Dadaism

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.

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Scary Happenings in the City

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

Weirdest Thing I've Seen in SF So Far:

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?

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

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.