Kings of Grocery

At work yesterday, I had to do meeting pre-work that involved going to a grocery store. I won’t get into the details of what I had to do there, b/c it wouldn’t interest you, given that it didn’t really interest me, but I do have some commentary re: the grocery store itself.

First, I shall point out that I’ve had this assignment due for a week, but I forgot to go over the weekend, and then I procrastinated and had excuses for not going on Mon, Tues, and Wed nights of this week. So it was suddenly 11am on the day of the 1pm meeting, and I wanted to do my homework, b/c I’m generally a good girl. I pulled up the AroundMe app on the old iPhone, searched for grocery stores. Here is what pulled up:
o Khanh Phong Supermarket
o Sam Yick Market
o New Tin's Market
o Cho Lon Moi Market
o Lucky Star Store
o King of Grocery
o New Dick Market
o Long Pat Market
o Both Side Convenience
o Good Time Market
o Big Dish
o Hung Wan Supermarket

I have a few observations about this list. 1) Where is the Safeway? Lucky’s? 2) Why do so many of these sound so sexual (New Dick? Long Pat? Good Time?)? 3) I don’t know what the observation is, but “King of Grocery?” “Both Side Convenience?” à really?

In the end I stalked my colleagues until I found someone with a car and drove to a Safeway. No offense to the China Town community, but I needed a full salad dressing shelf set which requires a population of fat American shoppers. But I’m glad I tried to locate a walking-distance market in the first place, b/c I otherwise would never have discovered this fantastic list of options.

The New Kids in My Life

Funny to think it’s been two years, more than two years, since I’ve stepped foot onto a college campus, for the purposes of academic pursuit (there have been recruiting events…).  Tonight, I did it.  Decided that I miss blogging and that I should take a writing course.  Yes, I could just blog, but the issue is that my idea well runneth dry.  Life just isn’t as zany as it used to be.  That, or corporate American has sucked out all the creative juices that used to help me formulate more offbeat or entertaining observations .  Either way, blogging is considerably difficult when you find you have no material. 

Fortunately, between now and next Wed night, I will not only be forced to write a three page short-story (Note:  I’m having trouble selecting my topic: it’s between a young boy learning that his family eats his pet chicken’s eggs and then discovering they eat more than the eggs when the chicken one day disappears; the discovery process around Thai food and Thai food traditions; or flow charts as the inspiration for organizational skill development within the context of modern life… Best not to get into the details of the source of these ideas.)….

 …Continuing on…but I also have a new source of inspiration for blogging:  Classroom (mostly classmates) of Room 266 at the Ocean Campus of City College of San Francisco.  I think Wake may be one of the preppiest college campuses, running amuck with future yuppies of America…and then I went to business school…which largely speaks for itself if you’re speculating on your character types.

City College in SF:  very different scene.  I am clad in skinny jeans, orange flats, white tea, long grey cardigan, colorful scarf, and layered jewelry…and I looked the picture of whitebread, suburban, clean-cut, normalcy in terms of dress code within the confines of this classroom.  That is just a visual descriptor for you to absorb.

My fellow classmates…where to start. I think w/ the oddball talkazoid (yep, that guy has already revealed himself and he simply won’t shut up).  Dressed in gothic apparel, boots crumpling down over his black jeans.  I fortunately connected myself to him personally, as during our introductions (given by newly-met partners, stand-up style) it was noted that I care for the literature of Gregory McGuire.   Old talky nodded my way and later on made reference to a McGuire novel.  Awesome. 

There is one guy who absolutely fascinates me.  Scrawny little hipster, with long, side-swept hair covered by a vintage fedora, wearing a Goodwill purchased Smithsonian t-shirt from 1983.  In his introduction, I learned that he writes and produces hip-hop (apparently has worked w/ Del the Funky Homosapien), has ghostwritten for Comedy Central, and is a freelancing restaurant consultant.  Either all of this, or, he made it all up.  But, impressive sounding. 

There is “that girl” as well, potentially the dullest in class to behold visually, and the dullest to behold when she speaks as well. I think that she was one of the few that indicated she somehow made some sort of living via the written word. I guess maybe she writes like manuals for power tools or something.  She at one point asked “how many pages does it have to be again?”  It’s an f’in creative writing class.

One final character to paint out…  The scared-of-the-world.  She could barely make eye contact with anyone in the class, the only one who refused to stand up for her intro. I don’t begrudge her this as there is nothing wrong w/ shyness.  I am only pointing out that JR (only name that I remember) had a subtle creepiness.  She is apparently working on a novel, but her partner was unable to “do the novel justice” via any description, and I’m not sure how that bodes for the novel.  Anyway, she reminded me of Aly Sheedy in the Breakfast Club.

So for now that should give a moderately detailed portrait of this classroom.  It’s definitely one that enables me to be excited to attend the next class not only for the writing, but also for the chance to continue observing my fellow writing peoples. 

Acting Your Age

On Fri night, we didn’t head out to dinner until nearly 10pm.  Which meant a few things…1)  I couldn’t put the boiled peanuts and pickled vegetables that we ordered to start into my mouth fast enough (yes, you read correctly, our starters at Magnolia included boiled peanuts and pickled veggies, and they both absolutely correct so stop making faces) due to my extreme hunger by that point.  2)  We didn’t have to wait for a table which NEVER happens.  3)  It was bound to be a bit more rambunctious than usual given the later hour.

Ok maybe it’s really pretty lame that I’m using 10pm, Friday, and later hour all in the same line of thought, but these days I’m gearing up to turn 29, thinking it really means I’m pretty much 30, and feeling like I frequently spend my weekends in the manner that bests suits someone who is a suburban 40.  I think I’m mostly ok with that.  But anyway, the debauchery was eventually brought, right around bite 2 of my delicious bleu cheese and bacon burger when a group of raucous 50 year olds walked into the bar.

The event:  a man’s 50^th birthday.  The crowd:  weird (sorry, can’t really come up with any better adjectives to describe the assortment of individuals).  The mode of transportation:  an SF cable-car style party bus.  The attire:  large balloon hats.  Ok, so there was really only one balloon hat.  It was on the head of the birthday boy.  But it counts anyway.

And it really started to count when the wearer of the hat decided it hilarious to pop one of the balloons.  I startle easily.  So pop number 1 nearly caused me to spit out a bite of my food. Or maybe choke on it. I don’t know. It scared me.  I was certainly not amused. 

The birthday crowd on the other hand certainly was amused.  The balloon popping continued, picking up pace. I remember when I was little, spending the night at my cousin heather’s house, and during summer thunderstorms, we’d count the seconds b/t thunder claps (the closer the storm got, the less time b/t the claps).  I liken the balloon situation to the storm:  time b/t pops quickened, laughter of the 50 year old party grew, silence among the other patrons deepened, stares raged, and the storm gathered force.  The downpour I suppose then was when a staff member actually took the balloon hat away.  The storm didn’t last long, however, as it was returned, and not less than a minute later, Mr. Happy 50 was at his antics again.  Very soon, they departed, hopping into their classy cable car and taking off for greener pastures where they could pop balloons until their hearts’ content, or at least until the hat was no longer a hat but simply a mass of sad deflated rubber pieces. 

My emotions were mixed as the crowd departed, and I finished up my burger.  I was certainly sated, but that is neither here nor there as it’s a feeling related to my food consumption rather than the birthday antics.  I was relieved, as I’d been startled so many times I was on the verge of needing a xanax.  But I suppose I was also a little wistful, wondering, will I grow down by the time I’m 50?  Is there hope that I, too, can someday be a little debaucherous at a riper age?  I invite you, if you’re reading, and you’re still around me by that point, to remember this post, and to help me reach that goal – even if it only means crafting me a balloon hat and encouraging some bad behavior on my part in public… 

Don't worry -- no one got hurt!

Last night, returning home from Rehana's something...not so good happened.  I will preface this by remarking that this drive must be in some way cursed, as I've been pulled over on that same drive before, the same night when I chopped a piece of my finger off while cutting bell peppers, which reallllly made for an excellent night.  Anyway, so I was driving home, and pulling up to a red light on Masonic, when a little dude on a motorcycle came up on my left, crossing over the double yellows into the oncoming traffic lane (is that legal?) and coming to rest by the upper left side of my car.  

The light turned, and he went, and I went, but then...he stalled, and it was like slow motion and then before I could really tell what was happening, I had, I suppose, hit him.  And then, down he went.  I slammed the car in park, ran out, threw up my hands, apologized profusely, and fell to checking out if he was ok.  A minute passed where he really said not much of anything, just continued to check his bike and ponder his ok-ness, and then he crossed to the side of the street and I pulled my car over.  He kinda pulled up his pant legs, checked his legs, his arms, checked his bike (it worked, no damage) -- and he was totally fine, and then mumbled he was fine...and off he drove.  And that was it.  The luck Gods were certainly smiling down on me...

I came home, and raced into the living room, and was like, "Stu!  You won't even believe what happened to me!  I hit a guy on a motorcycle!  It was the scariest moment of my life!"

