These little kids *almost* endeared me to the T-Line.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Sporty Rice
My hips are currently covered in bruises. My running shoes may never quite recover from being as drenched as they were last night. But downsides aside, I had a blast as a Rice Bowl in the Chinese New Year Parade yesterday. I even made off with a sweet sweatshirt with a big rat on it, courtesy of Southwest Airlines. Thanks to C L-W for coordinating and Happy New Year!
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Lenten Meditation
Figures that the Lenten Meditation I wrote for my church features my tendency to complain about MUNI. It is one of my favorite pastimes. The prompt for this reflection was: "Who do you say that I am?--the simple complexity of Christ:"
I'm not much of a pray-er. I tend to be more of a complainer. If you know me, you might know that I'm especially adept at complaining about MUNI. When the T-Line first started running last April, the folks who answer the phones at 3-1-1 knew me by name. In any event, it is perhaps part of my nature that I don't spend my mornings doing devotions and I pray at night only rarely. After all, I spend the rest of my day griping, which crowds out time to praise God, thank God for anything, much less pray for anything.
Last Friday, for the first time in a long while I found myself in a state of almost constant prayer. I was observing a hearing for a client I care very much about and unjust and aggravating things were happening right under my nose. I couldn't say anything to complain or object and I felt completely impotent.
What could I do? Finally, I realized I could pray. I just kept repeating phrases from hymns and trying to pray for strength for my client and compassion and wisdom from the commissioners in charge. Although things at this hearing did not turn out the way I think they should have, I left with a greater sense of peace than I would have thought possible.
Reflecting on this experience today, a co-worker shared the following verse with me:
My fighting spirit causes me to see injustice in a lot of places and I get pretty worked up about it a lot of the time. Typically, my anger gets me nowhere. (Especially with MUNI.) Recognizing the simple truth in this verse, that everyone answers to someone higher than themselves - ultimately God - provided me with some much needed perspective. Even when advocacy fails and no one seems to be listening for the truth, greater things are at play.
So, "Who do you say I am?" An advocate who listens and understands.
I'm not much of a pray-er. I tend to be more of a complainer. If you know me, you might know that I'm especially adept at complaining about MUNI. When the T-Line first started running last April, the folks who answer the phones at 3-1-1 knew me by name. In any event, it is perhaps part of my nature that I don't spend my mornings doing devotions and I pray at night only rarely. After all, I spend the rest of my day griping, which crowds out time to praise God, thank God for anything, much less pray for anything.
Last Friday, for the first time in a long while I found myself in a state of almost constant prayer. I was observing a hearing for a client I care very much about and unjust and aggravating things were happening right under my nose. I couldn't say anything to complain or object and I felt completely impotent.
What could I do? Finally, I realized I could pray. I just kept repeating phrases from hymns and trying to pray for strength for my client and compassion and wisdom from the commissioners in charge. Although things at this hearing did not turn out the way I think they should have, I left with a greater sense of peace than I would have thought possible.
Reflecting on this experience today, a co-worker shared the following verse with me:
If you see the poor oppressed in a district, and justice and rights denied, do not be surprised at such things; for one official is eyed by a higher one, and over them both are others higher still. - Ecclesiastes 5:8
My fighting spirit causes me to see injustice in a lot of places and I get pretty worked up about it a lot of the time. Typically, my anger gets me nowhere. (Especially with MUNI.) Recognizing the simple truth in this verse, that everyone answers to someone higher than themselves - ultimately God - provided me with some much needed perspective. Even when advocacy fails and no one seems to be listening for the truth, greater things are at play.
So, "Who do you say I am?" An advocate who listens and understands.
I Endorse Obama
I contemplated using one of the catchy Obamania phrases like "Barack the Vote" or "Obama for Your Mama" as the title of this post, but frankly, I wanted to get to the point. I endorse Obama, and here's why.
First, because I'm rarely good at getting to the point, here's a bit of back story. On Super Tuesday, my friend Swerds was eating lunch outside his office and was approached by local newscasters for comments about who he voted for in the primary. Being the eloquent dude that he is, Swerds made an insightful comment about the war and why he chose Obama over Clinton. I realized after talking with Swerds that I had no such pithy remarks prepared and would have babbled incoherently if a microphone were thrust in my face. So without getting into policy points, here's why I voted for Obama this month, and hope to vote for Obama in November:
1. Obama is more than an effective orator. He has ignited a nation of politically apathetic people, especially young people. Yes, actions speak louder than words, but I am truly impressed by Obama's background. I want a President who was a community organizer on the South Side of Chicago; I want a President who taught constitutional law; I want a President who inspires me.
2. More importantly, I think that Obama has the potential to undo years of divisiveness and rancor in this country. In my opinion, Clinton's got an incredible uphill battle in that respect and I still have massive doubts about what shenanigans her husband pulled in terms of welfare "reform" when he was in the White House pandering to the Republicans. I realize that other people applaud former Pres. Clinton for PRWORA and might call him an effective coalition builder, but I choose to put my hope in Obama this time around.
3. I've only voted in two presidential elections. Both were embarrassing failures on so many levels. Both times, I voted against something (someone, some principles) instead of for something and someone I believed in. Either way things turn out, in November, I am going to be excited to vote for the Democratic nominee. Provided it's Obama though, I am going to be elated.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Foodies
In an effort to put more content on this blog, I've decided to start cross posting. Hence, you'll be able to find this review on my Goodreads page too.
I just finished tearing through "Julie and Julia: 365 Days, 524 Recipes, 1 Tiny Apartment Kitchen," by Julie Powell. It was a raucous read and very enjoyable for someone who loves experimenting in the kitchen and just recently started to rebound from her own prolonged self-pity party.
I realized, after reading it, that I've been on a bit of a "schtick" kick with my non-fiction reads lately. It started with "A Year of Living Biblically" and continued onto "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle." (I suppose "Eat, Pray, Love" was in somewhat the same vein as well.) Julie/Julia is also a gimmick, the deal is this woman who was on the eve of her 30th birthday, working in a depressing job, decided to take on a project to cook her way through the entire oeuvre of Volume I of "Mastering the Art of French Cooking" or as she calls it "MtAoFC." In so doing, she transformed her life and got this book deal after her blog about the project got super popular. (Not to worry any dear readers, I have no such aspirations!)
