Gotta love on-line "dating"

Especially when you open your inbox to find:

Sleazy-D is checking you out right now!

Um, really? Thanks for letting me know that. I will get right on it.


You Know It's Time to Change your Dating Profile When...

You receive this greeting in your in-box from a potential suitor:

Cowboy looking for saddlemate
For Riesling cattle and selling guns to indigenous people.
long trail rides and campfire smoked beets.
Email me.

And don't get me wrong.... I LOOOOOOOOOOOVE beets. I am just sayin'.


When Foodies, Shootings, and Quotations Mix....

Some people sound like supreme a-holes. From this article focusing on the murders that continue to take place on and around Mission, but one example:

“It’s kind of scary, but kind of fun,” says Dana Humphrey, 28, as she sat eating at Gracias Madre, a vegan restaurant where the tacos aren’t cheap. Her friend Alexis Papeshi, 28, who lives in the Marina, agrees. “It has some cachet,” she says. ’Oh we are in the Mission, we are so cool.’”

Tacos aren't cheap is an understatement at Gracias Madre. That is one of many ABSURDLY expensive restaurants elbowing into the Mission, along with their a-political, self-focused set of fools-for-clientel. I'd Gracias, Madres if the gap between conspicuous consumption and three-job working class folks were more like a puddle.


Inverta-a-Year, The Saga Continues

Another sign of this year being way wrong? I arrived at Zeitgeist to be greeted by a door dude with a smile who called me by my name, complimented my necklace, and acted equally gracious on my way out. Every single person working there was ridiculously friendly, actually. It make me definitely not want to drink.


Charital Drinking + Public Schools = Weirdly Unsurprising

Just in case you were not under the impression that shit's all kinds of desperate in the world of public education, you might want to come out from under that rock. Actually, I wouldn't be surprised if most of the donors turn out to be my colleagues:

Join Drink Good – DO GOOD for an evening of donations and libations!
One World, One Glass: Part Two Wednesday, April 27, 5pm – 9pm

Proceeds benefit the San Francisco Education Fund in support of San Francisco public schools. Unique alcohols from three regions of the world are represented at three different San Francisco bars. No matter which one you attend, you enjoy unlimited tastings as well as savory ethnic snacks. You can even keep your souvenir glass.

Translation: Drink like a fish while celebrating globalization and hors d'oeuvring on the cultures of public school children, and, if you can still stand, drag home your shot glass so you can remind yourself the next day in whose good name you blacked out -- Public Education.


Bringing the Term "Got Wood?" to a Whole New Level

You know shit's fucked up when you find yourself writing the following work email:

From: SB
Date: Thu, Apr 14, 2011 at 2:57 PM
Subject: 9 "missing" (well, pilfered) Condom Demonstrators, worth $100ish dollars

Dear Staff,

I would like your help.

Last Wednesday, while I was on a Fieldtrip to Youth Advocacy Day, a Sexuality Educator from the community dropped off in the front office a box containing 20 condom demonstrators (basically wooden educational dildos) for our Peer Educators'sexuality group to borrow for their workshops.

I was not able to pick up the box until the next day (because we were gone!), and when I returned I found the very OPEN box in the main office and noticed the wooden condom demonstrators, though at that time I did not count how many were in the box. I simply brought the box to [the utility] room for Committee Day.

The students in the Sexuality Group began to make their materials for the Health Tabling Day. They also did not count the condom demonstrators at that time.

Then, we hid the box of materials underneath another box of our materials in our usual location in the Green Room.

That was last Thursday.

Today, our Guest Sexuality Facilitator and the students retrieved the box from its place to find only 11 condom demonstrators in the box.

So, between the main office and the use of the Green Room last--> this week, 9 condom demonstrators were taken from the box. As they were not ours, we are in the position of owing approximately $100/ 9 new demonstrators, to this community guest.

If you have ANY information or happen to know who thought that these were there for the taking, please bring them back or let us know what you know.

