Woo, kind of beat of right now, just got back from a bike ride around Golden Gate Park. On Sundays, they close the park off to cars so bikes rule the road and honestly that's they only way to get me biking in the city. I am not only scared of driving but also biking while others are driving nearby. Thankfully, I am not afraid to be a pedestrian and I can safely and confidently cross the street on my own. It was exceptionally warm out and gliding through the park was a lot of fun, but this being San Francisco it didn't last long- a fog horn blew and, lo, you could see a thick blanket of fog rolling in and and it suddenly became freezing. The weather here is a little too schizophrenic for my tastes. I'm never prepared, never sufficiently layered...

Last night went to a BBQ near where I grew up, friends of my dad's, and then to meet some friends for drinks at the Mallard Club, an old-fashioned tiki-style lounge just a few blocks from my alma mater. I rarely venture to this part of the bay anymore. It's strange to me that people my age live choose to live in Albany (it's become a lot cooler in recent years) instead of say San Francisco or Oakland- to me, it will be forever known as just the place I spent my youth. Frequently the town shows up in my dreams- sometimes I'm running, being chased and other times I'm aimlessly walking around at night, peeking into houses, spying on people eating dinner (wonder what that means?)

Speaking of dinner, we're trying to save money by not eating out as much. Sometimes groceries are so expensive that it's hardly cost-effective (like the other day when I bought three small fillets of salmon for $26!) The real way to save money by home cooking is to not waste purchased food, creatively use leftovers, and not buy crazy expensive ingredients. I wish I had an herb garden. I hate buying a bushel of say cilantro and using a couple of sprigs and then letting the rest decay. Why do they sell fresh herbs in such giant bundles?

I think I'm making these quinoa cakes tonight. I am passionately in love with quinoa, the God of all grains.

Right now I'm not really in the mood for a long or well-thought out post. Maybe I'll turn this blog into chronicling the mundane details of my every day- wouldn't that be fascinating? I only really like to write here when I have something funny or interesting to share but I really can't stand anymore when people ask me what I'm doing these days. Lately, I've taken to saying "various things" and leaving it at that or "I've got several irons in the fire." Maybe I should just say "refer to the blog."

I'm happy his knee has healed and that life is looking up for him. He even has a new ladyfriend and he's totally smitten. He can't say a sentence without uttering her name. There's even talk of moving in together. She's really into biking and hiking and gardening and..... well, my dad is, to put it mildly, a more sedentary person. But somehow she convinced him to get these new state of the art orthopedic shoes. She has a pair herself and says it's like walking on clouds! She's so into these shoes that the first time I met her, she insisted I try hers on and walk around the apartment for a "test drive." They were indeed bouncy (though they did not, as they would seem to, enhance my jumping ability ten fold) but don't think I'll be sporting these any time soon. My dad, however, bit the bullet and got a pair that looked like this:

His had velcro though, not laces. These beauties are called Z-Coils and you have to sign a waver before you buy them, releasing the company from any liability should your use of the shoes result in injury and/or death.

He tried them out for a few days but felt really awkward in them and nearly broke his neck when a rung on a bar stool he was sitting on got caught on the coils. And considering he just stopped using a cane and is still a little wonky on his legs, he thought maybe the shoes were a little too much for him. So he decided to return them to the store, which happens to be near where I live.

Last week, he tried to return them but forgot the box and they wouldn't take them back without it. So he came back again yesterday and we planned to go out to dinner afterward.

I wish I had remembered my camera to take pictures of the inside of the store. The posters in there were hysterical. Apparently, if you are walking in regular shoes, you are doing irreparable damage to your back and will end up looking like a hunchback. Forget that most humans have been wearing non-coiled shoes for tens of thousands of years. What you really need are GIANT COILS ON THE BOTTOM OF YOUR SHOES. Some people swear that they really do eliminate back and joint pain and enable you to stand for extended periods of time without discomfort. Some people are also blind.

When the sales guy asked why he was returning the shoes, my dad said had written it down on the "reason for return" card. He had marked the box that read: "shoes are not socially acceptable at my place of work/style not compatible with my lifestyle." He emphasized that these shoes made him self-conscious and that "style and image are very important" in his line of work (ha! I'm sure his patients wouldn't even notice if he came into work in a kimono). The sales guy, obviously a devotee of the Coil, looked crushed. He called his manager on the phone and sighed, "We got another return." I had to leave the store at that point because I couldn't stifle my laughter any longer.

Ah what we do for love.

This head was $1. It sort of matches another pair of figurines I scored in New Orleans a few years ago. I love this head.

This accordion is super old. The tag says "squeeze box from before Bodie, CA was a ghost town." When the lady saw we were buying this she said she hadn't meant to include this in the sale but oops, we could have it, what the hay. For a dollar.

These matching wall hangings are from Ecuador. And old. $1 each.

This scale is solid brass (?) and is also very, very old. It cost one dollar. It is good for weighing and displaying produce.

