A Smack of Ham

Every Time a Bell Rings...

2008-12-17T23:10:00.000-08:00

My sister is downstairs poking out "Joy the the World" on the piano keys and I can hear my dad growling in his best Jimmy Stewart voice, "Does she have to keep playing that over and over?" Right on cue my sister wails, "Oh Daddy!"

Love 'em.

Currently To Read:

2008-12-09T22:32:00.000-08:00

Two Years Before the Mast, R. H. Dana
Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov
Proust and the Squid, Maryanne Wolf
The Stranger, Albert Camus
The Grapes of Wrath, John Steinbeck

Travels in Europe

2008-12-08T14:49:00.000-08:00

Lately I've come to think Rick Steves may just be the perfect man.

Yes, Rick Steves of the khaki shorts and huge glasses - who nasally imparts travel wisdom like "packing light is essential for happy travel" and "to get away from all the tourists, simply walk the back streets."

Think about it: he'd probably pay your airfare, teach you all kinds of money-saving tips, know all the best attractions, and introduce you to someone in every country.

Plus, those big ol' glasses are unfortunately back in style.

2008-11-29T22:59:00.000-08:00

Nice Thanksgiving playing with the last few Polaroid exposures and mauling the bambino.

Isn't my sister glamourous?

Playing hide-and-seek with his dad.

Ghost Town

2008-11-25T15:01:00.000-08:00

It's raining in San Luis Obispo.

I got caught in it trying to walk downtown from Emily's house in De Talosa. At first it was just a few drops speckling my coat as I walked along Madonna, but by the time I'd reached South Higuera, water was dripping off my bangs onto my glasses - turning the traffic lights into festive smears of red and green. I finally reached my destination soaking wet, ringing out my scarf as the good folks as Linnaea's warmed my heart with espresso. Coffee shops were made for days like this; groups of friends chatting over tea lattes while the rain pours down on the grey city and Frank Sinatra croons over the speakers.

I can't help wondering when I'll be back here. But the town is different now, emptier - although I know the void is a lack of friendship and not a lack of humans. Everywhere I see shiny young faces, boring in their unfamiliarity. Driving at midnight the streets are empty.

This empty shell of a town isn't mine anymore, and like Mary Poppins would say, that's as it should be.

I Hate You, Urban Outfitters

2008-11-18T17:42:00.000-08:00

It was just a matter of time before word of my (one time) unique necklace reached the head honchos over at Urban Outfitters...

boo.

2008-11-18T16:01:00.000-08:00

2008-11-09T00:23:00.000-08:00

No matter where I am or what I'm doing, every once in a while I remember, we have a new President. And I can't help smiling.

One of the French guys who own the wine-tasting business next to my work had a baby on the 4th. "I don't know which I cried harder for," he says, "my son, or the election." A new country, a new child, a new life for Luc.

Our regulars have been especially lovely lately. A man offered to nurse our poor bald orchid back to health today. After he had a triple by-pass surgery recently, everyone sent him orchids and he found that the notoriously finicky plants flourished under his care. The secret, he tells me, is to avoid watering it too much. "They don't like standing water."

Honestly, I may miss these people more than a little. The familiar faces break up the workday and provide a short respite from the fake customer service shtick. There's Stan, the lonely middle-aged man with a bull-ring piercing, whose lifelong partner died ten years ago, leaving him a priceless art collection and rare Marlene Dietrich memorabilia; Jonnie, who calls me sweetie and brings me flowers from her community garden plot; and who could forget Charlie, the early 40-something chainsmoking poet with the soul of an ADD five-year-old who works as a clerk in an office to pay for his $400/month shared room but who lives to somehow involve himself in everything else in the city, from radio to making anthologies, to acting in independent movies.

What an interesting time we live in.

A Hell of a Town

2008-10-26T14:37:00.000-07:00

I'm in Chelsea, in New York, in a hostel, eating a Whole Foods salad (in which I kind of wish I hadn't included dried cranberries), with five minutes and fifteen...fourteen seconds left of internet time left.

Today I:

Saw the Statue of Liberty from the subway (how is that possible? It goes over a bridge to Brooklyln).

Fell in love with Brooklyn brownstone neighborhoods, with pumpkins on the front steps and leaves piled up on the sidewalks.

Went to a Brooklyn flea market and found the cowboy boots I've been searching for for years (for $25! No one here wears them).

With just a minute left (I'm slow), I'll just say that I'm off to the Upright Citizen Brigade show tonight (impov w/ Amy Poehler!). Love you.

Pearls of Wisdom

2008-10-21T00:59:00.000-07:00

"Take my advice: don't do heroine.
Just smoke pot,
and beat off about three times a week."
--Toothless middle-aged man chugging champagne on the Muni.

It's no argument that San Francisco is one of the weirdest places I have ever been. My roommate and I attribute the strange behavior we see to the lack of peer judgement. Everyone is so out there that after a while, you stop listening to the old man screaming "Fuck you all! I'm going to kill you all!" on the Muni and don't bat an eye when a middle-aged drag queen with sequins stuck to her face asks you where she can buy pot. And so life goes on; and people continue limping through the daily races. It should be liberating to know you can do anything (and I mean anything) and not be judged, but it's not; it's heart-achingly lonely.

Happy Birthday To Me!

2008-10-13T09:11:00.001-07:00

Twenty-four.

Here's something that made me smile this morning:

Ok, "smile" is a bit euphemistic. "Squeal, laugh, and say 'awwww!!!!'" is more like it. My cousin's baby already has a Halloween costume; I need to get thinking of one for when I'm in New York! All my good ideas involve me in drag (Marty McFly, anyone?). Why are boys' costumes so much cooler? I refuse to be a slutty nurse/red riding hood/maid/bumble bee...

I had some deep birthday thoughts this morning, but they have unfortunately been replaced by thoughts of PANCAKES (my roommate is taking me out for brunch).

Much love.

Hard Candy Christmas

2008-10-11T13:42:00.000-07:00

Like the geese, I'm heading South for the winter.

Hey, maybe I'll dye my hair

Maybe I'll move somewhere

Maybe I'll get a car

Maybe I'll drive so far

They'll all lose track.

Me, I'll bounce right back

Maybe I'll sleep real late

Maybe I'll lose some weight

Maybe I'll clear my junk

Maybe I'll just get drunk on apple wine.

Me, I'll be just

Fine and dandy

Lord, it's like a hard candy Christmas

I'm barely getting through tomorrow

But still I wont let

Sorrow bring me way down

Hey, maybe I'll learn to sew

Maybe I'll just lie low

Maybe I'll hit the bars

Maybe I'll count the stars until dawn

Me, I will go on

Maybe I'll settle down

Maybe I'll just leave town

Maybe I'll have some fun

Maybe I'll meet someone

And make him mine.

Can you tell I've been listening to the 8-album Dolly Parton CD my co-worker made for me? Good times.

Poetry Friday

2008-09-19T21:26:00.000-07:00

You Reading This, Be Ready

Starting here, what do you want to remember?
How sunlight creeps along a shining floor?
What scent of old wood hovers, what softened
sound from outside fills the air?

Will you ever bring a better gift for the world
than the breathing respect that you carry
wherever you go right now? Are you waiting
for time to show you some better thoughts?

When you turn around, starting here, lift this
new glimpse that you found; carry into evening
all that you want from this day. This interval you spent
reading or hearing this, keep it for life -

What can anyone give you greater than now,
starting here, right in this room, when you turn around?

- William Stafford

A Query

2008-09-18T01:20:00.000-07:00

Is it possible to think about exes without getting physically sick to your stomach?
Tell me, what's the secret? I'd really like to know...

And in unrelated news, I've finally found a church I can believe in:
http://www.theway.org/Current/Mar07/Mar07Flash4.htm
They know the way to my heart is jazz squares and catchy showtunes.

Bright Lights, Big Hair

2008-09-15T00:49:00.000-07:00

It's like in a Hitchcock movie, you know,

where they tie you up in a rubber bag

and throw you in the trunk of a car.

You find people.

--Corky St. Clair, "Waiting for Guffman"

A couple weeks ago, a random customer came into my work and asked me if I wanted to be a hair model for her senior show. When I agreed, I didn't know it was going to be a runway show with costumes, professional makeup, etc.

...and look what they did to my hair! It was HUGE!

This Little Piggy Went Shopping

2008-09-08T00:13:00.000-07:00

Ugh. I just threw up a little. Hello, PETA? I'm guessing this is some type of commentary on designer brands and greed / Western consumerism / blah blah. Conveying a message through "art" is fine, but dang, let these little piggies stay home!

Get Me Away from Here, I'm Dying

2008-09-06T10:24:00.000-07:00

With a winning smile, / The boy with naivety succeeds / At the final moment, I cry / I always cry at endings.

Generation Gap

2008-09-02T21:39:00.000-07:00

I think old people are full of shit.