I would be so grateful,

So now the question becomes:

How inappropriate would it be to hold a fundraiser bake sale called "Shove This Up Your Cake Hole?"

I invite your opinions.


Since Dolores = Sorrows

I was particularly pleased to see the following stencil sprayed out on the walk along Dolores Park, although I am still one-eye-opened to finding #45. You go ahead and school that Dolores and her poetry making ways.


Inverta-Year, More Evidence

Check out the San Francisco weather. First, it was raining fire and brimstone hail globs in March. Very un-March-like. Then, it became desert hot for over a week. Equally un-March-like. Now, June wind; quite un-April-like. Yesterday, it was so windy that I thought my balcony was going to break off. The palm trees went sideways. Squawking parrots torpedoed by like green frisbees. The sand dunes crossed the Great Highway. So windy that the only thing not moving in all of Ocean Beach's vicinity...

... Gold Gate Park's Phallic Windmill Boys-in-Bushes Beacon.


Inverta-Year, Continued, Yoga-Style

As my dear readers may recall, one of the clues to this year's theme was my unprecedentedly earnest and complete LOVE for a yoga class I attended. However, when I explained my sudden openness to yoga to people in my life, they showed skepticism. Why? The yoga happened to be free. It happened to take place in a noisy, public area with 80s music on and people yelling at their children in the background. My mat was precariously wedged between a giant iron pillar and a rope "wall" to keep me from falling off this balcony on to the next floor. There were no mirrors anywhere. The teacher talked in complete sentences using grammatical structures Strunk and White would applaud. She downward dogged the shit out of us analytic learners. The class is taught by a different instructor in a different style every week so I'll never have any idea what I am getting myself into. So what if all those things might make it the ideal yoga class for someone like me regardless of the year's thematics?!

It might still be true that this is my inverta-year.

Even though I did return last week to the "same" class to be delighted by the new instructor. She was somewhat gruff and angry. She wore jeggings. She started us with our eyes closed. I woke up 65 minutes later, in time for the cool down. Clearly she was perfect for me.

Again, I know this is not convincing you, but might still be true that this is my inverta-year. Let's just try it out people.



2011: Year of Inversion (er... Inversion Year?)

Yes, the theme of the year has at last become clear. How do I know?

1. II, even inverted, still equals two in Roman numerals. So 20II makes a full circle in a backwards, twisty kinda way.

2. I, on my own volition and quite alone, willingly went to a yoga class on Sunday and

3. After that same yoga class, I felt a deep and unshakable

For the
of the day.

3. Generally the theme for my year becomes apparent the previous November, by which time I have usually had it with that year and, like the precocious little sister I am, have moved on to the next one! But this year? It's MARCH, and barely still, and I just today finally came up with this year's theme. Inversely S-L-O-W.

4. I saw a sneak peek of Rubber this evening. In a nutshell, RUBBER made me TIRED. As people left the film, a fellow grabbed and interviewed us. Neighboring female to interviewer:
I loved it. I welcome how they brought surrealism back to American film making.
Well, I must have put extra liquid surrealism in my eyes recently because you could hear them shifting sideways to spy on the entire audience as they laughed without me many many times. Puzzling. It was so puzzling I had to three times squash a tipping-point urge stand up and yell,
People, there is a FUCKING WAR going on in Afghanistan. What the hell are you doing here laughing?
Oh wait, that is not an inverse of anything - that's just an example of normal for me (good luck finding my internal control group for that study, people).
Me to interviewer:
Can a person be sure they have seen their worst movie of the year and have it only be March?

Today I Laughed Out Loud

At Facebook, no less.

At this event: April 4 - We Are One (and your money's funny - I would like to add) Rally outside the Federal Reserve Building. 4:20pm in San Francisco. April 4th. The anniversary of Dr. King Jr.'s assassination. And a NATIONAL Day of Action pushing back for educational equity, pushing against budget values and the scapegoating of unions and public schools and anyone doing anything of worth, it appears. It is hopefully a big day.

