Heroin: it's a full-time job

Those words of wisdom are from a recovering addict who was chatting with another guy in recovery on the bus the other day. Now, I've often heard kids talk about buying drugs, and I often hear people talking about doing drugs, and I once heard some high school kids express concern after talking about where they were meeting their pot connection that they'd been speaking in front of a narc, but this went further than all that.

They didn't appear to be friends, so who knows how the conversation started, but one guy had just gotten out of rehab and was talking to the other guy about how all his time had gone to scoring heroin, doing heroin, or talking about it. He was concerned about how to fill his time.

The other guy concurred - hence the full-time job comment. But he maintained that his new-found friend could stay off junk and rebuild his life. It was really a powerful conversation. I'm sorry I won't know how it turns out.

And now for the carrots

Last week, it was a guy dressed as a banana. Yesterday, I saw a 6-foot-tall carrot walking along Fillmore St. The sketchy part of Fillmore, too. He was walking near the farmer's market, so I'm guessing he was a carrot promotion of some sort. Sadly, he didn't get on the bus. It could have been free carrots for the whole crowd on the 22.

Perhaps it’s time to get the emergency kit together

All this discussion about my office emergency supplies, along with conversations about last week’s anniversary of the 1906 earthquake, make me think it’s time to get my personal emergency kit together. At the very least, I need a flashlight with extra batteries, a radio (either battery powered with extra batteries or the hand-crank kind) three days of water and food – things that I can prepare without the stove, assuming that the electricity and natural gas distribution are disrupted.

The girls I work with have discussed this with me, and it seems that two of them are really well prepared. One even has kits in her house, garage, and car. I used to have two gallons of water, but I had to dump them when one jug sprung a leak, and slowly saturated my kitchen floor. That was three years ago. Maybe I should be more serious in my attempt this time.

I’ve been researching disaster kits online, and while part of me feels this is an easy way for companies to rip off individuals in disaster-prone areas, I’m intrigued by the possible $90 purchase of a complete two-person, three-day emergency kit. They even include a little tent, in case my home is inhabitable.

In all likelihood, in the event of a disaster, I won’t be home. But what if there’s an earthquake early in the morning, or late at night, or while I’m in transit, and close enough to walk home?

I know most of you on the East Coast don’t have emergency kits, but what about the rest of you out here? Are you prepared? Discuss.

Powerbars by the dozen

My place of temporary employment is really gung ho when it comes to emergency preparations. Each cubicle has its own first aid kit, and the office is stocked with emergency food and beverage supplies in several.

In true corporate fashion, they replace all the food each year, even though sealed, unused supplies probably won't go bad. Today was food replacement day.

I am now in possession of a dozen Power bars and granola bars, two small boxes of raisins, 2 D batteries, and the biggest jar of peanut butter ever. It's so big I'm not quite sure how I'm going to get it home tonight.

Now I'm left to ponder this: if you put peanut butter in your emergency kit, what do you stock to eat it with? Crackers? People here say to eat it alone, straight out of the jar, with a spoon. But that would require way more than the recommended gallon of water a day per person.

Yay sunburn!

Only in perpetually rainy and drab San Francisco could I rejoice in a slight sunburn. After not really seeing the sun for weeks - except for a teasingly pleasant dry spell last week - it has reappeared, and it's fabulous.

I even took my lunch break outside today, just to soak up some rays. Now I'm a little sunburned, but it doesn't matter. At least not today. I'm sure I'll feel differently in 20 years, but today the sun is fabulous!

Yom HaShoah

Today is Yom HaShoah, or Holocaust Remembrance Day, a commemoration started in Israel after World War II to remember all those who perished during the Holocaust. In Israel, the country shuts down for two minutes of silence amid the wail of air raid sirens to remember the six million Jews killed.

In this country, the day is marked by religious services and programs featuring Holocaust survivors and witnesses.

Historians estimate that about 11 million people - Jews, Poles of all religions, and Roma and Sinti (Gypsies) were killed, along with gays, political prisoners, clergy, and lots of others who stood up to the Third Reich.

If you have some time in the next week or so, check out the Holocaust memorial in Lincoln Park at the top of the hill near the entrance to the California Palace of the Legion of Honor.

Possibly the worst first date story ever

Just as a disclaimer, though it will become very obvious, none of this happened to me. I witnessed it all from a shopping mall food court, where I was innocently trying to eat a fruit salad.

