tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-123488592024-03-07T15:19:05.452-08:00Cereal for Dinnerreal life despite my best intentionsKarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078851150465296608noreply@blogger.comBlogger629125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12348859.post-60518000289754476372013-10-19T13:48:00.000-07:002013-10-19T13:48:09.104-07:00I've moved!I hope you packed your little suitcase, because you need to travel over to the new site. It's not far, but you might want your toothbrush. Oral hygiene is very important.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.cerealfordinneragain.com">Cereal For Dinner Again.</a><br />
<br />
<br />
See you there.<br />
<br />
Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078851150465296608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12348859.post-21123929009369914272013-10-15T17:30:00.001-07:002013-10-15T17:30:43.607-07:00Not forsakenFriends, I am in triage preparation/panic mode for this weekend's two shows. Hey! <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8dG3qvyqsDc">Here's one</a> now (there is a misprint in my name, but it's my own fault for not noticing in time. Let's pretend not to notice). So, you're saying that you're just now preparing? And the first show is on Friday? Yes. That is what I'm saying. I am a terrible procrastinator. Wanna make something of it? What with all the hand-wringing and self-doubt that I need to attend to, there may not be a lot of cereal for dinner this week except for that which ends up in my own personal belly. It is not because I don't love you. It is more because I don't want to humiliate myself in front of scores of people. Selfish? Perhaps. <br />
<br />
As an act of good faith, here's a little snapshot to tide you over:<br />
<br />
This morning, a man stood on the grassy, be-palmed median of Dolores Street holding something delicately between his thumb and index finger. He regarded it intently and blew on it repeatedly. I was charmed thinking that he was making a wish on a downy little dandelion. Only when I drew nearer did I perceive that he was trying to salvage a cigarette butt he had found on the ground.<br />
<br />
It's not quite <i>Amelie</i> around here, but we do what we can.Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078851150465296608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12348859.post-53067248266047583562013-10-11T11:58:00.000-07:002013-10-11T11:58:10.287-07:00Most beloved character in fictionOn my way to work this morning, I heard an extended debate on the radio about the tainted Foster Farms chicken in California and what should be done.<br />
<br />
This probably wasn't the main objective of the program, but my big takeaway was that someone must immediately write a book featuring a jaunty protagonist called Salmonella Heidelberg. If not, it will be a tragic waste.<br />
<br />
Somebody get Lemony Snicket on the horn.Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078851150465296608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12348859.post-4361873807804208982013-10-10T11:14:00.001-07:002013-10-10T11:16:28.058-07:00UpcomingI have discovered that putting half-written posts in the drafts folder is exactly like putting meat in the freezer. That is to say, it seems like a good place to save something for later consumption, but I might just as well throw everything down a well. I never remember to defrost meat. I never seem to go back to drafts. <br />
<br />
Currently, I have six organic hamburger patties in the freezer. I went to a BBQ where I thought I was supposed to bring something to grill, but I clearly misunderstood. The place was lousy with grillables. I went home with as much raw meat as I'd come with. That was a months ago. Additionally, I have a half-written post from August about how I bravely swam in a natural body of water; one from maybe three weeks ago about possibly the most beautiful place in San Francisco; and one from a couple of days ago about acupuncture.<br />
<br />
Those sound good, right?<br />
<br />
I thought if I admitted out loud that they exist, I'd be compelled to finish them. We can have a mini-series (oh. wait. I just remembered that miniseries is already a thing that exists. We're not going to have one of those. Sorry.) Um. We can have a short series: From the Freezer. It'll be outdated! And fantastic! Now I'm all excited.<br />
<br />
In other news, I've got things brewing. You know that time directly after a break up when all songs on the radio seem to describe your personal broken heart, and you are a danger to all other motorists as you drive around weeping? Well, I seem to be in a period when all inspirational quotes seem directly applicable to my life. It's exhausting. There are so, so many inspirational quotes. I don't know what will happen, but it's possible that I might burst into bloom at any time. <br />
<br />
For starters, I am doing TWO shows in ONE weekend. I am currently entirely unprepared, but that's how I roll (inasmuch as I "roll" at all). I embrace procrastination with the dedication that most people seem to dedicate to a spiritual practice. <br />
<br />
Ready?<br />
<br />
<b>Friday, October 18</b><br />
<a href="http://www.millvalleylibrary.org/Index.aspx?page=196&recordid=2873&returnURL=%2findex.aspx%3fpage%3d10">Naked Truth at the Mill Valley Library </a><br />
(Their Litquake show! Which makes it extra exciting and gets me into the Litquake schedule just like a Real Writer.)<br />
<br />
<b>Sunday, October 20</b><br />
<a href="http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/485762">The Vent at Stage Werx Theatre</a> (the spelling of which I deplore, but it is out of my control), San Francisco<br />
<br />
You should come.<br />
<br />
<br />
Also, behind the scenes I'm trying to gussy things up around here. I mean, if it turns out you have a spottily maintained blog for nearly ten years, it deserves a little attention. Pack a small suitcase. We may be moving. Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078851150465296608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12348859.post-91164198752194547912013-10-07T12:11:00.000-07:002013-10-07T16:34:29.579-07:00Tiny whiny terroristThe weather in San Francisco has been balmy. Whenever I don't have to wear a coat at night in this town, I feel like I'm on vacation, so on the whole, I've been a little giddy. Last night, there was also an extravagant sunset during which I was driving home from the Eat Bay, such that I was able to see it stretched over the Bay in a postcard vista.<br />
<br />
What with all the excitement, I stayed up too late. I'm reluctant to let weekends go. I'm equally reluctant to waste any time that the neighbors are all asleep and therefore silent. At one point, I was watching some Russell Brand standup on YouTube. Look. I'm not proud of it, but it happened. At nearly 1am, I finally got in bed and almost instantly after turning off the light, I heard the dreaded war cry of a mosquito in my ear. I often forget until it's too late that coatless weather is also mosquito weather. <br />
<br />
I leapt into action. Literally. It begins with a lot of frantic hand waving around my face and then there is leaping. Leaping for the light switch. Leaping to the kitchen to collect my mosquito-killing implement. (It's a Swiffer dust mop, in its Clark Kent guise. Long handle, perfectly flat swiveling head. It is a mosquito-killing <i>machine</i>. The thing is, you can find the mosquito on the wall and sort of sneak up on it. You rest the short end of the mop head against the wall under the insect, leave the rest angled out so it casts no shadow, line up your shot, and then--BLAM--swivel the head flat against the wall. I can't tell you how satisfying it is. Particularly after decades of swinging and missing with rolled up magazines. In fact, I should probably pitch this to the Swiffer people. One commercial and their sales will skyrocket. And, presumably, I will also be rich, which I would not find objectionable.) <br />