And more specifically at a poster's response, "Can't make it, have yoga."

Funny. You cannot see me, but I am pointing at the tear streaming down my face.


Leaving Behind the Captain and Tenille

Well, it is once again time to retire the Slow Cooker's apron on to a No Cooker peg deep in the back of the closet and go back to eating cereal. Or perhaps just love.

Just to be extra safe, I should probably find some Courtney Love version of Do That to Me One More Time (or en espanol!) as a ring tone and add it to the No Cooker's caller ID entry. I am hopeful that renaming him Heart Break (This is So Not Worth It was a bit wordy, even for me) and updating his caller ID photo to the completely unattractive one will suffice. But perhaps I would be best served if I could successfully associate this whole made-for-TV mini-series with DC2's Portland sidewalk?


Today's Laugh or Cry Moment

I was just emailed the minutes of a meeting. The newly appointed secretary took meticulous notes, which means I got to read:

Item 2: Diversity
We discussed about the diversity that does not exist in the club and how we should go about recruiting. Overall, this topic was left undecided as it is a large social issue in the world that we cannot solve in one sitting.

Item 3...

So... Laugh or cry?


With the next breath will be peace

Saturday, 9:29 a.m.

Outside: Quickly sprouting silent crowd of cart-wielding shoppers.
Inside: Two women, one holding a small ticker-counter, the other holding a walkie-talkie.
Between: Huge panels of separating, sound-proof glass.

The shoppers tilt slightly forward as one Inside woman approaches the glass panels to raise them. Behind her, the other woman crosses herself.

Costco opens.


Rules... and Their Exceptions

Well, it has been a less-than-ideal summer in terms of relying on the consistency of certain truths that hegemonically rule my universe:

* The Slow Cooker became a No Cooker
* I not even for a minute boarded any airplane
* The August skies were so relentlessly drip-cloudy I had to seek out lawns to crash on in Millbrae,
* I almost watched The Bachelorette, and
* I nearly didn't sprain my eyes from excessive rolling while actually watching "Eat, Pray, Love"

So this morning, the last before the school year truly tidal waves me, I made one last effort to re-balance my little Mercury-in-Retrograde-or-something Summer universe. Following my rule that Sunday morning pre-8 a.m. is the most peaceful and therefore best time to walk (excepting all of Thanksgiving week), I (puffy vested and flip flopped despite the fog) walked out my gate to enjoy an early light amble, deciding: shall I go Right (Right Head swivel) or Left (Left Head swivel)? Only to find immediately to my left, about eight inches left, a rapidly approaching gun followed by a power-chasséing? police officer (what is the human equivalent of the equestrian 'trotting'?!) up the street, hollering "Drop the bag! Drop the bag!" at some person presumably already mostly up the block (I presume because it didn't seem like a good idea to turn my back just then). Did I mention the gun shaking and extended (with me suddenly in the way)?

The po-po and I both probably looked the same amount of startled and I retreated, remembering the rule about there being exceptions to every rule.

Exception: When faced with a gun, a badge and a nervous, adrenalined aura, it's probably the safest and most peaceful to head back inside if you have the choice.


Run Naked?

Until today, I have never been asked my permission for someone else to run naked. Odd, isn't it?

Two peas, one pod.

One of the peas is the rapidly shrinking Original Shorty (OS), formerly known as Flappy Pappy. The other pea is his absolute favorite person, Baby "Gluteus to the Maximus" (BG), formerly known as the Butt Pugg, currently pseudonymed as OS's one and only grandson.

Here are a sampling of today's conversations:

1. OS separates his daily pills into boxes. BG sends out a searching hand. OS:
Ah, this one is called [let's say Enulose]. It's a laxative. You don't want one of these. Not yet, anyways.

BG withdraws hand and appears pensive.

2. OS: Grandpa loves Max sooooooooooooooo much.
BG: Too much.


Winnemucca, Location of the 44 Hour Softball Tournament

Which far from explains why I am here.