Her response (unexpected to say in the least):  "Oh my G_d! Did I tell you what I did last week?!  I hit a guy on a bicycle!"

"Umm...But, you don't own a car!"

I guess she hit the guy getting out of a taxi, with the cab door...The cyclist flipped his shit, the cyclist behind him bitched her out, and the cyclist behind HIM pounded on the cab.  She then encountered a homeless guy who told her to spread the word to all the white people that he hated white people.  I know that's unrelated, but what a sequence of events.  Sheesh. 

So there you have it:  two girls, living in same house, hitting two guys, on two two-wheeled vehicles, less than a week apart. With no injuries, no damage.  What are the odds?  

Yes, actually, it was pretty weird...

I recently received an email from a male friend, who shall rename nameless in an effort to protect his, well I’m not sure what it’s protecting, I don’t think it’s necessarily masculinity, or reputation, but I do think the element of anonymity will end up serving as a benefit to this fellow.

At any rate, the email was entirely devoted to questions regarding female eye make usage and application habits.  I suppose this email was directed my way as at one time I was pretty handy with a couple of eye shadow application devices and several pots of color – my evening looks for a while could be described as colorful, perhaps over the top, certainly dramatic.  But I like to think, still tasteful.  I still do remember one of my first interactions with Doempke, which involved him complimenting my eye makeup.  So I that respect, I guess I have some expertise in the area of eye makeup knowhow given that I don’t wear it so badly myself.

I still found it a super bizarre experience to write an entire email back to a dude concerning my opinions and perspectives on good eye makeup application.  It was clear that the questions were being asked as the dude in question had encountered a lady friend whose taste in eye makeup bordered on the what can only be called bad – apparently pink eye makeup taken all the way up to the brow bone (which reminds me of pink eye in a major way).  

But what I’m wondering, is what is the recipient of my thoughts going to DO with the opinions I provided back to him.  I don’t think that most women would take kindly to a male friend giving them advice re: their makeup habits – it would be like telling a girl that her recent bangs-inclusive haircut doesn’t look good (something that another guy friend wanted to tell a colleague recently – I strongly recommended against this course of action…) – and both comments I’m sure would not go over well with the woman.  I’m just wondering what kind of girl lets her friend go around looking like she has a terrible case of conjunctivitis?  And apparently this is a daytime look, no less.  This is a reason we have girl friends – they give you the honest advice that strangers, and typically, male acquaintances, won’t provide.  Although perhaps in some cases…they apparently will.

 It does make you wonder though how many guys have seen you and passed some sort of judgment on an aspect of your grooming that you as a woman would’ve guessed no man would ever notice… and if they then sent off an email to a lady friend inquiring about the proper course of action to take…which inevitably was nothing.  An odd thought…  In closing – anonymous male, I think I told you on the weird scale it was only like a 5 out of 10, now that I’m getting more thoughtful on the whole episode, I’m thinking it might’ve been more a 7 or 8.  Readers (if there are any of you left given how delinquent I’ve been), feel free to share your own thoughts re: weirdness level.  

Hickies at work.

This coming weekend, I'm heading down south to somewhere near King City, CA, not that I've ever heard of King City or that I expect you to know where it is either, but that's the best point of reference I can provide. I'll be swimming in the Wildflower race -- yes, just swimming -- doing one leg of a triathlon relay.

In prep for my very first time swimming in open water, I've hit up Aquatic Park here in SF a couple times recently. It's just a roped off area in the frigid, dirty, mucky, cloudy, choppy, possibly shark-infested, definitely sea lion-infested waters of the SF bay. They even say there's this one sea lion that ate radioactive materials, went nuts, and subsequently occasionally attacks swimmers that lurks there. But given my extreme toughness, I brave it all. Yep, that's me.

As the water temp is about 52 degrees, I'm in a wet suit. And beneath my wet suit, I rub on this layer of stuff to help prevent chafing. I focus particular on the neck, shoulders, and back region. Although I apparently did a mediocre job w/ the stick yesterday evening, as I appear to have a giant hickey on the left side of my neck today from wet suit chafing.

I examined in the mirror this morning and thought it not so bad. So, I didn't take any steps to cover it up. I also though, well, if I don't try to cover it up, then no one, if they even notice it, will think it's a hickey, b/c naturally, if you HAD a real HICKEY, you'd try to cover it up. So me, I thought, I'll wear it proudly, and then, everyone will just assume it's like, a...burn...or something.

Except when I went for coffee w/ my friends Robyn and Steph this morning, it took them all of 3 seconds to notice it and call it out. And now all day today, I have been incredibly paranoid. I feel like everyone's staring at me. Or rather, at my neck. And they're thinking, "wow, that girl has a hickey! A big one! And she didn't even cover it up!"

And it makes me feel ridiculous. And there is nothing I can really do. And my VP noted that if I tried to cover it up w/ makeup, it'd likely only look worse, so I'm pretty much stuck. Here, at work. With a giant hickey. On my neck.

I've been playing online for well over 1.5 hours. I don't actually know if that's true, b/c I'm so utterly bored that what feels like 1.5 hours may in reality only be 30 minutes. I have on-line shopped (mostly was investigating the best deal on this B&W BCBG long chiffon gown for summer weddings that I've coveted since I saw it worn at a wedding last May), I have read the Onion (I recommend the editorial by the Dog asking humans to stop treating him like a human), I have searched PetFinder 94117 for medium sized baby dogs (my fav was named Radish, which I must say is keen dog name and the whole Muppet thing may finally be over), I searched SwimOutlet.com (for waterproof Shuffle cases). And I can do no more. The Internet has like, unlimited options and you could occupy your entire life on it, I'm sure, but I'm over it right now.
Outside, is New York. It is 60 degrees and it's perfectly sunny. I don't think weather gets much better for walking around and exploring, and here I am, inside somewhere in the Meat Packing district, eating enough food to lead to a one-week, five-pound weight gain (thanks Kraft service assholes), sitting on a darkened set watching a woman make HV chicken in a fake kitchen, and waiting for Dylan, the set dog, to come around every 15 minutes and provide me a brief interval of entertainment (the entertainment defined by me holding out my hand and calling for the dog and the dog being largely responsive for 2 seconds until he walks away again).

For two weeks I've been looking forward to this trip. A glimpse into the exciting world of ad shoots, I thought. A glimpse, yes, exciting world, no. A moment of glamour in a largely un-glamorous job, I thought. Glamorous, no; end sentence. What it is, is a 12-hour day confined to a single black-leather couch, gathered around a monitor that shows the 19th time they've shot Mom #2 executing the correct shaking moment of our powered product into the hamburger meat. It is knowing that the highlight of your working day was the omelette made for you by the Kraft service woman at 8am when you arrived on set. It is realizing that your agency counterparts have to look to you for approvals on mundane details a consumer will never notice and that they know you know you don't know anything about, anyway.

So there is it, the world of ad shoots, unveiled. Ta-dah!!!!

The good news, my hotel room is "suite" -- they upgraded me -- corner room, 14th floor, floor to ceiling windows, phenom view of the city. And I LOVES the bathroom -- one big room w/ a tub and a rainshower head in the corner. Although I did have a little oopsies on the wet tiles this morning... And, I get to eat fabulous meals w/ all the girls every night while here, and I have a play date w/ Rainer on Fri and Meliss over the weekend, so while life here on set may be quite rough...life off the set: not so bad. So if you were feeling bad for me, briefly, it's ok, don't -- but let's also be realistic and own up to the fact that you never really felt sorry b/c you're hardhearted and relish in my boredom. Anyway, I think we're not only an hour from the end, which is glorious and delightful all at the same time b/c I will soon be headed out for playtime...

Do you "follow" me?

Does anyone subscribe to Daily Candy? That was somewhat rhetorical I suppose I already know that many of you in fact, do subscribe. But for some it may be news that the April 1 edition contained information re: a new iPhone application. Do examine:

"Upgrade your hardware (and lend yourself a hand) with miVibe. Jimmyjane — the self-pleasure masters known for premium gadgets — just launched its first iPhone application. Download the tickle-your-fancy program and your cellie becomes an instant vibrator (gasp!) with adjustable settings. You’ll never have to fake it again: With three speeds (soft and subtle, gradual buildup, and fast and furious) and ten preset modes, the nifty (and naughty) app will give your lover a run for his money."

I read this and promptly forwarded, and it disgustingly received for a while until it was finally noted that this was indeed an April Fools joke. I don't ever really think about much on April 1. I've never really seen the point of having a day devoted to pranks. I do remember that it's Katie's bday though. So I'm sure she appreciates that. Anyway, so while this did seem like quite possibly the last thing on earth I'd ever want to do with MY iPhone, there are some krazy kinks out there, I'm sure, and I figured, well they developed applications that enable you to create and light your own Zippo...and fill and empty an imaginary beer...so, why not?

