Overheard in the mailroom

"In college, my roommates and I used to play this game when we'd come home drunk from frat parties. We'd try to find the most random thing you could sell on E-Bay."

"We used to do that too sometimes at UCLA. Once we found a decommissioned World War II submarine. We bid on it, but we didn't win."

29, the year that sucked out loud

My 30th birthday is still a few months off, but I'd be really content if I could just sleep until then, and wake up after Saturn's made its full rotation around the sun, my stars are aligned a little better, and things are not quite so astrologically turbulent. Because, really, this year has sucked. Hard. And nothing's getting better.

Wait, you say, how can I complain? 29 was the year of the permanent job. The year of the studio apartment. The year I sang alone in public (twice - a huge accomplishment that's vanquished most of the stage fright). The year I started making friends with people who aren't transient. My status as a permanent underdog seems to be a thing of the past.

All true, and more. In some respects, this year has been excellent. But for every step forward, I've taken two back - or at least that's how I feel most of the time. And while my job and apartment are finally settled, my brain still hasn't quite caught up. Rather than a specific instance of something going wrong, it's more the constant feeling that things just haven't fallen into place. And that's left me feeling unsettled, and more lately the past few weeks than I've felt in awhile.

So please excuse me if I'm cranky. It's an astrological phenomenon that's out of my control. But my friends who've survived promise me it'll end soon.

Overheard at the bus stop

Public transit almost makes you want to give up alcohol so you can drive.

Shout out to gallbladder surgery

My sister's home from the hospital, but feeling icky. Send good thoughts (letters, parcels, candy perhaps?) her way this week as she recovers.

Police Academy: the physical fitness challenge. Alternately titled: Bored? Take on your little brother and kick his a**

My brother is waiting for his invitation to the police academy. He's been waiting for over two years, but we're assured it's coming. Maybe even this year. I asked him the other day about the physical fitness requirements. Though he does manual labor for a living, and is probably pretty strong, he doesn't seem to be actively training for the academy or eating in a healthy fashion (read: lots and lots of pizza). Friends of mine here, upon getting their entrance notification, started training vigorously. As my brother expounded on the requirements, I took special interest in the push ups. I've been working on my upper body strength the past six months - mostly to get over the disappointment of not being able to bike - and I'm getting pretty nice arms. And I can do push ups; 23 in a row to be exact.

So what are the academy requirements in my brother's county? 29 push ups in under a minute. Not a problem. I told him I'd be able to do 32 push ups in a minute by the time I saw him at Christmas. A challenge I took on with relish, despite his disinterest in a competition.

But there's a hitch. Apparently, a regulation push up in his county includes coming to within a fist's distance of the floor. Hmmm. I can't get that close to the floor. But now that I've thrown down the gauntlet in challenge (to myself, since he won't play), I'm pretty determined. I just hope I don't slip and break my nose in the process.

The triumphant return of the crack brownies

When LBM and her husband lived in San Francisco (or thereabouts; they never actually lived in the city), we shared many fun culinary adventures. Who can forget the solar oven lasagna (fabulous!)? Or the garlic hummus, with a few un-food-processed chunks of garlic to add to the texture? But perhaps the best part of their culinary presence in my life was the brownies. Made-from-scratch brownies with two layers of chocolate mint frosting. Seriously addictive. So much so that we actually referred to them as the crack brownies. And they're just fabulous. The frosting I first encountered was green, but the best thing about these brownies is their chameleon quality: they can be any color the cook chooses, depending on the occasion.

When LBM left I offered serious bribes to get the recipe. It's not something I'd make for myself (because it's just not healthy to eat an entire batch of brownies in one sitting), but I was sure many occasions would arise. I even used the brownies as a way to reach out to her when we hadn't talked in awhile, because I had questions about the recipe.

I made the brownies for a party last night, and despite a small kitchen mishap which resulted in chocolate frosting all over the counter, they were fabulous. One party-goer even pronounced me master of dessert making. I watched some people take an extra brownie for later. A few people even sampled them while they were waiting in the dinner line. I think that was a result of the vibrant green color of the frosting, attributed to mixing with one hand and using the other to rather carelessly add food coloring.

So, the inherited brownies were a success. I'll call LBM to tell her, but I figured a little public recognition would also be nice.

Above and beyond

I truly like the people I work with, and in the eight months I've been here, we've done lots of nice things for each other. But I think today I really went beyond my job description.

I got a phone call at about 4:15 from the receptionist, telling me that a delivery had come for one of my coworkers, somebody who'll be out of the office for the rest of the afternoon.

I picked up the delivery - a beautiful bouquet of red roses - and put them in her office. I then emailed her to let her know she might want to at least stop by and take a look at them before meeting her boyfriend for dinner.