What I did get from this book though was a good report on kitchen adventures, a candid look at self-absorption and hilarity, and the story of how great friendships withstand low times and grow only stronger. It was great... it also caused me to make crepes at around 10:30 PM last night. Then I had crepes for dessert while watching "35 Up" last night, crepes for breakfast this morning (sort of blintz style with IKEA lingonberry jam and yogurt), and because my craving was (apparently) insatiable, two crepes for dinner tonight at Ti Couz - savory and sweet. I better cut back on the crepe intake tomorrow or you'll be able to roll me down the street just like I plan to roll up another crepe for breakfast manana.
In other news... I repotted some plants today. I ruined my favorite black cardigan by vigorously cleaning my bathroom. The super-heavy duty scary shower cleaner necessitated opening the window and turning on the fan so as to avoid killing too many brain cells or passing out due to the fumes. It was freezing cold in the bathroom as a result so I kept the cardi on and bleached the right sleeve completely. The elbow is now an unattractive neon coral color. It looks sort of like hypercolor gone terribly wrong.
This morning I threw a minor fit at Radio Shack when the aggravating sales associate refused to process the headset I bought to use while Skyping for a return, because he couldn't find the bar code. I bought it two days ago, had the receipt, and was so annoyed! Turns out the lesson to be learned from this is that my tantrums are best avoided since I realized I can send the headphones to Mr. Dirteens since they'll work with his laptop. Woohoo! No money lost here.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Spring
I live in a neighborhood that's still off the beaten path in SF. I'll admit I often get a smug sense of cool satisfaction when people are surprised to learn that there is, in fact, a neighborhood called the Dogpatch and I live in it. Here, there are three-flats with units like the one J and I share, barely detached single family homes some of which are lovely and others that are decaying, industrial and artistic businesses, warehouses, housing projects up the hill, and an increasing number of pricey lofts. We've got restaurants too (some of which are better than others, see my yelp reviews), an excellent pilates studio, and a boxing gym. The Dogpatch is gentrifying rapidly.
Still, the 'hood looks rather gritty in places. Walking to church, however, this morning, past a dingy motorcycle repair shop, a strange printing press, and an abandoned fire station, the street was lined with trees filled with pale pink blossoms. A hummingbird, a real live hummingbird was flitting about some of the branches.
This was an unexpected gift to me: a delicate, shimmering, whimsical creature going about its business pollinating or whatever it does on Tennessee Street. Finding such an anomale gave me great joy and a sense of wonder. I'm so grateful for having seen it.
I only hope that these new lofts won't displace the Dogpatch's resident hummingbird.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
I'm Back
By way of update, a lot has happened since April. Chiefly, I'm a Mrs. My last name changed. I cut off my hair. I'm learning how to drive and knit. I took my first deposition. I'm paying off my debt. I am back to attending church regularly and even serving as a quasi-elder, which is somewhat entertaining.
One of the most recent changes is that my marital property is off in Italia doing his dissertation research and as a bachelorette again for the next six weeks I thought I'd try to revive this blog. Since the Mr. is also back to travel blogging, this should also provide a good way for us to stay in better, and public, virtual contact.
As a note to self and, I suppose, to anyone who still reads this - I've also got plans to update my sidebar links at some future date so you all can see what I've been reading, listening to, and so that I can link to some of my pals' blogs.
One of the most recent changes is that my marital property is off in Italia doing his dissertation research and as a bachelorette again for the next six weeks I thought I'd try to revive this blog. Since the Mr. is also back to travel blogging, this should also provide a good way for us to stay in better, and public, virtual contact.
As a note to self and, I suppose, to anyone who still reads this - I've also got plans to update my sidebar links at some future date so you all can see what I've been reading, listening to, and so that I can link to some of my pals' blogs.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
"T" is for "TROUBLE"
But "L" for "Livid" better describes my mood right now.
On April 7th MUNI finally started running full service on the new Third Street “T-Line.” This train is less than 50 yards from my apartment and has been heralded as the train that will bring “new life” to the Southeastern portion of the city and its many poor and underserved neighborhoods. While these predictions about “revitalization/gentrification” may eventually come to pass, currently the T-Line appears to be a total boondoggle.
When I moved to the Dogpatch, public transportation was unreliable but relatively plentiful. Two bus lines within two blocks connected my neighborhood to the rest (West) of the city. One bus line, the notoriously smelly and unpredictable #15 (R.I.P), was my connection North or South. While the #15 was still running I had my share of problems with the bus. Like the Jeffrey Express (#6) of my days of yore in Chicago, or bands of wild canines, the #15 was prone to run in packs. I would wait for what felt like hours for one bus only for two to three buses to arrive all at once. This was particularly frustrating during the morning commute to work. Still, I don’t think I ever waited longer than 25 minutes. Vespertine rides on the #15 were sometimes shady, but service was mostly even and I could get home from work within 15 minutes provided the Giants weren’t playing or some huge company wasn’t hosting their annual conference and closing down streets. The only real problems I ever had with ol’ #15 occurred on Saturday mornings when I was trying to get to the gym. Since the #15 ran less frequently on weekends than weekdays – Saturday mornings were PACKED. The bus was sometimes so crowded that passengers could hardly breathe and if someone had tried to steal something from your bag, you wouldn’t have been able to tell.
Now, with the advent of the T-Line, the #15 is nothing but a bittersweet memory. Better-smelling, shiny light rail cars have replaced the T-Line. The tradeoff is a moderate improvement in predictability since (in theory) satellite technology alerts riders to the approximate arrival time of the next train. Other tradeoffs, however, include increased crowding, abysmal timing, long waits at the end of the work day, and non-existent trains on weekends.
