The last day

Today is November 30, and the end of the contest. While I didn't quite make the 30 blogs in 30 days goal, I came very, very close. Unfortunately, I don't think numerous blogs on one day replaces the day I missed, but I'm pretty happy with all I've accomplished.

And now stay tuned for December, the month of packing, moving, and visiting my family. It should be fun!

Winter, characterized by frozen hair and air so cold it scars your lungs

We've hit a bit of a post-Thanksgiving cold snap this week, and our beautiful late fall days are hovering below the 60 degree mark. Daytime is nice, but morning and night are downright cold. This morning I knew I was in trouble before I got out of bed, when the early morning weather report warned of frost and my windows were clouded with it.

Now, my soon-to-be-former abode is not too well (read: not at all) insulated, and when I turn on the heat, it's all sucked out the windows. Happily, the hood of my sweatshirt stayed on my head all night, so I slept reasonably well. But leaving my bedroom this morning, I was shocked awake by the very, very cold floors.

It was so cold that even the water took a long time to warm up. I almost expected icicicles to emerge from the tap.

I managed to get out the door with all the appropriate layers, having happily stumbled upon my gloves while looking for socks this morning. Now fully layered, I crossed the threshold and left my apartment.

And I swear, it was warmer outside than it had been inside.

Seen in a catalogue

A sweatshirt with the following:

National Sarcasm Society
Like we need your support

Walking Distance

Now that the idea of moving has had time to settle, and I'm feeling more relieved and excited than shocked and panicked, I've started to consider the outstanding benefits of my new location. While I'm very sad to have to leave the Sunset, I think the Pacific Heights/Laurel Village border will be a phenomenal location. Here are a few reasons why:

FOUR grocery stores within walking distance, and a few others within very short bus rides. Look for me wheeling my cart down the hill from Trader Joe's, which is now a mere THREE BLOCKS away.

Proximity to six mostly-reliable bus lines that can get me across the city or downtown in a matter of minutes, not hours.

Walking distance to St. Dominic's, so I no longer have to kill a few hours before rehearsals. Now I can go home, change my clothes, eat dinner, and probably still be a little early.

An easy bus ride to play in the Presidio, which is just a beautiful as Golden Gate Park but has thus far been mostly inaccessible from my neighborhood.

Walking distance to numerous restaurants, shops, banks, and other staples of city living that I've lacked for the past 16 months.

I couldn't have found a better location. I almost wish I could move in now!

Sunday: The day I forgot to blog

I was up early to organize and do a little pre-packing evaluation of my closet, then I went Christmas shopping and got caught in the rain. My shopping trip was quite successful, and easy once the throngs of shoppers abandoned downtown as the rain rolled in.

Then, after Mass, and the hour-plus bus ride home, I ate the end of the leftovers and went to bed. To have come this far and blown my blog-a-day goal is a little disappointing, but I really think the turkey muddled my brain. Sigh.

But I'm back on track until the end of November.

Boxes, boxes everywhere!

I've packed five boxes and started organizing some other things in preparation for my move. Now that my landlord and roommate both know I'm leaving (and my roommate's decided she will be too) I can pack with reckless abandon.

Today I loaded up some books and clothes - things I won't need immediately. Then I ran out of boxes, and space in which to put them.

I briefly panicked yesterday when I realized that Dec. 16, the day I hope to have the movers come, is only three weeks away. I'd better get back to work.

Sell by Sept. 27

Can somebody please explain to me why my roommate has a carton of milk on her side of the fridge with a Sept. 27 expiration date?

Should I get rid of it, or let it continue to ferment?

Happy Thanksgiving!

While I won't get to spend this year wearing my Thanksgiving pants and lounging in front of the television with my family, this holiday promises to be an interesting one. Check back later for the full tale of Thanksgiving 2006.

And a very happy Thanksgiving to everyone!

Happy Arlo Day!

Today is a very important day. It really should be a national holiday. Today is Arlo Guthrie Day. At least, this is the day celebrated by the Pelham Memorial High School band and hangers-on the day before Thanksgiving.

It's a pizza-eating feast day and a time to brush up on the words to Arlo's musical masterpiece, "Alice's Restaurant," in preparation for tomorrow's noon radio broadcast of the Thanksgiving classic.

In honor of this event, I present you with the full lyrics. Enjoy!

Alice's Restaurant,
by Arlo Guthrie
©1966,1967 (Renewed) by Appleseed Music Inc. All Rights Reserved.

This song is called Alice's Restaurant, and it's about Alice, and the
restaurant, but Alice's Restaurant is not the name of the restaurant,
that's just the name of the song, and that's why I called the song Alice's
Restaurant.

You can get anything you want at Alice's Restaurant
You can get anything you want at Alice's Restaurant
Walk right in it's around the back
Just a half a mile from the railroad track
You can get anything you want at Alice's Restaurant

Now it all started two Thanksgivings ago, was on - two years ago on
Thanksgiving, when my friend and I went up to visit Alice at the
restaurant, but Alice doesn't live in the restaurant, she lives in the
church nearby the restaurant, in the bell-tower, with her husband Ray and
Fasha the dog. And livin' in the bell tower like that, they got a lot of
room downstairs where the pews used to be in. Havin' all that room,
seein' as how they took out all the pews, they decided that they didn't
have to take out their garbage for a long time.

