so one presumes.
But before she'll even consider exiting stage left, she invites you to take a gander at these autumnal scenes.
Yes, it is a royal sort of day. Or so one presumes.
October 26, 2007
Office space
On Monday, my computer at work decided not to turn on. Poof! Dead.
So now I have to use an intern's old Mac mini, which is just as adorable and silver as it is likely to crash after running InDesign for more than an hour. I have named it Dupree.
You're cramping my style, Dupree. Hop to it.
So now I have to use an intern's old Mac mini, which is just as adorable and silver as it is likely to crash after running InDesign for more than an hour. I have named it Dupree.
You're cramping my style, Dupree. Hop to it.
October 23, 2007
Miationary
strungover strung • o • ver adj (2007)
1 : experiencing a state of fatigue, muscle tension, self-pity, irritability, and cold-like symptoms immediately following a prolonged period of intense editorial entrapment when a : accompanied by the realization that the extra work is not truly necessary and probably not that useful but feels intellectually obligatory, and has for years now b : exacerbated by a potential 30-day period of added physical, emotional, and financial stress caused by displacing and replacing oneself in different cities with an offensive amount of stuff c : compounded by the removal or suppression of love d : resulting in a profound suspicion that all of this is self-inflicted and the inflictor should really, come on now, just get up from the computer, get a grip, and get some damn sleep.
1 : experiencing a state of fatigue, muscle tension, self-pity, irritability, and cold-like symptoms immediately following a prolonged period of intense editorial entrapment when a : accompanied by the realization that the extra work is not truly necessary and probably not that useful but feels intellectually obligatory, and has for years now b : exacerbated by a potential 30-day period of added physical, emotional, and financial stress caused by displacing and replacing oneself in different cities with an offensive amount of stuff c : compounded by the removal or suppression of love d : resulting in a profound suspicion that all of this is self-inflicted and the inflictor should really, come on now, just get up from the computer, get a grip, and get some damn sleep.
October 17, 2007
October 12, 2007
Bright lights, big city
I love Oakland. I do. But even on this cold, rainy day in my drafty cube, I have to say—I’ve been feeling San Francisco lately.
I’m a charmed wanderer in Telegraph Hill (see below): RJ’s, Coit Tower, Levi Plaza, the busy piers, long lunchtime walks up the slopes and down through North Beach, and my very first city office a few blocks away on Lombard, in case I get nostalgic for ’99.
I’m a shutterbug downtown: the pricey cornucopia at the Ferry Building, the lean and elegant architecture, the curving cable-car tracks, the eye of MOMA, the half-buried ship at Yerba Buena, tea at Samovar, cocktails at B.
I’m a happy weekender in Noe: coffee at Martha’s, brunch at Fattoush, fruit and honey at the farmers market, foofs on Clipper.
I’m a greedy consumer in the Haight and the Richmond: everything used at Amoeba, shelves of Canteens at Booksmith and Green Apple, costumes at Buffalo Exchange, kitchen gear at Kamei, happy hours at Club Deluxe, the palate cleanser of windy jogging paths through Golden Gate Park and the Presidio.
I’m at home in the Mission: burritos at Papalote and Cancun, readings at the Make-Out Room, music at the Elbo Room, drinks at the Latin American, tango and run-ins at Revolution, party shirts at Weston Wear, books at Dog Eared, friends everywhere.
To be fair, the list is even longer for the East Bay—about 12 years’ worth, give or take college and France—but something tells me if there were ever a time to cross the bridge, it’s getting to be right about now.
We’ll see.
polefaces, telegraph hill
I’m a charmed wanderer in Telegraph Hill (see below): RJ’s, Coit Tower, Levi Plaza, the busy piers, long lunchtime walks up the slopes and down through North Beach, and my very first city office a few blocks away on Lombard, in case I get nostalgic for ’99.
I’m a shutterbug downtown: the pricey cornucopia at the Ferry Building, the lean and elegant architecture, the curving cable-car tracks, the eye of MOMA, the half-buried ship at Yerba Buena, tea at Samovar, cocktails at B.
I’m a happy weekender in Noe: coffee at Martha’s, brunch at Fattoush, fruit and honey at the farmers market, foofs on Clipper.