That’s all I wanted, really, A little rest and some strawberries. But with no space to sit, I ended up standing at a counter, facing a guy who appeared to be on a date with a younger woman. At least, she looked younger from behind. They were facing each other across a table, with remnants of what looked like lunch and perhaps dessert. I could see the man, maybe late 40s, graying, and dressed casually – for a very cas first date or perhaps just to run weekend errands.

His date looked a little more dressed up, with a cute bag, tailored slacks, and little pumps. Her hair was a little longer than shoulder length, dark brown, and very obviously blown straight, as if she’d had to contend with a bad San Francisco hair day.

As I approached the counter, I could hear him say “I’m really sorry this won’t work out.” Uh oh, I thought, the last breakup scene I witnessed (in Starbucks) left the guy in hysterics and the girl beside herself with guilt. I almost wanted to leave. But something (likely the desire to eat and no other space to do it) made me stay.

“This just isn’t what I’m looking for,” the guy continued, sort of disgusted looking, as his date nodded in response, and kind of slouched over her empty plate. “But maybe you can get what you came for. Maybe they’ll put you in contact with somebody else.”

At this point, a chair opened up behind them, and I quickly scuttled around them to sit. I opened my fruit salad and tried to position myself so I could hear them both, and see the date.

And it’s good I did, because the date was a man. Well, a really bad-looking man in drag, I think. Or perhaps pre-op transvestite. And s/he was very young. And Asian. And trying to dress like the little Asian girls I see on the bus, with the cute clothes and animae-themed bags and cell phone covers.

Now, the content of this conversation made me wonder if they were set up through an agency – one that hadn’t done its research on the type of girls this guy wanted to date.

At this point, with the date not responding at all, the guy said goodbye, wished her good luck and an enjoyable time in the city, picked up his trash, and left the food court.

The date remained at the table for a few minutes, making calls on her cell phone, apparently trying to arrange another date. Then she, too, picked up her trash and left the building.

Confidential to the girl in the purple suit

Please, unless all your other clothes are destroyed by a fire, don’t wear that outfit again. But if you have ABSOLUTELY no other choice, then please avoid those pink flats. And the cream-colored blouse that exposes your belly button.

And to the girl in the sleeveless red dress walking down Market Street. It was 9 am, not 9 pm. Please, find appropriate work clothes – something with a skirt that covers your ass, perhaps? And lose the stilettos. You look like you dragged yourself to work after an all-nighter at the End Up. Do you really want to project that image at work?

Bananas, or I wish you were an orange

I got into the elevator for the trip from the 4th floor to the lobby, where I could purchase a snack. Upon entering the elevator, I smiled at the woman standing there, and then noticed an odd - even for San Francisco - sight. A man dressed as a banana. It was a full-on banana suit, and made him over 6 feet tall. He smiled, and offered us bananas. He was carrying them in a pouch across the front of his stomach. A banana papoose of sorts.

I declined, apologizing for not liking bananas. "I wish you were an orange," I said. "Well," he replied, "I've never been an orange, but I'll come back one day when I'm in the Georgia peach costume."

Courtly marriage was not marriage for love

This pearl of wisdom came from Fr. Xavier during last night’s young adult meeting. The topic: Creating God’s Love in your Family,” had lots of great possibilities. Fr. Xavier’s an awesome speaker. But I’d forgotten about the weirdo element. And it was there. And sitting in the second row, close enough to ask kooky questions and challenge Fr. Xavier on most of his statements.

His lecture began with both a historical and religious look at marriage and the relationship between husband and wife, before veering into how families in the 21st Century can work to build God into their lives.

An interesting aside: my parents did a lot of the things he talked about with us while we were growing up – as an effort to build religious tradition within the home – something really prevalent in Judaism but somewhat lacking in Catholicism.

So, there’s Fr. Xavier, wielding his computer remote and lecturing from his PowerPoint slides about the origination of marriage as a way to economically unite families and secure trading rights, and this older guy with greasy hair and crummy clothes pipes up “but what about courtly marriage?” and then proceeds to invoke Shakespeare to make his point that marriage for love existed centuries ago.

“Courtly marriage was not marriage for love,” Fr. Xavier responded – without missing a beat – and proceeded on with his lecture.

Unfortunately, the interruptions, by greasy-haired guy and his friend (early 40s, balding, bow tie, and a Mickey Mouse watch. – seriously) continued. On everything from the role of matchmakers in Hasidic Jewish communities in Israel to a lawsuit involving a local law school that prohibited a Christian student group from being recognized on campus because it discriminated against a whole lot of people. Now, the matchmaker was somewhat prescient to the discussion. But the law suit bore no relevance to anything.