Shit = cliches. Don't get me wrong, I like old people more than most. I'm obsessed with the lifestyle and intricacies of their past. I love their stories, their homespun grit, the way they go to restaurants as a couple and always order the same thing. But I've never heard anything ground-breaking from their wrinkled lips. I love and respect them, but sometimes respect means smiling and nodding your head at a piece of advice so cliched it's become meaningless.

Marriage advice: "Don't go to bed mad!" / "Keep a sense of humor!"
Occupational advice: "Find something you love!" / "Never give up!"
Life advice: "Learning is a lifelong pursuit!" / "Never give up!"

Today was my favorite day of the month: free museum day. Former first Tuesdays have found me scrutinising Frida Kahlo's unibrow at SFMOMA and gaping over Dale Chihuly's candy-like glass sculptures at the de Young, but until today I had never been to The Legion of Honor way out in the very far Northwest corner of San Francisco.

"It's a miniature Louvre!" I thought to myself as I walked into the courtyard. The architecture, the miniature glass pyramid in the courtyard, all echoed the Parisian museum. Gorgeous. My sentiments were echoed by an elderly self-described "Latin American" gentleman who approached me as I was gazing at a 17th century armoir.

"Are you French?" he asked me out of the blue. I was very flattered, but soon my mind wandered when with no encouragement he started bragging about his son (architect, Harvard, Columbia, blah blah blah). I tilted my head and widened my eyes and said "wow" and other appropriate remarks. "I tell my son, 'Learning is a lifelong pursuit,'" he nodded, "Like this - this is learning, this is history." No shit, old man. When his soliloquy turned to politics ("Obama is a good speaker, but I don't think he has what it takes to run this country. But McCain is even worse! And if he dies that lady he chose will be president...") I bowed out as politely as possible. This is why I don't talk to strangers!

My point is that the only advice I've ever heard from the elderly are the things most people figure out by the time they're twelve. Maybe their words are more full of meaning than we hear, and they just have a limited vocabulary to express their wisdom. Or maybe we're just learning more at a younger age. I do believe "The Greatest Generation" (those who grew up during the depression and WWII) were the last decent generation, but their problems were simpler in those days. Makes me long for a time when a cliche could help me.

Full of Things I Want to Set on Fire

2008-07-04T13:11:00.000-07:00

I'm gonna hopefully forget you
And quit those nightmares I've been having
Every night, every day, it's the same, so hard to explain
A million pounds won't be enough to make me stare back at your face
That's what I left behind.

CCS, "Left Behind"

(Photo credit: Kotama Bouabane)

2008-07-03T20:01:00.000-07:00

At the desk where the boy sat, he sees the Chicago River.

It raises its hand.

It asks if a metaphor should burn.

--Bob Hicok, from "In Michael Robins's class minus one"

Hello Lucky

2008-06-19T21:19:00.000-07:00

I can barely move.

Even sitting still my legs ache like the growing pains I thought I had long outgrown.

But I feel good.

The last few days I've been happy to be here, for the first time in almost nine months. Showing an out of town visitor around often shines a different light on familiar surroundings, and recently San Francisco has been glowing with the incandescence of a mother-to-be.

AJ and I trekked the trails of Muir Woods, the streets of Sausalito, downtown, the gardens of Yerba Buena, Marin Headlands, North Beach, Alcatraz, Fisherman's Wharf, and braved bitter midnight winds for AJ's coveted night photography.

In Muir Woods we played "Gay or European?" as we circumvented the throngs of tourists, eventually leaving them behind for secluded trails between ferns, across fallen trunks, and over musical streams. Have you ever seen the clusters (there is no better word) of monarch butterflies that migrate to the Eucalyptus groves at Grover Beach in November? Until this week I never knew ladybugs did the same thing. Then we noticed a clump of red on a leaf. I had never seen so many ladybugs in one spot until I looked down and noticed the forest floor was swarming with them. They were under our shoes, in our shoes, in our sweatshirts, in our hair. Thousands, maybe even millions in this one spot. Why? They say ladybugs are supposed to bring good luck. If that's the case, we were overwhelmed with luck - enough luck to last a lifetime.

Alcatraz was, of course, the expected tourist trap. What was unexpected was the sadness I felt as I listened to the audio tour. Part of it was the melancholy I always feel around urban ruins, but another part was the fact that these cells were home to the men society, their families, and even the men themselves had given up on. As the tour spit me out into the gift shop, amongst the Alcatraz sweatshirts, keychains, and replica tin cups, I noticed an elderly man sitting at a desk. At first I assumed he was a cashier, but a closer look revealed that he was a former inmate who was signing his book. No one was buying it, or even acknowledging his presence, and again I felt that same pity and loneliness I had looking into the bars.
There is nothing like a wide-angle perspective to gain insight into the everyday, and this week I drank in vistas like so many glasses of ice water - first overlooking the bay from Marin Headlands, then cruising back from Alcatraz,

and finally peaceful under a full moon.

I am lucky.

I Was Not Looking for Arty Farty Love

2008-06-10T22:53:00.000-07:00

This song makes me feel everything's right in the world.

Digesting 1972

2008-06-02T19:34:00.000-07:00

Do people still make time capsules? I remember it was all the rage at the turn of the century. In high school I even wrote a letter to my 30-year-old self, but since I remember most of it I doubt it will be a surprise if I locate it again in six and a half years (one brilliantly inspired line: "did you ever find a career you like and get to do everything you wanted to do? I hope so!!")

A few weeks ago, I found a time capsule of sorts in the most unexpected place - a torn cardboard box I passed on the sidewalk as I was running to catch the Muni. As I looked down I noticed it was filled with old magazines. Three and a half decades old to be precise. With ten seconds to spare, I shifted Women's Day to unearth a pile of ancient (in a magazine's lifespan) Reader's Digests from 1972. I grabbed three copies and shoved them into my bag before hopping on the Muni. It wasn't until I settled in and opened an issue that I realised just how valuable a find I had made.

It seems the world of 1972 was far more distant that I assumed. The younger generation (hippies) was continually mystifying, drugs were terrifying and dangerous, and so were "women libbers." Between advertisements from the Sugar Council ("Sugar. It isn't just good flavor; it's good food") and speculatory articles about where the country was headed ("[By 2000] to relieve urban congestion and air pollution, most cars for city travel will be small, low-speed vehicles powered by batteries, fuel cells or synthetic fuels") I found an article entitled "But Women Are the Favored Sex" by a certain Mrs. Elsieliese Thrope. It may be one of the most offensive and hilarious things I have ever encountered. From the get-go, you've got to admire that cartoon of a cavewoman Jane smiling contentedly whilst being dragged off by a scowling Tarzanical caveman. Mrs. Thrope certainly makes a watertight argument against Women's Lib. Some of my favorite quotes (sorry about the scan quality):

When Women's Lib first appeared on the horizon, I was amused. A bunch of disgruntled eccentrics with a phobia about dishpan hands, I figured.

It is she who decides whether it will be hot dogs or steak tonight... What man, on a job, can set his standards that way?

If I need to talk to another adult, I can always holler across the fence at my neighbor, call my aunt in Boston, or arrange for tea with a friend.

...And my personal favorite:
Back in the Stone Age when some lonely Cave Man found himself a suitable mate, he didn't ask her. He just pulled her home by her long tresses, caveman fashion. And I'll bet the poor helpless sex object was actually enjoying what was in store for her.

It seems Reader's Digest has always been filled with disaster stories, even in 1972. My co-worker and I reminisced once about reading the same story in an issue from the '90's where a couple of campers were mauled by a bear (in graphic slow-motion detail). I read it when I was ten and walked around shell-shocked for days. But besides the scare-tactics, these Reader's Digests represented a much more conservative, religious, sexist, and condescending tone than the issues I grew up on.

Now, if you'll excuse me I have to buy some cold cream for these dishpan hands.

Hormonal Manipulation

2008-05-23T00:27:00.000-07:00

This BBC story details how a recent study found that a snort of the hormone oxytocin increases trust in test subjects, "even after they were betrayed." You can read all the gory details yourself, but basically a nasal spray is being developed to help phobics -with the terrifying aspect of this development being what it could do in the wrong hands. Am I being a little too James Bond about this, or do you too picture a bald man stroking a cat and purring, "Yes, yes. Soon, my pet. Soon they will bow to our bidding. Even as we speak, the hormone is seeping into their brains, rendering the amygdala defenseless"?

This is your brain on drugs

Another aspect of this article that leaves me uneasy is that I recall learning in PSYCH 201 that oxytocin is the "cuddle chemical," that creates mother-child bonds or makes a girl crazy after she sleeps with a guy (or girl?). That's what I hear, anyway. It's a dangerous substance. The phrase in the article about it increasing trust after being betrayed really terrifies me as well, especially in regards to relationships. I don't like the idea that a substance can impair your judgement or change your behavior (I mean, besides crystal meth, but that's different, that's cool).

Now, if someone could just create an oxytocin inhibitor, then that'd be good news.