Cases in point: (1) I waited for more than 30 minutes for a train home at 6:00 PM this past Thursday. A commute that used to range between 15-30 minutes took more than an hour. As a test, I walked to work (2.5 miles) from home the next morning, chatting on the phone with my sister, stopped for a cup of coffee, and still made it door-to-door in 35 minutes. Pathetic. (2) When I woke up on Saturday morning I checked on "Next Muni" for the approximate arrival of the next T-train that would bring me within a few blocks of my gym. [Dear #15 used to provide door-to-door service for me but the T-Line lets me off about a half-mile away – so I have to get up earlier to hit “yogalates” these days.] On “Next Muni” there was NO explanation but an indication that NO trains were running North on the T-Line. MUNI had provided no warning about this complete shut-down so I set off to walk, in the rain, to the gym. Along the way I found a mysterious “shuttle” bus which ran an unscripted route along 2nd Street. Terrible.
In sum, I think my fuming is partly personal because I’m suffering from a change that has gone far less smoothly than I expected. I’m also outraged though on behalf of my neighborhood and the poorer and more underserved areas south of it. From the Dogpatch if I look up the hill ancient pastel housing projects with plywood windows look down on pricey new lofts. A burgeoning commuter neighborhood, the Patch and Potrero, are home to a good many Caltrain riders and drivers who commute to Silicon Valley. Still, those of us who commute within the city on public transportation are getting the short end of the stick. MUNI should have considered how eliminating the only north-south transportation option and replacing it with another inferior alternative would affect residents in my ‘hood. I moved here too late to have a say in the process, but I will register my dissent now.
I suppose it’s time to learn how to drive.
On April 7th MUNI finally started running full service on the new Third Street “T-Line.” This train is less than 50 yards from my apartment and has been heralded as the train that will bring “new life” to the Southeastern portion of the city and its many poor and underserved neighborhoods. While these predictions about “revitalization/gentrification” may eventually come to pass, currently the T-Line appears to be a total boondoggle.
When I moved to the Dogpatch, public transportation was unreliable but relatively plentiful. Two bus lines within two blocks connected my neighborhood to the rest (West) of the city. One bus line, the notoriously smelly and unpredictable #15 (R.I.P), was my connection North or South. While the #15 was still running I had my share of problems with the bus. Like the Jeffrey Express (#6) of my days of yore in Chicago, or bands of wild canines, the #15 was prone to run in packs. I would wait for what felt like hours for one bus only for two to three buses to arrive all at once. This was particularly frustrating during the morning commute to work. Still, I don’t think I ever waited longer than 25 minutes. Vespertine rides on the #15 were sometimes shady, but service was mostly even and I could get home from work within 15 minutes provided the Giants weren’t playing or some huge company wasn’t hosting their annual conference and closing down streets. The only real problems I ever had with ol’ #15 occurred on Saturday mornings when I was trying to get to the gym. Since the #15 ran less frequently on weekends than weekdays – Saturday mornings were PACKED. The bus was sometimes so crowded that passengers could hardly breathe and if someone had tried to steal something from your bag, you wouldn’t have been able to tell.
Now, with the advent of the T-Line, the #15 is nothing but a bittersweet memory. Better-smelling, shiny light rail cars have replaced the T-Line. The tradeoff is a moderate improvement in predictability since (in theory) satellite technology alerts riders to the approximate arrival time of the next train. Other tradeoffs, however, include increased crowding, abysmal timing, long waits at the end of the work day, and non-existent trains on weekends.
Cases in point: (1) I waited for more than 30 minutes for a train home at 6:00 PM this past Thursday. A commute that used to range between 15-30 minutes took more than an hour. As a test, I walked to work (2.5 miles) from home the next morning, chatting on the phone with my sister, stopped for a cup of coffee, and still made it door-to-door in 35 minutes. Pathetic. (2) When I woke up on Saturday morning I checked on "Next Muni" for the approximate arrival of the next T-train that would bring me within a few blocks of my gym. [Dear #15 used to provide door-to-door service for me but the T-Line lets me off about a half-mile away – so I have to get up earlier to hit “yogalates” these days.] On “Next Muni” there was NO explanation but an indication that NO trains were running North on the T-Line. MUNI had provided no warning about this complete shut-down so I set off to walk, in the rain, to the gym. Along the way I found a mysterious “shuttle” bus which ran an unscripted route along 2nd Street. Terrible.
In sum, I think my fuming is partly personal because I’m suffering from a change that has gone far less smoothly than I expected. I’m also outraged though on behalf of my neighborhood and the poorer and more underserved areas south of it. From the Dogpatch if I look up the hill ancient pastel housing projects with plywood windows look down on pricey new lofts. A burgeoning commuter neighborhood, the Patch and Potrero, are home to a good many Caltrain riders and drivers who commute to Silicon Valley. Still, those of us who commute within the city on public transportation are getting the short end of the stick. MUNI should have considered how eliminating the only north-south transportation option and replacing it with another inferior alternative would affect residents in my ‘hood. I moved here too late to have a say in the process, but I will register my dissent now.
I suppose it’s time to learn how to drive.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Meat Loaf: Codified
I paged past this the other day while doing some legal research about parole hearings.
Title 15 California Code of Regulations Section 1247
(a) A disciplinary isolation diet that is nutritionally balanced may be served to an inmate...
(b) The disciplinary diet loaf shall consist of the following:
2-1/2 oz. nonfat dry milk
4-1/2 oz. raw grated potato
3 oz. grated carrots, chopped or grated fine
1-1/2 oz. tomatoe juice or puree
4-1/2 oz. raw cabbage, chopped fine
7 oz. lean ground beef, turkey, or rehydrated, canned, or frozen Textured Vegetable Protein (TVP)
2-1/2 fl. oz. oil
1-1/2 oz. whole wheat flour
1/4 tsp. salt
4 tsp. raw onion, chopped
1 egg
6 oz. dry red beans, pre-cooked before baking (or 16 oz. canned or cooked red kidney beans)
4 tsp. chili powder
Shape into a loaf and bake at 350-375 degrees for 50-70 minutes.