This glass hand, for rings I'm supposing, was a birthday gift purchased from another store. Not one dollar, but a cool antique store find anyhow.

One of two old ass clocks-- $1

This old souvenir plate is from Tijuana. This was way before the time when souvenirs from Tijuana usually meant cheap dental work and even cheaper black market Viagra.

Only ONE DOLLAR.

Just like there is a Starbucks on every other corner of Manhattan and a high-octane coffee house on every block in San Francisco, LA is chock-full of frozen yogurt shops, like this "diet" (no calories! how is that possible?) yogurt place on Melrose. But given that it was 90 degrees out, I can't deny I wasn't all up that fro yo.

This is me and my cousin Jonathan attempting to look casual and natural, at my insistence, since I find posed photos (like this one of me and my other, tanner cousin Rae and this one of the three of us ) impossibly corny, and also I am incapable of smiling normally on demand. He took us to this crazy Japanese place, Yamashiro, way up in the Hollywood Hills. The views were indeed awesome- from that vantage point, LA almost looked like an appealing place to live.

Here is Rafe pointing off into the smoggy distance. Jonathan has lived in Hollywood for a long time and was kind enough to take us around to some of the city's more legendary haunts. We had drinks at the Roosevelt Hotel (where they held the first Academy Award ceremonies) and then dinner at Musso & Frank, the oldest Hollywood restaurant (seriously, all the waiters were between 75-120). Our waiter was one of the younger ones and regaled us with tales of his friendship with the Rolling Stones (he had a photo album to prove it) and how the were regulars of the restaurant and how they once flew him first class to Mexico City to see them play.

This is my cousin Rae driving her dad's '57 Chevy. We drove all the way to Bob's Big Boy, a classic diner down in Studio City (where they still have a "car hop" service and classic car shows every week). And since you can't take this beauty on the highway (it goes like 15 mph) we drove all the way down Ventura Boulevard for like an hour (whereas in a normal car, it'd take you 10 minutes). So as we're putting along like we're in our very own parade, we're getting plenty of waves and whistles, especially from the old timers. It was pretty amusing.

Here we are waiting for Rae to fill up the tank.

This is a Scientology Center in LA (right on L. Ron Hubbard Way!) I was very curious to go in and get a free "stress test" but Rafe dissuaded me. I was just trying to go clear!

Here is my dad's cousin Grace. She's swell. Every day at 5pm is official wine time. It's like an in-house happy hour. She's pours a generous glass, too.

Speaking of drinking. The night before we left for Ojai we met up with Rafe's friend Paul and his girlfriend at the divey Gold Room on Sunset. We were the only gringos in the joint- at one point, the owner, a tough looking guy dressed like Pancho Villa (I kid not) came around and was shaking everyone's hands except ours. But all was forgiven when he went into the back again and came out a minute later with platter of free tacos for all of us. I love LA!

We also had great tacos the night before on our way to a house party in Crenshaw, where Paul told us was the setting for Boyz in the Hood. I know this picture isn't very good, I took it out the car window as we were leaving as I felt a little self-conscious snapping away while we were standing there. It was just a taco stand on the corner in front of a used car lot late at night in a questionable neighborhood- but you know, street tacos are they best kind of tacos.

Anyhow, from the other night, after those free tacos, we went to this restaurant next door where we sought out more tacos because it was Taco Tuesday and they were $1 each. People seem to enjoy tacos a lot in LA. Especially free and/or discounted tacos. But hey, who doesn't? Paul ordered a round of tequila shots for everyone and I thought hmmm, probably not such a great idea if Rafe's going to be driving, so I drank his, and mine, and some others. I never, ever drink tequila. Well, not without disastrous results. This night proved to be no different.

Sign it's high time for a manicure: when a bag lady on the bus recommends you use cuticle cream. Thanks for the advice, lady!

Seriously, I just made an appointment. Why not pretty myself up on my 27th birthday? I've already put on my birthday skirt, the same black lacy skirt I've been wearing for like eight years in a row now. I still fit in it, and for that I am thankful. Hopefully I can say the same thing on my 30th. And my 50th. Ha. Later we are gathering with some friends and my dad at Suppenkuche down the street. I got the back room reserved for us and I'm looking forward to the revelry- namely, having a beer served to me in a giant glass boot and the finest schnitzel and spaetzle in San Francisco. Or should I say Sanfrooklyn....

I'm hopeful about this new year for me but truthfully right now I must say I'm a tad bummed. A fantastic job I was very close to getting fell through yesterday (why didn't I take Arabic in college instead of Spanish? WHY?) and our week down south ended with coming home and discovering puddles of red goo pooled on the kitchen floor. At first I thought someone (our disgruntled super?) stuffed a head in the fridge while we were gone.

Kink.com is currently seeking a highly skilled Production Assistant.