I Got More Records Than the KGB

2008-05-17T22:54:00.000-07:00

Please draw your attention to the virtual jukebox to the right. I'm going to try to add some more songs later, but for now enjoy a brief selection of oldies and other songs I've had going through my head lately. Suggestions welcome.

Maybe the Sun Will Shine Today

2008-05-09T13:45:00.000-07:00

I'm weak.

I wrote my last entry before I decided to quit facebook, and due to a combination of my mom's dismay and the fact that I won't be on the 'book all day, I've decided to come back. Besides, I really like writing these.

Life goes on. I continue writing medicore flap copy for Chronicle. At my other job, Brainwash customers are a never-ending source of amusement (yesterday a beret-wearing Woody Harlson look-alike offerred me a job chaufferring his limosine "because I like to smoke joints in the backseat"). I went to Queer Night last night and waltzed with a creepy guy to Backstreet Boys. I've been doing a lot of watercolor and collage, and trying to care about the fact that I'm getting fat by doing ballet in my room to Bollywood music.

I'm still not sure where I'll be two months from now. My temporary job finishes at the end of this month, and while I'll still be working at Brainwash, it's not enough to keep me here. Presently the options are hearing back from one of the multiple jobs I've applied to at Chronicle (doubtful), staying here and trying to find something else, moving home and saving some money, moving to New York, moving to Portland...money is the brick wall I keep running into. My attitude toward money has always been disinterested at best, but the last year has taught me how lack of it can really detract from your quality of life and limit you from what you really want.

(My title is from the Wilco song, "Either Way" --> listen to it)

It's Over!

2008-04-26T01:19:00.000-07:00

Folks, let's just call this what it is.

I'm done.

I love you. Please keep in touch.

"I Started a Blog" by the Sprites

Stuff San Francisco People Like

2008-04-20T01:20:00.000-07:00

In the tradition of the inexplicably successful blog Stuff White People Like (soon to be a book, if you can believe it. Chronicle was outbid on this project), I have crafted my own entry to make sense of my fellow denizens of The City By the Bay.

1. Pet Causes. If there's one thing that gets a San Franciscan in a tizzy it's an injustice that doesn't affect their life, the further away the better. In fact, the further the problem, the angrier it makes them. Harvesting soy crops in Micronesia is destroying the endangered gruva moth: make a sign! Kids in Kazjekhistan aren't being immunized against mumps: post agro messages on an online forum! Oh, and they also want their pot vending machines in more convenient locations.

2. Scarves. I've never seen so many scarves as I have in the last six months. Part neck-warmer, part statement that says "I'm cooler than you." It's important to wear rayon-blend scarves, not knitted. The ubiquitous keffiyeh, considered a symbol of Palestinian nationalism, is another must for any self-respecting hipster.

It's important to make this face at anyone not wearing a scarf.

3. The Giants. Apparently some sort of sports team.

4. Hating Gavin Newsom. Who wouldn't hate him? He's young, hot, successful, engaged, rich... What a dickweed.

My mayor is hotter than your mayor. P.S., that's not his fiancee.

5. Hedonism. I've never felt like such a prude as in this city. How could I have never been to a sex club (yes, that is exactly what it sounds like - go to a building and have group orgies. There are separate rooms depending on your fetish: S&M? Guys only? Girls only? Furries?) done drugs, or had a one-night stand? Geez, what are you living for?

You party animal

"But if You Go Putting Up Pictures of Chairman Mao..."

2008-04-10T20:47:00.001-07:00

Some photos of the thwarted Olympic torch relay through San Francisco. Originally, the torch was supposed to cross the Golden Gate Bridge, but after protesters climbed the bridge and installed giant FREE TIBET banners across it in anticipation, the route was changed for security reasons. I took a lunch break on Wednesday and headed down to meet some people near 3rd and Market, where the torch was supposed to start its journey through the city.

Effing San Francisco and its pet causes. After dodging dozens of people thrusting clipboards with petitions in my face, asking me if I'm a registered California voter, I still had to make my way through the Darfur people, the alternative energy petitioners, and the anti-war contingent. And of course, thousands and thousands of Tibet picketers.

Policewoman stops to snap a photo with her camera phone

The Olympics and Darfur are inextricably (or is that "inexplicably"?) linked

This multitasker was simultaneously chatting on his iPhone, wearing a bike helmet (because people want to slap him upside the head?) and pants eight inches too short, waving a Tibetan flag, and talking smack to anyone who would listen.

After all that, they ended up changing the route at the last minute - apparently switching it up as they went. So hardly anyone got to see the torch, including press. A great prank on the city's part, especially considering the thousands and thousands of dollars this whole farce cost to execute.

...In Which I Geek Out Over Funny Men

2008-04-07T20:29:00.000-07:00

I couldn't be more excited about the upcoming movie "This Side of the Truth" - starring not only Ricky Gervais (who is directing), but also Christopher Guest. Two of, if not my favorite, comedians in the same movie. It's like my dream come true.

Tina Fey, Jonah Hill, Jeffrey Tambor, Jennifer Garner, and Jason Bateman have also signed on. It's like an orgy of funny. Although apparently Gervais' character tries to "woo" Garner's character and I find that a bit...ew.

The blog: This Side of the Truth
The man is a bloody genius.

Presidential Support

2008-04-06T12:23:00.000-07:00

This is from one of my favorite websites: Slow Wave. The artist, Jesse Reklaw, illustrates peoples' dreams that they send in. In the nature of dreams, they are usually bizarre and hilarious. This one reminds me of my dream I was McCain's escort...

Tranny?

2008-04-04T00:22:00.000-07:00

Random man at my work last night - as I'm wiping down tables and trying to close up:

"So I guess this is a one-girl operation, huh?"

*pause*

"You are a girl, right?"

Me: "What kind of question is that?!"

Rambles and Brambles

2008-03-29T22:45:00.000-07:00

As stated in an earlier post, I work at a laundromat.

It's actually a pretty cool job, very much like Steynberg in that they have open mics and music most nights and a cafe where I work most of my shifts. Tomorrow I work in the laundry room, though. There are no tips for the laundry shift, but the dirty laundry holds endless material for the imagination. People can either do their own coin laundry or drop it off and for a fee have us throw it in the machines for them - usually there's just a line of laundry bags and we don't see the owners, so I like to try to piece them together from the prAna shirt (does yoga) and the "mom jeans" (over 40).

Laundromats always remind me of a book I loved when I was little. It was about a bear (stuffed, of course) named Corduroy, who got left in one. I grew up thinking laundromats were urban and exciting - maybe that's why I don't mind working at one.

The cafe shift is more exhausting, with few breaks and constant running back and forth to ring up purchases, make espresso drinks, call food orders, take money, re-stock, clean, and enter phone orders. I like it, though, and the regulars are amazing. Yesterday I chatted with a guy who toured with Third Eye Blind and got a beautiful long-stemmed rose from a hobo.

Kate, one of my editors at Chronicle, asked me a few weeks ago if I would like to stay on for two months as a temporary editorial assistant while they look for someone to fill a position. Obviously, I jumped at the chance, but now I'll be working six or seven days a week between Mondays - Wednesdays at Chronicle and the second half of the week at Brainwash.

San Francisco is grey and cold. People are chronically disappointing. But today when I woke up I noticed the daffodils I bought last night at Trader Joe's had already unfurled from tight buds to bright yellow blossoms. Sometimes I wish the world was more about stuff like that.

I Guess You Guys Aren't Ready for That...but Your Kids are Gonna Love It

2008-03-25T23:50:00.000-07:00

Just try to tell me you're not in love with Marty McFly after watching this...

Wha' Happen?

2008-03-15T00:52:00.000-07:00

Dear San Francisco,

I had high hopes when I moved to you. Things started off well: I was dating an amazing guy, I had an exciting internship I thought might turn into a job, I had a couple thousand in my savings account, and I was living the good life. Now, half a year later, the guy is gone, my savings account is empty, I am working at a laundromat, drowning my sorrows in cheap PBR, and myspace-stalking people until 1am.

I still have faith in you, San Francisco. It's time to bring your A-game.

Much love, Haley

Eat, Drink, and Be Awkward

2008-03-10T00:39:00.000-07:00

As a certified "picky eater" I laughed out loud several times while reading this post on This Recording blog because I could relate to it so well.

Over the years I've overcome my fear of dogs and germs, but trying new foods always leaves me squeamish. It's completely embarrassing. For some reason people like to take issue with it as well, which always makes me feel much worse. I remember an Easter dinner when I was five or six when my teenage cousins were visiting. Everyone's plates were loaded with green beans, juicy slices of ham, and mashed potatoes. Mine held a tortilla with peanut butter. After saying grace, someone mentioned "all this good food" and I echoed "yes, it is good." "Oh, you're not even having any of it!" my older cousin snapped. I slouched down in my chair in humiliation, tears running down my burning face.