<br />
I did a sweep of the room, but couldn't see it anywhere so, killing machine within reach, dishtowel over my face (what? If you cover everything else up, they totally bite your face. Have you ever had a mosquito bite on your lip? Your eyelid? Well, I have), one bedside light on. Ready, set, sleep! <br />
<br />
Trying to sleep while in a heightened state of retaliatory readiness (especially with a towel on your face on a hot night) is not easy. This is one of the many reasons I'm grateful not to be in the Army. Nevertheless, I fake slept and maintained vigilance until around 6am. At no point, to my knowledge, did the mosquito return. But it got in my head, yo. I know it's still in there. And it will try to bite me again tonight. I am both desperately tired and afraid to go to bed.<br />
<br />
And that, my friends, is how the terrorists win.<br />
<br />
<br />
Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078851150465296608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12348859.post-67696623546244873922013-10-03T10:31:00.000-07:002013-10-03T10:31:50.158-07:00ConfessionalI am giving a new antiperspirant a whirl, which, frankly, is exactly the sort of detail of my life that I generally opt to spare you because...really. Should groping around for content leave us with no manners or dignity whatsoever? And yet, here we are. <br />
<br />
My office is airless. Well, not entirely, of course. I mean, I can breathe and everything, but there are no healthful breezes wafting through. There is a vent that is meant to address this issue, but it is directly over my head and having it open is like sitting beneath my own personal arctic front, so I have had the vent closed and sealed. There is resultant sweating. I'm sorry to mention it, but there's no getting around it. It has been very vexing. And damp.<br />
<br />
Enter: new, extra formidable antiperspirant. I am sure it causes cancer, but I can only address one problem at a time. Having never used it, I wasn't too sure what it was supposed to be like. It looks basically like a regular stick-type deodorant, but with a sort of plastic cage over it. Down near the bottom of the container I can see what looks like the regular stick substance, but it is at least two inches away from the protective cage, which is a rounded plastic thing full of little holes, which I suppose it to prevent using too much at once. The instructions say that you're supposed to turn the dial one notch to distribute the appropriate amount. Furthermore, you're supposed to apply it at night so that it has more time to stealthily give you cancer while you sleep.<br />
<br />
For a couple of days, I've been faithfully dialing. Nothing much seems to happen when I turn the dial, but I figured there was maybe some kind of vapor technology at work? I dialed, I applied the approved two strokes per pit and then...continued to sweat. Sigh. I figured maybe it was a thing that had a cumulative effect, so continued dialing and applying.<br />
<br />
Only last night did it occur to me that maybe something was malfunctioning. Why would all the stuff be sitting at the bottom? Why would dialing and/or a plastic thing full of holes be required for vapor technology? I turned the whole thing over and gave it a dozen hard whacks. Sure enough, the actual substance moved to the top of the tube and, with a turn of the dial, a little bit squeezed out of the holes in the cage, garlic-press style, producing the approved dosage. The approved dosage of an actual thing. Not the approved dosage of nothing, which is exactly what I have been very carefully and responsibly applying to myself for days. <br />
<br />
The Emperor's New Deodorant.<br />
<br />
I would have had the same results had I been carefully rubbing a spork under my arms at bedtime. <br />
<br />
I had trouble falling asleep last night what with all the laughing.Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078851150465296608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12348859.post-46431780156103849542013-10-01T11:10:00.002-07:002013-10-01T11:10:48.562-07:00Bright spotsI'm just going to level with you: I am in a lousy mood. I'm sorry, but there it is.<br />
<br />
However, despite the black cloud under which I am traveling, there were two things that pierced my cold, dark heart on my way to work this morning.<br />
<br />
1. A guy who looked like a younger Brad Pitt walking his nice, normal-sized dog past my house. (Ridiculously handsome men are weirdly easier to come by around here than normal-sized dogs. The combination was quite arresting.)<br />
<br />
2. Crossing the street, a young woman wearing huge headphones, looking serious verging on scowly, and seeming unaware that she is clutching a pinata under her arm and trailing three helium balloons with bonus streamers. <br />
<br />
That may be as good as it gets today. Carry on, good people.Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078851150465296608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12348859.post-14427911295827298792013-09-30T14:04:00.000-07:002013-09-30T14:04:40.101-07:00The true testI walked into the restaurant bathroom just as a young woman exited one of its two stalls. As I entered it, the occupant of the adjacent stall said, in the high-pitched interrogative tones popular among young women today, "I can tell we're really good friends because I can still talk to you while I'm peeing." "I know!" said the other woman, now washing her hands. "Me too!"<br />
<br />
"The other day," the pee-er continued, "I was at work and I went into the bathroom with my manager to get ready for yoga. It was so awkward. I couldn't pee. Finally, I said, 'I hope I don't have smelly feet' because, you know, my feet had been in my work shoes all day and now we were going to be at yoga. And she thought I said, 'I hope I don't have smelly pee.'" <br />
<br />
"OH MY GOD!" exclaimed the hand washer.<br />
<br />
The pee-er exited her stall and the two of them exclaimed further other the dreaded office-related pee incident. I very much wanted to say, midstream as it were, "Oh my god, you guys. I feel really close to both of you right now."<br />
<br />
But I didn't.<br />
Life is just full of these missed opportunities.Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078851150465296608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12348859.post-21883139100895169352013-09-28T19:04:00.003-07:002013-09-28T19:04:55.939-07:00PitchA couple of weeks ago, not long after nightfall, I heard such piercing and prolonged screaming that I very nearly called 911, convinced that a woman was being attacked. I leaned out the window and peered down the street where the only people visible were a small group of adults gathered round a baby carriage amiably chatting. Perhaps inside the carriage the baby was being eaten by a raccoon and no one cared. I couldn't see that far. But no one was being raped at knife point. That's the main thing.<br />
<br />
I am fairly routinely drawn to the window to investigate screaming. Just now, in fact, there was a great deal of male bellowing, which I feared may be the precursor to blows. Apparently not. Many dudes yelling, yes. Dudes yelling at each other in a menacing fashion, no.<br />