In other news...I got stalked today in Oakland. I was walking with a friend to lunch, and this woman came up and told my friend to turn around. She proceeded with a profanity-laced message of which the exact wording I cannot quite recall, haranguing my friend for nearly running her over. Funny that we nearly ran this woman over and we didn't even notice. So we calmly apologized, and moved on. She was moving faster than us, so at a point we caught up with her paused on the sidewalk...it would seem, waiting for us. And then she followed closely behind us...for a good 3 blocks.

It was a little frightening, b/c who knows what crazies keep in their backpacks, and it IS Oakland, epicenter of violence. But it was also a little thrilling. I think we all know I like a bit of excitement. Anyway, we arrived at the restaurant, where we commenced filling out our sandwich ordering forms, and then, she was behind us, inside. We got to have a little confrontation after asking her why she was following us. She said it was b/c we were bitches and we almost ran her over. When I tried to respond she told me she wasn't talking to ME, so clearly I was just a lowly secondary target of her craziness. My friend disappeared to the counter, and she didn't follow, and then...she magically vanished. And so that was that. But I still got followed. And that's not your everyday Thursday lunch outing, friend!

Cake for Nancy

For the following account, we owe Rehana a note of gratitude for turning 29, for if it hadn't been her bday yesterday, then we wouldn't have taken her out for dinner, and we wouldn't have been at Jackson Fillmore restaurant for some classic Italian east on the eve of Sun March 29, graced by the presence of Nancy Pelosi.

From the beginning... Whilst waiting for our table, a rather large gentleman wearing a little wire doohickey running up his neck. Hearing aid? Or wire... A second gentleman, this one even larger, walked past, also wired... So at this point it was safe to conclude they were wires, indeed. I announced my sighting and we did a quick scan of the restaurant until we located Nancy Pelosi seated at a table in the back. A quick burst excitement by us until Katie joined us, who had her own burst of excitement (shock-er).

Dinner ended, and was naturally preceded by a chocolately confection topped w/ candles (of the twisted variety, which we don't actually recommend after three uses of them this past weekend, as they are given to 1) extreme leaning, and 2) heavy drippage). We ate our 6 slices (well one us ate 2 as I'm not a cake-eater, myself) and were left with a hefty chunk unfinished. I declared that it'd only be proper to offer Nancy a slice. The idea wasn't as quickly glommed onto as one might've thought, so I took the initiative, and when the waiter came to take our check, and nabbed him and informed him we wanted to send a slice of birthday goodness over to the guest of the hour.

His response was a squinted-eye "really??" followed by my wide-eyed "Yes!" followed by a squintier-eyed "Are you sure?" followed by an enthusiastic "definitely!" He returned with a plate, fork, and cutting knife. So much for accommodating service staff. So I sliced a slab myself, which was ensued by a moment of silence at the table, with gazes fixed dubiously on the cake slice. Rehana informed Katie that it was her job to do the deed. Katied asked why, but really, the response of "b/c you're the only one who will do it" was not a surprise to anyone. I wasn't going to leave her alone, mostly b/c I couldn't pass up the option of having the story to relay. We gently interrupted Nancy's conversation and explained that we wanted to offer her a slice of our friend's bday cake.

Her answer was at first speechlessness followed by a very rapid succession of facial expressions that moved from annoyance to disbelief to skepticism and finally to something that neared friendless, although "near" might be the operative word. Her friends giggled and she responded with the blatant lie that they had just eaten dessert. I bet you they totally didn't eat dessert. I am not really a dessert eater and I like to think I can spot other non-dessert eaters. She instead invited us to give the slice to the Secret Service gentleman seated behind her table. He accepted enthusiastically, but I wondered if before he dug in, he wondered if he was plunging to his death via chocolate turtle cake. Because that was what that was all about: a protectionary measure, right?

Funny to think that this could be your job... eating cake for your manager and whatnot.
Anyway, overall, I'm fairly certain we irritated Nancy at least a little bit, but the way I see it, we are her constituents, so she owes us, right? And at the end of the day, which is really more important: respecting your congress members? Or, finding good story material?

Practicing for Bigger Things

At dinner the other night, Katie F revealed that she has an extensive collection of books directed at a male audience, on the topic of how to effectively pursue women. She also revealed that she feared visiting friends might mistake her, then, for a lesbian... In actuality, she does not have this reading material so she can get some from her female friends, but rather for research purposes. At one point she had resolved to write a book from the female perspective re: the right way to date -- if you want to date women as charming, intelligent, successful, and of course, ravishing as are we. Friends, I've never claimed modesty as a trait.

Anyway, I naturally was interested in this concept and proposed we write said guide jointly. So, that I'm thinking I want to write this little book, I figure I need to practice my writing again...and now, here we are, merrily typing away.

Not that I have much in the way of scintillating material, esp. given that I spend the past two days on a "photo shoot" for work... We're updating our packaging and need photos of dips with their various accoutrements and splendid looking salads. So from 9 to 6:30, on both Wed and Thurs, I worked w/ a food styling and photography team to finalize 4 dips photos, 3 salad photos, and 1 product glamour shot.

I think to be honest they would've preferred me not to be there. I mostly crept around the studio, nibbling cheese and crackers, draining their bottles of Perrier, requesting crudites after their purpose in life was done, and generally wreaking havoc. Actually, I didn't really wreak any havoc. But I wanted to use that phrase b/c I thought it complemented the crudites munching. Oh, I was also the person in charge of saying "approved!" after each shot was finalized.

I like to think I did add some value. For instance, we almost had this crazy large glob of Ranch on the upper left corner of one of the salad-garnishing tomato slices. I requested they wipe it off. I also re-angled some bottles in the glamour shot, and instructed the stylist my preferred method of cutting the green onion for one of the dip garnishes. Of course, there is no way to validate this, but I'm **guessing** that these adjustments likely will lead to our volume being **about** 30% than it would've otherwise have been.

I also learned some things. Do you know what chervil is? Bet you don't. It's a lacy, delicate looking herb that tastes like anise and is typically used for garnish. Did you know that they often used mashed potatoes as a base materials for arranging other food items to keep them firmly in place and allow for beatific arranging? Yep, true! Did you know...that there are people on this earth who, for HOURS, EVERY DAY, painstakingly arrange various consumables into photograph-conducive arrangements? M indicated that there are very few jobs on earth that would prevent him from dating me -- and this job would be one of them. I guess he wasn't as curious about things like chervil and mashed potato use as me, even though he does love food...
Anyway, I supposed I've gained a sufficient amount of writing practice for the day. Plus, I've spread the art of food styling just a little bit broader. If that's not productive, I don't know what is!! Spread the word that I'm bogging again. And try to restrain your excitement...

The Internet is Magic

Winnie (who drunk dialed me last night around midnight -- and btw -- I was NOT asleep -- I simply was avoiding antics, sorry, love you --- and another btw, the content of the message was pretty much limited to informing me about various post-drinking activities, so umm, thanks) -- told me I needed to blog. And I told him I had no good material. Not really true, b/c, if you read the majority of my posts, I wouldn't say that lack of good material has really ever stopped me before... But anyway, then he started babbling about "I wonder what life was like before computers..." and I thought, "hmm, so I do I. That's it! A blog entry." And then someone in reference to something or other was like, "the Internet is magic," and I had a name for it and everything.

So if you step back and take a look at what you do one any given day that relates to computers, it becomes apparent that your life would indeed be a much different entity sans Internet. For me, I think of it in different terms.

First, I'd def be more productive net/net, sans Internet:

-- I wouldn't have spent 15 minutes examining information re: this girl Margaret that I was friends in high school but haven't talked to in about 10 years. You see, she found me on Facebook. And that becomes grounds to let your curiosity run wild: What HAS she been doing for 10 years? I'm DYING to know! What is her relationship status? This is very important! How does she look in pictures? Can't spend another minute not knowing! And btw, if you're judging? Stop. I know you all do it. I left a housewarming party this afternoon, and a girl I met who wants to drinks sometime didn't ask for my number...but rather confirmed my last name...so she too can waste time...on Facebook.

In other ways, it would be, less flavorful:

-- I spent another 10-15 min this evening looking up the recipe for Benihana salad dressing. Yes, I said Benihana. Although some people, indeed some quite close to me, might call this a trashy restaurant destination, I did grow up in Indianapolis where pickin's are slim, and for some people, such as say, my brother, this was as good as eatin' got. And hence every March 22nd in my youth, you could find me there, celebrating Greggy's birthday. Anyway, point being, Google Benihana salad dressing and you pull up an extensive list of copycat recipes. I went w/ the one sourced from the Chicago Sun-Times. And I'll be making it very, very soon! Thank you, Internet, for enhancing my culinary life!

It would also be less connected and more laborious from a social standpoint:

-- I wrote an email to SV this morning that in my book was a bit overdue, just to catch her up on life including our recently discovered mutual connections, and in 10 min was able to write down what would've taken probably three times as much time on the phone. Of course, it's undoubtedly less personal...yes, I'll give it that. But hey, efficiency! me? Also got in touch w/ Rainer and Mari re: dinner this week -- Raine lives in NYC and Mari is somewhere in Europe I think, in fact, I don't even know, so this whole email think really expedited the planning process here and I'd say, enriched my social planning abilities. Thank you, Internet!