While it's one of the traits I've striven hardest to change, over the years I've accumulated a long list of immature ways to avoid awkward situations. These days I add several new foods a year - usually through pressure from boys (my ex-boyfriend made me try curry, which I ended up loving). Bananas and tuna fish sandwiches, here I come!

Cette Film est Magnifique!

2008-03-06T07:40:00.000-08:00

I recommend it paired with a couple glasses of Merlot and a cute boy...

Humpday Links

2008-03-05T11:09:00.000-08:00

Robot gives drug dealers a run for their money (Boing Boing).

Passive Aggressive? Rottenneighbor.com lets you tell them what you really think...online where they'll probably never see it...

I have about $20 coming to me because I bought Airborne two years ago. And you could too!

Where's Jack Black?

I guess that's it for me for now. I've got to go try to find a couch and cancel a gym membership. Wow, that sounds bad. Until next time, little dudes.

Weapons in the War of Ideas

2008-03-02T01:06:00.000-08:00

My roommate says soon publishing jobs won't exist because people are reading less and less. In this hypothetical world, where does that leave me?

I'm terrified of the future, for many reasons.

"Set Fire to the Face on Fire," The Blood Brothers

I Should Have Paid Attention to More Disney Movies' Morals

2008-02-28T00:11:00.000-08:00

Tonight I was looking at an eco-entertainment website that wanted writers (unpaid, of course) and I mentally sighed, thinking about how if I were to apply, first to make sure I was qualified I would have to start reading some similar blogs to get caught up on the latest "green" styles, celebrity news, etc.

There's something wrong there.

Ideally, instead of trying to figure out what I can do to fit into a required bracket, shouldn't I be pursuing what makes me happy and makes sense to me? And then if something comes along that fits my qualifications, all the better. There are so many jobs I've applied to where the interviewers made me feel inadequate for not matching certain specifications. There was the website that wanted someone with a stronger "craft" background; the stationary company that wanted someone with a stronger sales background, the website and the box office that wanted someone with more applicable experience. And I often feel that if I learned more about the "craft" movement, for instance - started reading all the blogs, knitting, bought a sewing maching, doing whatever else crafters do, I would have the job.

Even more painful is the regret that if I were somehow different - if I'd been interested in sports or hadn't used that choice of words - I would not have lost someone I loved. I know it sounds cliche, but is there every any value in adjusting yourself to a certain type of role - whether it's in a relationship or trying to find a job? And how long can you keep it up?

Text Adventure

2008-02-24T21:40:00.000-08:00

I don't normally like this lyric-less, dreamy "mid-fi bedroom pop" music, but Text Adventure - a Glasgow-based two man outfit - has caught my attention lately. I've had their song "Boobook (for R)" on my itunes for a while after some music blog hyped them, and it's a really beautiful warm bittersweet nostalgic instrumental song. I'm out of adjectives, you'll have to listen to it yourself.

Text Adventure, "Boobook (for R)"

Check out their Myspace for a couple free downloads (or add them - the poor lads only have 22 friends!). You can also search for them on Hype Machine - it scours mp3s recently posted on music blogs.

...Just Look for Cars First

2008-02-24T00:47:00.000-08:00

I have lost friends - some by death...others through sheer inability to cross the street.
- Virginia Woolf

I ducked inside a toy store in Yerba Buena to escape the pouring rain this afternoon, and saw a Virginia Woolf finger puppet with this quote. As soon as I had finished wondering why someone would buy a Virginia Woolf finger puppet, the quote sank in as especially true.

Please keep in touch. You know I will.

Busy Backson

2008-02-20T20:35:00.000-08:00

My mom might be the only one who gets that title, but it's from a Winnie the Pooh story if my memory serves me correctly. Just one of those stupid phrases that becomes ingrained in a family's vocabulary until it's almost meaningless.

After three interviews, errands, hours on public transportation, securing a "date" for my friend's wedding (thanks, Emily), and the typical mental anguish of a day in this city, I'm exhausted.

On my adventures I discovered something strange and amazing: a map vending machine at the AAA office. For months I've been wandering aimlessly or driving aimlessly, never remembering to pick up free city maps from AAA until I make a wrong turn and end up at Union Square when I'm looking for a store in the Marina. I finally remembered today and expected to walk into a AAA and be handed maps by an employee. Instead (I'm still gobsmacked by the idea) right inside the door was a machine you would typically expect to purchase a $1.25 bag of M&Ms from - filled with maps! AAA members need simply insert their membership card, select as many maps as needed by pressing A5 or D2 and the little wires uncoil to deposit a brand spanking new map.

I've noticed bizarre vending machines popping up all over the city lately. There's one that sells expensive perfumes in the mall in the hallway to BART, one that sells iPods and their various accessories in the Metreon center, and supposedly one that sells marijuana - I'll post a picture of if I ever find it.

Single Awareness? You're Not Alone

2008-02-13T18:21:00.000-08:00

Last night as I sat at the airport reading about the horrific botched attempt at the first electrical execution, my mind wandered to another form of cruel and unusual punishment: relationships.

People have some pretty strong views about Valentine's Day. If it isn't complaining about how this day has been hijacked by Hallmark and Hershey's, it's berating Valentine's Day as just another day where couples can gloat over how wonderful life is as a unit. I admit I have often been a part of the faction giving voice to how lame Valentine's Day is, but the truth is I don't hate it as much as I've claimed.

Growing up, Valentine's Day was never about a boy. Maybe it's because I wasn't in school, exchanging valentines in class and worrying about who I would give a Carebear or Ninja Turtles card to. I never even had a boyfriend on Valentine's Day until I was twenty. When I was young, the days before Valentine's Day were spent in the laundry room with paper doilies, feathers, stickers, colored markers, glitter, paper, and glue - making valentines for my family and relatives - or helping my mom bake heart-shaped cookies. That morning or the night before, we'd sneak down and place our valentines at each family member's place at the table - to be discovered at breakfast.

Romantic love, with a lower-case r, is fine, but it's just one of the facets (and in my opinion one of the most superficial aspects) of what Valentine's Day means to me. What about the love of family? The love of friends? Both are sadly ignored by the public perception of the holiday. Saint Valentine's name is derived from the Latin valens, worthy. Are friends and family less worthy of a day of celebration than a significant other?

To me, this is the truest love. The brother who can hardly wait for me to get home so he can show me the song he recorded on his new keyboard, holding the newborn cousin with a head as small and delicate as a peach, the dog who curls up next to me on the couch. Valentine's Day is about the fact that I have the ability to give love, to feel love.

I won't get flowers this Valentine's Day, but I have so innumerably much more.

How Can You Read This? It Has No Pictures!

2008-02-06T19:20:00.000-08:00

Intoxicated with that fact that with a click of a button I can order materials from any branch of the San Francisco library system to be delivered to the library at the bottom of my street, I requested books like crazy online. So now here I am, like a college student who doesn't understand how credit works. It was so easy to order all these books, but now I have to acknowledge the fact that I'll probably never get to them all. These books are like another stray to a cat lady or a child to Angelina Jolie. Putting my gluttonous behaviors aside, I can't read them all. As it is, there are books I've been working on since last summer.

1. Les Miserables, Victor Hugo. I'm on page 1180 out of 1463 and for the last dozen pages Hugo has been talking about not only the barricades built between the Rue de la Chanvrerie, but every barricade built in the city of Paris since then - their size, composition, etc.

2. One Hundred Years of Solitude, Gabriel Garcia Marquez. I haven't read this in so long I forget what it was about...besides the fact that everyone has the same name...

3. Reading Lolita in Tehran, Azar Nafisi. A wonderful book I got for Christmas about a group of girls who meet secretly to discuss banned books and life. I bet Oprah loves it.

4. Empires of Light by Jill Jonnes. The late 19th century has to be one of my favorite time periods ever. Combine that with a fascinating look at the evolution of electricity, and it's a recipe for Haley reading on the Muni. Plus, George Westinghouse was a hottie.

5. Proust and the Squid by Maryanne Wolf. I just got this one from the library and read the prologue, but I've been itching to read it ever since I saw it at Borders. It's a look at how the brain has actually evolved to read language - written by a neuroscientist. "Computer scientists use the term 'open architecture' to describe a system that is versitile enough to change - or rearrange - to accommodate the varying demands on it," writes Wolf. "Our brain presents a beautiful example of open architecture."

6. Little Heathens: Hard Times and High Spirits on an Iowa Farm During the Great Depression, by Mildred Armstrong Kalish. After I read about this book on the New York Times top ten list of 2007 I really wanted to read it. I love love love memoirs and books about the depression, and a book by someone named Mildred has to be good.

7. Wizard: The Life and Times of Nikola Tesla, by Marc J. Seifer. Oh Tesla, you are so weird and fascinating. You only do things in multiples of threes and hate women's earrings, but I can't stop reading about you. Sadly, this book looks pretty thick - I don't know if I'll be able to get through it before I have to return it.