She called me immediately, saying she'd just gotten out of her meeting and asked if I could bring them out to her at 5 pm, if she were waiting in her car in front of the building. Explaining that I had other things to carry, and that the vase was big and kind of heavy, I said no.

She then asked what they looked like, so she could at least tell her BF that they were lovely and she's leaving them at work. And then she asked a few more questions about the arrangement. ohhing and ahhing when I told her about her pretty red roses. On the one hand, I'm glad I could pass on news that made her happy, but on the other hand I feel the whole thing was a little over the top. Just come inside and check them out yourself, or tell your BF you missed the delivery, but will be so excited for the surprise tomorrow.

Adventures at the bus stop

I approached the bus stop this morning to find an assorted pile of what looked like scrap wood sitting on the sidewalk next to the bus shelter. Upon closer inspection, I realized that this small pile of blonde wood had actually once been a coffee table. My coffee table - or one just like it - light wood, Mission style, and large enough for lots of under-the-table storage. I bought mine at Target, and despite the months that it wiggled whenever I set anything on it, because it's hard to tighten the base, I'm very happy with my purchase.

It was sitting in pieces, but not just disassembled, disassembled and broken; cracked in half along what was once the table surface. The scene made me kind of sad.

As I stood pondering the pile, an older gentleman also arrived to wait for the bus, and for a minute we both stared at the scrap wood.

"I have an identical coffee table," I told him. "And I really like mine."

"Look at how it's split down the middle," he replied. "Somebody very heavy must have fallen on it."

Honestly, I was thinking more along the lines of somebody chopped it up because s/he couldn't get the base tightened enough either. But whatever.

My favorite phrase

Pitchers and catchers report.

In just 18 hours, the 2007 baseball season starts. Giants tickets go on sale the first Saturday in March. And the Yankees are coming to San Francisco for the first time in franchise history. Spring is shaping up to be very exciting!

I really think tomorrow should be a national holiday. We can celebrate by eating hot dogs and drinking beer.

Conversations with my Brother

Brother: "I'm so mad. I lost my cell phone case, and I can't find it."

Me: "Is it clipped to your pants?"

B: "No, the clip broke, and I can't hook it on anymore."

M: "Oh. Is it in your pockets?"

B: "I already checked there."

M: "Could it be in your car?"

B: "No, I was on the phone an hour ago and I had it in the house then."

Our conversation continues while he looks through the house, occasionally yelling about how mad he is that it's missing. He retraces his steps through the downstairs before returning to his room. Our conversation continues.

Several minutes later:

B: "Yay!"

M: "Did you find it?"

B: "Yeah."

M: "Where?"

B: (in a somewhat meek voice) "In my shirt pocket."

M: "Didn't I tell you to check your pockets?"

B: "Well, yeah. But not that one."

Flat Kathryne

I'm no sure how many of you out there have kids in your lives. For those who don't, I'd like to introduce Flat Kathryne.


She's the creation of an eight-year-old in New York, somebody very dear to me who, as part of a school project, had to mail Flat Kathrynes all over the country. The recipients (family and friends) are charged with taking F.K. around their hometowns, taking photos of F.K. with various local landmarks and writing a letter to the class sharing a little of their town's history and folklore.

It's part of a class project the students at this school do after reading Flat Stanley, a book about a kid who gets squished flat as a pancake after an unfortunate incident with a bulletin board. After being flattened, Flat Stanley is able to travel the world in the mail. The students learn about different parts of the world, and the people doing the project get to play tourist at home, perhaps rediscovering fun things about where they live. Or at least that was my experience.

So, as one of the lucky recipients of Flat Kathryne (named after her creator) I'm charged with taking her on a tour of San Francisco. While F.K. is in my care, we'll be taking a trip to Disneyland (purely coincidental). But where else should we go? When I hosted Flat Faithe, F.K.'s older sister, three years ago, we hit some of the top tourist spots, went to my school and my job, went to the dump when I embarked on a serious overhaul of my apartment, went to see a band play, and did some other fun stuff.

If you got to play this game, where would you take Flat Kathryne? The person with the best answer might just to take F.K. on a little adventure of his/her own. But please remember, these adventures have to be appropriate for the third grade.

To celebrate, or not to celebrate

In a little more than three months, I turn 30. While mentioning this to a friend yesterday, she said I should throw a huge birthday bash. I've been considering it, but am pondering the efficacy of a big birthday when just last year, BellaCantare and I, who share the same birthday, threw ourselves a big party. A really successful one actually, that had party guests remaining until 2 am and party decorations still on the ceiling when I moved out.