<br />
Clearly, this is rich ground for a new reality/game show. Contestants will gather in my living room and try to determine whether what they are hearing outside is a violent crime, the mercurial moods of a baby, or men under the influence of sports. Massacre or toddler? Gang fight or game day? I live across the street from a pediatric practice, a block from a sports bar, and also mere blocks from a neighborhood <a href="http://spotcrime.com/ca/san+francisco/mission">rife with crime</a>, so I think it would be a real nail biter of a competition. Tune in.Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078851150465296608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12348859.post-73637006272496788492013-09-24T12:09:00.001-07:002013-09-24T12:09:49.335-07:00As seen by othersLast night at a work event, a woman inquired whether or not I am pregnant. Weirdly, she then seemed disinclined to believe my reply. This seems a hot topic of debate <a href="http://withraisins.blogspot.com/2013/08/hooves.html">of late</a>. Apparently, I need to throw away several of my dresses immediately. <br />
<br />
People of the world! Now hear this! I am not now, nor do I ever intend to be, pregnant. Also, please stop asking women if they are pregnant. No good can come of it. Are we good? Let's move on.<br />
<br />
In better news, later, at the same event, someone else told me I look twenty-five.<br />
<br />
So, let's just split the difference, shall we, and say I have a healthy glow.Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078851150465296608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12348859.post-4282195795230709222013-09-23T11:13:00.000-07:002013-09-23T11:13:16.174-07:00Math and ScienceOne of the benefits offered at my job is a program through which you can set aside a sum to reimburse yourself for medical expenses using magical pre-tax dollars. The total amount is spread over the year and deducted monthly from your salary, but you can be reimbursed as the expenses come along, whenever that may be. At one point, this thing was referred to as "the cafeteria plan" which made no sense to me at all. There is some more sensible name for it now, but I can never remember what it is. You probably know, though, so if you want to back to the first sentence and just insert the name of the thing after the ninth word, it'll save you a whole paragraph's worth of time. <br />
<br />
Generally, I've opted out, feeling that my comparatively small expenses did not merit the hassle of the reimbursement paperwork. Last year, on the contrary, I set aside $5000 for the dreaded gum surgery (which, sadly, was not the actual cost of the procedure, but the maximum allowable for the pre-tax program). There was just the one (enormous) receipt to submit, so there was no hassle per se, unless by "hassle" you mean having $5000 deducted slowly and painfully from your paycheck over the course of a year. Also, gum surgery. All this to say, it required very little in the way of organizational skills on my part.<br />
<br />
This year, even without the specter of ruinously costly non-insured procedures on the horizon, I decided it would be an intelligent, grown-up thing to put a smallish sum into the program so that I might save money on my escalating co-pays and prescriptions and supplements and the like. Were I a different sort of person, I would have "done the math" or "crunched the numbers" and produced an actual dollar figure of the resulting savings. I regret to say that I don't even know how to determine the numbers that would be required to build that equation. I view taxes vaguely as a "thing that happens" and, except for the moment I read at my annual hire letter and briefly fantasize about my illusory wealth, I try not to ever look at or, really, contemplate in any way my gross salary. I think it's for the best. So, let's say that this whole pre-tax thing means I save an amount that I roughly estimate to be "some money."<br />
<br />
I'm on board with this idea, but out of practice with the logistics. Last week, I bought some allergy medicine at the pharmacy and only at the last minute did I remember not to toss the receipt in the recycling bin. I was prouder of myself for this than I am comfortable admitting. Having rescued it, I did what one should always do with important receipts one does not wish to misplace: I put it on top of the toaster oven. Obviously. The idea was that I would pluck it from this highly visible spot on my way to work one morning and take it to the office, where I could put it in a sensible folder called "medical receipts." And I would have done just that. Eventually. Meanwhile, I made some toast.<br />
<br />
Do you remember that project from kindergarten where you put bits of crayon between two pieces of wax paper and then the teacher ironed them, making a kind of melty abstract piece of art? Well, it turns out that placing a receipt on top of a toaster oven, and then turning that toaster oven on, produces much the same effect. A bit more somber in tone, perhaps, due to the monochromatic nature of the source media, but similar nonetheless. The top is still legible, so you can see where I spent the money, but neither on what nor how much. Instead, I now have what appears to be a very small rorschach test, enigmatically entitled "Pharmaca." <br />
<br />
I suspect this will not be admissible for reimbursement, but, if I whip up a little artist's statement, maybe I can sell it to a gallery. Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078851150465296608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12348859.post-74077523280819744332013-09-19T12:04:00.000-07:002013-09-19T12:04:11.633-07:00SnapshotYesterday was very summery indeed. During lunch, I decided to walk up the the pharmacy. On my way, I passed the ice cream shop. Standing in front of it in the shade were three fully uniformed, physically imposing police officers eating ice cream cones.<br />
<br />
Please instragram that using the power of your mind. It might make you happy.<br />
<br />
Then, on my way to the market for the dreaded lunch salad, I walked past what I thought was a farmer's market. There were little pop-up canopies and what appeared to be stacks of produce. Plus, sometimes they have a farmer's market there. Honest. And sometimes, on a different day, they have food trucks. Presumably there is no salad food truck, but I thought it wouldn't hurt to <i>look</i> at more interesting bread-related items. <br />
<br />
Imagine my confusion when I got near enough to see make out the broader details and discovered that it was a pop-up skate park. I have no idea what the things were piled on the tables. They looked like grapefruit. Maybe that's a new thing. Grapefruit and skateboarding. Fighting scurvy and eliminating fossil fuels simultaneously. I didn't stop to find out.Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078851150465296608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12348859.post-68556903390514068012013-09-16T16:41:00.000-07:002013-09-16T16:41:36.056-07:00Market researchI like to check the stats of this blog even though they are largely meaningless to me, by which I don't mean to suggest, "I'm above all that" so much as, "I have no idea what this means." Generally, not a lot of people are reading this, but I knew that. Still, <i>some</i> people are and that's always kind of exciting (thanks, people). Some of this some are purportedly in Russia. Hmmm. I don't really think that's true. I'd be willing to accept that maybe one lone American ex-pat in Russia somehow stumbled upon this, but Russians plural? I doubt that very much.