Reactions On Watching Sixteen Candles

2008-01-31T23:03:00.000-08:00

"I see you've gotten your boobies!"

In what universe does a father wink and give his daughter the "ok" sign as she gets into a stranger's car to go lose her virginity?

Ew. 80's people are weird.

Sisterly Advice

2008-01-29T00:03:00.000-08:00

"At 23 I dont think it's quite time to settle for drug dealers or prophets."
--a girl close to my heart

They Called Him the Man Who Invented the 20th Century

2008-01-27T22:35:00.000-08:00

Before last night this was about all I knew about Nikola Tesla.

Then, I heard a radio show about him as I was driving through the rain-drenched streets of San Francisco and couldn't stop listening to his amazing history.

Born at midnight during a lightning storm (or so the story goes), Tesla began his career working with Edison, but their differing views on electrical current (Edison's DC current required a power station every two miles, but Tesla's stronger AC current could light a whole city) began a lifelong feud.

Tesla gained notoriety for hundreds of inventions, including remote control, spark plugs, radio, and wireless communications. With financial support from tycoon JP Morgan, Tesla began building his Wardenclyffe Tower - a huge transmitter which would supply unlimited energy worldwide. When Morgan heard about this, he exclaimed "If anyone can draw on the power, where do we put the meter?" and promptly withdrew his support, forcing construction to end. Sadly, the remains of the 187-foot tower were used for scrap metal during the first world war.

In addition to his fascinating contributions to life today, there's an eerie mysticism surrounding Tesla. He was very eccentric, obsessed with germs, celibate, spoke eight languages, would listen to radio waves for hours thinking he heard signals from Mars, and at the time of his death was working on a machine that could read memories.

Years after his death, during the Cold War, officials became concerned The Enemy had gotten hold of Tesla's writings for a "Death Ray" - a theoretical machine involving charged particle beams and enormous amounts of energy. Though so far the energy could only be manifest in a vacuum, the fear prompted the Star Wars initiative.

Want to know more? Me too. Here's an interesting short video. Click.

Bienvenue, Mon Petit Chou

2008-01-23T21:24:00.000-08:00

My cousin had a baby today!

Kairo Alexander Hook getting his hair washed for the first time.

I didn't know hospitals do that.

Tonight's Sunset from My Room

2008-01-21T19:52:00.000-08:00

Wow. I'm still speechless.

I was making some chai on the stove when I noticed the intense light streaking sideways across the kitchen floor. It seemed bizarre, since it was grey and rainy all day. I peeked out the front window and the houses across the street were luminated a bright orange against the denim sky. I grabbed my camera and shot this photo from my bedroom right before the sun faded.

Tuesday, Wednesday Break My Heart

2008-01-09T23:34:00.000-08:00

Sometimes my heart literally hurts when I think about how much I miss SLO...

The good news is, two days 'til I'm back! I can't wait.

Emily Speaks in Her Favorite Font

2008-01-08T22:29:00.000-08:00

iTunes My Mind Toward Politics!

2008-01-08T21:49:00.000-08:00

In the iTunes store, search for "presidential candidate profiles" for an interesting series of short videos ABC News made on the biography each of the leading candidates. It's not entirely still applicable, since I found out right after watching them that Joe Biden and Chris Dodds have now dropped out of the race.

What is interesting is how almost all of these interviewees have had an inordinate amount of hardship in their lives, whether it was emotional (Obama's abandonment, Edwards's son's death) or physical (McCain's POW torture). Is the response of overcoming a hardship to strive for "success" only evident in extroverts (and how could you not be one if you were running for president?) or is this response universal? In other words, is it just circumstance that these men have had difficult lives or have their experiences caused them to achieve the places they are today?

"How dare you, D'Artagnan! And smack 'em"

Sonorus!

2008-01-07T18:59:00.000-08:00

Seeing as how I'm pretty much a worthless void right now I might as well try to make myself useful. Listening to the Ricky Gervais podcast at work I heard that voice over acting is extremely profitable. Now, ever since I saw "The Little Mermaid" when I was five I've wanted to be the voice of a Disney princess. Every time I talk to Emily she says "Please Haley, do the voice for a Disney movie. Please!" (as though I can just walk in and accept the part). I don't think I'd ever land something that gargantuan, but voice over work does sound fun. When I worked at KCPR I think I had the most fun when I could read those little public announcements on air. Hmm. To find out more about it I typed "how to become a voice actor" into the google search engine. The first article stated steps to achieving this goal:
(Abbreviated)
1. As a child or teenager, take acting and voice lessons and do plays.
2. Work a few shifts as a disc jockey for a local radio station.
I could hardly believe my good luck. First two steps - CHECK!

La Vue de la Mer

2008-01-06T22:06:00.000-08:00

I finally figured out what the area I live is called. Being categorized feels good:

The Ocean View district has always been intrinsically tied to transportation. Started as a community built around a railway station, the Ocean View grew from a valley of dairy and vegetable farms to a vital urban neighborhood.

Alemany Boulevard, the Interstate 280 freeway, and BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit) took the place of the old steam locomotives, as the Ocean View continues to host the paths from San Francisco to the Peninsula.

Originally an Italian-Irish-German neighborhood, the Ocean View was one of the few places in post-World War II San Francisco where African-American families could buy property. During redevelopment in the Western Addition/Fillmore in the 1960s and 70s, more African-American families moved to this western neighborhood. In the past five years, relatively lower real estate prices have brought in a new influx of Asians, Latinos and Caucasians, making Ocean View one of the most culturally diverse neighborhoods in San Francisco.
--From the OMI Website

I think I am one of those "Caucasians" that they accuse of looking for cheap housing in the last paragraph. Seeing as my parents have been bugging me to put up some photos of my house, now might be as good a time as ever.

My house, right-side-up.

...Hill taken into account.

My street.

Muni stop where I wait every morning. The library is that yellow building across the street.

The hill looking up toward my house. Steeper than it looks here.

I Will be a Shooting Staaaar

2008-01-02T23:02:00.000-08:00

Today I randomly came across this, my one foray into film acting, on youtube. This is hilarious, if you haven't seen it:

Ode to the Forgotten

2007-12-28T20:39:00.000-08:00

At my internship about 15% of the work is copying or printing out galleys (basically, the book printed on 11x17 paper), filling out a form, and sending both to the Library of Congress - where the information will be registered. You know that page at the beginning of books that lists something like ISBN 978-1185733498. Travel > United States > Arizona > Grand Canyon. That's where they get that information to print in the book and keep on their files. Yesterday I printed out the galley for a book called Night Vision by Troy Paiva. It's a fascinating photography book of abandoned places in the Southwest. Check out the link to his website, Lost America under my links. Apparently Mr. Paiva is a leader in a movement called UrbEx, or Urban Exploration. These explorers seek out the forgotten, the deserted, the hauntingly decrepit places that were once full of life, but now lie silent. I became completely immersed in the book and read nearly the entire thing. The photographs were achingly lonely and made me want to steal a nice SLR and join the Urban Explorers pronto. It's so fascinating how nature reclaims these structures - left to their own devices like weeds. Plus, the idea of trespassing appeals to me. I remember when I was little reading in something like (but not necessarily) National Geographic, a story of the Salton Sea. It boomed as a lake resort in the '50s, but once it began to dry up, motels and gas stations were abandoned. The photographs gave me chills.

And so the mission to visit the Salton Sea, Bodie Ghost Town, etc, begins...once I get my camera, that is...

The Cave Mouth Shines by Pure Force of Will

2007-12-27T19:58:00.000-08:00

In between paying off my student loan (Freudian slip - mistyped that as "load") and trying to find a gym (again, mistyped that as "guy") and applying to jobs, I forgot to be heartbroken. I don't know why I'm not sadder about breaking up with my first semi-serious boyfriend and constant companion since I moved here, but I'm not going to question it. I feel great, but there's also an overshadowing hesitancy that this could all come crashing down on my head at any moment. In the meantime, I will walk alone and explore and work at a radio station and maybe audition for a play and get a real job. Chronicle Books is hiring a publicity assistant and a marketing assistant and I'm going to apply for both this weekend.

This place is weird. I see transvestites and pimps (legit ones, if you can call pimps legit - not just frat boys dressing up for Halloween. I never knew people really dressed in those calf-length fur coats with a red-plumed hat) and human waste on the sidewalk walking back from work. Then again, today was strange in general. Once I got off the Muni the streets were nearly deserted compared to the normal 8:45am rush. Everyone is still savoring the plush glow of Christmas, I suppose, wrapped in a blanket watching new dvds or reheating a feast of leftovers that bloom deliciously from tinfoil buds.