We got up there, we found all the garbage in there, and we decided it'd be
a friendly gesture for us to take the garbage down to the city dump. So
we took the half a ton of garbage, put it in the back of a red VW
microbus, took shovels and rakes and implements of destruction and headed
on toward the city dump.

Well we got there and there was a big sign and a chain across across the
dump saying, "Closed on Thanksgiving." And we had never heard of a dump
closed on Thanksgiving before, and with tears in our eyes we drove off
into the sunset looking for another place to put the garbage.
We didn't find one. Until we came to a side road, and off the side of the
side road there was another fifteen foot cliff and at the bottom of the
cliff there was another pile of garbage. And we decided that one big pile
is better than two little piles, and rather than bring that one up we
decided to throw our's down.

That's what we did, and drove back to the church, had a thanksgiving
dinner that couldn't be beat, went to sleep and didn't get up until the
next morning, when we got a phone call from officer Obie. He said, "Kid,
we found your name on an envelope at the bottom of a half a ton of
garbage, and just wanted to know if you had any information about it." And
I said, "Yes, sir, Officer Obie, I cannot tell a lie, I put that envelope
under that garbage."

After speaking to Obie for about fourty-five minutes on the telephone we
finally arrived at the truth of the matter and said that we had to go down
and pick up the garbage, and also had to go down and speak to him at the
police officer's station. So we got in the red VW microbus with the
shovels and rakes and implements of destruction and headed on toward the
police officer's station.

Now friends, there was only one or two things that Obie coulda done at
the police station, and the first was he could have given us a medal for
being so brave and honest on the telephone, which wasn't very likely, and
we didn't expect it, and the other thing was he could have bawled us out
and told us never to be see driving garbage around the vicinity again,
which is what we expected, but when we got to the police officer's station
there was a third possibility that we hadn't even counted upon, and we was
both immediately arrested. Handcuffed. And I said "Obie, I don't think I
can pick up the garbage with these handcuffs on." He said, "Shut up, kid.
Get in the back of the patrol car."

And that's what we did, sat in the back of the patrol car and drove to the
quote Scene of the Crime unquote. I want tell you about the town of
Stockbridge, Massachusets, where this happened here, they got three stop
signs, two police officers, and one police car, but when we got to the
Scene of the Crime there was five police officers and three police cars,
being the biggest crime of the last fifty years, and everybody wanted to
get in the newspaper story about it. And they was using up all kinds of
cop equipment that they had hanging around the police officer's station.
They was taking plaster tire tracks, foot prints, dog smelling prints, and
they took twenty seven eight-by-ten colour glossy photographs with circles
and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one explaining what each
one was to be used as evidence against us. Took pictures of the approach,
the getaway, the northwest corner the southwest corner and that's not to
mention the aerial photography.

After the ordeal, we went back to the jail. Obie said he was going to put
us in the cell. Said, "Kid, I'm going to put you in the cell, I want your
wallet and your belt." And I said, "Obie, I can understand you wanting my
wallet so I don't have any money to spend in the cell, but what do you
want my belt for?" And he said, "Kid, we don't want any hangings." I
said, "Obie, did you think I was going to hang myself for littering?"
Obie said he was making sure, and friends Obie was, cause he took out the
toilet seat so I couldn't hit myself over the head and drown, and he took
out the toilet paper so I couldn't bend the bars roll out the - roll the
toilet paper out the window, slide down the roll and have an escape. Obie
was making sure, and it was about four or five hours later that Alice
(remember Alice? It's a song about Alice), Alice came by and with a few
nasty words to Obie on the side, bailed us out of jail, and we went back
to the church, had a another thanksgiving dinner that couldn't be beat,
and didn't get up until the next morning, when we all had to go to court.
We walked in, sat down, Obie came in with the twenty seven eight-by-ten
colour glossy pictures with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back
of each one, sat down. Man came in said, "All rise." We all stood up,
and Obie stood up with the twenty seven eight-by-ten colour glossy
pictures, and the judge walked in sat down with a seeing eye dog, and he
sat down, we sat down. Obie looked at the seeing eye dog, and then at the
twenty seven eight-by-ten colour glossy pictures with circles and arrows
and a paragraph on the back of each one, and looked at the seeing eye dog.
And then at twenty seven eight-by-ten colour glossy pictures with circles
and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one and began to cry,
'cause Obie came to the realization that it was a typical case of American
blind justice, and there wasn't nothing he could do about it, and the
judge wasn't going to look at the twenty seven eight-by-ten colour glossy
pictures with the circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each
one explaining what each one was to be used as evidence against us. And
we was fined $50 and had to pick up the garbage in the snow, but thats not
what I came to tell you about.

Came to talk about the draft.