Title 15 California Code of Regulations Section 1247
(a) A disciplinary isolation diet that is nutritionally balanced may be served to an inmate...
(b) The disciplinary diet loaf shall consist of the following:
2-1/2 oz. nonfat dry milk
4-1/2 oz. raw grated potato
3 oz. grated carrots, chopped or grated fine
1-1/2 oz. tomatoe juice or puree
4-1/2 oz. raw cabbage, chopped fine
7 oz. lean ground beef, turkey, or rehydrated, canned, or frozen Textured Vegetable Protein (TVP)
2-1/2 fl. oz. oil
1-1/2 oz. whole wheat flour
1/4 tsp. salt
4 tsp. raw onion, chopped
1 egg
6 oz. dry red beans, pre-cooked before baking (or 16 oz. canned or cooked red kidney beans)
4 tsp. chili powder
Shape into a loaf and bake at 350-375 degrees for 50-70 minutes.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
"Here Lies Peperony and Chease"
Last Friday night Mr. Future Marital Property and I spent one of the nerdiest nights in history at home. First, we watched an episode of NUMB3RS in which Charlie totally solved an international art heist/murder/Nazi looting case with... calculus!
Then, as though that weren't nerdy enough, we found an online link to the game of my childhood, Oregon Trail. In eighth grade, when I was taking math at the high school, I would return to my junior high in the middle of second period. I and my fellow math nerds were confined to the library until third period started. Everyday, during that interim we played Oregon Trail.
The site we found emulates the colors on the screen, the music when you visit the landmarks on the trail, the hunting (darn those skittish squirrels and our pathetic ability to carry only 100 pounds of meat), and the insanely slow speed of the old game. It brought me right back to that musty, Anwatin library with the seventies carpeting and dingy books. In this nifty new web version, instead of crawling along at a snail's pace, you can select to play the game at slightly faster paces. This feature makes for some very speedy ventures across the territories. So, go on, be a carpenter, shoot some buffalo, and ford that river!
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Animals, Associate-land, and an Agitating Event
Howdy-doo potentially still faithful readers. I've been more remiss than (possibly) ever before about posting to my blog. This time, I offer no excuses. I'll just launch right in. Stream of consciousness.
It's no secret to my friends (or to readers of this blog (see 9/30/05 entry)) that I don't like animals. However, I've realized in the past few days that I might need to keep this information more private.* I'm guessing that some people don't have the same poodle-phobia as I do. Perhaps I've even mentioned how poodles scare me in the presence of a poodle owner. Some people probably even think that it's cruel and disturbing that I don't like animals.** Sort of like how I find it strange when people say they don't like children. Heck, animal rights activists are surely disgusted that I drink milk, or (gasp) eat beef. Anyway, I'm going to try and keep this distaste more private from now on in conversation.**
In other news, I've started work. For now I feel like I'm pretending to be a lawyer. Pretending to be a grown-up. It feels eerily similar to when my sister and I used to play "school." Generally in those days, because I am the elder sister, I would play the teacher. I didn't really have much to teach, nor did I have any training whatsoever, but I assumed the responsibility. I guess it's time to do the same thing now.
Finally, I've shared this story with a few people but thought I'd put it out here in case there are any other comments or viewpoints I haven't yet received. The other day I was waiting to cross the street on my nearest corner to catch the bus and head to work. At the corner, where there is a saloon, a man was standing outside the door to the bar. I've seen him around before. He is evidently homeless and possibly schizophrenic. I make these assumptions because he's usually talking to himself, his clothes are worn, and he doesn't have shoes.
On this particular morning, this man said "Hello" to me and then started repeating "Hello, Robin." [Why "Robin?" Who knows?] I smiled, in his direction, and then turned to cross the street. Adjacent to me, but on the other side of the street I had noticed a police car. To avoid jaywalking in the presence of the police, I patiently waited to cross until the light changed. Just before I was able to cross, and as my bus was approaching, an officer came out of the car and started yelling at this man. With profanities omitted for my dear reaaders, the officer told him to stop bothering me and to get out and move on his way. Understandably, the man on the corner was startled and intimidated. The situation/power imbalance, worsened when the other officer came out and started saying the same things.
In part because I needed to catch my bus, in part because I was dumbfounded, I crossed the street and left the scene without saying anything. I don't know exactly what I would have said. I also don't know what had transpired earlier that day. Perhaps this man on the corner had actually created problems in the neighborhood.
What it looked like to me though, was a show of force to sweep "unwanted" people off the streets of our rapidly gentrifying neighborhood. It appeared to be a tactic whereby the police would incite a reaction from the person they were targeting, allowing them to arrest the person or remove them from the area. No matter what, it was deeply unsettling. Have I over, or underreacted?
It's no secret to my friends (or to readers of this blog (see 9/30/05 entry)) that I don't like animals. However, I've realized in the past few days that I might need to keep this information more private.* I'm guessing that some people don't have the same poodle-phobia as I do. Perhaps I've even mentioned how poodles scare me in the presence of a poodle owner. Some people probably even think that it's cruel and disturbing that I don't like animals.** Sort of like how I find it strange when people say they don't like children. Heck, animal rights activists are surely disgusted that I drink milk, or (gasp) eat beef. Anyway, I'm going to try and keep this distaste more private from now on in conversation.**
In other news, I've started work. For now I feel like I'm pretending to be a lawyer. Pretending to be a grown-up. It feels eerily similar to when my sister and I used to play "school." Generally in those days, because I am the elder sister, I would play the teacher. I didn't really have much to teach, nor did I have any training whatsoever, but I assumed the responsibility. I guess it's time to do the same thing now.
Finally, I've shared this story with a few people but thought I'd put it out here in case there are any other comments or viewpoints I haven't yet received. The other day I was waiting to cross the street on my nearest corner to catch the bus and head to work. At the corner, where there is a saloon, a man was standing outside the door to the bar. I've seen him around before. He is evidently homeless and possibly schizophrenic. I make these assumptions because he's usually talking to himself, his clothes are worn, and he doesn't have shoes.