I Wish My Smile Was Your Favourite Kind of Smile

2007-12-17T00:02:00.000-08:00

There's a new trend, or maybe not so new trend, in English singers affecting a cockney London accent to appear more "common." I don't know if Kate Nash's is real or not, but I'm starting to love her. She's just so open and needy. I completely identify with it. Fine, I'm needy. I don't care. She looks like Jenny Lewis and is way cooler than Lily Allen. Take the following lyrics to "The Nicest Thing" - currently playing on repeat on my itunes. Isn't this exactly what every girl thinks? Some of us (unfortunately not me) are too grown up for sentimentality, but you know if you were thirteen you'd be listening to this and crying.

Kate Nash, The Nicest Thing

All I know is that you're so nice.
You're the nicest thing I've seen.
I wish that we could give it a go,
See if we could be something.

I wish I was your favourite girl.
I wish you thought I was the reason you are in the world.
I wish my smile was your favourite kind of smile.
I wish the way that I dressed was your favourite kind of style.

I wish you couldn't figure me out.
But you always wanna know what I was about.
I wish you'd hold my hand when I was upset.
I wish you'd never forget the look on my face when we first met.

I wish you had a favourite beauty spot
That you loved secretly
'Cause it was on a hidden bit
That nobody else could see.

Basically, I wish that you loved me.
I wish that you needed me.
I wish that you knew when I said two sugars,
Actually I meant three.

I wish that without me your heart would break.
I wish that without me you'd be spending the rest of your nights awake.
I wish that without me you couldn't eat.
I wish I was the last thing on your mind before you went to sleep.

Look, all I know is that you're the nicest thing I've ever seen
And I wish that we could see if we could be something.
Yeah I wish that we could see if we could be something.

The Luminous and the Dark

2007-12-16T10:45:00.000-08:00

Are you what is called a lucky man? Well, you are sad every day. Each day has its great grief or its little care. Yesterday you were trembling for the health of one who is dear to you, today you fear for your own; tomorrow it will be anxiety about money, the next day the slanders of a caluminator, the day after the misfortune of a friend; then the weather, then something broken or lost, then a pleasure for which you are reproached by your conscience or your vertebral column; another time, the course of public affairs. Not to mention heartaches. And so on. One cloud is dissipated, another gathers. Hardly one day in a hundred of unbroken joy and sunshine. And you are of that small number who are lucky! As for other men, stagnant night is upon them...

The true division of humanity is this: the luminous and the dark.

- Victor Hugo, Les Miserables

Gingerbread Outhouse

2007-12-09T16:34:00.000-08:00

Laura, a former intern at Chronicle Books where I'm interning, invited me to a gingerbread decorating party today at the apartment of a friend of a friend. At first it sounded fun. Then, we were instructed to buy a gingerbread-house making kit and assemble it at home the night before. The kit I found was produced by the Wonka candy company (a corporation whose products, no matter how good, can't help being a set up for disappointment. The everlasting gobstoppers are not everlasting! Where's the soda that makes you float? Where's the tasty wallpaper?) and failed to include one of the walls. In an act that would impress any Cal Poly architecture major I moved the pieces around and improvised until I had constructed something that looked a little like a house and could stand on its own while the icing dried. George called it a gingerbread outhouse.

I'm a bit surprised how popular these parties are. This is the third gingerbread house decorating party I've gone to since I started college, but nothing prepared me for the lengths Becky, the girl hosting the party had gone. She had her apartment completely decorated, with a Christmas tree and a holiday collar on her cat. A video of a crackling fire was playing on her tv, and she had made dozens of different snacks (like bacon wraps, spinach filo puffs, sausage and cheese biscuits, crackers, and cookies). She offered us a choice of eggnog, mimosas, champagne, or hot apple cider. Even the tables were decorated with different gingerbread house photos she'd printed out glued to the tablecloths.

And everyone loved the gingerbread outhouse.

The World, in its Cold Way, Started Coming Alive

2007-12-04T21:42:00.000-08:00

I know I'm supposed to post a new Christmas song today to keep things neat and orderly. I like neat and orderly - everything as it should be and out of mind. But I just can't. I don't feel neat and orderly. I feel dead and worn down. And I'm not even taking finals like most people I know. My roommate/landlord just sent me an email for a $112 utility bill this month, NOT split, and now that the anger has passed (I'm really only here half the week, while he sits here with all the lights on all day) I just want to lie on my bed and be emo and listen to The Mountain Goats. This music heals me in an inexplicable way. I know John Darnielle's voice is whiney and more talking than singing anyway. It's the way he lets small things touch his heart. I need people and influences in my life like that.

I miss having friends.
I miss George.
I miss Sarah.
I miss Emily.
I miss Brittany.
I miss Eric.
I miss riding my bike.
I miss $585 rent.
I miss Amy.
I miss Faith.
I miss Lana.
I miss Stephen.
I miss Arlo.
I miss my family and anyone I didn't mention yet, except for ex-boyfriends.
I miss feeling comfortable.

The Mountain Goats, "Woke Up New"

The Countdown Continues

2007-12-03T20:50:00.000-08:00

As badly as I wanted the Liza Minneli / Alan Cumming version of "Baby, It's Cold Outside" for today's song, all the links to said song are disabled. You can still go listen to a sample on itunes, but I'm afraid that's as good as it's going to get (and oh, that would have been good, my friends).

In lieu of that treat, I have Jack Johnson's version of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. I actually really like this - Jack's bouncy, easy guitar works great with the tune, and he even adds another verse where the other reindeer apologize to Rudolph for not letting him play their reindeer games. Perfect.

It Don't Snow Here, It Stays Pretty Green

2007-12-02T21:06:00.000-08:00

Today I realized it's the second day in December, and remembered that years and years ago I would have been opening the second little door in my cardboard advent calendar. They were the ones filled with tiny chocolates in vague Christmas shapes, like an elf or a boot. Those three weeks saw me waking up and rushing downstairs each day to check what the shape for the day would be. As more and more cardboard flaps opened, Christmas inched closer at an aggravating speed.

In honor of those days, I have a sort of musical advent calendar for you. Each day I'll try to post a new Christmas song (two today to catch up). Parents: to listen to the song, click the link. To save it to your computer, right click on the link and hit "save target as."

December 1: I'm starting off with my favorite so far. I discovered this beautiful Feist cover of "Lo, How a Rose E'er Blooming" and I can't stop listening to it. It's not one of those classic "get you in the holiday mood" songs, but it's so pure, and Leslie Feist's voice is perfect.

December 2: Another more sombre track, but this one I simply must include because of my undying affection for Meg Ryan's character in "You've Got Mail." In one scene she writes, "It’s coming on Christmas. They’re cutting down trees. Do you know that Joni Mitchell song? 'I wish I had a river I could skate away on'? Such a sad song! And not really about Christmas at all, but I was thinking about it tonight as I was decorating my Christmas tree, unwrapping funky ornaments made of Popsicle sticks..."

The Red Phone

2007-11-26T19:07:00.000-08:00

My favorite thing about living in San Luis Obispo was how (unless you stayed indoors) it was nearly impossible to go a whole day without seeing someone you knew. In my late summer stupor, bored and injured (alcohol, skinned knee), I at least managed to sit out on my front porch most days reading a six-inch copy of "Les Miserables," eating Trader Joe's Vanilla Almond Crunch cereal, and saying hello to people I knew walking by our house. Even John Fino, the bearded, uni-dread-ed spirit-channeller from Linnaea's, walked by at least once a day, once telling me "I want to talk to you sometime" (It never happened).

Here comes the surprising part: San Francisco is like that too. A city with a population (according to the 2000 census) of roughly 800,000 shouldn't behave like a small college town in the sticks with a population of 45,000...or should it? People are more or less the same wherever you are. What's surprising to me is how often I run into the small number I recognize over and over again. My roommate Dave showed up at The Fly Bar by George's house. I ran into Tom (the LucasArts guy), who I met through George's British ex-pat group, at the BART station. I bumped into a girl I work with at the Rickshaw Stop during a promotional party for a book called Broke-ass Stuart's Guide to Living Cheaply in San Francisco (apparently we're both lured by free food).

These encounters are the most bizarre, however, when you start to recognize random people you've seen before in public places: the middle-aged homeless man on the BART with hair that looks like a net, the girl who reads Harry Potter on the 21 bus... Friday night I sat at the San Diego airport for over an hour waiting for my flight back to San Francisco. Eventually I grew tired of listening to music, and started observing the people around me. I thought nothing of a teenage guy pulling out his cell phone, until he unzipped his backpack and pulled out a bright red telephone receiver. He proceeded to somehow plug the receiver into the bottom of his phone, then chatted away happily, unaware of the surprised glances from strangers. As soon as we got off the plane, there he was again at the BART station, again talking on that phone.

I recalled this instance while riding home on the Muni tonight. I wondered if he was afraid of the cell-phone radiation, or just felt nostalgic for the grip of a plastic handle. I had concluded he was just trying to be unique and hipster cool, when I noticed the same guy was up ahead on the same MUNI train as I. I knew it was him because he was wearing the same tri-colored jacket.

Small world!