<br><br>
I am amused to report that the stats for my last post were exponentially higher than for any other. The alleged Russians were particularly active. I do believe, my friends, that the sudden flurry of interest was because I used a word that means "free from all garments." I'd just use the word now, but I don't want to get everyone in Russia all excited again for nothing. People searching for that term hoping for some hot, hot action, were led to a long ramble about how a middle-aged woman needs to eat some salad.
<br><br>
Sorry about that.
<br><br>
But also...<br>
ha<br>
ha<br>
ha.Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078851150465296608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12348859.post-78030803759079579002013-09-13T15:11:00.000-07:002013-09-14T23:08:28.443-07:00Operation: Get It TogetherIt doesn't feel like anything too sinister is happening, despite the date. Mostly, I'm just happy it's Friday. That said, it is quite possible that I'm getting a(nother) cold. I blame my boss who, for several days, leaned over my desk sounding increasingly like a man with a five-pack-a-day habit, saying, "I don't think it's a cold." Um...don't you? Well, I do. Please get out of my office. He gave in and is now at home in bed, but last night I began to feel the sneaky symptoms in my own head and throat. I spent three bucks on a mere twelve ounces of healthful juice, so perhaps that will fend it off. C'mon virus. Three dollars is a lot for juice. Mind you, I was just sick three weeks ago. That's too much sick. I object.
<br><br>
Trying to be less susceptible to every damn sneezy thing that makes its way through the building is on the agenda. There are quite a few things on the agenda, in fact.
<br><br>
<b>The Outside</b><br>
Lately, I am cutting a figure a bit more like a Renaissance nude than is currently fashionable. (I know, I know. Body image, etc.) Were I going to be spending most of my time reclining in the altogether in pastoral scenes, surrounded by cherubim or similar, it would be okay. Under those circumstances, I'd say I look pretty good. However, many of my clothes do not currently fit me. Since circumstances (and chilliness) dictate that I do have to wear something every day, that is problematic. So. Either invest in a new wardrobe of flowing Renaissance garb, or try to whittle myself back to my erstwhile silhouette. I chose B.<br><br>
Theoretically, this plan should involve exercise. That is the hardest part for me, so it remains aspirational. Meanwhile, I am trying to go for oatmeal for breakfast (note that <i>anything</i> for breakfast is a novelty) and salad for lunch. Dinner is such a random affair already that no sensible guidelines are being applied other than "try not to eat pasta. Or pizza. Even though you totally want to."
<br><br>
So far, I'm pretty excited about the oatmeal. It turns out to be pleasant to have the first several hours of my day not marked by near starvation. I am not very enthusiastic about the salad, but that does not shock me. I am notoriously indifferent to salad, with the exception of the very plain one they used to have at Ti Couz, but that was due to magic dressing. Alas, Ti Couz has closed and taken its magic dressing with it. My feelings about salad are so lacklustre that I feel very virtuous for having had four so far (this is week one of this plan and I've not had lunch yet today). However, this attitude also makes me feel that having had four salads, my body should look entirely different. (In related news, this is also how I feel about walking for one hour or swimming for 20 minutes. "Wait. What? I look exactly the same. But I'm so tired. I'm confused.") To me, salad is the Food of Deprivation, but thanks to its pal oatmeal, at least I'm not a ravening wolverine when lunchtime rolls around so salad is at least <i>possible.</i> We'll see. I hope to be reunited with my pencil skirts by November.
<br><br>
<b>The Inside</b><br>
There are problems. There is, of course, the cold that I can feel settling in right this very moment, but there are other things too. Some pesky infections, some sleep-ruining allergies, some "I thought walking might be a good exercise option, but my whole right leg is a disaster" pain. I guess if I were a coat or something, I'd be discounted and sold "as is." Not tip top. Not shiny and new. I want to turn this around. Are you listening, salad? See what you can do.
<br><br>
Additionally, after being told by a surprising number of unrelated people that it has changed their lives, I made an acupuncture appointment. I am terrified of needles. I never get the flu shot despite yearly miserable illness. I don't even have pierced ears despite, you know, noticing that earrings are quite pretty. (I do have a full sleeve tattoo, but I was drunk at the time. No. I don't. That was a joke. I don't even have a very tiny butterfly inked onto my ankle.
By the way, zero ink and piercings is about as alternative as you can get in San Francisco. I win.) A needly approach to health is pretty daunting for me, but Operation Get It Together demands I give it a try. It is not easy to get out of a rut, particularly if you have no upper body strength to speak of. It takes a lot of scrabbling around and falling back in a few times, but I'm working on it.