They got a building down New York City, it's called Whitehall Street,
where you walk in, you get injected, inspected, detected, infected,
neglected and selected. I went down to get my physical examination one
day, and I walked in, I sat down, got good and drunk the night before, so
I looked and felt my best when I went in that morning. `Cause I wanted to
look like the all-American kid from New York City, man I wanted, I wanted
to feel like the all-, I wanted to be the all American kid from New York,
and I walked in, sat down, I was hung down, brung down, hung up, and all
kinds o' mean nasty ugly things. And I waked in and sat down and they gave
me a piece of paper, said, "Kid, see the phsychiatrist, room 604."
And I went up there, I said, "Shrink, I want to kill. I mean, I wanna, I
wanna kill. Kill. I wanna, I wanna see, I wanna see blood and gore and
guts and veins in my teeth. Eat dead burnt bodies. I mean kill, Kill,
KILL, KILL." And I started jumpin up and down yelling, "KILL, KILL," and
he started jumpin up and down with me and we was both jumping up and down
yelling, "KILL, KILL." And the sargent came over, pinned a medal on me,
sent me down the hall, said, "You're our boy."

Didn't feel too good about it.

Proceeded on down the hall gettin more injections, inspections,
detections, neglections and all kinds of stuff that they was doin' to me
at the thing there, and I was there for two hours, three hours, four
hours, I was there for a long time going through all kinds of mean nasty
ugly things and I was just having a tough time there, and they was
inspecting, injecting every single part of me, and they was leaving no
part untouched. Proceeded through, and when I finally came to the see the
last man, I walked in, walked in sat down after a whole big thing there,
and I walked up and said, "What do you want?" He said, "Kid, we only got
one question. Have you ever been arrested?"

And I proceeded to tell him the story of the Alice's Restaurant Massacre,
with full orchestration and five part harmony and stuff like that and all
the phenome... - and he stopped me right there and said, "Kid, did you ever
go to court?"

And I proceeded to tell him the story of the twenty seven eight-by-ten
colour glossy pictures with the circles and arrows and the paragraph on
the back of each one, and he stopped me right there and said, "Kid, I want
you to go and sit down on that bench that says Group W .... NOW kid!!"
And I, I walked over to the, to the bench there, and there is, Group W's
where they put you if you may not be moral enough to join the army after
committing your special crime, and there was all kinds of mean nasty ugly
looking people on the bench there. Mother rapers. Father stabbers. Father
rapers! Father rapers sitting right there on the bench next to me! And
they was mean and nasty and ugly and horrible crime-type guys sitting on the
bench next to me. And the meanest, ugliest, nastiest one, the meanest
father raper of them all, was coming over to me and he was mean 'n' ugly
'n' nasty 'n' horrible and all kind of things and he sat down next to me
and said, "Kid, whad'ya get?" I said, "I didn't get nothing, I had to pay
$50 and pick up the garbage." He said, "What were you arrested for, kid?"
And I said, "Littering." And they all moved away from me on the bench
there, and the hairy eyeball and all kinds of mean nasty things, till I
said, "And creating a nuisance." And they all came back, shook my hand,
and we had a great time on the bench, talkin about crime, mother stabbing,
father raping, all kinds of groovy things that we was talking about on the
bench. And everything was fine, we was smoking cigarettes and all kinds of
things, until the Sargeant came over, had some paper in his hand, held it
up and said.

"Kids, this-piece-of-paper's-got-47-words-37-sentences-58-words-we-wanna-
know-details-of-the-crime-time-of-the-crime-and-any-other-kind-of-thing-
you-gotta-say-pertaining-to-and-about-the-crime-I-want-to-know-arresting-
officer's-name-and-any-other-kind-of-thing-you-gotta-say", and talked for
forty-five minutes and nobody understood a word that he said, but we had
fun filling out the forms and playing with the pencils on the bench there,
and I filled out the massacre with the four part harmony, and wrote it
down there, just like it was, and everything was fine and I put down the
pencil, and I turned over the piece of paper, and there, there on the
other side, in the middle of the other side, away from everything else on
the other side, in parentheses, capital letters, quotated, read the
following words:

("KID, HAVE YOU REHABILITATED YOURSELF?")

I went over to the sargent, said, "Sargeant, you got a lot a damn gall to
ask me if I've rehabilitated myself, I mean, I mean, I mean that just, I'm
sittin' here on the bench, I mean I'm sittin here on the Group W bench
'cause you want to know if I'm moral enough join the army, burn women,
kids, houses and villages after bein' a litterbug." He looked at me and
said, "Kid, we don't like your kind, and we're gonna send you fingerprints
off to Washington."

And friends, somewhere in Washington enshrined in some little folder, is a
study in black and white of my fingerprints. And the only reason I'm
singing you this song now is cause you may know somebody in a similar
situation, or you may be in a similar situation, and if your in a
situation like that there's only one thing you can do and that's walk into
the shrink wherever you are ,just walk in say "Shrink, You can get
anything you want, at Alice's restaurant.". And walk out. You know, if
one person, just one person does it they may think he's really sick and
they won't take him. And if two people, two people do it, in harmony,
they may think they're both faggots and they won't take either of them.
And three people do it, three, can you imagine, three people walking in
singin a bar of Alice's Restaurant and walking out. They may think it's an
organization. And can you, can you imagine fifty people a day,I said
fifty people a day walking in singin a bar of Alice's Restaurant and
walking out. And friends they may thinks it's a movement.
And that's what it is , the Alice's Restaurant Anti-Massacre Movement, and
all you got to do to join is sing it the next time it come's around on the
guitar.