No Car = No Fun

2007-11-20T13:18:00.000-08:00

This morning I thought I smelled bacon cooking when I woke up.

I went downstairs.

It was my mom cooking a catfish for our dog.

Meet Me in the Stacks...

2007-11-18T16:35:00.000-08:00

Appropriately delirious from staying up all night to catch my 6:20am flight home, I would have napped all afternoon if my sister hadn't sent me a text message saying "Ugh! Why do guys hit on you at the library? I came here to get away from people." Apparently she had settled in on the 5th floor (an area she assumed to be harmlessly remote) when some dude came and sat right next to her and tried to strike up a conversation. Apparently he had seen "The Prince and Me," a horrible Julia Styles movie with a grammatically awkward title (why couldn't they have gone the way of "The King and I"?) that I have mostly blocked out of my head besides the scene where Julia and the Prince try to get it on in a library. What I took to be hot as an 18-year-old no longer seems like such a sexy idea. Seriously? In a library? Remember that "Friends" episode where Ross got angry about people having sex in his dissertation's aisle? You know this guy talking to my sister was thinking, "hot AND smart! Score!" Believe it or not, Casanova, the library is not an ideal place to meet women.

She just wants to get back to analysing the significance of iambic pentameter in Macbeth

Don't tell me you haven't imagined it: You sit down five feet from a beautiful girl in sweats with stacks of books and various snacks arranged on her desk - oh yes, this one will be here all day. You calmly but noisily begin unpacking your materials, hoping to catch her eye with your white Macbook. She looks up and frowns. That's the signal to start workin' it. Ask her something like, "come here often?" or "Do you think Emily Dickinson was gay or just agoraphobic?" Lean back in your uncomfortable and threadbare chair to show her that you put the stud in studying. After a bit, find the biggest book in the library and appear deep in thought at how its non-linear plot structure supports its use of dramatic irony. At this point, she will look up and say something like, "I just hate Chaucer. I can't understand the Prioress's Tale at all." Come over and sit next to her. As you go to turn a page, your hands inadvertently touch...

Just stay away from my sister!

Sad, but True...

2007-11-18T00:27:00.000-08:00

I'm as corny as Kansas in August...

C'mon Chemicaaaaals!

2007-11-14T23:47:00.000-08:00

I apologize in advance for two concert posts in a row. No more until Andrew Bird in early December. I promise.

Monday I got an e-mail saying I'd won two free tickets to the Of Montreal concert in a contest sponsored by The Onion newspaper - for the next night! I didn't even remember entering, but was not about to let an opportunity to see the eccentric indie pop quintet pass me by. Although I haven't heard all their songs, "Heimdalsgate Like a Promethean Curse" is probably in my top five favorite songs of all time.

If you just clicked that last link, these photos will come as no surprise to you:

The Kiss. Rodin ain't got nothing on these two.

I want his boots.

Kevin Barnes, lead singer. Or as Wikipedia aptly puts it, "front figure."

The Great American Music Hall - a phoenix that spread its wings from the ashes of the 1906 San Francisco Earthquake.

Jag Elsker Dag, Jens Lekman

2007-11-10T11:14:00.000-08:00

Last night I was fortunate enough to attends Jens Lekman's concert in San Francisco with George and his visiting friend Paddy.

A group called Throw Me the Statue opened, and other than a few songs, I didn't care that much for them.

Throw Me the Statue, "About to Walk" - one of their good songs:

They played about six songs, then it was time for Jens, who is surprisingly more attractive, likeable, and less awkward in person (despite a story about how he once took a vow of silence, "Little Miss Sunshine" style, I imagine). Also, if you've ever listened to his music, it's no surprise that he likes the ladies. Of course, he would have to have an all-girl back-up band: accordian, trumpet, sax, violins, drums, bass...

Afterward, Bimbo's 365 Club, which is a pretty swanky joint, busted out the disco ball and started a dance party. I really wanted to stay, but I was just with the wrong company, I guess.

I miss SLO.

Dadaism

2007-11-03T17:01:00.000-07:00

Only in San Francisco would a shaving-cream pie fight break out on Market Street on a Friday afternoon.

Right in front of the tourists...niiice.

I went to run on the beach today, which consisted of less actual running (two minutes, I timed it), and more wandering, composing poetry in my head, petting peoples' dogs, watching sandpipers run in and out of the surf, and picking up halves of sand dollars. It was probably 80 degrees, without the wind I'm used to at the beach, so I kept wading in the freezing water until my feet cramped. I'd been feeling a bit out of sorts lately, and today was exactly what I needed to re-coup.

Untitled

2007-11-03T00:39:00.000-07:00

Scary Happenings in the City

2007-10-30T21:59:00.000-07:00

It was over before I could decide whether I needed to go stand in a doorway or not.

I rode through on the Bart less than an hour earlier.

As I was researching these stories, I found out that singer Robert Goulet died.
No one under 40 would have ever known who he was if it wasn't for Will Ferrell...
I don't care if he's Notorious Big, can he croon?

My New Job

2007-10-30T21:46:00.000-07:00

Weirdest Thing I've Seen in SF So Far:

2007-10-28T11:30:00.000-07:00

At a British Ex-pats meeting at a bar called Etiquette (who really gets into the Halloween spirit - complete with Haunted Mansion-style decor and bowls of fun-size candy on the bar), out of nowhere a person, clad head to toe in a green lycra catsuit, face covered, with a small featureless doll-like mask suspended where its face should be. It started on a platform, on all fours, slinking around and gyrating, then jumped to the ground and glided between peoples' legs across the floor.

Beside that obvious horror, the meeting was fun. If you've seen the movie "Superbad" I met a guy who looks a real-life version Fogell character. I swear. It's him ten years older with an English accent. He works for LucasArts (George Lucas's company) doing the sound effects for video games. George and I are going to go miniature golfing with him and his wife.

Christopher Mintz-Plasse, the actor who plays the role in the movie.

Unrelated photo from Baker Beach. Please note iconic bridge in background.

Will Somebody Hit the Lights?

2007-10-22T15:49:00.001-07:00

Saturday night was supposed to be Lights Out San Francisco, a city-wide energy conservation attempt. George, his roommate, and I hiked up the street to Alamo Square park, thinking we'd have a great view of the San Francisco skyline suddenly going black. At least that's how I envisioned it. Instead, we could hardly discern a couple buildings (like the TransAmerica pyramid and City Hall) with most of their lights off. Nothing else changed, but at least I got a cool nighttime photo.

I'm concerned about my family. I just got off the phone with my mom in Encinitas, where wildfires are causing mass evacuations. As it was, I could only talk a couple minutes because she said they're asking residents to avoid using their cell phones so the airwaves are clear for emergency signals. Right now they're sitting indoors with all the windows shut because the ash and smoke are clogging the air outside. It's nothing unusual, as unsettling as it is. Every year the fires are back, right on schedule in October.

My sister likes to recall the year (actually exactly eleven years ago today) of the Harmony Grove Fire. That night, on the eve of her eighth birthday, we stayed up almost all night watching the news to see if we would be evacuated (the Aitchisons down the street were all packed and hosing their roof as midnight rolled around and a firefighter on the news said, "these fires always just burn straight out to the ocean"). But the fire brigade managed the fire before we were evacuated, and Emily lived to see her eighth birthday (despite her pessimistic sister's runaway imagination), and her ninth, and tomorrow her nineteenth. Happy birthday, Emily.

And now some photographic evidence of how my days consist of waking up at ten, laying in bed until eleven, and walking around cool places with a cute boy:

Bay Bridge from Coit Tower area

Golden Gate Bridge from the other side of Coit Tower

Fat lazy tourists contemplating fat lazy sea lions

Beach near Golden Gate Park

Cute old couple walking on the beach

Golden Gate Park

View from my new room

The Opposite of Hallelujah

2007-10-20T16:04:00.000-07:00

Alcohol ruins everything.

I don't understand the line between having a few social drinks and binge drinking every night of the week. Why do it? It's not impressing anyone. I'd be interested if anyone could explain to me why it's important to drink so excessively that you black out more than once a week. Sure, I've been drunk, and I have a lovely scar on my knee to remind me that it's a stupid idea! Even if it happens every couple months it's understandable. If I'm really upset about something I just want to join my friends at reggae night and get drunk off $2 Red Stripes. But if it's a regular occurrence, is it normal or alcoholism? Where do you draw the line?

It's red beer, Mon!

I had the pleasure of spending time with the incomparable Amy Tietz this weekend, and we did a lot of walking, shopping, and watching season two of "The Office." I'd forgotten how good it is just to hang out with someone you can be yourself around - to not have to worry about having every second planned out, but spend an hour talking at lunch in a cafe or wandering the racks at Buffalo Exchange.

Elle est adorable.

We were going to join G to watch the rugby final at the Mad Dog in the Fog, an English pub in the Haight district. We were on our way, dressed in the appropriate red and white English team colors (or, more appropriately, colours), when he called from the bar to tell us that it was packed and they were charging a $20 cover charge. Frick. Disappointing, but England lost anyway, and Amy and I had fun perusing the Haight-Ashbury area instead.