Job Objective:
Assists key personnel during shoots, take photographs and edit shoots

Essential Job Requirements:
1. Provides general assistance to Directors and Videographers
2. Responsible for setting up shoot as needed
3. Responsible for timely set breakdown
4. Sterilize all supplies according to Standard Operating Procedures
5. Return and cleaning of all wardrobe items
6. Take still photographs during each shoot
7. Edits footage as needed
8. Logging in Footage
9. Driving models to and from airport as needed
10. Second PA/Armory Driver as assigned
11. Must be comfortable being on camera as a Production Assistant
12. Other duties as assigned

Whoa, I almost missed number 11! Shouldn't that kind of requirement be rewarded with a bonus of some sort?

Taking inspiration from New York Magazine's "New York Diet" series, I decided to take a look at what I eat over the course of a week. Of course, a week in my life isn't nearly as compelling or glamorous as the jet-setters and city notables they feature on their site, but I thought it would be a fun experiment, mostly to see for myself what my diet really look likes upon closer inspection. The week I recorded here wasn't entirely typical- I certainly ate home a lot more than usual and, since I knew I was going to be blogging about every bite and sip, my food choices were subconsciously (or not) a smidgen healthier than normal (contrasted to this past weekend wherein I consumed quite literally a ton of bbq meat, assorted fried treats, and a few too many drinks). And, looking back, the week was remarkably low-key for me...so...yeah. This is probably incredibly boring to everyone save the few stalkers I have out there (hey guys!)


THURSDAY, February 7th

I got up late and I gobbled down the last crumbs of blueberry cornbread loaf I baked a few days before when I had the sudden inspiration to bake. We were, to my shock, all out of coffee so I zombie-shuffled over Peet's over on Broderick and got a pound of my favorite bean- their French Roast.

I hung out at OakSide Café across the street to get some writing done and had a coffee there with a veggie sandwich on sourdough. Can never get enough sourdough.

Later I volunteered to host an alumni event for my alma matter down at DaDa in SoMa. I had two Hefeweizens and a sip of someone's watermelon martini. I came home starving and made myself the quickest thing I could think of assembling- wheat toast topped with marinara sauce and pre shredded "Mexi-blend" cheese. Not quite pizza, and not quite good. Then I had some Dryer's Slow Churned ice cream with a Trader Joe's chocolate chip cookie crumbled on top. It was a meal only a second grader would have truly appreciated.

FRIDAY

I was rushing out the door so I only had to time to gulp down some coffee with almond milk (swearing off regular cow-made milk for now) and had a Tsatsuma orange on the bus.

Later met up with a friend to introduce her to Beard Papa cream puffs. I had one with an iced coffee in the Yearba Buena gardens. Ran errands all afternoon, came home and ate a cup of Fage yogurt with almonds, a drizzle of honey, and another orange.

My cousin came over later and we had hummus on toast (she's a vegan) and some white wine. Went to a Shabbat service at Emanue-El. Beautiful temple, lovely music, nice assortment of hot young Jews- all in all a great start to the weekend. Downstairs they had keg of some kind of beer (He'Brew?) and a spread of Kosher nibbles. I had some of the beer, a few falafel balls, some salmon nuggets, and some challah.

Later I accidentally had some hot cocoa. On our trip to the island of Saba last summer, I found this stuff in a local market. I bought it pretty much for the kitsch/shock value of the packaging. At first I thought it was some kind of chocolatey banana cereal. Come on- wheat stalk? Banana? Bowl and spoon? So I added some milk, heated it up, and stirred it around in a bowl. Was confused, looked it up online, and discovered it was a hot coca drink. Not cereal.

Sitting outdoors at Café du Soleil, waiting for my coffee to cool and my laptop to boot up...half in the shade, feeling the burn of the sun on one cheek, watching a puppy under the table next to me sloppily lap up water from his bowl.

The weather forecast this morning was "nice to mild."

Looking at a front-page photo in the New York Times. Snow day in Prospect Park. I miss how peaceful and hushed the city is right after a snowfall. Of course, then the next day everything is draped in a layer of slushy soot, and each day after that is increasingly melty, gray, dirty. guess I can't complain, but I do miss the seasons. How is it nearing March already?

Time feels like expanding and contracting like an accordion, speeding up and then slowing down...and then speeding up again.

A sudden wind just blew by, sending an Orangina bottle to the sidewalk. The puppy is yelping, knocking his bowl over. A busboy is rushing out now, dustpan and broom in hand, a million hards of glass sparkling in the sunlight.

I've been thinking lately about how at other points in my life, things were more defined, the course was set, the path paved. I just had to show up. The routine was distracting, but was it better than this? No, just different. A limbo state. Here is this life: on one side familiar, on the other unrecognizable. On the verge of hope, of feeling my world open...that small voice of fear lingering in the background and fading out...

I've been reminding myself, maybe too frequently, that I'm not on a deadline. That there's no finish line. That I'm just here, waiting, wanting, dreaming, doing, living.