With feeling. So we'll wait for it to come around on the guitar, here and
sing it when it does. Here it comes.
You can get anything you want, at Alice's Restaurant
You can get anything you want, at Alice's Restaurant
Walk right in it's around the back
Just a half a mile from the railroad track
You can get anything you want, at Alice's Restaurant

That was horrible. If you want to end war and stuff you got to sing loud.
I've been singing this song now for twenty five minutes. I could sing it
for another twenty five minutes. I'm not proud... or tired.
So we'll wait till it comes around again, and this time with four part
harmony and feeling.

We're just waitin' for it to come around is what we're doing.
All right now.

You can get anything you want, at Alice's Restaurant
Excepting Alice
You can get anything you want, at Alice's Restaurant
Walk right in it's around the back
Just a half a mile from the railroad track
You can get anything you want, at Alice's Restaurant
Da da da da da da da dum
At Alice's Restaurant

Dear Landlord

*Dear Landlord:

After 15 months of living in your damp and moldy apartment, I am thrilled to announce that I will be vacating it on December 31.

I've had it with the cold, the damp, the rain water on the windowsills, the wall that'll probably soon cave in, and the questionable wiring.

I'm moving to a building with an approachable landlord, decent kitchen space, and insulated windows. I'll be living in a neighborhood with restaurants, shops, grocery stores, and banks, all within walking distance.

Please return my security deposit - plus interest - within 30 days of this notice, or I'll be forced to take you to small claims court.

Sincerely,
A tenant who's very excited to be relocating!

*While this is what I wish I could write, my actual notice to vacate was much less exciting.

And the prize goes to...

Shoeless Lou, for this question in the "Have you ever" game:

Have you ever seen a California condor in the wild?

And now for the announcement of the prize: if she wants it, she wins one Speciality's cookie of her choice. Or carrots and celery, if she'd prefer.

Jessica and Jeter?

In what is perhaps the most upsetting gossip item I have read since Katie hooked up with Tom, it appears that Jessica Biel, of "Seventh Heaven," ah, fame, is dating Derek Jeter.

Now, when I was in college, my friend Molly's sister Maura claimed Derek would marry her one day. Maura's now very happily married to somebody who is not a professional athlete, so I've anticipated that Derek would be up for grabs.

And since I'm a little far away I've relinquished my place in line. But Jessica Biel? Why, Derek, why?

A belated birthday shout out

My cousin Meg turned 16 yesterday. She's gone from being a cute little girl with adorable curls to a really awesome person. On July 25, she got her learner's permit. Please, if you're visiting the surburbs of Northern VA, watch your step. She says she hasn't run over anything yet.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MEG!

Apartment hunting, a better experience

I looked at an apartment today. Maybe it went well, but I don't want to jinx it by saying anything. Nice neighborhood; great unit; and the neighbor who gave me the tour was really nice. We'll see what happens.

I should say, after my rant earlier this week, that until my current apartment I've had nothing but GREAT landlord experiences. I've always (except for one six-month rental) rented from individuals who owned one or two buildings, and I loved getting to see my landlords on a pretty regular basis. I even got to know some of their families.

So, there are great people owning fabulous buildings - they're just hard to find in San Francisco right now. Good luck to all the other seekers!

Day 18: the day I almost forgot

I was laying in bed, lights off, trying to find a good spot on the pillow, when I realized that I'd yet to post anything today. Must have been the turkey. Or the stuffing. Two kinds. Or the cheesecake and pie marinated in bourbon.

In any event, I remembered before it was too late. Good night.

(Un)Ethics that really make me wonder

So my apartment search continues, and I'm really angry about it this week as the result of two unethical landlords whose units I wanted to see.

Here's what the first guy did. This is straight from the Craigslist post: Since I recieved 180 responses within three hours, I am adjusting my price to $1,650. If still an interested, please re-send an e-mail .

The original rent on this unit was $1150. Bastard!

The second guy was a little trickier. His unit was listed at $1150 also, and I emailed asking some questions about the apartment. When I liked his answers I replied asking for an appointment. This was his response: I'm so sorry I made a typo, rent is $1250 not $1150.... But all other details are correct. Let me know if you are still interested. Again so sorry!! Brandon.

A typo, right. After seeing your post THREE TIMES before it actually appears online, then seeing the rent amount TWO MORE TIMES in the subject line of my email. Typo my ass! This has been a concerted effort by landlords in this city to hose their tenants for as much as possible, and it looks like the housing demand is making this easy.

I am so seriously disgusted over my apartment hunt that if I still had my tent, I'd put all my belongings into storage and live in it.

Day 16, wishing Clairnation a happy first birthday

That's right, we're a year old. Instead of candles and cake, I thought I'd do a brief reflection on how I came to found the 'nation.