<br><br>
Among things that concerned me was the expense of acupuncture, but at lunch yesterday, a friend told me that he had had good results with sliding-scale community acupuncture centers in the East Bay. So I looked it up. There are several in San Francisco (unsurprisingly). What this seems to mean is that four people in one room receive simultaneous treatments. I am a little dubious about this; if I'm going to be full of needles I want it to be all about me and my special, special needs and problems. However, since I can't really afford to have it be all about me and my special, special needs and problems, I'll try it. Not the first time though. I'm paying the big money for the first time so I can blather on about all my fears and symptoms. I'm sure she'll enjoy that. Don't worry. I'll do it very quietly so as not to incommode the four porcu-people in the community room.
<br><br>
<b>The Perimeter</b><br>
In my high school, all girls took self-defense as part of the P.E. curriculum. Notably, during that section, the boys took wrestling. That strikes me as no less disquieting now as it did then. It always seemed like they were learning how to pin us to the ground while we were learning how to gouge out their eyes. Maybe slightly awry culturally and pedagogically. Anyway. I hated it. The scenarios we were given were scary and the actual physical combat stuff just embarrassed me. I was very shy, spindly, and not at all athletic. I don't actually remember any of the physical techniques we learned. For me, they didn't make me feel safer, but rather, doomed. If anyone ever laid a hand on me, it seemed obvious to me that I was going down.
<br><br>
I remember the feeling. I've carried it with me long past the moment where it would have been sensible to shake it off and learn a few physical defense responses. So far, I've been employing the other things I learned at 16: 1. Pay attention 2. Walk with authority. I do believe that these two things are half the battle. (I worry for all those earphone-wearing, Twitter-scrolling ladies I see everywhere.) However, it would be nice to stop carrying "doomed" as the inevitable next step if glaring doesn't work. And, as you know, I did recently watch ALL of <i>Alias</i>, aka Women Kicking Ass.
<br><br>
The Blog Bully had recently encouraged his wife to take a free safety class offered by Impact at Sports Basement (thanks, Sports Basement). She had been reluctant for many of the same reasons I have been reluctant, but had gone and been glad. So, when by the sheerest chance I happened upon a notice that the same class was being offered this week, I went. I'll be honest; my knee to the groin skills are only so-so, but just showing up felt important. Just showing up felt like claiming some sovereignty. Just showing up felt like taking one step away from doomed.
There is a much, much longer more hands-on class offered by <a href="http://www.impactselfdefense.org/">Impact</a>. That'll be the next frontier.
<br><br>
For now, I think I need some more vitamin C. And maybe a nap.
Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078851150465296608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12348859.post-74275063029760780092013-09-11T12:18:00.000-07:002013-09-11T12:18:55.579-07:00A total blankLast night I managed to finally transform my bed from the Platform of Misery to the Bower of Rest after many nights of itchy fitfulness. It is possible that atmospheric conditions aligned in my favor or it's possible that newly laundered sheets really are the answer to all our problems. (Were my pillowcases previously covered with a fine layer of pollen? Possibly.) Then, as an extra special bonus treat, the neighbors did not wake me up. (Possibly because of the passive aggressive remarks I made to the baby when I encountered him and his nanny yesterday. What? Like you've never made passive aggressive remarks to a baby. Yeah, right.) Sheets, neighbors, meteorological conditions, pollen counts, I salute you. I was really very tired and appreciate your help in this matter.
<br><br>
Last night I went to see Neko Case in concert. To quote the woman who screamed this from the other side of the balcony, "I love you Neko!" I'm not the sort of person who yells things in a theatre, but that doesn't mean I don't have feelings. I really do love Neko Case. Her voice is serious business, but her personality is pretty darn goofy. It's a pretty delightful combination. In fact, I would say that I love Neko Case every bit as much as I detested her opening band, and that, my friends, is saying a lot. Wow, those boys were shouty. Why all the shouting, boys? My friend and I took refuge in the lobby until the opening act was over--a thing I have never before been compelled to do. Mind you, the lobby was not really far enough away, but it was the best we could do.
<br><br>
While we were out there, I ran into various people I knew: a couple of people from high school, a local musician, and uh....someone else.
<br><br>
I saw this woman and felt a little internal leap of the "Oh! I'm so happy to see you!" kind.
It had been so long. She came over to me and we hugged each other and then she went downstairs with her friends. I have no idea who she is. None. Not just, wow I can't remember that woman's name, but I haven't the slightest idea where we met each other or when. It is worth noting that she is a very lovely girl and she also has more body art than anyone I know. Full-color tattoos over her chest and down her arms. A distinctive person, in other words. A person you would not forget. (Unless everyone you know is covered with tattoos, of course, which is certainly possible in this town.)
<br><br>
We have all had the experience of someone coming up to us to say hello whom we do not remember. In that case, you just smile and nod and hope for some kind of conversational clue. This was nothing like that. My happiness at seeing her was instant and genuine. It came sooner than the realization that I could not place her. At some point (when?) we must have known each other quite well (where? how? Was she a waitress? A dental assistant? A singer? A classmate? An actress? An ex-boyfriend's best friend?). I am vexed by the whole thing, but am happy to learn that, troubling though it is, senility is at least suffused with good will toward others. It was good to see her after all this time.Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078851150465296608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12348859.post-58986728222009441782013-09-09T17:01:00.002-07:002013-09-09T17:01:45.210-07:00Movie musingsYou probably don't know this because I am one of five people who is ever there, but the quietest place in San Francisco is the Sundance Kabuki cinema just prior to a matinee screening. Sundance cinemas play no advertisements (and, indeed, no music) before the previews begin. They are able to make up that revenue by charging you more for a ticket than you can believe you're paying and then, they also sell wine. So, basically, they are millionaires and you are poor in a very short time. I am willing to pay for the barrage-free environment, though. Boy, am I. I do not enjoy people yelling at me about food I don't want to eat, television I don't want to watch, music I don't want to hear, and various products I don't want to buy. So rarely do I go to any other movie theaters, in fact, that, every time I do, I am shocked anew by the yelling about all these things. Blah. Thanks, Robert Redford, for the lovely quiet.