It would be less musical, and less 'teen:

In days of yonder, to obtain the latest and greatest pop hit, I'd have to make a trip ALL the WAY to Target or Best Buy to purchase a CD. Now, if I have the urge to listen to say, Bleeding Love, 7 times in a row, all I have to do is head to iTunes and pick up a copy. Quick quick quick! And I lost both the car ride and the plastic case that will eventually end up in landfill and turn into methane gas, so....I reduced my carbon footprint. Don't say I don't think about the environment!

I think from here the next logical point to move onto would involve work. But, that bores me, so I think, I'll just go w/ what I've got here. Oh! And btw -- pre-Internet, you never would've been able to even READ this! Hmm. You can interpret that, its benefits, its drawbacks, as you wish... But hey, just another piece of hay on the haystack... Who even says that anyway? As far as I see it? Quality of life: improved! Plus my MacBook sure is pretty. I conclude that indeed, the Internet sure is magic, and I'll stick w/ a computer-filled life.

My Rolls Are Famous!

Here at work, we're currently playing with our legal team on getting the right permissions/edits/etc. to get these videos posted up to our TMcgraw site that we created for our sponsorship. It's a long story, and one that is not very interesting -- but it is most definitely a pain in the ass.

Really what I've learned is something that I guess I could've probably figured out or just kind of knew anyway in these times where people just like to sue the pants of everyone -- that's it's next to impossible to use the images you capture at a random event without cutting through ~38 rolls of red tape. So I was pretty curious when I came across this article in Ad Age about people backing off Weight Watchers and the like b/c the tough economy makes the programs hard to afford: http://adage.com/article?article_id=128036

Not b/c of the article itself -- but b/c of the accompanying image of this woman's fat rolls.

I wondered what the release process looked like. So first there is a man out there who is following fat people around with a camera angling for shots. Is he like, "oh, yeah, that's great! turn to the left a little more! I'm really capturing that love handle!!" Or maybe, "oh, that's good! Those low rise jeans -- they're accentuating all the right things!!" I don't know, something like that.

So then he has to approach the subject, and he's all, "excuse me, can you sign this photo release? I want to use your image in Ad Age!" And the subject might be momentarily excited, you know, 15 min and all that, until she realizes how she's actually being featured. Or...then...is she still excited, b/c even 15 min of infamy beats no 15 min at all? I feel like these are all good questions to ask oneself over the course of a day. Although I might be a bit paranoid moving forward that there is some photog out there waiting to capture some super unflattering image of me for use in some random publication about something...unflattering. Although, I guess he'll have to get my release...so then...I can put that worry to rest. Phew.

Nipples and stuff.

I never did go to Cancun when I was in college, for spring break. Umm, I did go to Panama City, Daytona Beach, Key West, and Jamaica, so, I def had my share of trashiness, but I think maybe it's always been in my destiny to really do it, you know, like, DO the Senior Frogs thing.
So perhaps I should've seen it as reclaiming a bit of lost youth when I went to two illustrious bars (The Zoo, and then something next door, name forgotten) in Puerto Vallarta last week and got to umm, do it. What I'm now reflecting on is, why would anyone ever WANT to do it? This is what I witnessed:

1/2 of our party was on the dance floor, and 1/2 of us were sitting around sipping cervezas, and well me, I was sipping tequilas. With lime. One of those shot chicks comes over, right, and she has this bottle of something pink. When you were little, did you ever take amoxacillin (antibiotic)? I did. I often had ear infections when I was young young. It was delicious. Think and milky and pink, tasted like bubble gum. Anyway so her shot stuff looks pretty much like that. But while I thought "moxy" tasted delish, I predict this shit tasted disturbingly bad. I wouldn't know.

So she's really fierce-looking, this shot chick, right? She has long hair, she reminded me of Lara Croft a bit for some reason. Her lips were tightly locked around her whistle, and she didn't stop blowing that thing for a millisecond. Lungs of steel I tell you -- that woman should get a gig doing the Shofar at HHDs!!

Her little routine is something like this. She approaches a table of 4 guys. And does her routine (whistle of course going the whole time):
Guy 1: Approximately 4 shots of non-moxy down this throat. Shirt pulled up. Nipples tweaked.
Guy 2: Approximately 6 shots of non-moxy down his throat. Shirt pulled up. Nipples tweaked. LIT LIGHTER fanned over his nipples.
Guy 3: Approximately 10 shots of non-moxy. Nipples tweaked. Lighter trick.
Guy 4: Approximately 15 shots. Tweak. Lighter. ICE CUBES OVER NIPPLES!!!

The scary quotient was upped by the fact that shot girl had this what I interpreted as a really grim, dark look on her face. I think she might have been into S&M or something and she uses her job as an outlet. Perhaps she should consider employment at some other sort of "club." There were other less scary shot girls, too. There was one out on the dance floor, and I did mention that some of our crew was out on the dance floor as well. And a couple of them may or may not have had the pink shots. No nipple pinching or shirts lifted, but they did get their boobs jiggled. No other way to describe it other than boob-jiggling. Luckily I don't think my boobs are jiggle-able.

I must note, that I received a lot of slack from my ladies in PV for my lack of blogging. It has come to my attention that I have been usurped by anther blogging friend. I don't like that much. So that is why I decided to make this come back. Whether or not this comeback lasts...I couldn't say. I think I'll take it one day at a time. I'll leave you with a couple photos from Mehico. One as a shout-out to my ladies, and another just for general consumption, with a note that my mom informed me that she really liked this one and is printing it out for household display. I would like to point out that my mom insists on only showcasing pics of me in our house where I look 1) huge; 2) stupid; or 3) just plain really bad. So, gracias maman...and adios amigos.

I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!!!

I know it’s been like 40 days and 40 nights in the desert since I’ve written or actually like much more than that, but in honor of Passover I’m going to go with that simile. Anyway this is the first time since I can recall as of late that I don’t have meetings starting at 9am and given that work these days is nuts and I just need a break, I’m going to do what I’ve not done in so long, and blog.

Let me begin by giving a shout-out to Tully’s Coffee, who in honor of Earth Day and in partnership w/ SF BART is giving out free cups of coffee or free lattes to the masses. I don’t ever go to Tully’s, but free stuff is good, so I gave it a gamble. Hey, Tully’s: word of advice, if I may – you will NOT get repeat customers if you give them free coffee that tastes like absolute shit in a cup. I actually threw the coffee out. I couldn’t even muster taking one actual full sip for fear of barfing on my cube. Happy Earth Day.

Segueing into topic 2, let’s discuss what prevented me from having to take the 7 instead of 6 this morning as I ran a couple minutes late. I sat down to eat my egg and cottage cheese for breakfast and turned on the tv. My roommates were indulging in some Hills last night (I was working…), so when I turned it on, MTV’s morning top 10 videos were on. BTW, MTV ONLY plays videos before 8am on weekdays, in case you were curious if they every actually feature music on the MUSIC television station. So that said, the new Little Wayne video was on: Lollipop. It’s quite catchy. That’s why I was late. Had to watch it all. Then when I got in this morning I Googled the lyrics out of curiosity. I knew the song was rife w/ sexual innuendo given its title, but I had no idea. I blushed profusely and then cleared my Internet history.

Anyway, finally, topic 3: crack pipes. On Sunday morning, I opened the front door to clean off my shoe (had gotten some pebbles caked in from Golden Gate on Saturday) and Eliz walked out w/ me as we were chatting. There was a crazy man, complete with eye patch and brightly colored clothing, at the top of our stoop, organizing his…stuff. I saw paper clips, some rocks, I don’t know, other stuff. He looked up, made eye contact, said “good morning.” We said “good morning…” He apologized for the intrusion and then I walked back in and was like “Eliz! (harsh whisper) Shut the door!!” Five minutes later we went back out, and he was gone. But, he had left a crack pipe on our door step (small, clear glass tube, open at one end, stuffed w/ cottony looking stuff). Would’ve saved it, but Mana picked it up and chucked it into the street.

So that was very urban.

Anyway, now I actually do need to start doing work. So I bid you all adieu. Hope you haven’t forgotten about this blog and that someone actually does read this content, otherwise, I guess I just wrote a whole page of nonsense to myself.

A good crack.

I’m presently sitting at work working toward back-crack number 3. Is it odd to have a certain love-affair with cracking your back? I’m kind of obsessed. I actually have a specific standing routine which involves standing up very straight, bending fully over, then coming up and stretching into a standing back bend to help get a good crack. Although at work I just sit in my chair and reach my arms up and back. Then I typically say something like “Ruchers! You hear that?!” Or maybe, “Wowee! That was a good one!! A great crack!”