Last year, while waiting for the right full-time job to find me, I was temping. Being a temporary employee can be a thankless job. Some of mine were interesting, some were boring, but the longest-term of the lot, a whopping six months, was just plain strange. Most of the people were weird, and the overall atmosphere was tense as a result of the predicted closing of the firm.

Note: it's now over a year later and the firm's still in operation, but at the time it seemed the end was near.

The temps (and there were almost a dozen of us) were hired to close out some projects before the firm dissolved. We spent lots of time filing interspersed with listening to the radio (thanks, KFOG, for the concert tickets Lucinda and I won!) and surfing the internet, where I discovered that working as a historian in the Bay Area would be impossible.

The situation was rough, but I made some good friends and had many, many zany stories. Remember this?

The guy in the office who often comes into work drunk - usually on Fridays - showed up on this fine Monday morning reeking of alcohol and "too sick" to stay at work. Sick, or still drunk and hungover? It's a pretty amazing feat to wake up Monday morning still drunk from Sunday night and to also be hungover. I'm torn between wanting to give the guy credit for an apparently amazing ability to party, and wanting to rap him over the head for being an idiot. He's part of the Friday 4 pm happy hour crew - the group who goes for two hour lunches and then leaves at 4 to drink away their dinner hour. Yet the rest of them manage to stay sober the rest of the week.

Or how about this one?

How's this for seriously scary: a guy in my office hasn't come to work this week. He isn't on vacation, and since the phones haven't been working nobody's sure if maybe he called in sick. People have gone to his home, contacted old roommates, called local hospitals, and considered phoning the police, which sounds like the next step if he's not home. He moved recently, nobody has his current contact info, and they only tracked down his address by calling a friend who put them in touch with the former roommate who helped him move. Needless to say, the whole place is a little weirded out by this. I really hope he just has the flu!

Nothing beats a little stroll down memory lane.

Have you ever hunted and eaten wild mushrooms?

I very rarely post about work, but I think it's safe to say that the 100-plus individuals at my place of business held their annual half-day all staff meeting today. Yes, it sounds painful, and portions of it were, but they were interspersed with events so fun that they deserved to have been videotaped and aired on public access television.

Our day started with collecting our name tags and choosing, at random, from a brown Bloomingdale's paper bag, small strips of paper on which were written our table assignments.

Boy was that clever, and especially disheartening since I'd made plans yesterday to sit with two other girls with Irish surnames, so that we could plan either a St. Patrick's Day party or a world take over. We'll never know what could have been...

Once we're seated, the organization bigwigs get their hour-and-a-half at the podium. They say interesting things; things that, as a relatively new employee, I'm excited to learn. But after an hour-and-a-half I needed to not be sitting down.

Now enter the guy running the team-building activity. No zip lines, no rock climbing, and no ropes courses, he assures us. Then he asks us to get up and form an oval. Once we're all standing shoulder to shoulder, he tells us we're going to play a game called "Have you ever," where the person in the center of the oval calls out a question based on something they've done. Everyone who's done what the person referred to has to move to a new place in the oval, and the last person to find a new spot has to ask the next question.

The first questions were fun: Have you ever been to a Grateful Dead show; have you ever travelled to Spain; have you ever defied your parents - that one caused the whole oval to shift, by which point we were all laughing and having a good time. Then this character's stuck in the center - a really funny guy whose hobby is mushrooms. He even heads a local mushroom hunting group and leads local hikes on the history and variety of local mushrooms.

You guessed it: he asks "have you very hunted and eaten wild mushrooms?" And, much to my surprise, five people scamper across the room. Most of them are on my team. And, as I found out later, none of them have gone hiking with the mushroom guy.

If you were in the center of the circle, what would you ask? I might even have a prize for the best question.

Day 15

We've reached the halfway point in the contest and I'm still writing. No photos though, but perhaps I'll rectify that this weekend. That reminds me, for those of you who haven't noticed, I've added a link to my flickr photos page - it's on the left there. A few of my photos are still tagged as private, but I've put all the photos from my dad's party this summer and some other fun stuff up there. I'm working now on the massive collection of photos from my graduation in 2005. Well, it's not as many actual graduation ceremony photos, but there are lots of other fun ones. I'll try to do that over Thanksgiving weekend.

Speaking of which, I've been invited to an interesting Thanksgiving get together. My friend Maureen called me last week to ask me to please join her for dinner at a friend's house. It'll be a good opportunity to meet some people and get to know a few I'm only vaguely acquainted with. But here's the dilemma: she's said I don't have to cook, but merely come and enjoy the evening. So what should I bring? I'm considering an apple pie, but I have to work all day Wednesday and can't guarantee the availability of my kitchen that evening or the next morning. Any suggestions?

Happy Half Birthday!

Today I hit the halfway point in the year leading up to turning 30. Pretty exciting. And, in the brief interest of self-promotion, for those of you who plan ahead, please save the date: San Francisco will be hosting a big 30th birthday bash sometime around Memorial Day weekend 2007. I'm working on the details, though I'm not sure anything short of fireworks or circus performers will beat this year's party. But I'll try.