<br><br>
Matinees are often sparsely attended and more often attended by solo movie-goers than are evening screenings. This means that the pre-show hush is not just the comparative quiet of an advertising-free zone, but actual silence. Dimly lit silence. Ahhh. It is like going to a meditation center, but not needing to change out of your street clothes. And, even better, after your fifteen minutes of peace, you get to see a movie. That is my idea of a fine afternoon.
<br><br>
Yesterday I saw <i>Afternoon Delight</i> which I thought was excellent (hey, Kathryn Hahn, you won't get an Oscar for that, but you should totally get an Oscar for that). I also saw previews for at least four other movies that I will see immediately upon their release. Watching previews for me is often like watching money flying out of my bank account. I wonder if there could be some kind of flexible spending account set up for the Sundance Kabuki. I mean, just sitting there, I saw sixty future dollars go out the window. It would be less painful if I could just pay in advance and not think about it.
<br><br>
My only criticism is the bizarre copyediting on the slide about turning off your cell phone. There's a picture of an illuminated smart phone half submerged in a container of popcorn. At the top it reads:
<blockquote>Cell phones and movies don't 'go' together</blockquote>
Can we agree that there's no need to put quotes around that go? And if you feel truly compelled for some reason, why not just go for regular ol' double quotes?
<br><br>
I want answers. Let's have Robert look into that.Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078851150465296608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12348859.post-82704261867596776912013-09-06T12:28:00.000-07:002013-09-06T12:28:10.367-07:00It's onTonight! I am teaming up with <a href="http://ideaczar.com/">Ken Grobe</a> (whose website is very fancy and makes me wonder what the hell I'm doing with my life and how do I become Ken Grobe) and <a href="http://www.tinyassapartment.com/">Simone Chavoor</a> (who also has an elaborate website, but because interior design is not my dream, she can go on being her with no competition from me for the role) for <a href="http://www.booksmith.com/event/wordplay-parlor-games-rusty-english-majors-0">Word/Play</a> at Booksmith.<br><br>
I do not know Simone or Ken, but they are clearly very impressive individuals and they are in it for the gold, so I vacillate between hoping I don't let them down and being pretty sure we will totally win this game with no help from me. It's already a cliffhanger and it hasn't even started. The one thing I know is that I will not be wearing my red shoes. I know. I'm also disappointed, but frankly they looked dumb with my dress and no one wants to see shoes that look dumb with someone's dress. Or, I suppose, dresses that look dumb with someone's shoes, depending on whether you identify more Team Dress or Team Shoe.
<br><br>
Since not only have I never participated in this game, I have never even seen it played by others, Ken provided me with this helpful description: "It's like FAMILY FEUD with authors. Sort of. The two teams face off over trivia games ("Name six books with a color in the title"), quick write-offs ("Write the first line of this book I'm holding up that no one has ever heard of"), and a lot of trash-talk between teams. And drinking. Points are awarded kind of arbitrarily and it's just a lot of fun."
<br><br>
Simone told me I should brush up on Taboo and Scattegories.
<br><br>
Mind you, I can't actually think of six books with a color in the title and I've never played Scattegories, but I'm sure I will be totally fantastic at this and we will win like the big winners we are! Right? And it will totally be worth the ten bucks the event-goers are spending to drink wine and watch us be clever on demand. Yep! Because, even if it all goes to hell, there is wine. Everyone likes wine.
<br><br>
You should come.Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078851150465296608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12348859.post-12571504788849385452013-09-05T19:33:00.001-07:002013-09-06T12:32:45.755-07:00Good news / bad newsHappy new year, Jews. I humbly thank you for the day off with which I was happily presented on your behalf. We're heading into the season that San Francisco does best (read: sunshine that lasts throughout the day) and it was very pleasant to be out in it, rather than theorizing what it might be like from within my windowless office. Knowing I had all this liberty, I scheduled an appointment for today. I chose a leisurely late-morning hour because a day that requires you to participate in real morning does not count as a day off. Obviously.
<br><br>
Extra time in the morning means an extra-functional brain, which is how I had the laudable foresight to stop by the nearby laundromat (that I no longer frequent. Ha! Let us have a moment of silent gratitude for the life-changing washer and dryer that I now own) to avail myself of its change machine. Take that, parking meters. You want quarters? I got quarters.
<br><br>
When I arrived at my destination, not only did I find a parking place within a block, but the parking meter already had over an hour of time on it. Not five minutes, people, an hour. This is unheard of. A happy omen if ever there was one. I added a quarter just to be on the safe side--twenty-five cents worth of paranoia--bringing the time to a hour and fifteen minutes.
<br><br>
And that is why I am so sorry to report that the meeting went for an hour and twenty-three minutes. <br><br>
A miscalculation that cost me seventy-four dollars. <br>
74. <br>
Dollars.
<br><br>
Of course, this is all the more infuriating since I had two dollars worth of ticket-preventing quarters at the ready all along. Also, word to the wise, DPT, you're not fooling anyone. Just call it $75 and be done with it. Saving me the dollar isn't doing anything to improve my attitude. Indeed, personally, I feel that this is maybe, at most, a $35 infraction. Unsurprisingly, my opinion on this matter was not solicited. I regret that the rest of my thoughts on this subject are just a jumble of incoherent profanity, which I will spare you, though, in the interest of interactive fun, feel free to create your own.
<br><br>
Later, despite my new poverty, I allowed myself some sunny, no-work Thursday treats. First I went out to lunch, during which I had a very enjoyable conversation with the SF Opera's lead set-painter (who happened to be sitting next to me) about the old days of San Francisco theatre. Then, while looking for something else, I came across some promising sunglasses. After soliciting feedback from two strangers who assured me they looked good, I bought them. The sunglasses. Not the strangers. The strangers were not for sale. I promptly put the glasses on and about a half an hour later while I was waiting to cross the street, a lady came up to me and said I looked beautiful. (Thank you, lady! My new sunglasses and I are very flattered that you think so. Thank you original strangers! You were right about the sunglasses.) As a finale, I bought some flowers and now have some very congenial dahlias keeping me company.