Anyway so this morning I was watching CNN while eating my eggs, a piece of which I dropped on my favorite pants, which sucked, but, I digress. Anyway. So there was this feature story about a woman who is a mayor of some small town, and on her MySpace page (yes, this mayor has a MySpace page…) she has a photo of herself wearing an (ugly) bathing suit (but looking pretty good) posing alongside a red pickup truck (reserve judgment! Reserve judgment!)

I guess her constituents discovered the picture and then outsed her from office. Seriously. So CNN is interviewing this woman, and they’re like, “So, are you regretting placing the picture up on your site?” Her response, “No, I don’t regret it at all. I can do what I want there, it’s ‘my space.’ That’s why they call it, “MySpace.” Really?? Is that why they call it that? What a profound statement.

This woman doesn’t need her mayoral career anymore anyway, given that she’s taken to selling people posters of the famed picture on the Internet.

I had an odd urge to write about 1) back cracking and 2) the CNN story. It could be disappointing that I’ve not posted in sometime and that I have again I’m posting mundane gibberish, but I think that I typically mostly post mundane gibberish, so I guess maybe it’s not surprising or a let-down after all.

A brief 2 weeks in review...

I am typing my very first entry from my own brand new MacBook.  It's a stunning, delicious work of art that, as I told Saujin earlier tonight (sorry I cut out; was figuring stuff out on this little toy), makes me want to weep.

But, you ask, why do I have a new computer? 

The answer lies somewhere in three life-altering events that all happened within the past 1.5 weeks: 

1)  I got robbed

2) 2 days later my car got hit (while parked)

3) I went to Mideivel Times 

I'll leave it to you to figure out which of those events (and for the record, they weren't really all that life-altering, not at all actually, and particularly number 3, it def wasn't life-altering...well I don't know, maybe just a little bit it was) was the one that leads me typing on a new MacBook.

Ok, fine, I'll help!  It was #1.  

See, ever since that whole failure on my part to pay it forward in a timely enough manner, my karmic balance has been totally out of whack.  That at least is my theory. I encourage you all to do what you can to keep your own karma in check, b/c it's a powerful thing, and a bitch, clearly. 

As far as the robbery goes, I discovered it two Fridays ago...came home from work and had been home for 1/2 hour or so before I went to turn on my old iPod and discovered that she wasn't there.  After verifying with Eliz that she did not borrow it, nor did I borrow hers, and then noticing my shitty old computer's absence, and then the absence of several necklaces, it became quite clear that some shithead invaded our sanctuary and took our stuff.  Bastard.  If I ever find that guy, I will bash him.  And, to answer your question:  he got in through the back door that leads out of our kitchen and down to our fenced-in patio, and likely, through an unlocked door, b/c we are occasionally idiots. 

The good news is that I had renter's insurance and voila!  New computer, new iPod, easy peasy. 

Anyway just really wanted to try out this keyboard here.  It's pretty much my bedtime now.  

The end. 

The Holy Land, Resumed

Israel Part II starts right here, right now. Get excited. Winnie: I'm writing this for you. Don't forget that.

Anyway, so after an overall mostly lame Day 2, I kicked off Day 3 with a lecture at 8:30am. Gee, that was fun. We heard three different speakers who were pretty much all across the board in terms of their topic and their ability to hold my interest. Speaker #1: Rabbi Asher Wade. Born a Methodist, he holds about 87 different degrees in higher education from esteemed schools, was once on staff at Cambridge, and was a Methodist Minister. Yes, Rabbi Wade was once a minister. How's that for a change of pace? Excellent speaking aside, I must focus on the truly important details here, and that includes the fact that Asher looked astonishingly like Santa Claus (it's his doppleganger I swear) and that he talked with an intonation like I've never heard before. I want you to hear how this guy would say "really?" b/c he did it drawn out over a 5-second stretch starting in a really low pitch and ending v. high. All I know is that across the remainder of the trip, everyone would say an Asher-style "really" on avg. 5 x/day. That was irritating. But, oh so fun.

Speaker #2: he sucked. Who cares.

#3: An Arab Muslim Jew living in Israel and a reporter for the Jerusalem Post. With loyalty to absolutely no side at all and highly inflammatory views of the government, I still am to this day trying to figure out how he's still alive. Insert shoulder shrug here.

Post-speakers, we headed out to Tel Aviv for the afternoon. Our destination was the Israeli Microsoft HQs, where we heard the head of the division speak. Personally, although I am an MBA who went on an MBA trip to Israel, I really had no desire to talk business over there. I have a job. And that is quite enough biz-nass for me. So the highlight of that trip was a visit to Coffee Bean. You travel to a country that speaks a language that is incomprehensibly ancient, and you can still get a damn 2% latte. Oh, and the highlight of the CBean trip was the highlight of the Tel Aviv trip was when my friend Mike tried to pay with money that had been printed so long ago that it was out of circulation. Upon handing it to the cashier, he was asked, "What [the hell] is this, [dude]?" (brackets indicate the tone communicated through facial expression alone) That was funny.

Of course we heard another speaker after this, but a nice change of venue - went to the home of one our trip mate's uncle's (Israeli dude). Good speaker; involved in Israeli TV industry. Told a story about prank-calling Ariel Sharon's wife and broadcasting it on network television. Didn't go over so well w/ his producer, but sure did entertain me.

Dinner was an all you can eat steak house. I don't know. I really like steak. But it's def not one of those foods I can eat in giant quantities. Especially when it's overcooked. And totally mediocre. But who needs good food when you have a little story time over dinner? Especially when you have a guy whose bright idea of "share something no one knows about you" prompts him to discuss the time he hooked up with some Australian chick in the bushes while away at boy scout camp. Hi friend, your audience? Contains a Rabbi and his family. Great choice of story.

Anyway. Can I mention what happened when were en route to go out post-dinner? Great, awesome. We're traipsing through the rain and mud along the Tel Aviv beaches, and we pass this one little shack-like bar, and this dude wearing a motorcycle helmet comes sprinting out and he's screaming, "help me!!! help me help me help me!" But he also like, waving a gun. So it's dark and this guy has a weapon and is dangerously close to us. We didn't so much help me. We kind of ran away. I think you would've too.

That set the theme for the night. Eventually we ended up at Whiskey a-go-go which is all red leather and banquettes and chandeliers and old Russian men. No sightings of all the beautiful people my friend Sumona promised me. Nope, def not, unless you count Winnie, who has gone totally Euro all the way, down to this diet which must consist of cigarettes and vodka given his skinniness. Joe, it works for you - but please don't stop eating altogether. Food: good!

So clearly seeing Winnie was a highlight; highlight #2 came with my cab ride, where our story-telling extraordaire friend told some story about dressing up like Zoro-ski, that's Zoro, but Jewish, as pointed out by Abe - hence making it funny... I really can't do this little vignette justice. Apologies.

So then, I am now through Day 3 and onto Day 4. I think that good things come to those who wait. You want good things, don't you? Don't you? You do. So wait for the next entry to see what Day 4 has in store...

On Karmic Energy, and Facebook.

So I guess it's been sometime since I've blogged. And wow now that I'm trying to right now I almost feel like I'm speaking in some sort of foreign language. I'm rusty! Gee golly, am I.

Ok so last Friday I was sitting waiting for Bart when this homeless dude approached me very hesitantly and finally got around to asking me for what he'd initially approached me about: needing $1.80 to get out of the rain and cold and go take a shower. I told him that I had no cash, but I totally lied as I really did have $1 on me. But I never give $$ on the street b/c I don't know there are one million people asking for it and it just becomes this inconvenience and you become this street-hardened quasi bitch. So after this particular incident I felt bizarrely terrible and was like "shit, I really should've helped that guy out."

And then it dawned on me that it was totally my turn to pay it forward and I didn't do it. That was it. You see, several days previous to that, I was leaving the Oakland APort (coming home from Sundance) at 1:30am on a disgusting, cold, rainy night. I realized I had $4 left from the weekend. As I went to pay my parking bill (CCard), I asked the parking attendant if she knew if the Oakland to SF toll was $4 or $5. She thought $5. I asked her if I could charge an extra $1 onto my parking bill and have $1 in exchange. She responded, no, but that she could just give me $1. I thanked her profusely. Turned out I only needed $4 not $5 so I am carrying around that donated $1.

It has since become imperative for me to pay forward that $1. But at this rate, I think the interest has compounded as it can only do on a Karmic $1, so now it's likely something like $5 at least that I need to pay forward. And I on this MISSION to get it done. Naturally, no opps presented themselves this weekend. Fortunately, I am sure that on my commute tomorrow I'll be able to get it done so I don't risk throwing off my Karmic balance. I think that's a very delicate thing in this world. Anyway, here's to good Karma to you all.

In other news, I would like to say a few words about how shittin' crazy this whole FBook ordeal has become lately. The other night, I logged onto FB to accept a few invites, and decided to play a bit and update my relationship "status" to "in a relationship." I was careful to click the little "x" on the box beside that status update on my news feed page. I can change it just to accurately reflect my personal state of being via the WWW, but I don't need to send it out like the Daily Candy to my 216 (right....) "friends," eh?