And it’s hard to tell if they just wanted to challenge him – an intellectual pissing contest of sorts – or if they really thought they knew what they were talking about. Which they didn’t. And it was painful.

Eavesdropping

Excuse me for ripping off Leah Garchick’s public eavesdropping column in the San Francisco Chronicle, but this was way too good to pass up.

Sitting on MUNI last night, I heard two girls talking about the commemoration of the 100th anniversary of the earthquake. They were discussing how many groups seemed to use the anniversary as a way to publicize emergency preparedness in the city – with MUNI advertisements, public service announcements, and mailings detailing how to assemble an emergency kit.

They didn’t seem too pleased with this scheme. “It’s been 100 years,” one girl said to the other. “Does FEMA really want to publicize that they screwed up then, and still aren’t prepared?”

FEMA didn’t exist 100 years ago.

One year and one hundred years

A year ago today, at about this time, I arrived home from work to a phone message from my graduate school advisor. It was brief, but carried good news: I had passed my master’s comprehensive exam. The months of studying and reading and generally stressing out were over. I’d read my one hundred books, and jumped through all their hoops. And I was done with grad school.

It was a fantastic feeling, and a little of it persists even now, after a crazy year of transitions and unemployment and underemployment. I may even hang my diploma this evening. I just need to find it first.

Today also marks the 100th anniversary of the Great San Francisco Earthquake and Fire. This morning Market Street was shut down for a really lame parade. It made me sad to see marching bands and the police and fire honor guards marching down the street in what was the worst public commemoration of death and destruction I’ve ever seen. Why not have a mock funeral, as a city north of here did? Or a moment of silence? Or have all the church bells in the city toll in memory of the thousands who died. No marching bands, no former mayors pausing for photo opportunities as they make their way down the street in convertibles. Just a simple, somber reminder of all that changed on the day one hundred years ago. Because that event, and the changes it sparked, made San Francisco what it is today. A pretty cool place to live. Minus the marching bands.

Shout out to my sister!

Because sometimes when life gives you lemons, you can make great margaritas.

This job could drive me to drink!!

I am not a good admin, and I knew that going in, but today was enough to send me off the Bridge. Or out the window, but from the fourth floor I think I'd only hurt myself, and I'm uninsured. It's safer to drink. A lot.

I get in this morning with a good sense of my duties for the day - big lunch meeting with food arriving around 11 am, get the people into the conference room, make sure there's enough water, and then go about my day.

But what about the other two meetings for which I was a contact person - and knew nothing about, or the conference call I was unaware I had to set up, or the guy who had two sets of information for this meeting and didn't know if he was going to be calling the right office.

This morning was beyond hectic, and all because nobody told me things I needed to know to do my job. I really dislike this place. But I do get to eat the leftovers, and I ordered Mexican. And cookies. Yay cookies!

Forget that masters, can you wield a highlighter?

I've been here since 8:30 am, an uncomfortable hour for me no matter what the circumstances, but last night I was singing until after 9 pm, and it took forever to get to sleep.

So, I'm one of six people here today, in an office of 30, and there's NOTHING to do. Nothing. I filed a few things, ordered lunch for a meeting next week, and attended the staff pizza party for the girl who's leaving.

I thought I could maybe leave early. Until 2 pm. At that time, one of the people I support approached me with what seemed like a simple copying task. "I have to return this to Michael," he said about a 65-page heavily highlighted memo. "But I need to know what I've highlighted. So can you copy it. The highlighting should come through on the photocopy, but if it doesn't, there's not too many pages to highlight."

Right. Only every page had a few - or many - bright yellow lines on it. And no, not a single one showed up on the copy. I spent 45 minutes re-highlighting the document. I really feel like I've put my education to work today. Who knew all that time I spent highlighting history text books was actually valuable workforce training?

Good day sunshine!

The sun has come out, the sky is blue, and it felt close to 70 degrees when I ventured out - umbrellaless - at lunchtime today. Perhaps spring is really here. After dozens of dreary, rainy days, it's good to see the sun.

Mail girl extraordinaire

It’s 11 am and I’ve already done my morning’s work – I made some copies, delivered some mail, organized the cubicle over my desk, and made a phone call to somebody whose original voicemail message to me was vanquished when we had three days of voicemail problems.

What to do until lunch? And what about the rest of this afternoon? All I have left to do today is talk with the girl who’s training me about how to order lunch for two big meetings next week. Yep, I graduated summa cum laude from the number one MA in history program in the nation, and I can’t order lunch by myself.

I know better days are coming (the sun came out today, which can only bode well for the future) but today is a little ridiculous.