On a topic related to this year's party, today is also Steph's half birthday. Everyone should post comments, in verse, on Bella Cantare wishing her a happy day.

Now, it's time for the cake.

Things that make me crazy, and also make me wonder if I'm the world's most intolerant person

1. Women who devalue themselves by acting stupid.

2. Mold in my apartment.

3. Stupidity - today embodied by the woman who can't use the calendar function on Outlook, and has sent me FIVE emails about the same meeting, for a guy who doesn't have to me there.

4. People who don't read important emails.

5. Cell phone conversations conducted so loudly on the bus that my music can't drown them out.

6. Crazy people approaching me on the street, trying to make conversation like we're old friends.

7. Soggy pizza

8. MUNI meltdowns, failures, and other breakdowns that leave me walking great distances. Uphill.

Exodus to the boonies

This week has been a bleak one for San Franciscans and our friends on the other side of the Bay. At the beginning of the week, the Oakland Athletics leadership announced a planned move to, wait for it, the wonderful metropolis of Fremont, CA. That's right. Fremont. Anyone out there ever heard of it?

Gwen Knapp, a sports writer for the Chronicle, writes eloquently here about some of the pitfalls of this decision, but I'll get to that in a minute.

At the end of the week, amid this fervor and the insanity of an election week that just wouldn't end, the owners of the San Francisco 49ers announced that they, too will be leaving the city for the suburbs. This time Santa Clara, for a stadium near their training complex.

What a tragedy! Neither of these stadiums will be near public transit, making them inaccessible to large portion of their fan bases, and also creating horrendous gridlock in areas not too accustomed to weekend traffic nightmares.

On a personal level, once the new baseball stadium opens, I'll be unable to get to any A's games. Goodbye, beloved A's Yankees series. Goodbye dollar hot dog nights. Goodbye Oakland. Thankfully, the Giants place in San Francisco, bolstered by the new stadium, is secure.

At a time when the city is struggling with high crime and unemployment rates, the Coliseum, or any baseball stadium in Oakland, should be a boon to developers and employers. But no. What went wrong? And the more important question: will either of these teams come to their senses and remain in their urban strongholds? The conversation continues for the 49ers, but it's looking pretty bleak for the Athletics.

There's a hole in the wall, dear landlord, dear landlord

A portion of my living room wall has been buckled and cracked since shortly after we moved in; probably before too, though I don't think I noticed it during the inspection. And really given the state of the apartment overall, is a damaged wall really that much of a surprise?

In any event, the wall is buckled in a two foot section, and cracked from that point almost to the ceiling. I've noticed that, since the most recent earthquake over the summer, the cracking has gotten worse.

It's noticable, in that evident water and earthquake damage sort of way. That is, until I put my thumb through the buckled part this evening. Now there's a hole of a different sort.

The damaged part of the wall is next to the window, and while reaching up to pull down the blinds, I put my free hand against the wall for balance, and put my thumb through the wall. Well, not the whole digit, merely the portion between the knuckle and the tip. And now my thumbprint is in the wall. This might jeopardize a portion of my security deposit, and there's no way I'm going to let that happen, since the wall was damaged before tonight's incident. So I'm going to have to fix it.

But before I fill in the thumb hole, I thought I'd take some photos.





My thumb is imprinted on the left. On the right you can see where the wall's cracked and buckling.





This is a slightly larger view of the breaking wall. Again, the thumb hole is on the left.

The Great Happy Hour Stand Up

Last night's celebration of a three-day (for most of us) weekend was a blast. We were scheduled to meet at the Irish Bank around 5:30, and all the girls were there before 6 pm. But what about the guys? We'd invited some, and they all said they'd come. And then at 7 the first of our girls had to leave. Still no guys.

By about 7:45 another had to go (she's working today) and still, no guys. We even called one of them and checked the outside area of the bar, in case they were having their own party. Nope, nobody out there we knew. We'd been stood up!

However, we had a great time, and I may have just found a new favorite bar. Thanks to Steph for mentioning the Gold Dust Lounge. Not only do they serve $2 drinks, but their band was pretty good too!

When peppermint mocha brings me to tears

In the three years I worked at my last permanent job, my boss and I got in the habit of occasional Starbucks runs. Usually, I was the runner (or rather, driver) in need of a mid-day caffeine fix and a few minutes out of the office. I'd always offer to pick up addictive beverages for the rest of the staff (read: my boss and whichever volunteer was around at the time), and my boss, caffeine junkie that she was, would readily fork over a few dollars.

It got to where I no longer had to ask what she wanted. One of her favorites is the peppermint mocha, which I discovered today has made it's holiday return. Let me say first that I love my new job. But in those minutes as I waited for my own beverage, I missed my boss and my former job terribly.

Perhaps I'm a little tired today as a result of a lousy night's sleep, and a little blue over a conversation with a family member that didn't go to well, and very stressed about my living situation. But whatever the cause, yes, Starbucks did indeed actually bring me to tears this morning. But I smiled a little too, at the fun memory of the job review I did with that boss over peppermint mochas in the Starbucks with really comfy seats.

