Buena suerte

I'm sure you all remember Morse as fondly as I do. But after an appropriate mourning period, I replaced him with a first-generation iPhone that a coworker's friend had lying around. And like any good soccer mom, I projected all my hopes and dreams into his name: Suerte.

It's been more than a month, and he's lived up to it so far. In celebration, here are some photos I snapped with his crappy built-in camera. It's probably a lot more information than you need about my life, but hey—you're already reading my blog, so you have time on your hands.

Inaugural photo: What happens when you take a dusty road trip and don't wash your car afterward. Then come the cats of the night.


This is my trusty Pentax (i.e., real camera). I think I took this shot to assuage my guilt at going digital for even a minute.


Least consumer-friendly company name ever, and it doesn't even have the excuse of being Japanese:


Cooly and I took a trip to the Vivarium in Berkeley. This cheeky fellow was flirting with us:


Big snake, little box:


Gecko bellies!


At Sola Lucy, I found this cute Diane von Furstenberg dress for $56—an insane deal, but I couldn't bring myself to spend that much on any one thing at a thrift store. I'm working on the mental block.


Every year since she turned 16, I've made my childhood friend Stephi a birthday mix. Here's what it looked like this year (plus a bonus disc):


On inauguration night, I noticed these two signs while leaving 111 Minna. It's funnier if you know what the Power Exchange is. (Impressionable relatives, don't Google it.)


All sorts of exciting books land on my desk at work. One must-have volume featured useful things you can knit for your pets, like this classic hamster yurt:


On Superbowl Sunday, certain people got smoochy. All you need to know about the chicken and dog hats is that I have awesome friends.


During the walk home from yoga one day, I got a big kick out of the window of Dog Eared Books. Double score!


Wait, what's that on the left? I can't see it in your crappy photo.


Last weekend, Mr. Finney brought me to a schmoozy party at Gershoni design. Their offices are under a supercool dome.


After a while, everyone whipped out their iPhones at once to decide where to go next. I almost passed out from the sheer urbanity of it all.


My righteous big brother sends flowers every Valentine's Day. He started when I was in college, and I don't plan to ever discourage the habit.


By the time my carpool got to Tahoe on V-Day night, the early arrivals had decorated the kitchen with balloons and candy. It inspired me to write this Sweethearts haiku. If you can read it, I'd like to trade eyes:


On the drive back from Tahoe, we stopped for pizza during a blizzard. These napkins made up for the fact that it took seven hours to get home.

Soyspiracy theory

During my new year's road trip, I spent time with some thoughtful and very well trained practitioners of bodywork and alternative medicine. In discussions of how to take better care of ourselves, a couple of them said—emphatically—that soy is not beneficial to health, contains minimal protein, and has been known to increase the risk of breast cancer.

Since soy is a central part of my diet and (so I thought) one of my main protein sources, that freaked me out. I've been eating cereal with soy milk for breakfast every weekday for years, and I have tofu as a main dish at least a few times a week.

For most of January, I tried to avoid soy: I switched to rice milk in the morning, cut back on tofu, and even bought some dried TVP at Safeway (weirdly, Whole Foods doesn't have it). But I don't know how to cook the TVP and—for real, pinky swear—I love the taste and texture of tofu.

So although I take my friends' opinions seriously, I decided to do some research of my own before making any permanent diet changes. Here's what I learned.

Soy contains phytoestrogens, a type of chemical that can act like estrogen. Higher exposure to estrogen over a woman's lifetime has been strongly linked with increased breast cancer risk. However, "it is currently unclear whether phytoestrogens from soy foods affect breast cancer risk."

A handful of widely publicized studies have been done on the impact of soy on women's health, but nearly all were conducted in Asian countries where women consume diets that are much higher in soy than standard American diets, and all were conducted on small (200 subjects or fewer) groups of women, many of whom were postmenopausal. The results did not indicate that their lifetime soy intake had significantly affected their health.

Studies have also been done on breast cancer patients to see if soy actually has a beneficial impact on their illness. Other studies indicate that consuming soy during puberty may decrease a girl's risk of developing breast cancer later in life. But again, the results were mixed, inconclusive, and controversial.