But, apparently I needed to go in and actually change security settings or something to prevent it from showing on other peoples' feeds... So the next morning I received no less than 15 emails, IMs, and/or FB messages inquiring about or noting my status change. It was crazy. My friend Katie R who lives in London and who I've not talked to in at LEAST 2 mos IMed me as soon as I logged in. Man alive. That is some kind of phenom. I now know that if there is any sort of news that I actually NEED to broadcast? FB is def the way to go...

Anyway, I do need to finish my Israel blog, but in the mean time I thought this would do. OH BTW, my little brother has decided to start blogging. Mine of course is much better than his. I will post the link in sometime, but right now I'm frankly too lazy to go find it in my email, so it will just have to wait. As will blogging any further cuz for now I think it's about to end this and wrap up my weekend. Sunday nights are the WORST!

Israel, Part I

Another trip, another dreadfully long blog entry. I can't help it. It's my own permanent record of my travels. I'll post in pieces so you can take it slow. Too lazy to post pictures in, so instead I have included a link to allllllllllllllll my pictures which are online - here you go:

http://picasaweb.google.com/linderms/IsraelDec2007

On that note...

Traveling

I took three flights and endured approximately 30 hours worth of travel to get the holy land. I did use the word endured and you would too if you spent over an entire day just getting somewhere. That borders on the ridiculous. Anyway, on my flight from LA to Zurich, I was asked shortly into my fight if I’d like to move to a back row by one of the stewardesses as I’d have access to two seats. Actually the stewardess cared little for my comfort and mostly wanted me to move so the family I had been sitting with could have an extra seat for their little munchkins. In fact, the row of seats she moved me to had non-working overheard lights and a busted tv monitor in the aisle seat (the preferred, clearly). That non-withstanding, I thought I was getting a sweet deal as when I sat down the 3rd seat in the row appeared unoccupied save for a lone sweatshirt. 1.5 hours later the seat still had no passenger. I continued watching my movie and dreaming about how awesome it’d be when I stretched out across the entire row. The movie ended; I finished off my red wine and took several Tylenol PMs in prep for sleep and just as I was about lay my head down, an Italian dude returned to the sweat-shirted seat and after a non-sensical exchange of words I confirmed that indeed he was there for the remainder of the flight. Foiled! Asshole.

Zurich

Zurich must be the most expensive city in the entire universe. A parking ticket in SF costs you $40. I bet in Zurich it costs you $240. We had a 5 or so hour layover in this incredibly cold city which warranted a trip out of the airport, enough time to wander the streets (and be cold) and eat dinner. We examined at least 7 menus and could not find a single damn restaurant in Zurich where one could eat a meal for less than around $30. In the end we ate at an Italian place where I consumed a bowl of soup and a plate of pasta that was essentially a chunk of carbs drowning in cream spiced up with some black truffles (if you’re going to eat in the most expensive city on earth, you might as well indulge). Aside from the fact that I have probably never eaten a single plate of food containing that many calories, I spent about $70 on my meal. I think I spent more on that one single dinner in my layover city than I did on the sum total of all meals I purchased in Israel.

Day 1

We arrived at the King Solomon Hotel in Jerusalem, most def not to be confused with the luxurious government-official-haven King David Hotel, at approximately 5am and I went straight to bed. After sleeping for a few hours we headed to breakfast (are you sensing this theme of sleep/eat/sleep/eat that I lived by for about 2 days straight) which for me on Day 1 as well as Days 2-10 consisted of large amounts of smoked fishes and Bulgarian Feta (my newest cheese of choice). I *think* I overate but I *know* for sure that Jocelyn liked it when I announced in the elevator that I was on the verge of exploding fish and cheese. The first activity of the day was an Orientation session. Game 1: that name thing where you sit in a circle and then recite the name and nickname of all the people that went before as well as your own. My favorite nicknames included:

1) “Just Dave:” Dave announced he has no nickname and therefore we sighed and agreed that we’d *just* call him *just* dave, which while I think is somewhat sad, is also quite entertaining.

2) “Kabob:” This kid Bobby told us that one of his nicknames is Kabob. And that he hates it. So what happens when you tell someone that? They call you that the rest of the trip. In fact, no other nickname was used as profusely as was Kabob. And after you called him Kabob, you’d giggle.

3) “Butterscotch:” Nickname of Layla, the soft-spoken, highly observant Orthodox girl on our trip. No explanation provided. I think that the contrast b/t person and name sans explanation is explanation enough for why that name is just so good.

Anyway. After our little get acquainted session, we departed for the Knesset - the Israeli Parliament – with this guy Ken who was our guide for a few days. He was terrible. I want to here make note of part of the dress code for the Knesset: “’Crocs’ shoes are not permitted unless they are black or navy.” Really??? Is that REALLY part of the dress code??? We met w/ a Knesset membr – Yoel Hasson – pretty cool stuff. He addressed his perspectives on Iran, the Annapolis Summit, keeping Jerusalem whole, refusing a Palestinian state, and Israel’s pro-Bush/pro-America sentiments. I love that Israel loves Bush when his own country has pretty much fallen completely out of love with him.

Daylight ended shortly after the Knesset and we headed to dinner in the Ben Yehuda district at Café Rimon. In my opinion, the meal consisted of Chinese food, Italian food, and Mexican food, all served with lots of hummus. I didn’t so much understand it. Anyway I lost my appetite sitting next to Ken, the atrocious tour guide with an ego the size of Masada who has not and likely will never learn how to shut the f up.

Dinner was followed by a lecture. I can’t remember who lectured or what he lectured on b/c I was falling asleep. So it must’ve been super great.

Luckily the day closed with our fist visit to the Western Wall, or the Kotel. There is really nothing on this earth like it. Visiting that wall makes Rome feel new. The Wall abuts land that pretty much was not the birthplace of Judaism but of humanity – how can you describe what you feel when you’re touching something so ancient? You also, while in the excavation tunnels of the Kotel, get as close as religiously permitted to the stone that marks the place where Abraham nearly sacrificed Isaac and the cornerstone of the oldest temple. The Holiest of Holies. Deeply moving and something that everyone must experience for herself.

Day 2

Day 2: Not fun. I ask you this: if you travel half way around the world to see one of the most historic lands on earth – do you hope to engage in team building activities while there? Do you want to do things like relay races on giant wooden stilts across a field specked with dog shit, or play pick-up games of red rover? No? Me neither. The rest of the day was filled with lectures. I knew that I’d have to attend said lectures, I knew that – but it’s still no easier to stomach. There were two highlights to the day:

• Visit to Yad va Shem – The Holocaust Museum, strikingly done. Just not enough time. And I got lost getting back to the bus. Yes, I got lost finding my way out of a museum. Are we really that surprised?
• Dinner – Went out for AJ’s bday. Best meal of the trip. Grilled meat and a great salad. And wine. Lots and lots of Israeli wine.

My dog emails.

I got this email from my dad, I mean, my dog the other day. You can't make this stuff up. BTW, my dog is a rotten speller and gramatically weak. Enjoy:

Dear Brother and Sister,
I enjoyed having you home for Thanksgiving and hanging out with
some younger hiper people. Things are back to normal and I enjoy be
the center of mom and dads attention. i have them wrapped around my
paw. On Sunday, Dad was sleeping in so i decided to run up stairs and
jump on the bed like I did with you guys. He is more fun than mom
who does not like me up on things. Stayed at Best Friends Friday
night and hung out with some cool dudes. Did get an email of this
nice lookin bitch. Today I hung with DAD. he took me for a ride to
run some errands and went to his office. Dont understand this
cosmetic surgery thing for you humans. Glad that USC won but thought
the game was a little boring. Dad went to apple today for a computer
lesson. he is very slow and I occasionlly have to help him out. Mom
has been making cookies for everyone but me. I dont get it. I would
really like some peanut brittle. Dad says his is the best. mom and
dad are going to Thurstons farm this weekend and will leave me all
alone. Not fair. would like to go to. How is everything with you
guys. supposed to get some snow tonight and I am excited. any bites
on your car bro. whats new in the bay area sis? thats it for now. I
attached a photo of me in the leaves. i think I am quite handsome.
Dad says I get my looks from him and mom says I have her eyes. Miss
you both. your little brother Jack

I make no promises.

Around 3pm today I kind of wanted to cry. I have two weeks of work left before I leave for Israel and about 58 projects, 1/2 of which I really have no idea how to do. I feel like the dumb kid and I'm starting to question how I got hired in the first place.

I went over to Rucher's cube to bitch and whine a little bit given that bitching and whining tends to produce excellent business results. About 1/2 way through my rant Pav says, "well, I really like your vest." (was dressed casual today, long story, wearing my favorite pink puffy vest) Thanks much. That really helps the fact that I have no idea how to do my job at this time. Then I kept whining. Then he told me he liked my vest again. Helpful.

I stayed at work until 6:30 which for me might as well be midnight and was lucky enough to get on a super packed bus where one guy who smelled super bad was taking up three seats and some guy out on the street was ranting all sorts of crazy stuff at the bus driver through the door to the point that Aly, who I was talking to on the phone, got scared. And then when I got off the bus there was a whole pack of street kids blocking the sidewalk.