Apologies and Alcohol

There's nothing quite as bad as being called out on your own blog, but that's indeed what Meg did today, and deservedly so, as she's a valued reader, and a consistent one. And now that I've insulted her I might have blown my chance to be part of the world dictator's cabinet. But perhaps time will heal those wounds.

In all seriousness, Meg's a great friend, and her presence in my life this past decade (and then some!) is something I treasure. I could regale the rest of you with the story of how we became friends, first as classmates in a crazy English class, only to have our friendship solidified over drops of blood in the bathroom of our first year dorm, after one of the residents - another English classmate - cut her finger. But I've long since learned that most of the rest of the world doesn't care.

It's hard to live out here, with most of the Trinity girls not even in the same time zone, but I know Meg's always there when I need her - as long as she hasn't secretly left the country in the middle of the night. And then at least she'll send me a post card.

Now, moving on, a few of you have asked about the reference to my living situation driving me to drink. That statement was mostly in jest, though I've occasionally thought that the whole situation would be easier to take if I were soused. I don't write about it much for fear of lawsuits; I have no need to be a blogger guinea pig in that regard. But it's tough, and I spend lots of energy trying not to become completely insane over my filthy bathroom and chores that only get done when I do them. But at least, like a friend's first college roommate, there are no death threats. Or thefts of cutlery.

So, I guess, in the grand scheme of things, it could be much worse. But it sucks, and with the rental market as bad as it is right now, there's not much hope for my own apartment in the next few months. Know anybody who needs a housesitter? Long term? I'm cheap.

Speaker Pelosi

It's not often that my politics are very prominently displayed here, mostly because I know that what works for me doesn't for lots of other people, and I'd rather keep my friends.

But the election results we've gotten so far are forcing me to bend my rules. Nancy Pelosi, representative from my fine city, will be the next Speaker of the House. The first female Speaker of the House. Awesome.

I'll admit to some bias - she and I are graduates of the same women's college, and we have to stick together. But I'll also say she's been a terrific representative for the city and I think, if she can work to build consensus, the next two years will be productive.

While I attended that women's college, we used to talk often and seriously about the time when women would rule the world. Meg plans to be world dictator, and I think this is good time for her to start laying the ground work. Think about it - the next generation of Trinity women are poised to build on this leadership. Let's get started!

And on the Seventh Day, she wrote

We're now seven days into the contest, and I've posted on the organizer's blog to please make sure I'm on her list. We'll see what happens, but in the meantime, onward.

I've considered the several things I could write about today - how nobody but the other Stephanie seems to be reading this week (and kudos to her for her dilligence!), how my roommate is driving me to drink, how my voting experience this morning involved the front and back of FIVE legal-sized pages. But, frankly, I'm just not that inspired today. Is the pressure of a blog a day getting to me? Has it become too much to handle?

I don't really think so, afterall in my newspaper days I often wrote three stories a day. But then on those days I usually had lots to write about. Today was rather blah - no interesting encounters on MUNI, no close calls with the crazy lady in the kitchen. But the day's not over yet. I have several more hours before I get home, and the possibility for chaos is always there.

Did you vote today?

I don't care who you vote for, but please, please, please cast your ballot today - if you haven't already. The national balance of power rests in our hands, and we need to exercise sound judgment and hope that everyone else does too.

I voted this morning, at the polling place/garage next door. Despite the gazillion initiatives on the ballot, it only took about 15-20 minutes, and was relatively pain-free. Just really, really long. Making me question the Progressive Party's wisdom in introducing the initiative, referendum, and recall to the United States. Because in California, none of those have really worked out well!

All around the rumor mill

Did you hear, Brian and Cristi are back together. Now, if they're back together, and Sherry's dating some other guy, what's up with Brian and Sherry?

Day Six

So I'm now six days into the contest and I'm still not on the list of participating blogs. Perhaps it's time to send an email, or maybe leave a comment on her blog indicating my disappointment. I'm afraid the spam blocker vanquished my email, leaving me blogging daily with no possibility of rewards.

But I'll continue on in any case. Stay tuned.

Dinner Party

Shoeless Lou came for dinner last night.

It got me to thinking, that with the exception of my birthday party, and a few drop ins, nobody's come over since last October, and that's just sad. I always had people over when I lived on 39th Ave. Granted, the apartment wouldn't accommodate more than three or four comfortably, but we had tons of fun! Sadly, most of those frequent dinner guests have moved away. However, that leaves lots of room for everyone else out there.

So I think it's time, crazy living situation aside, to start having people over. Anybody available next weekend?

The Trinity Wing

At some point during my four years at Trinity, some group of the girls who became my best friends decided that, while we'd have to live apart for the majority of our lives, there was no reason to carry that separation into retirement. We started planning for the Trinity Wing of the retirement community, where we'd live out our days in the same communal environment that had made us all friends in the first place.

I can still envision it - food fights that involve catapulting strawberries across the dining hall, late night chats, always somebody around for a drink or a laugh or a bite to eat. We're all over the country now, some married and with children, but every once in a while, I'll have a flash of memory of something fun, or zany, or sad, that happened during those four years, and that almost makes me look forward to retirement.