All of the dozen or so scientific articles I read suggested that since we know very little about the long-term effects of soy on women's bodies, the best idea is to consume soy in moderation and not to worry about it—unless you're a postmenopausal woman who already has cancer, in which case you may want to limit your intake, just in case. When combined with healthy eating (fruits and vegetables, very little sugar, the usual stuff) and regular exercise, soy consumption has not been proven to increase the risk of breast cancer and may even help lower it.

As for the level of protein in soy, the FDA recommends 25 grams of soy protein per day as beneficial for heart health, and the agency reports that replacing animal protein with soy protein lowers fat intake while supplying your body with many of the same nutrients as lean meat. A four-ounce serving of firm tofu contains 13 grams of soy protein.

Whew. Now let's fry up some tofu. I'll bring the TVP if you can figure out what to do with it.

Snapshots

When Amy was in town, we spent most of Sunday afternoon taking a photo walk through the Mission and the Castro. I usually prefer black-and-white horizontal framing in the city, but lately I've been feeling more colorful and vertical.

I wound up shooting almost the entire roll on a short block of Fair Oaks, just around the corner from my house. I'd never been on it before, and it had a lot of great small details.

Here are a few of my favorites. The rest are stashed over here.

Running for office

I got up an hour early to run this morning, so I could make it home in time to shower and head downtown for inauguration viewing with coworkers. Usually it's dark when I reach the gym and light when I leave, but today it was dark for both. Obama: Worth a run before sunrise.

No matter how far I run, I like to sprint the last short stretch. It takes the kind of energy I can only summon when I know I'll get to slow down afterward. In honor of our 44th president, that final push will now be called the Obama Minute.

I'd offer him even more of my time, but let's be honest—I can't sprint for eight years straight.

Congratulations, Mr. President.

Warmed over

Sorry for the brief hiatus. We just finished shipping the February issue, thanks to several late nights and most of Saturday; and Amy was in town from BA, so we had some very important wandering and shopping and eating and dancing to do.

Tonight I have a little downtime at home and I finally got my surly scanner working again, so you can see what snowy Mt. Baker and my nephew the Stormtrooper look like. It's probably strange to post these photos after SF temperatures hit the 70s today, but that's just how I roll.


I owe a bunch of you good people email and phone calls. I promise to get on that as soon as I finish drinking tea and sleeping for about a hundred hours. Give or take.

In the meantime, please enjoy today's special bonus: My unexpected guest appearance over at the Sensible Rebel, penned and photographed by a longtime travel friend.

1,700 miles into aught nine

Gibson is covered in grime and proud of it. I wore everything in my suitcase, including the extra hats. This was a four-hat trip. The weather cooperated beyond expectation, so we didn't even need to dip into the emergency food box my brother made me pack (along with a sleeping bag, extra oil, extra windshield fluid, chains, wool socks, and flares). OK, I didn't have flares.

The only letdown was forgetting extra camera batteries, but I managed to squeak a few shots out of the old Pentax toward the end. Coming soon.

Eugene is a sweet town, complete with friendly displaced hipsters, a great dive bar, and a bakery with blueberry–cream cheese vessels for sale. There's no cell reception in Fox Hollow, but the woodstove rules. I slept in the standalone hut and wore giant galoshes to get around. CE's people are generous with their space and their mad culinary skills.

We made road mixes to help ease out of last year. I sang with Dolly Parton and Bonnie Raitt in the car along 5, for hours. Those ladies can bring it.

Mount Baker is covered with tightly packed Douglas firs, heavy with crystallized snow. Their roots must be impossibly tangled. The drive to the lifts was like passing through Narnia.

We took a hike on the second day, after a lazy morning. I tried to make a snow angel but Avi said it looked more like a butt angel. Josh is still fierce when he channels Wham. I'm glad we've grown seamlessly into our adult selves.

'Tis the seasons

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

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.

Score! Happy Chanukah. I'm going to bed now, to dream of a world where errands are easy.

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.

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.

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."

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.

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

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.

—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

—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.

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."

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.

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.

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.

Upstairs neighbor haiku

THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP CRASH! THUMP
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP

More bitter haiku is here.

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.