On this particular morning, this man said "Hello" to me and then started repeating "Hello, Robin." [Why "Robin?" Who knows?] I smiled, in his direction, and then turned to cross the street. Adjacent to me, but on the other side of the street I had noticed a police car. To avoid jaywalking in the presence of the police, I patiently waited to cross until the light changed. Just before I was able to cross, and as my bus was approaching, an officer came out of the car and started yelling at this man. With profanities omitted for my dear reaaders, the officer told him to stop bothering me and to get out and move on his way. Understandably, the man on the corner was startled and intimidated. The situation/power imbalance, worsened when the other officer came out and started saying the same things.
In part because I needed to catch my bus, in part because I was dumbfounded, I crossed the street and left the scene without saying anything. I don't know exactly what I would have said. I also don't know what had transpired earlier that day. Perhaps this man on the corner had actually created problems in the neighborhood.
What it looked like to me though, was a show of force to sweep "unwanted" people off the streets of our rapidly gentrifying neighborhood. It appeared to be a tactic whereby the police would incite a reaction from the person they were targeting, allowing them to arrest the person or remove them from the area. No matter what, it was deeply unsettling. Have I over, or underreacted?
* Note the irony: I'm publicizing my dislike on the Internet before shutting up in regular conversation.
** See exception for baby beluga whales below.
Monday, August 14, 2006
Memories... I can smile at the old days.
My neighborhood is bizarre. This thought is never far from my mind while I'm at home, but two nights ago it became even clearer. That incident, coupled with the fact that Mr. Island of Misfit Toys and I have found a place in SF and are soon to leave this neighborhood behind, has inspired me to put together an impartial list of what I'll remember and (in some cases) even miss about this Lorin District of mine.
[in no particular order]
1. The cacophony that is the drum circle at the Hash-by Bart.
2. The ice cream truck that can only play that one, oddly familiar, but extremely annoying song.
3. The business hippies, oh the business hippies. It must be hard living the indie-rock-art life in this run down neighborhood with daddy paying your rent while you drive his old Lexus that's tragically missing a hub cap.
4. "De Thang" (the sweet black cadillac down the block with the quotation as its vanity plate) and "Mo Thang" (the massive black van down the block with this quotation as its vanity plate). The owners of these two vehicles, awesome in their own right, have a spectacular jazz band that practices Tuesday night. I will miss their weekly practice sessions and the crowd that's started to gather on their steps to listen to the free show. I'll also miss my roommate's phone calls when he was home and I was out and Mo Thang was driving down our street. The totality of his call, "MO THANG ON THE MOVE." Then he would hang up.
5. El Nopal, your food, rather crappy, but ever so cheap.
6. Lois the Pie Queen. I will miss your gritty grits, your bacon, your egg salad sandwiches, and especially your lemony ice box pie.
7. The Bowl. I'm torn up about this one. Too sad to write an adequate adieu.
8. The Berkeley Tool Lending Library, and its neighbor, the Thai Temple Brunch. What a combo!
9. The kind and friendly grandma who lives down the street and cheered for me and Rordog when we were in our graduation robes on the way to the bus that took us to Commencement.
10. And finally, the incident I mentioned above involving an axe wielding neighbor. The other night, Jotina, Rordog, and Misfit and I went on a walk to the corner store (where, incidentally a drunken woman once grabbed my butt) in search of Reddi-Wip for the pumpkin pie I had baked. Berkeley Bowl's inferior Berkeley Farms whipped cream had betrayed us. Its product had no "wip," so to speak. Most likely some kid had already depleted its nitrous stores before I even purchased the can.
In any event, on our way down Woolsey, this crazed blond man walked up along side us. He was muttering to himself and, slung across his shoulder, was a sawed off electric guitar. His axe. He asked us if we had seen a guy in a t-shirt, wearing a hat, riding a blue mountain bike. He informed us that the police were looking for him.
Evidently, this poor soul's bike had been stolen and to wreak his revenge, he was going to wail on him with his axe. To our relief, this man proceeded on his way and left us alone to complete our mission. Our mission failed, the convenience store carries more in the way of alcohol, pork rinds, cigarettes, and canned chili. Even without the whipped cream, we were happy to have escaped unscathed.
[in no particular order]
1. The cacophony that is the drum circle at the Hash-by Bart.
2. The ice cream truck that can only play that one, oddly familiar, but extremely annoying song.
3. The business hippies, oh the business hippies. It must be hard living the indie-rock-art life in this run down neighborhood with daddy paying your rent while you drive his old Lexus that's tragically missing a hub cap.
4. "De Thang" (the sweet black cadillac down the block with the quotation as its vanity plate) and "Mo Thang" (the massive black van down the block with this quotation as its vanity plate). The owners of these two vehicles, awesome in their own right, have a spectacular jazz band that practices Tuesday night. I will miss their weekly practice sessions and the crowd that's started to gather on their steps to listen to the free show. I'll also miss my roommate's phone calls when he was home and I was out and Mo Thang was driving down our street. The totality of his call, "MO THANG ON THE MOVE." Then he would hang up.
5. El Nopal, your food, rather crappy, but ever so cheap.
6. Lois the Pie Queen. I will miss your gritty grits, your bacon, your egg salad sandwiches, and especially your lemony ice box pie.
7. The Bowl. I'm torn up about this one. Too sad to write an adequate adieu.
8. The Berkeley Tool Lending Library, and its neighbor, the Thai Temple Brunch. What a combo!
9. The kind and friendly grandma who lives down the street and cheered for me and Rordog when we were in our graduation robes on the way to the bus that took us to Commencement.
10. And finally, the incident I mentioned above involving an axe wielding neighbor. The other night, Jotina, Rordog, and Misfit and I went on a walk to the corner store (where, incidentally a drunken woman once grabbed my butt) in search of Reddi-Wip for the pumpkin pie I had baked. Berkeley Bowl's inferior Berkeley Farms whipped cream had betrayed us. Its product had no "wip," so to speak. Most likely some kid had already depleted its nitrous stores before I even purchased the can.