Como Agua para Elefante

2007-10-16T20:41:00.000-07:00

I started reading Water for Elephants today. After a couple days, the BART commute, while retaining its glory, fails to require complete vigilance. The book's about a circus, which I like; it's set in the Depression - another plus; and it manages to incorporate old people as well. For some reason books from the perspective of the elderly fascinate me. I was a little disappointed to find out it's written by a woman, since the narrator is a guy. It seems like such a female perspective that I have to keep reminding myself the protagonist is a boy.

Speaking of books, people keep asking me what I do at this internship. Here's a sample of my day today:

8:55 - Get to work, find out I got moved to another computer (from which I can't access my e-mail account), and spend the next 15 minutes trying to set up Outlook on the new computer before Kate, one of my editors, sends a tech guy to help.
9:20 - On Mondays and Wednesdays another (apparently messy) girl shares the new computer with me. I move my stuff over to the new desk, straighten up, and dust.
9:30 - Kate asks me to research a proposal for a coffee table photo book about greyhounds and I read the proposal, go online to assess interest level in the subject and existing similar books, and e-mail her back my results and opinion.
11:00 - Home Publishing Group Meeting. The editors for the Home section (things like knitting books, decorating, animals, crafts) meet to discuss future projects, marketing, and how to match the success of Stuff on My Cat. I play the role of fly on the wall, and eat the Pirate's Booty someone brought in.
1:00 - Begin logging in book proposals and try to print rejection letters, but the new computer isn't hooked up to the printer I need and I can't find it on the computer to add it. I e-mail helpdesk guy again. Turns out it was easy. Embarrassing.
2:00 - lunch break, after which I keep logging rejected proposals and returning manuscripts, photos, portfolios, prototype books, for Bridget, my other editor...basically the valuable stuff people send in but we don't want to publish.
4:45 - I fit in a quick editing job for Kate before heading off at 5:00. Probably my most successful day yet. I forgot to say that a large part of this job involves walking back and forth to the beautiful, clean, high tech kitchen for tea/coffee/hot chocolate and large amounts of non-dairy creamer. Preferably all three at some point during the day.

Soft October Night

2007-10-11T18:58:00.000-07:00

This is too perfect to pass up. Thanks, Faith!

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,

The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes

Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,

Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,

Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,

Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,

And seeing that it was a soft October night,

Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

--T.S. Eliot, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

(Click below to hear the poem read by the poet...wait through the commercial. Is it just me, or does Eliot sound a bit like the caterpillar from "Alice in Wonderland"?).

SF Loves You!

2007-10-10T21:43:00.000-07:00

There's so much to do here it's overwhelming. Festivals every weekend and concerts every night (not that I've gone to any...YET). I thought I'd share a few photos from the last week.

Alamo Square. The row of Victorian houses are the apparently infamous "painted ladies." So far all I know about this park is that there's a great view, half the park is "dog crap central" (according to G), and it gets really cold and windy there in the evenings, like today as we sat on a park bench trying to eat pizza.

Golden Gate park...no buffalo in sight...

...just some weirdos.

The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
-Carl Sandburg, "Fog"

In front of a Hayes St. apartment. I appreciate the quotation marks.

I got on the BART going the wrong way tonight, but at least I got to see the Oakland BART station (and I will never make the mistake again).

Look Out Upon the Myriad Harbour

2007-10-10T09:41:00.000-07:00

I'm sick.
It started with a sore throat when I woke up yesterday morning, and by the time I got to work I had a headache and a full-fledged fever, complete with aches and chills. So instead of going out and walking around at lunchtime as usual, I settled myself on one of the bizarrely modern couch-shaped pieces of foam on the top story of the Chronicle office building with Spin Magazine's punk issue, my 1/4 of a Thyme rotisserie chicken (leftovers from dinner), and the tail end of a bag of Trader Joe's spicy flax seed chips (the best part of the bag because by that time it's mostly just spice). I could see people walking around on neighboring rooftops, a flag flapping in the wind, and straight ahead, a barge that seemed to float between the gray water and the gray sky. It's cold here.

Sorry I've been MIA lately. My own mother calls to make sure I'm still alive. Sorry, Mom; yes, yes I am. I'm going to blame it all on G. I will never be that girl who ditches everyone to hang out with a boy, but I don't yet have any friends here anyway, so it works out nicely. It just means that my boxes and boxes of moving items remain on the floor of my room, unpacked, and I don't update this as often as I'd like to.

He's currently left to catch the 21 bus downtown to attend the San Francisco School of Bar-Tending, a $400 2-week course filled with hopeful middle-agers intent on finding a new career. They say that within two nights you've recouped the cost of the lessons in tips.

I went back to San Luis Obispo last weekend and everyone kept asking the same questions: how are you liking San Francisco? Where are you living? What do you do at your internship? I wished I could just get them all together and answer those questions once instead of robotically nodding my head and smiling: Yes, I am liking San Francisco. Everything is going fine.

Get Your Own Coffee

2007-10-03T10:03:00.000-07:00

You know in movies how interns are always depicted as running to the corner Starbucks to get their boss a nonfat sugar-free caramel macchiato, or in charge of getting their hands on the unreleased issue of the new Harry Potter book (that was so unrealistic in "The Devil Wears Prada")? My internship is not going to be anything like that.

You want me to do what?

The Chronicle Books office is beautiful and contemporary - all brand new and modern and colorful. Everyone who works there seems to be in their early 30's, fashionable, and married or engaged. My two editors, Kate and Bridget, are going to be great. After an hour-long walk/BART ride/walk to the beautiful area of SOMA, I was given a tour of the office, then set to log and mail out rejection letters. You wouldn't believe the ideas for books these people propose: "101 Things to Do on the Back of a Harley Davidson," "The Drugs Are Great! The Upside of Depression." They just got worse from there.

I met a girl who is an intern for the Fiction section, and tried to contain my jealousy. That's much closer to my niche than the Craft / Architecture / Home section I'm working in now. Another great thing about being an intern (in addition to unlimited tea) is the opportunity to sit in on meetings. A couple hours after I got there, I accompanied Kate to her meeting where scones were shared and target audiences were discussed. The woman presenting used the company that owns Urban Outfitters and Anthropologie as an example. Urban Outfitters is targeted toward (supposedly - we all know it's a lot younger) 18-30 hipster types. Anthropologie is supposedly marketed toward 30-45 year old women. In the same style, Chronicle Books has to decide what for demographic each book they market is designed.

18-30?.....................................30-45?

Today G and I are going to Ikea to find furniture. I have a good lead on a desk from craigslist, but I have to somehow rent a truck to move it. Also on my to-do list are go to Golden Gate Park and explore Ingleside (my neighborhood). I hear there's a big mall around here...

Gettin' 'Frisco-y

2007-10-01T19:23:00.000-07:00

Is this real?

I look out my new bedroom window onto a hillside of twinkling yellow lights. The branches of several scrawny pine trees are silhouetted against the last remnants of hazy sunset light beyond the ocean.

An hour ago my new roommate Dave took me to the nearby beach, where a fifteen minute hike down an iceplant-covered hill opened out to pristine sand and an orange sun hovering over the waves. We discovered a piece of a 100 year old shipwreck beached on the sand - just five feet of connected wooden planks with rusted hooks still attached.

For those of you who don't know, two days ago I moved to San Francisco to work as an editorial intern at Chronicle Books, according to their website: "One of the most admired and respected publishing companies in the U.S." What's more, their mission statement says they are "inspired by the enduring magic and importance of books." I too am inspired by the enduring magic and importance of books. Brilliant. This will work out.

Tomorrow is my first day at Chronicle Books, so although I should have been unpacking, I've been exploring the city with a certain English bloke the last couple days. I'm still learning the various "neighborhoods" of San Francisco, but today I managed the BART (which will most likely be my transportation to and from work) and fell in love with the deliciousness which is the Ferry Building Marketplace. Gelato! Bread! Cheese!

"Mmm...fancy a nice slice of Wensleydale, Gromit?"

I'm living in an amazing house outside of town, in Merced Heights, almost in Daly City (but still in the bounds of San Francisco proper). Dave, a 30-something freelance computer something works at home and owns the building (which is gorgeous). Julie, my other roommate, is a third year set design major at SFSU. I've just met her briefly, but now that I know her major I predict we will have a lot to talk about.

Leaving San Luis Obispo was one of the saddest moves I've ever had to make. Over the last four years I've become more confident, happy, and made better friends than I ever have before. As Cogsworth, the enchanted clock from "Beauty and the Beast," would say, "If it ain't Baroque, don't fix it," but it was time to move on from that chapter of my life. As much as I've loved living in San Luis Obispo, there are other things I have to learn about life and wider venues to explore. And I think San Francisco is just the town to do so.