I was most recently prompted to think about The Wing through a note from Meg, who I hope to see in December. We haven't seen each other since last Christmas. That's too long. I haven't seen some of the others in considerably longer than that. And retirement's still 30-plus years away. We should really start shopping around now. We have to make sure we find someplace with enough room for all of us.

Tag, you're it - alternately titled "Thus ends the world's longest game of phone tag"

"Hi Clair, it's Joy. Sorry I missed you."

"Joy, it's Clair. I was underground when you called. I'll be home tonight."

"Hi Clair, it's Joy. I just got your message..."

And on it went. For four months. Joy and I last talked in June (or was it late May?), when we had both just taken new jobs, but hadn't yet started them. She lives in Oregon now, in what Meg would call the flyover zone, so visiting will be a challenge.

And talking too, though I don't think either of us knew that four months ago. We finally talked tonight - for close to two hours. I think we almost made up for the intervening months.

She said she might check out the 'nation now that she has internet access in the middle of nowhere. If she's reading, here's a shout out to Joy, for doing her part to almost get us into the Guinness Book of World Records - if we'd documented our long game of phone tag. That's not quite as good as a couple of pints of Guinness together, but it'll do.

When your hair explodes in the unfortunate shape of a lampshade

It's wet out today, that grey and dreary sort of wet the envelopes the area once everyone realizes that the summer has ended and the long, rainy winter is upon us.

Usually, I don't mind the rain too much. But I'm still not feeling well, and actually had to go to the doctor for a throat culture today. My throat's been red and sore for awhile now, and my tonsils are swollen. Well, only one tonsil, but that's another story.

So I left my building at lunchtime for the 20-minute bus ride to the Kaiser facility on Geary. I had to get on the 38 Geary bus, one of the most crowded lines in the city and my least favorite. As I left my building a slight mist was falling - not really enough to require an umbrella, but my hair started to curl from the damp.

I got a seat on the bus (always a struggle) and put in my headphones. As we travelled West and more people started to board, it became quite crowded and stuffy. Somebody must have opened the window over my head, because somewhere around the Western Addition, I started to get wet. The rain, which never falls straight to the ground in San Francisco, was blowing through the window, and on to my head.

More hair curling, and the beginning of what my sister and I once termed the brillo pad effect. Great.

So I finish up at the doctor's office - where she confirms that I didn't have the flu but rather some icky virus, and that I might indeed have Strep, or something else that's wreaking havoc with my throat.

Then, I leave the building to a huge downpour, and in the block-long walk to the bus stop, get drenched. My raincoat is great, but it should have come with matching wading boots and waterproof pants. My shoes are wet, my pants legs are dripping, and my hair has now exploded. It's feet wide, and curling in all sorts of odd directions, and it's sticking out at the bottom while lying sort of flat on top, making it look like a lampshade hanging over my face.

And it's only November. Maybe I should shave my head.

November: Shaping up to be a better month

This is my favorite time of year, especially in San Francisco, where the dreary summer finally, in October and November, gives way to weather so beautiful it makes me believe I live in paradise.

October, however, was lousy. Really lousy. I'm stressed out by my living situation, and I spent most of that beautiful month sick, and experienced what's undoubtedly the end of the summer temperatures from my couch, sadly watching as the whole world enjoyed outside pursuits, while I blew my nose and ate soup.

I'm still feeling lousy, but I think I'm over the worst of it. And today there's a huge bright spot, well, two really: The sun is shining, even if it's a little chilly, and I got my first paycheck with my cost-of-living raise. While I won't go into specifics, let me just say that 3.25 percent plus 13 cents an hour, as negotiated by the union, makes a pretty big difference. When I'm feeling better I might celebrate.

Oh, and I have the day off next Friday. I'm really getting to like this stable employment thing. I don't write about it much, but it's going very well!

The first of a few Halloween-related stories

This is from my dear friend Meg, and it's hysterical. Enjoy!

Okay, so a day late, but here’s my brother’s Halloween outfit story, which men seem to find hysterical and women blasphemous:

My brother was invited to a Halloween party on the Saturday before Halloween, and he apparently put a fair amount of thought into his costume, which can be evidenced by his having to order a stuffed animal.

My brother decided to go to this Halloween party as a dead Steve Irwin. He had the sneakers and the white socks, added shorter-than-normal khaki shorts (he usually wears board shorts), a Hawaiian print shirt, and a safari hat (a compromise piece after his effort to dye a wig blonder turned out with tragic results).

But now, the stingray (said referenced stuffed animal). It was a puppet—which, my brother was quick to point out, was purchased from a conservation society website so that “the money goes to the charity so they can do whatever you do to preserve animals” (my brother the altruist!)—through which he ran a wire hanger. He attached the hanger through a buttonhole in his shirt to a belt he was wearing across his chest so that it protruded in a costume/dead Steve-appropriate manner.

Overall, the costume “was kind of uncomfortable, but it well over well.” And, in an additional follow-up report to my sister, my brother indicated that he offended only one person, “but not because of the costume.”

Feel free to use this story in whatever form you may see fit. Having a younger brother, I have no doubt you will show the proper reverence for such antics.