In any event, on our way down Woolsey, this crazed blond man walked up along side us. He was muttering to himself and, slung across his shoulder, was a sawed off electric guitar. His axe. He asked us if we had seen a guy in a t-shirt, wearing a hat, riding a blue mountain bike. He informed us that the police were looking for him.
Evidently, this poor soul's bike had been stolen and to wreak his revenge, he was going to wail on him with his axe. To our relief, this man proceeded on his way and left us alone to complete our mission. Our mission failed, the convenience store carries more in the way of alcohol, pork rinds, cigarettes, and canned chili. Even without the whipped cream, we were happy to have escaped unscathed.
Friday, August 11, 2006
Me: "My senses are filled up right now."
Response: "Must be the taco."
Today my two friends and I went on the aforementioned taco quest. It turned out to be more than a simple taco expedition. The adventure was a resounding success and turned into a mini-road trip replete with Americana, lengua, and breathtaking views.
We headed off for Pescadero, CA at around 4pm. To experience the longest (?) Bay Area bridge, we took the San Mateo, and arrived in tiny Pescadero from Hwy 1. Hwy 1 was scenic, as its signs suggest. The sky was grey and matched the color of the ocean. Only the tiniest sliver of sunshine broke on the waves, far out, near the horizon.
In Pescadero we missed the taqueria on first pass. The taqueria is quite literally in the gas station and no signs mark its location. Fortunately, we doubled back and found it next to the cash register at the only gas station in town (regular gas: $3.49/gallon!!)
To my chagrin, there were no tamales dulce. To A (my mascot)'s disappointment, they were also out of cabeza and ojos. We ordered two fish tacos, one lengua, one al pastor, one carne asada, and the carnitas. Dear God, the carnitas. The carnitas reigned supreme. The pork was juicy, perfectly charred to a crisp on the fatty bits, and bursting with flavor. Paired with the jalapenos/carrots, cilantro, and salsa, this taco was unbelievably good. I also enjoyed the chips, which I thought were perfectly salty, rather oily, and nice and thin.
We dined next to seemingly local teens and a local family discussing quinceaneras. The atmosphere was very small town and friendly. I felt like a total idiot when my cell phone rang. Hello? Not cool.
Post-mountaintop taco experience, we headed across the street to Duarte's Tavern. This place is o-l-d and well-established. We were totally full from the tacos and ordered only pie and coffee. Between the olallieberry and the strawberry rhubarb the olallieberry won. At first I was skeptical about the crust. It looked kind of thick and prone to being dense and dry. I was pleasantly mistaken and found the whole thing to be kind of toasty flavored, light, and flaky.
Duarte's would be a good place to hit up for dinner or lunch. It won (what appears to be) a pretty phenomenal award three years ago: the James Beard Foundation Award - granted to only four restaurants a year! Duarte's also has a tavern in back complete with fake leather stools and swinging doors.
More to be continued...
Today my two friends and I went on the aforementioned taco quest. It turned out to be more than a simple taco expedition. The adventure was a resounding success and turned into a mini-road trip replete with Americana, lengua, and breathtaking views.
We headed off for Pescadero, CA at around 4pm. To experience the longest (?) Bay Area bridge, we took the San Mateo, and arrived in tiny Pescadero from Hwy 1. Hwy 1 was scenic, as its signs suggest. The sky was grey and matched the color of the ocean. Only the tiniest sliver of sunshine broke on the waves, far out, near the horizon.
In Pescadero we missed the taqueria on first pass. The taqueria is quite literally in the gas station and no signs mark its location. Fortunately, we doubled back and found it next to the cash register at the only gas station in town (regular gas: $3.49/gallon!!)
To my chagrin, there were no tamales dulce. To A (my mascot)'s disappointment, they were also out of cabeza and ojos. We ordered two fish tacos, one lengua, one al pastor, one carne asada, and the carnitas. Dear God, the carnitas. The carnitas reigned supreme. The pork was juicy, perfectly charred to a crisp on the fatty bits, and bursting with flavor. Paired with the jalapenos/carrots, cilantro, and salsa, this taco was unbelievably good. I also enjoyed the chips, which I thought were perfectly salty, rather oily, and nice and thin.
We dined next to seemingly local teens and a local family discussing quinceaneras. The atmosphere was very small town and friendly. I felt like a total idiot when my cell phone rang. Hello? Not cool.
Post-mountaintop taco experience, we headed across the street to Duarte's Tavern. This place is o-l-d and well-established. We were totally full from the tacos and ordered only pie and coffee. Between the olallieberry and the strawberry rhubarb the olallieberry won. At first I was skeptical about the crust. It looked kind of thick and prone to being dense and dry. I was pleasantly mistaken and found the whole thing to be kind of toasty flavored, light, and flaky.
Duarte's would be a good place to hit up for dinner or lunch. It won (what appears to be) a pretty phenomenal award three years ago: the James Beard Foundation Award - granted to only four restaurants a year! Duarte's also has a tavern in back complete with fake leather stools and swinging doors.
More to be continued...
Thursday, August 10, 2006
No, I was not on a cruise
But, I have partaken of at least 4 buffets in the past 2 weeks.
Yes, between Vegas and Chicago I've recently eaten quite well. In Vegas, it was more that I ate a lot. Quantity not quality. While in Vegas, however, I did manage to eat at Lotus of Siam. Little Lo is a member of my favorite class of restaurant. Class members are usually located, like Lotus, in a seedy strip mall next to a wig shop. Lotus looks like the type of place one would be wiser to forgo. Inside, multilingual reviews of the Lotus' supreme mastery of Thai cuisine papered the entryway. The reviews did not betray. Something larb-like was excellent and the pad see ew was perfection. The wide noodles had a texture no other restaurant I've been to has attained and the tofu in the dish was delicate and somewhat sweet. To top it all off, we had an amazing (but somewhat expensive) Thai desert trio of a coconut sorbet (disappointingly granular texture), what I considered to be a deep-fried banana twinkie, or more appropriately a banana egg roll, and some spectacular mango sticky rice. The banana egg roll was good, but I would travel back for the mango sticky rice. That, dear readers, is saying something. I have reached my Vegas saturation point, and I don't see myself returning soon. Nevertheless, when I think of that rice, I consider checking SWA for cheap flights...