<br><br>
It is always good to discover that the loveliness of your life greatly outweighs the seeming endless injustices of the Department of Parking and Traffic.
<br><br><br>
********<br>
<i>Update: It turns out that to pay your citation by phone, online, or even</i> in person, <i>you have to pay a fee. The DPT thinks it is Ticketmaster, apparently. In addition to the original $74, I had to pay $2.50 for the convenience of paying a parking ticket. Just when I had talked myself down from the rage. But they aren't happy without the rage. They thrive on the rage. Fine. They've got it. Bastards.</i>
Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078851150465296608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12348859.post-34582431174233829562013-09-04T11:30:00.000-07:002013-09-04T11:30:44.037-07:00Choose your own titleIf I make you choose your own title, that's interactive, right? I know I fail to engage in many of the exciting "interactive" elements of the online experience, but now you can't say I never did anything for you.
<br><br>
It's now Wednesday which means I took a bit of liberty with the concept of a long weekend. Sorry about that. I had to recover from all the out and abouting I did. There was a birthday lunch for my niece who is newly a teenager. There was bocce ball in the Presidio during which the fog burned off, incrementally revealing the magnificent view of the Bay and the Golden Gate Bridge that had been entirely obscured when we arrived. It was a pretty good trick.
<br><br> There was <i>Vertigo</i> at the Castro and the Mime Troupe in the park. There was soda and pop rocks with a friend and even though we had them <i>at the same time</i>, we didn't die. (Maybe that's only if you drink Coke, whereas we were drinking some kind of fancy pants cucumber soda. What? It pairs nicely with grape pop rocks. Also, please let the record show that even though it was my friend who chose and bought the soda, he gave me the first sip. Chivalry lives.)
<br><br>There was a house concert with <a href="http://foxtailsbrigadecom.ipage.com/">Foxtails Brigade</a> whom I greatly admire and puzzle over in that the singer seems to derive no pleasure from performing; she seems simultaneously fierce and terrified. Though she seems to be there in spite of herself, she's very good. They've got a show at the Hemlock on the 13th. You should go.
<br><br>
Not bad, weekend. Not bad.
<br><br>
Really this ought to be its own post, but here we are already in the middle of this one. NOW HEAR THIS. I'm doing <a href="http://www.booksmith.com/event/wordplay-parlor-games-rusty-english-majors-0">this event</a> at the Booksmith on Friday. This very Friday. September 6.
<br><br>
Do I totally understand what it is? No! Do I hope I don't totally fail to be witty and clever? Yes!
<br><br>
It has been described to me as Family Feud for authors. It has also been suggested that I brush up on Scattegories (a game, incidentally, that I have never played. Ominous indeed). I have been reassured that there will be wine. When everything else fails, apply wine. It should be a good time. 7pm. Ten bucks. Come on out for it.Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078851150465296608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12348859.post-64794903179126741112013-08-30T14:42:00.002-07:002013-09-14T23:05:56.421-07:00Site-specific haikuToday is sunny<br>
Even in this neighborhood<br>
A near miracle<br><br><br>
In class students shout<br>
"Revolution!" also "Hats!"<br>
The link eludes me<br><br><br>
Try to ignore it<br>
The pink box demands notice<br>
So many donuts<br><br><br>
Am I not sleepy?<br>
Why should just children get naps<br>
It seems so unjust<br><br><br>
Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078851150465296608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12348859.post-87822778755189531932013-08-28T15:50:00.000-07:002013-08-28T15:50:10.653-07:00Um...hiYou remember way back when I couldn't open that bag of raisins? It only got worse from there. I ended up with a full-scale Nyquil-requiring cold. In August? Before the school year has even really begun? I mean, is there no end to the sniffly injustice of it all?
<br><br>
Prior to my indisposition, I had been trying to be so darn healthful too. I'd been trying to eat vegetables, well, okay fruit. But you have to start somewhere. And I'd been walking. One day I walked half way across the whole darn town and when I came upon a restaurant that serves "carnival food" and has one table with a Tilt-a-Whirl car as the seating and I DIDN'T EVEN EAT THERE because of the lack of healthfulness/insane caloric content of [delicious] carnival food. And was I rewarded for this virtue? Pshh.
<br><br>
A few days before the illness arrived, I was suddenly unable to turn my head due to a crazy painful muscle mishap in my neck. I went to get an emergency massage, which is always entertaining because every massage therapist is always gobsmacked by the seemingly impossible tension of which I am primarily comprised. This particular woman set to trying to unknot the most incapacitating knot--a thing that is invariably quite agonizing for me--but her accent morphed the word "pressure" to the word "pleasure." I thought she was saying "Is this pleasure all right?" A trick question of sorts.
<br><br>
All this to say, I think I may be suffering from some kind of deeply internalized end-of-summer denial. My body seems to want nothing to do with the 2013-14 school year. Concerning, in that there is a lot of it to come.
<br><br>
On the bright side, lying prone on the sofa for days gave me plenty of time to watch more "Alias." As the seasons continue, the kicks to the head do not diminish. I figure eventually she's going to run into someone who is a better head-kicker than she is. Then she'll go into a coma and the show will end. God only knows what magnificent things I will accomplish when that finally happens.Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078851150465296608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12348859.post-76225713114990047002013-08-14T09:59:00.001-07:002013-08-14T09:59:18.075-07:00Feats of strengthLast night I was watching "Alias" about which: A) I know I'm watching far, far too much television. I have no defense to offer. I am duly ashamed. B) Why have I never watched "Alias?" Actually, I know the answer to that. It's because, like other shows before it (notably "Breaking Bad" which for some reason I thought was about race car drivers) it is not about what I thought it was about. I thought it was some futuristic drama. It isn't. Had I known it was about Jennifer Garner (of whom I'm a big fan) being a double agent rather than Jennifer Garner being some cyborg in the dystopian future, I would have watched it years ago.