So you see, this has been my day. And I got home too late to go to the dry cleaners!

These are the days that I despise corporate America. When I take a step back and I look at my job and I'm like, what exactly do I do here? I have to present a case on Friday to get some $$ to do a project and we have to prove it will pay out...even though we don't know what we're even going for the project yet...What do you think about that? I have to look at all these numbers and numbers are scary. Don't they know that? Should I tell them? Do you think I'd still have a job if I went to my boss and told him that numbers are scary and he please maybe make them go away?

BTW, I can see your face. You're reading this post, and a) you don't like it b/c I'm bitching and b) you're wondering where I'm really going with it anyway. Well I blame Warren. he complained I hadn't written in a while and so I told him I would. Thing is when I told him I actually had a story in mind to tell you, but then when I sat down tonight I just went in a completely opposite direction and kind of like when that Siggy chic used her blog as a personal diary I am now using this to rant for a little bit.

Ok then...so...I have that all off my chest. And this is what I promise: I got screamed out last week by a guy on the bus and it was so frightening that i thought he might knife me or something. I bet you'd like to hear about that! So I promise that b/c you listened to me talk about THIS stuff tonight, in exchanged, next time I'll tell you that very fun story! Ok? Great.

Oopsies.

Last night while waiting for the bus I was perusing this Web site sent to me by Winnie:
http://www.jamphat.com/rap/???/

And so I blame him for the events that occurred thereafter.

I waited and waited and waited and finally a bus came by and since I'd been waiting for an eternity I got on. And continued to visually examine mathematical interpretations of rap lyrics. And it's just the site was just really, really long and I kept on reading. And on the buses they shout out the stops right? So I'm reading and riding and then I hear, "Harrison." And I never hear Harrison on my way home... So I turn to the guy next to me, and I'm like, "Umm, am I on the 9 or something?"

And he laughed, and yes, and I was on the 9. But here's the thing: I totally take the 6, 7, or 71 - I don't take the 9. So I totally didn't know where I was at all. I was half freaking out and half giggling a lot b/c it was all of a sudden really funny that I had absolutely gotten on the wrong bus. Who even does that? So the guy is like, "where are you going?" And I tell him the Haight. And he tells me I'm somewhere totally not close at all like Portrero Hall or something. And heading farther. But we were by a Costco. I didn't even know there was a Costco in SF. So he's like "you should get off here and grab a cab." And I giggle again and I check my wallet and I'm like "Shit! I have like $5!" And I giggle.

And then he offered me $$. No shit. Totally. And I'm like, "I can't take your money!" And we go back and forth. And then, I took $5 from a total stranger b/c he did have a point, I did need to get home safe, and $5 just wasn't going to do it. And then I got off the bus. In the middle of nowhere. Where there were no cabs in sight. And I had no idea where I was.

I looked it up on my phone, but really all that did was prove that I was nowhere near my house and I couldn't find a form of transportation. So I just picked a direction and kept walking. And a while later I ran straight into a bus that was heading for Filmore. I got on and then took that for a while, and got out somewhere around the Castro eventually and then took a cab from there.

So that is how it came to be that I took the Bart, and then the 9, and then the something else, and then a cab - exactly 4 modes of transportation - to get home last night. Boy oh boy, I felt some kinda smart by the time I arrived at my house. Real, real smart.

My Night at the SF General: An Essay

On Friday night, I went to dinner w/ little Greggy, and then we opted to see a late movie down at the AMC at the Westfield Mall. We departed the theater around 1:30am, and when we were about to cross over Market, I spotted the 71 heading for the stop. "Run! That's our bus!" So me and my Jimmy Choos started the run across 6 lanes of traffic, until about 5 lanes in, we fell. Left foot Choo stuck itself in a rail track, and I caught, and went down. Not a little, but a lot. It was a fantastical fall. Actually it was quite scary - contents of my bag went rolling out as I struggled to pick myself up w/ Greggy's help after every single point of my body had made contact w/ the asphalt. When I got up, and calmed down, Greggy asked me if I still had the blog. Yep. He noted that the fall would most def be making it onto the blog. He was correct, b/c, here it is.

On Sat morning I woke up with a very, very sore left foot. No swelling really, just a dark bruise on the outer left side of my foot. Dr. B, resident medical expert, advised that I should go get it checked out. So on Sat night, me and Stu accompanied EB into the hospital to have a look-see.

It's good to have dr. friends. I knew this from growing up in a dr. family - expedites everything. I met some docs who informed me to head to the front room to get registered, get a yellow wristband, and then to return to be taken up for x-ray.

EB told me that the simple fact that I have medical insurance would set me apart at the General, but it wasn't until I saw the waiting room that this really made sense. Many years ago, in Kentucky, in Cumberland on an annual summer boating trip, Dick gashed open his shin and we traveled to the local med clinic in Russel County where he eneded up sewing himself up. Greggy and I, ever the mature children, were forced out of the waiting room and back into the car b/c we couldn't behave ourselves; the country folk in the waiting room were too much, really. Bad, I know, but we were young.

Anyway, the waiting room there: no match for SF general. A doc came in at one point when I was being registered, asking who had wrist bands and was waiting to be called. The first guy she checked was dozing in the corner. Def drunk, maybe on other things...the nurse asked for his wrist band which he held up drowsily, she goes, "sir, that is not for this hospital. you need to leave now." And he stumbled out. He was one of three homeless guys in the waiting rooms mostly just there for someplace to go. Then a hooker came in with white netting pulled over her head, screaming profanities at the two officers restraining her. The clientele was rough around the edges at best...and I have no urge to hang out at the general again anytime soon.

As for me, I zipped right through registration, was told to skip the waiting room and head straight back to Zone 3, and then was sent right over for the x-ray, and within 1.5 hours of entering the SFG, I was sent out of the SFG. I did feel some guilt over this, considering I heard people in the waiting room muttering over how long they'd been waiting, but at the same time, I had these conflicting feelings, given that I was sober and gainfully employed and not just looking for a place to place my wasted rear. wow, this sounds mean, and I know, callus, and I do feel bad...but it's been a long weekend of no exercise and painful walking and that makes me grumpy :(

BTW, nothing wrong w/ my damn foot. I think I must've sprained it, but no broken bones...therefore I felt like a total whiny bitch for having had an x-ray. Oh well, I blame my in-house dr. who told me it'd be smart to go ahead and get it checked out. It's funny like that - you almost WANT there to be something wrong so you don't feel like a tool. Anyway, I just felt like a tool. Oh, I also got a little velcro-on shoe to wear. My roomates find it hysterical that I have to wear that thing for four or five days. You know, I guess it's not really my style.

Upon returning home, in the cold, dark, rainy SF night, we ordered in Indian and watched a movie. So, it was some kinda night. Hospital trip followed by take-out and a movie. CRAZY. Anyway, I have to be honest, many many of my LP entries are devoted to tales of debaucherous, fun-filled nights...but last night, was not one of those nights. Please think of my poor little left foot, if you please. She hurts!

The night I wore no shoes

Tonight, I walked home barefoot. In San Francisco. I haven’t walked home barefoot in a city since New Years Eve in NYC, 2004, when I ended up sleeping on the couch of Johnny Blaze, which is clearly a whole other story, in fact, one I think I’ve recounted before.

Anyway, the point is, I try to keep my footwear on when I’m walking the sidewalks of large metropolitan areas, and shockingly enough, I actually prefer to keep them on pretty much in any public venue. BSpears may have tried to make going barefoot in public spaces look chic, or at least, public gas station bathrooms, but I prefer to march to the beat of my own drummer.

So then, me, barefoot tonight. I arrived home from dinner around 11:30 and drove around for a full ½ hour before finally exploring a whole new corner of the parking world, Buena Vista Heights. It’s called “BV HEIGHTS” for a reason, namely that it presides at the crest of this fair city. Anyway, I practically forgot where I lived I was so high up in the atmosphere. After a lovely game of bumper kissing, which I practice now on a regular basis, I exited my car and started to head on home.

As I headed home, down hill toward Haight Street, it dawned on me that the street was so steep that I could not in fact see below the crest of the approaching hill. When I reached the top of said hill, two blocks due south of the 1-3-7, I had a feeling that I have thus far reserved for the Rockies. That is the feeling I get when I reach the top of a black diamond covered in waist-high moguls that are entirely above my competency level, but I know I need to get down the hill.

Except, in this case, I was wearing shoes, and there was no snow, and it was midnight, and dark, and not a sporting quest. So you see, pretty much no similarities saved for the panicked feeling of staring down a hill and wondering how I’d make it down.

I looked down at my heels, towering creations of wooden platform spike heels and peep-toed caramel-colored calf skin, and frowned. I started a tentative step and faltered. I started a sideways step and faltered. I reached to my right and gripped the stucco of the building and thought about walking down whilst holding on. It was then that I realized I could never feasibly make it down. It was simply too steep. So I had no choice but to remove my heels and walk barefoot.