In Chicago, I had a fabulous bachelorette party meal at Sapori Trattoria in Lincoln Park. My dear friend's sister treated us to kir royales, a memorable appetizer with portobello mushrooms and some really really decadent bread pudding. My favorite entree was the equally decadent butternut squash ravioli. A lot of restaurants won't serve that dish year-round. For traditionalist reasons they confine (or rather, imprison it) to colder seasons. The emphasis in this particular ravioli was on the butter. I appreciated that as a butter devotee. The ravioli was sweet, nutty, crispy (was that pine nuts?) and yumtastic. Service at Sapori was also top notch.
The next night in Chicago, my sister, her main squeeze, and his roommate took me to Polish-town on Milwaukee Avenue. While there I saw what appeared to be the nicest laundromat... ever. It was next door to the Red Apple (aka Czerwone Jabluszko) Restaurant. My hunch is that the Red Apple owners also manage the laundromat. The laundromat was very clean and had a tiered tray of free (that's right, free) desserts out for the taking. These desserts were both free and looked awesome. At the Red Apple our awesome waitress pushed us to order beer (the Polish nickname for the brand is O.K., and it was, O.K.). The buffet, for $8.99 (weekend rate) was rad. The meaty pierogies were scrumptious and I enjoyed the apple pancakes as well. The meat and potato varieties were also good, I'm afraid I can't describe the dishes since the restaurant was not so accomodating to us non-Poles as to place names near the buffet trays. Despite that minor pitfall (and with the exhortation to step away from the fruit tray - the plums were bruised and mushy, food looked spoiled), I wholeheartedly recommend the Red Apple.*
Before I sign off, some of you may be wondering, why has Dirteens spent an entire post discussing food? What's up with that? Well, on the one hand, tomorrow I'm replicating part of the recent NYT taco quest feature [see "Chasing the Perfect Taco"]. In Pescadero, I hope to try a pineapple tamale, some tacos with scary meats in them, and track down some olallieberry pie. On the other hand, I'm trying to avoid thinking about wedding planning and fuming about my recent denial of short-term health insurance. Apparently, if you take any prescription medication (i.e., asthma inhaler) you are categorically denied short-term coverage by Blue Cross.
I digress.
The real inspiration for all of this was the newly revamped Chowhound site. I visited Chowhound every now and then before the onset of the Bar. Post-Bar I returned to find that the site had sold out, but to my surprise and glee, it is much easier to navigate these days and conducive to hours of browsing. Good times.
* Eating at the Red Apple brought back many happy memories of the Pierogi Fest in Whiting, IN. You really must go. In addition to the widest variety of dumplings this side of heaven, you can take your picture (for FREE) with Mr. Pierogi and Mr. Kielbasa. Now that is a treat. And while I'm on the subject of weird festivals and events... if you weren't at the Anvil Drop at Gardner Hardware in Mpls, MN today, you missed out. I may plan my wedding around it next year.
Yes, between Vegas and Chicago I've recently eaten quite well. In Vegas, it was more that I ate a lot. Quantity not quality. While in Vegas, however, I did manage to eat at Lotus of Siam. Little Lo is a member of my favorite class of restaurant. Class members are usually located, like Lotus, in a seedy strip mall next to a wig shop. Lotus looks like the type of place one would be wiser to forgo. Inside, multilingual reviews of the Lotus' supreme mastery of Thai cuisine papered the entryway. The reviews did not betray. Something larb-like was excellent and the pad see ew was perfection. The wide noodles had a texture no other restaurant I've been to has attained and the tofu in the dish was delicate and somewhat sweet. To top it all off, we had an amazing (but somewhat expensive) Thai desert trio of a coconut sorbet (disappointingly granular texture), what I considered to be a deep-fried banana twinkie, or more appropriately a banana egg roll, and some spectacular mango sticky rice. The banana egg roll was good, but I would travel back for the mango sticky rice. That, dear readers, is saying something. I have reached my Vegas saturation point, and I don't see myself returning soon. Nevertheless, when I think of that rice, I consider checking SWA for cheap flights...
In Chicago, I had a fabulous bachelorette party meal at Sapori Trattoria in Lincoln Park. My dear friend's sister treated us to kir royales, a memorable appetizer with portobello mushrooms and some really really decadent bread pudding. My favorite entree was the equally decadent butternut squash ravioli. A lot of restaurants won't serve that dish year-round. For traditionalist reasons they confine (or rather, imprison it) to colder seasons. The emphasis in this particular ravioli was on the butter. I appreciated that as a butter devotee. The ravioli was sweet, nutty, crispy (was that pine nuts?) and yumtastic. Service at Sapori was also top notch.
The next night in Chicago, my sister, her main squeeze, and his roommate took me to Polish-town on Milwaukee Avenue. While there I saw what appeared to be the nicest laundromat... ever. It was next door to the Red Apple (aka Czerwone Jabluszko) Restaurant. My hunch is that the Red Apple owners also manage the laundromat. The laundromat was very clean and had a tiered tray of free (that's right, free) desserts out for the taking. These desserts were both free and looked awesome. At the Red Apple our awesome waitress pushed us to order beer (the Polish nickname for the brand is O.K., and it was, O.K.). The buffet, for $8.99 (weekend rate) was rad. The meaty pierogies were scrumptious and I enjoyed the apple pancakes as well. The meat and potato varieties were also good, I'm afraid I can't describe the dishes since the restaurant was not so accomodating to us non-Poles as to place names near the buffet trays. Despite that minor pitfall (and with the exhortation to step away from the fruit tray - the plums were bruised and mushy, food looked spoiled), I wholeheartedly recommend the Red Apple.*
Before I sign off, some of you may be wondering, why has Dirteens spent an entire post discussing food? What's up with that? Well, on the one hand, tomorrow I'm replicating part of the recent NYT taco quest feature [see "Chasing the Perfect Taco"]. In Pescadero, I hope to try a pineapple tamale, some tacos with scary meats in them, and track down some olallieberry pie. On the other hand, I'm trying to avoid thinking about wedding planning and fuming about my recent denial of short-term health insurance. Apparently, if you take any prescription medication (i.e., asthma inhaler) you are categorically denied short-term coverage by Blue Cross.