I’m a greedy consumer in the Haight and the Richmond: everything used at Amoeba, shelves of Canteens at Booksmith and Green Apple, costumes at Buffalo Exchange, kitchen gear at Kamei, happy hours at Club Deluxe, the palate cleanser of windy jogging paths through Golden Gate Park and the Presidio.
I’m at home in the Mission: burritos at Papalote and Cancun, readings at the Make-Out Room, music at the Elbo Room, drinks at the Latin American, tango and run-ins at Revolution, party shirts at Weston Wear, books at Dog Eared, friends everywhere.
To be fair, the list is even longer for the East Bay—about 12 years’ worth, give or take college and France—but something tells me if there were ever a time to cross the bridge, it’s getting to be right about now.
We’ll see.
polefaces, telegraph hillOctober 04, 2007
Lazybones
I admit it: Flickr is easier and faster than my photography blog, if nowhere near as satisfying. It's like the drive-through of photo sites.
But I seem to be extra busy this month, so please excuse my artistic sloth and take a look at some delightful pictures of my trip to the homestead and an assetful weekend in wine country.
Photo essays with real stories (made of actual words and thoughts) are forthcoming . . . any day now.
But I seem to be extra busy this month, so please excuse my artistic sloth and take a look at some delightful pictures of my trip to the homestead and an assetful weekend in wine country.
Photo essays with real stories (made of actual words and thoughts) are forthcoming . . . any day now.
September 27, 2007
Possible high point of my life
I just hung up the phone from a conference call with Barry Manilow, Brian Boitano, and Dorothy Hamill.*
Yes, this is completely true. Don't all line up to touch me at once. The glow should last a while.
I love my new job.
Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarry!
Yes, this is completely true. Don't all line up to touch me at once. The glow should last a while.
I love my new job.
Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarry!* Weird footnote: If you do a search on Google Images for "brian boitano barry manilow," you wind up with this picture of Bill Cosby in the first page of results. Can any of my Google buddies tell me which part of the algorithm made that choice?
September 25, 2007
Toot, toot
I'm back! And I have the color half of my photos developed. There's one black-and-white frame left to shoot in roll #2, and damned if I won't find a way to use it.
While you wait for me to finish being obsessive about scanning and posting, here's a musical interlude. Some clever Wesleyanites put together this hilarious tune. Warning: It's rated PG-13 and probably only funny if you went to college there. But if you did, it's really, really funny.
Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I lived in Butterfield B (aka The Butts), Hewitt 10 (on Foss Hill), high-rise, and 32 Brainerd—and I spent quality time in the squash courts. If you get through the whole song, you'll understand.
While you wait for me to finish being obsessive about scanning and posting, here's a musical interlude. Some clever Wesleyanites put together this hilarious tune. Warning: It's rated PG-13 and probably only funny if you went to college there. But if you did, it's really, really funny.
Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I lived in Butterfield B (aka The Butts), Hewitt 10 (on Foss Hill), high-rise, and 32 Brainerd—and I spent quality time in the squash courts. If you get through the whole song, you'll understand.
September 13, 2007
Bicoastal
Off to the homestead for my annual fall visit! If you need me, I'll be frolicking in a big pile of leaves on Rte. 47 for a couple of weeks.
I might post from the East Coast office, aka my middle-school bedroom that my mom claims to have finally made into a guest room, despite all the poster holes in the walls and those goofy glow stars all over the ceiling . . . or I may take a li'l break from computering. We'll see if my willpower holds out.
In the meantime, please enjoy these photos of my crash course in ultimate at Golden Gate Park. No, I didn't play—I'm pretty much frisbee-challenged—but it was a kick watching k2 and his crew do their thing.
Autumnally,
The BCB
I might post from the East Coast office, aka my middle-school bedroom that my mom claims to have finally made into a guest room, despite all the poster holes in the walls and those goofy glow stars all over the ceiling . . . or I may take a li'l break from computering. We'll see if my willpower holds out.
In the meantime, please enjoy these photos of my crash course in ultimate at Golden Gate Park. No, I didn't play—I'm pretty much frisbee-challenged—but it was a kick watching k2 and his crew do their thing.
Autumnally,
The BCB
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