I actually consider myself lucky, as I managed to make it all two blocks home without stepping on a contaminated hypodermic, you know, as I was walking at midnight by myself barefoot adjacent to Buena Vista Park, which as far as I can tell, is pretty much the only crack den with a panoramic view of one of the most beautiful cities on earth. Hey man. If I did the crack? I’d be all over the BV Park. As it happens, I don’t, but it’s nice to have an aspirational location to take on if I ever do decide to take up the cheapest form of cocaine as a nice little side hobby.

So then, I guess I’ve had my adrenaline rush for the evening so can go to bed happy and satisfied. Phew, those hills! Who knew.

As Kokko the Wise told me, you always miss some place, no matter where you are

It's 75, there isn't a cloud in the sky, I have run through 1/2 a tank of gas in less than 2 days, and the woman in front of me at Peet's this morning (at 10:30am...) was donning 3 inch black patent peep-toe pumps, fitted black lace, mammoth blond hair extensions, and fierce calf implants (she was in desperate need of some facial work though...or perhaps that was a result of botched facial work...): ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, it's great to be back in LA.

I should be in a stellar mood, but I have a couple sticking points: 1) the woman at Peets did a shitty job on my latte; it's all foam, no milk at all, leaving me with a 1/2 cup of very strong coffee and no calcium for osteoporosis prevention; 2) my manager just sent me an email w/ feedback on how to essentially rewrite a document; thank you, kind sir, for the excellent guidance AFTER I have completed the project - to note, this level of detail should have come BEFORE I wrote the damn thing. Your management skills are truly stellar; I salute you.

But, buoyed by the excellent weekend that lies ahead of me, I still have a nice little smile on my face.

Anyway, so it's weird to be living in my old house again. When I woke up, I proceeded to go through the same motions that I used to when I was preparing for a day of work (used to be homework, now it's real work): open up all the curtains to let in the sunny sunshine, open up the porch door to let in the fresh air, turn the tv on for background noise, hop in the shower and giggle at the bathroom set-up that enables you or forces you to watch yourself in the mirror as you shower.

Although now, I woke up on the new daybed that is in the living room, versus a real bed. And my furniture is all gone, replaced by Ritu's, and set up in a completely different way. Her clothes, not my clothes, fill the closets. But, it was quite nice to see a tube of Khiel's Nourishing Olive Oil conditioner in the shower, as that is what I use :) (Ritu - have we talked about that product? Or is it pure coincidence that you too love the delightful results?)

I am also happy to see that there is a picture of me, Mare, Moe, and Rainer on the baker's rack in the kitchen (the picture cannot be removed from the frame cuz it got wet and it's permanently affixed to the glass) that I left behind - and that Ritu re-set up the wireless in the house, and the network name is Lindy. I kind of get to haunt the house in a way. My guess is that Veeve and Ritu would roll their eyes at this, but hey, I can see it how I want to.

Anyway, this apt still kicks ass. And San Mon is still pretty much the best place on earth so far as I'm concerned. Even more now that a Pink Berry lies at the corner of 17th and Montana (door is padlocked - but it looks all ready to go - will be open so soon!!!). Leaving me to know that I will achieve my goal of finding a wealthy mate that also wants to move back to SoCal. So then, back to work for me, I need to go make some of my statements more "pithy." I hate that gd word. The end.

Priceless as Diamonds

Let me start by saying that the title here really has very little to do with what I plan to write about. But I really like that phrase, so thank you Mr. Greg B. for sharing it whilst describing how you feel about that link you sent me that combines Chowhound's Top 100 Restaurants with Google Maps. Priceless as Diamonds indeed.

Actually...maybe I CAN make a feasible connection with my life to this fun turn of words... In an ironic sort of way. You see, I'm in LA right now (Yes! I am in LA! Thank you for the texts and IMs that make me feel guilty for being here and not broadcasting broadly enough). I arrived yday, to do recruiting stuff. Umm, yeah, the tables have turned. No longer do I have to kiss all sorts of corporate ass at lame networking events - now, the kiddies get to kiss MY ass at cheesy networking events! Oh, btw - when you're at one? And you're talking to a company representative at a place where you apparently have interest otherwise why did you come - I don't recommend typing away on your BBerry. You see, you have no job, so I know that your emails really aren't that important. I mean, I do have a job, and really, my emails aren't that important. So what are you doing: talking about the free drinks you're scoring at the W with your first quarter study group members? Douche move.

Anyway, that sidetracked me. I think what I was going for was why I'm here. That said, ever since I arrived here, my life has been one logistical nightmare, mostly due to me making it that way. Which, are kind of, as I said, in an ironic way, priceless as diamonds.

Ok, so for starters, we arrive into LAX around 3 yday, plenty of time to make a 6pm Happy Hour in Westwood. You think. So I wearing a great outfit - cute gray sweater dress, high black suede boots, black tights. And my tights were totally malfunctioning, all day - they have that design deal on the top that looks all lingerie-y, and they were too big and kept falling down, hence revealing the pattern a bit near the hem of my dress. So that won't work for a professional event, so I'm all, "kids: I'm going to hunt down some new tights - see you at the dub later."

So I get my little Mazda and hit the road by around 3:45ish. I can't drive this thing. The gear shift is weird. I end up in "M" mode v. "D" mode. I notice that I'm at like 5rpm and my engine is like revving itself. Try to get to drive, only after throwing it into reverse and neutral before getting there. As adjusted to my vehicle, I get on Lincoln to head North. Lincoln: under construction. 10 min wasted. Turn around to head to 405. Little Greggy used to call the 405 the Parking Lot. Yday at 4ish? Totally applicable name. A wreck. I was pulling out my hair. So I decide I'll take the 10 and just head over on surface streets.

Dumb idea. I lost my LA bearings. I'm kind of turned around. Make fun of me, I'll hit u - so shut it. Anyway, so I get off at Bundy and head to Pico, and pretty soon I'm at Nordstrom, so I'm all perfect - tights! I go in. In my hurry I decide I'll just valet and waste some money. But then I pull in and decide that is ridiculous. So I head out but the parking lot is all one-ways and stuff, so I have to exit before re-entering. I at last find parking, after nearly getting out of my car to force the 85-year-old Olds driver whose spot I'm waiting on to physically start her car and get the hell on with it, and dash into Nordy's for some Spanx. It's now like 5:15 by the time I'm back on the road, and I'm all, shit, I need to hurry. I initially head the wrong way on Pico, go 5 blocks past Westwood, turn around. I'm in terrible, shitty, frustrating LA traffic, and I'm removing my knee-high boots and tights and trying to pull on my Spanx. Which are tight, given their purpose. So I'm flashing traffic, sweater dressed hiked, strategically switching feet between the pedals, trying to stay in drive, cursing as I watch the minutes pass in stagnant traffic. I arrived at 5:45, so no worries, but DAMN, are you serious?

Post event, I head over to Century City to meet up some ladies for drinks at the Pink Taco (name still makes this one blush). I opt to go visit a friend in Hollywood after drinks, and naturally it's another issue, b/c my phone which I was relying on for directions is currently geeking out. It's killing me. IPhone: I heart you - but you're killing me. Apple: wtf. The applications keep crashing and then exiting, so no go on directions ability. Anyway, so there was that.

This morning I was stuck with a shitty hair drier a la y friend and hence my hair was dampish and got a ponytail. Then I had to navigate for an Israel-trip-related interview over at Doheny and Pico, and that was also messy, naturally, and traffic-y. So, I was 10 min late. Awesome. Late. To an interview thing. But so was the interviewer...who spend 10 min with me and pretty much I don't get why I was there in the first place...but that is a whole other issue. When I left I went to go grab a bagel thingy. I say thingy b/c it was this giant flat bagel deal, and tasty! Also got coffee, which was so brutally terrible that I tossed it and grabbed a Peets.

I eventually made it to school, and lot 4 is all different now - you have to do pay stations. So I'm lugging my lap top which is tremendously heavy only to find that I had to go to the pay station, get the ticket, then lug the lap top back to the car to put the ticket on the dash, then go back. And then finally I arrived on campus, thank the lord. By then my hair was dry so I could take my hot iron the the bathroom and straighten my locks. The only other logistical issue was taking my lunch date (Ang K from the P Center) to Bebe to pick up a new shirt b/c I didn't like the one I packed, and it was right across from our restaurant anyway. So I put it on and then pulled off the tags so they could ring it up and I could wear it out. That also involved me squatting awkwardly behind the counter to take off the security tag. The saleswoman said it "happens all the time." My ass it does.

So, I'm now thinking that I have had enough logistical issues for one weekend so I must be all good from here. But of course, when I think that way it tends to bite me in the big old butt. *Sigh*

Anyway... I am currently being pressured to attend Beer Bust, and I"m deciding if I want to be "that girl." This is going to take a bit of thought on my part, so I must go attend to this difficult situation. Until next time...