I digress.
The real inspiration for all of this was the newly revamped Chowhound site. I visited Chowhound every now and then before the onset of the Bar. Post-Bar I returned to find that the site had sold out, but to my surprise and glee, it is much easier to navigate these days and conducive to hours of browsing. Good times.
* Eating at the Red Apple brought back many happy memories of the Pierogi Fest in Whiting, IN. You really must go. In addition to the widest variety of dumplings this side of heaven, you can take your picture (for FREE) with Mr. Pierogi and Mr. Kielbasa. Now that is a treat. And while I'm on the subject of weird festivals and events... if you weren't at the Anvil Drop at Gardner Hardware in Mpls, MN today, you missed out. I may plan my wedding around it next year.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
this really cheered me up today
And brought back memories of one of my favorite childhood tunes, "Baby Beluga". Perhaps I will rock out to some Raffi tonight. Seeing these pictures also made me realize that I actually do like whales. This presents quite an exception to my usual disdain for non-human members of the animal kingdom.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
my solemn promise to you, dear readers
I swear, that after this marathon of study is over, I will refrain from posting about boring topics like weird bar vocabulary and test preparation. For now, however, since I do nothing else but study, eat, work out, and sleep, I bring you the most recent Gmail ad displayed for my account.
A Bar Exam Must-Have for Everything you Need for Exam Day!
At first I thought it might include chocolate, a flask for chugging whiskey after the exam is over, or Adavan. Instead, some Colorado company has taken to creating exam-day kits for Colorado Bar examinees. Too bad they use a digital clock [tsk-tsk] and include snacks. There's no eating and only analog clocks here in California. The fun times never end here in the Golden State.
Also, I recently found an old SNL "Deep Thoughts" postcard from my dearest friend Helly. She sent it to me way back in Junior High and I've saved it all these years. It seems particularly relevant now as I work on detestable MBE questions:
A Bar Exam Must-Have for Everything you Need for Exam Day!
At first I thought it might include chocolate, a flask for chugging whiskey after the exam is over, or Adavan. Instead, some Colorado company has taken to creating exam-day kits for Colorado Bar examinees. Too bad they use a digital clock [tsk-tsk] and include snacks. There's no eating and only analog clocks here in California. The fun times never end here in the Golden State.
Also, I recently found an old SNL "Deep Thoughts" postcard from my dearest friend Helly. She sent it to me way back in Junior High and I've saved it all these years. It seems particularly relevant now as I work on detestable MBE questions:
Instead of having different answers on a math test, they should just call them "impressions," and if you got a different impression, so what? Can't we all be brothers?
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Whoa, Woe.
To paraphrase the always eloquent Roberto - "woe is the [Bar]. woe are... readers [of blogs about the Bar]. woe be all up in the hood. many weeks of woe. much boredom with woe of [essay writing]. no easement of the woe to be found in the [Bar blogs]. woe are the [Bar blogs]."
Seriously, people are psyching themselves out and I foolishly read their blogs this evening. Won't make that mistake again. I hate vicarious stress. Why isn't there strict liability for such crap? Woe indeed.
Seriously, people are psyching themselves out and I foolishly read their blogs this evening. Won't make that mistake again. I hate vicarious stress. Why isn't there strict liability for such crap? Woe indeed.
ATTENTION Lyrical Geniuses: I need your help.
I've recently started attending this awesome boot-camp type of fitness class at the gym here on campus with my friend E. The instructor has an affinity for funkalicious R&B and pop-reggae tunes. Every day so far, we students have been regaled with the same (entertaining) mix. At the end of the class, the mix features this one hilarious song. I know only a tiny portion of the lyrics but, honest to God, they seem to be, "Shake your B-O-T-Y."
I'm pretty sure that B-O-T-Y is an incorrect spelling of booty, but I suppose one can never be too certain. Does B-O-T-Y mean something I'm unfamiliar with? If not, how could an error this egregious pass by the producer's vigilant ears? I am dying to download this song, but knowing so few lyrics, I can't seem to find it. My Google searches have been unavailing as they suggest KC & the Sunshine Band's famous tune or imply that I am misspelling my inquiry.
Can anyone help this bored bar-taker out?
Also, QUOTE OF THE WEEK, in a thoughtful response to my inability to hang out with a friend: "It's not you being lame, it's the Bar being lame."
I'm pretty sure that B-O-T-Y is an incorrect spelling of booty, but I suppose one can never be too certain. Does B-O-T-Y mean something I'm unfamiliar with? If not, how could an error this egregious pass by the producer's vigilant ears? I am dying to download this song, but knowing so few lyrics, I can't seem to find it. My Google searches have been unavailing as they suggest KC & the Sunshine Band's famous tune or imply that I am misspelling my inquiry.
Can anyone help this bored bar-taker out?
Also, QUOTE OF THE WEEK, in a thoughtful response to my inability to hang out with a friend: "It's not you being lame, it's the Bar being lame."
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Interpretations?
This weekend, at a fantastic rehearsal dinner at Fat's in Folsom*, I received a very unusual fortune. I think this fortune tops the one my mother used to get in every cookie she ate at the Great Wall in Minneapolis. [Mind you, we ate there often enough to receive Christmas cards from the owners.] Her fortune was, "You will meet a tall, dark woman." My fortune read:
"Alas! The onion you are eating is some else's water lily."
Now, I've never seen a fortune that starts with the word, "Alas." I was a bit startled by that, not to mention the fact that it was followed by a fright-inducing exclamation point. This bit about the lily and onion has me a little stumped. I believe leeks are part of the lily family... Perhaps this has something to do with not wallowing in bitterness and self-pity... Your thoughts?
*My very best wishes to the lovely Lew-Williamses (see above)!
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