It started with my brother moving to Utah.
It continued through his realization that Utah is not so big on easy alcohol access and that he therefore must be chipmunk-like and store up for winter.
It moved on to him exacting a promise from me to drive a station-wagon FULL of alcohol to Salt Lake City.
It wound its way to Shorty #1 (now medicated, but formerly known as Flappy Pappy) deciding he simply could not stand to be left behind while I drove to Utah on my own.
It involved him telling me every other day for the past month,
Winnemucca is known for its Basque Community and the Basque food. Can you believe it?

Which, through the power of sheer repetitive advertising, I believe I now can.

It went on to concern the typical family 'Bait and Add' sudden appearance of Shorty #2 (a.k.a. crazy mama con beehive) in the pocket of backseat remaining in the car as we sought to leave San Francisco.

All of which resulted in - after eight hours, fifteen stops punctuating the 'Don't go over 55mph' screeching soliloquies, and one very threatened GPS system - several new creases on my brow and more new trauma hotspots in my neural pathways. But, since I am an albeit reluctant lifelong learner, all was not lost.

1. The description "downtown" has a vast array of meanings. On the corner of Winnemucca Boulevard and the aptly named Malarkey Street, an actual tumbleweed whizzed by me. The alacrity of the tumbleweed should indicate several things, only one of which is the rate Shorty #1 walks. And

2. Basque restauranteurs have a well-developed sense of humor. Not only do Winnamucca Basque restaurants provide airbrushed glamor shots of your meal in its previous baby state (which I believe allows patrons to more easily cave-person grunt-point their ordering wishes),

they also provide the perfect meal for a country-crossing vegetarian - all you can drink red table wine. It certainly is a relief not to have to masticate one's nutrients. And, besides, with so many choices - from bacon-infused french fries to veal-soaked lamb chops to beef-simmered ham to the very vegetarian iceberg lettuce salad - how could one otherwise decide?!


Brain, Meet Summer. Now Turn Off.

My brain becomes very productive the second I go on summer break. I mean real break. No unpaid meetings about next year. No summer school teaching. Meaning I have been on for exactly four hours... and it is July. Not a good sign. I have to get all my seemingly-lucid-awake-REM-sleeping-brain-stateness in within the window of one month this year. We should all be experiencing a sense of dread.

All this summer brain cramming hurts. Today, I woke up wondering why it is that in supermarkets eggs are never housed anywhere near the chickens. How is it that eggs became a dairy?

Unable to solve the logic of this (though, of course, the Michael Pollanian corporate A->B of this seems clear), I moved on to the Phenomenon of the Fixie Identity. Specifically focusing on what SF walkers would need to create a group identity. Which led me to offer (in the classy spirit of Juicy Coutoure) the emblazing of all velour clad strolling bottoms: "Get off your gas and walk." Feel free to weigh in on possible fonts.

The Slow Cooker has unfortunately been dragged into my condition, and together we have arrived at the following for our future ukulele band:

Name: Paranoid Jews
First Album: The Guilty Catholics
Sophomoric Album, SC's Pick: Pious Muslim
Sophomoric Album, My Pick: Buddhists That Kill

Feel free to send me back to work asap, someone.


L.A. Really Has Nothing On Us

In 2003, San Francisco had the foresight to enact a law changing the term "pet owner" to "pet guardian." And today there were hella guardians watching their companions pee all over San Francisco's urban equivalent of Venice Beach: Dolores Park. With the temperature getting to nearly 60 degrees, everyone (complete with fixie, skinny jeans, and wee pooping companion) was basking in the Vitamin D and watching our equivalent of water (Dolores Street traffic). Packed in whether sitting or moving, I could not help but ear-hustle what I took to be a quintessential San Francisco conversation:

A: Well, her mother, you know, was Army... while her father was from the Air Force.

B: Aaaaah.

A: So I am sure you can imagine what an impact that had on her personality.

B: Yes.

A: I mean, she is really an unusual chihuahua.

Me: Blink.