<br><br>
Anyway, there she was with no surplus flesh on her body, engaging in vigorous hand-to-hand combat with scores of villains. I began to fantasize about working with a trainer to uncover muscles I must have in there somewhere. I thought, I wouldn't need to be <i>that</i> fit. I mean, after all, she was in her twenties in this, but, you know, kind of fit. And maybe I could take some kind of martial arts class. It would be cool to know how to administer a flying kick to someone's head, should the need arise. While real me continued to sit on the sofa, imaginary me was increasingly becoming a lean, sleek force to be reckoned with.
<br><br>
And then real me tried to open a bag of raisins. And couldn't do it. I had to resort to scissors.
<br><br>
So I guess if you have any villains who need neutralizing, or even snacks that need accessing, I'm probably not the one to call.Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078851150465296608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12348859.post-52077539438131813222013-08-13T13:35:00.000-07:002013-08-13T13:35:57.657-07:00Star-gazingRecently, I saw <i>Elysium</i>, which I enjoyed very much, though I did look at the floor during the bloodier bits, of which there are many. <br>
Of note:<br><br>
1. In this film, Jodie Foster only sounds like a normal person when she is speaking French. It is unclear why she ever <i>is</i> speaking French, but it makes a nice change from the mystery accent she employs while speaking English.<br><br>
2. Oh, Matt Damon, you are a hell of a charming fellow.<br><br>
3. Diego Luna. Dear lord. Every time he appeared, I had to suppress the desire to stand up, gesture wildly toward the screen and say loudly to the assemble audience, "Are you people seeing this? Is there a more beautiful man in all the world?" So, apparently I'm deeply infatuated with Diego Luna. If he's a friend of yours, you can let him know.Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078851150465296608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12348859.post-15480820305593357562013-08-12T18:37:00.001-07:002013-08-12T18:37:42.549-07:00Date nightOn Friday evening, I took myself on the date that my ex-boyfriend of more than two years ago unaccountably suggested in April that we go on in June. After which, unsurprisingly, he never contacted me again. I know. It didn't make a lot of sense to me either, but there it is. Anyway, despite being elusive, eccentric, and erratic, he did take me to many lovely places, so I thought I'd see if he was still had the knack.<br><br>
He does. It's a shame he wasn't there, really. He'd have liked it.
<br><br>
After bemoaning San Francisco on Friday, I feel I must recant. <a href="http://noir-sf.com/">Noir Lounge</a> is very appealing. In its favor, it does not look exactly like every other new bar in San Francisco. I am always excited when someone goes for warm and comfortable instead of stark and modern. They do play music incongruous with the atmosphere they are ostensibly trying to evoke, but that seems to be the norm; c'est la vie.<br><br>
I got there early and so got a handsome wingback chair right by the window where there was plenty of light for me to forge ahead with Rebecca Solnit. I had a glass of wine, a very nice caprese salad (oh, ripe tomatoes, how I will miss you come winter), and, failing once more to stay on the culinary path of righteousness, some homemade tater tots. As a bonus, my waiter had very enviable posture. Hooray.
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You might like it. You can wait for your ex to ask if you might have some free time in two months, or you could just go now. Whichever.Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078851150465296608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12348859.post-23466351299597441332013-08-09T13:08:00.000-07:002013-08-09T13:08:29.268-07:00FridayI miss New York today. The Haight in the fog seems small and shabby. A group of young men just passed loudly by, unaccountably clutching the famous red party cups. Is there yet another street festival of which I am unaware? Probably. There seems always to be one. I sort of feel like, "is this the best we can do, San Francisco?" Ah well. I am aware that this is the minority view. My fellow citizens are nothing if not enthusiastic about their chosen city. Me? I'm wearing a dress. It's not much, but I do what I can to raise the tone.
<br>
<br>
I watched the Ken Burn's documentary on prohibition entitled, not shockingly, "Prohibition." I learned many things. It was just like reading a book without having to put in all that <i>effort</i> of <i>reading</i>. (I'm joking. Mostly. Look, Rebecca Solnit isn't writing vacation fiction. It's taking some wherewithal to get through. Ow. All the thinking! It hurts.) I will not tell you all the things I learned about prohibition because that would take all the fun out of your learning things about prohibition. However, it was very satisfying to learn that "teetotaler" comes from the phrase "Capital 'T' Total abstinence." It was less satisfying to learn that "bootlegger" comes from early booze smugglers from whom you could buy a slug of hooch from the bottle which they kept stuck in their boots, secreted under their trouser legs. Well, fine. Why "bootlegger?" Surely the leg is the least relevant part of this scenario? Why not bootbottler or, if you are really committed to the leg, bottlelegger? Hoochlegger?
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<br>
I've also learned that whatever the current age of the Upstairs Baby, it is my least favorite age of human. No words, a lot of screaming, plenty of running, and a hearty dose of floor beating. The current age of the Upstairs Baby is why I will never have children. So, in case you were ever going to ask if I'm pregnant, I'm not. I just really like spaghetti.
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<br>
Generally, I try to keep the whole online dating thing to myself, largely because it is mostly dispiriting and kind of embarrassing. But things are occasionally too amusing to withhold. The way it works is that if someone sends me a message on the dating site (a rare occurrence, I am humbled to say), I receive an email notification containing a truncated bit of the message. Yesterday, someone sent a note the first line of which was "Maybe we should talk or enjoy a cocktail." However, in the email notification, the sentence was cut off right in the middle of the final word, rendering it a very unseemly proposition. I was briefly scandalized. But then, Oh! Tail. Cocktail. Better.Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078851150465296608noreply@blogger.com