But I’m taking my lunch hour and going shopping. Old Navy here I come.

Lunch for one

Maybe I’m just paranoid, but I get a weird feeling from this place. The girl I’m replacing has had three lunches in honor of her departure. While one of them was an exit-interview type thing, and another was with only a few people who wouldn’t be around on the day of her departure, the third lunch included half the staff – including the girl hired three weeks ago who hasn’t worked with the out-the-door staffer.

And nobody invited me. Or even mentioned to me that they were all leaving. And they were gone for over two hours.

Now, I am a temporary employee here. And of course I’m not going to be treated as a valued employee (even if I’ve taken on a Herculean task and done pretty well so far). But I’m working pretty closely with all these people, and many of them haven’t taken the time to get to know me. These lunches would have been a good opportunity, and might have helped me to feel a little more comfortable here. I’m sorry I didn’t know about them.

Or maybe I’m not. I did spend a nice hour watching the rain and reading my book while I ate lunch. Alone. In a very large and empty lunchroom.

New band alert

The Sligo, Ireland band The Hooks recently moved to San Francisco. They are rumored to have once backed up Shane McGowan - though not on a Pogues tour - and have moved to the states in to try for a record deal. I saw them this weekend, and they rocked. Lots of great original music - trad Irish and Pogues-inspired rock - and some awesome covers too. And right now they're playing for cheap (or free) all over the city.

Their website sucks, but they seem to be advertising in the free papers. Check them out if you get the chance.

Music, continued.....

Thanks to Andy for pointing this out - required reading for everyone:

http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2006/03/26/ING3PHRVAA1.DTL&hw=ipod&sn=002&sc=394

Take a look. I think she might be a little too quick to pass judgment on holders of the Shuffle, but absolutely, nobody's ipod should be a fashion accessory. But I tend to feel the same about all electronic devices (ahem, Bill, please take your cell phone off your jeans).

What does this mean for us as a society? Are we using music to judge where we once judged based upon appearance, or job, or whatever.

And what about the commitment level of a playlist? It's a lot less permanent than a CD or record.

And one more thing to ponder: how would you feel about a date (or potential date) scrolling through your playlists? I think my small Billy Joel collection, and my monster Bon Jovi playlist wouldn't be understood.

What does your music really say about you??

What might your record collection tell people about you? The KFOG morning show folks debated this question earlier this week, and I’m intrigued. They asked, specifically, what listeners’ record collections might say to a potential date.

The overwhelming response was that collections on vinyl indicated two things: That people were probably over thirty, and that they were pretty serious about their music and put some effort into maintaining it (think about preserving and repairing record players). This would probably translate well into relationships, presuming that people were as willing to maintain a relationship as they were to maintain their record collection.

Hmmm. I once dated a record collector. His records maintenance skills definitely DID NOT translate into good relationship skills.

But what about collections on CD? My own musical tastes are varied, and my collection definitely represents that. I also tend to have many albums by the bands I like, which I suppose demonstrates the ability to make a commitment and follow through on it.

I’m open to discussion. What do you all think?

Oh, the frustration!

Starting a new job is always frustrating, but having to learn all of this organization’s peculiarities – and they have quite a few – only to have to train somebody else in a few weeks is really, really hard.

Excuse me while I bang my head against the wall for a minute. This really seems like an impossible task. And in the midst of it, people are telling me I should stay at this job.

The people are nice, but it’s really too rigid and structured for my liking. And the hours suck. What to do? Really, it’s out of my control. And I hate that!

Happy Birthday, Bill!!

My not-so-little brother turns 24 today.

Congress recovery (or inundated with music)

Yes, I've been back for a few days now, but it took awhile for my whole Religious Education Congress experience to sink in. I left the convention center exhausted and exhilarated. It was a truly awesome experience, and I can't wait to go back next year.

I really learned a lot, about music, and liturgy, and merging the two. And also about creating and maintaining a choir. And also about the people I traveled with. And I think that was the best part.

I returned to San Francisco on Sunday evening without the rest of my group, and I'm sorry we didn't have the opportunity to talk all the way home. Learning is great, but having people to share the experience with is even better.

God loves the Yankees

I must admit I'm feeling a little bad for Oakland this morning. It would seem that all their infielders had baseball-sized holes in their gloves. Not to worry, though. I've packed my sewing kit and will offer to help mend them before tonight's game starts. Presuming the rain ever stops.

Oh, and that loud thwaking noise you hear is me kicking myself. Hard. I should have gone to the game. Sigh.