Once I hit about 12, I stopped having birthday parties, with the exception of the 18th birthday surprise party my family threw for me, and a few gatherings of friends, and the 21st birthday extravaganza that coincided with the college graduation of many friends, and lasted about a week.

So I guess my question comes in three parts:

Do I throw another party?
Do I do it by myself, or invite all those other May-birthday friends to join the fun?
Where would I host such an event? While my new apartment is fab, it's a little small.

Any input would be very, very helpful.

The never-ending story

Late-breaking news from today's Chronicle:

Heather Knight, Cecilia M. Vega and Phil Matier, Chronicle Staff Writers
Monday, February 5, 2007 now part of stylesheet -->

(02-05) 16:37 PST SAN FRANCISCO -- San Francisco Mayor Gavin Newsom told department heads this afternoon he is seeking counseling for alcohol abuse, sources familiar with the meeting told The Chronicle.

Newsom told members of his administration that the help he is seeking would not require him to step aside even temporarily as it might if he entered a residential rehabilitation program, according to the sources.

The move follows the revelation last week that Newsom had a sexual affair with an employee of his office, Ruby Rippey-Tourk, who also is the wife of one of his former top political aides, Alex Tourk. Tourk, the mayor's former deputy chief of staff, resigned as Newsom's re-election campaign manager last week after confronting Newsom about the affair.

The mayor admitted the affair Thursday and apologized to Tourk, his friends and family and the residents of San Francisco. He has since declined to say anything about the scandal and has stated repeatedly that he wants to get back to work.

Newsom's alcohol use became an embarrassment for the mayor after witnesses reported he appeared to have been drinking prior to arriving at San Francisco General Hospital in December after learning a police officer had been shot.

He also faced scrutiny late last year for bringing a then 20-year-old woman out on dates, where she was reportedly seen drinking what appeared to be alcohol.

Newsom made the decision after meeting with friends and family over the weekend. He delivered the news this afternoon to department heads.

"He told us that he was going to stop drinking and would seek treatment -- that's about all he said,'' said one person who was at today's meeting.

"It was very heartfelt," said the attendee, who asked not to be named because he was not cleared to discuss the matter publicly. "It was also clear that he wasn't taking a leave from the office."

Newsom's chief political adviser, Eric Jaye, said, "Let's make it clear (the mayor) is not blaming alcohol for his bad behavior.

"This is not some kind of public mea culpa,'' Jaye said. "He understands that he has a problem."
Jaye said the counseling would be done by Mimi Silbert, head of San Francisco's famous Delancey Street Foundation.

"It's true,'' Silbert said. "I don't know if I would use the word 'counseling,' but I will be helping the mayor."

Silbert said Newsom had contacted her Saturday about getting help.

"No one comes to me or Delancey Street for any kind of help unless they are deadly serious," Silbert said. "We are no lightweight or B.S. program."

Welcome to the blogosphere!

Check out the newest member of the 'nation , my wishing-to-remain anonymous friend, formerly of San Francisco, now living in upstate New York, where she's hopefully not freezing her fingers off.

And the fallout continues

There's a nice article in the Chronicle this morning about how the mayor screwed one of his most loyal supporters - a guy who, they say, made friends across the city, regardless of party affiliation, and managed to keep his political dealings respectful. That's really, really rare.

I'd have to assume that this wasn't the first incident of the mayor's infidelity (though here's something to ponder: are you cheating if the ink's almost dry on the divorce papers, your soon-to-be ex lives across the country, and she's rumored to also be dating?)

Assuming that, it's easy to think he was praying on the wives and girlfriends of other friends. They're convenient, right? And the mayor and his staff have made no secret of how busy he is, and how hard it is for somebody in his job to date. (Picture me, playing the world's smallest violin in sympathy with his plight.)

So, given all that, ponder this: for two years, I dated another of the mayor's closest friends. Consider the missed possibilities.

Rule Number One: Don't go after your buddy's wife

First, there was this:

"(Mayor Gavin) Newsom's administration was rocked Wednesday by the resignation of Alex Tourk, 39, who served as Newsom's deputy chief of staff before becoming his campaign manager in September.

The Chronicle reported that Tourk had confronted Newsom after his wife, Ruby Rippey-Tourk, previously Newsom's appointments secretary, told him of the affair as part of a rehabilitation program she had been undergoing for substance abuse."

Then, there was this:

"Mayor Gavin Newsom today admitted having an affair with the wife of his re-election campaign manager and apologized at a City Hall press conference held in his office.

"I want to make it clear that everything you've heard and read is true, and I am deeply sorry about that,'' Newsom said before a crowd of reporters. "I am deeply sorry, and I am accountable for what has occurred.'"

Then, as you might imagine, there was undoubtedly much laughing and making of obscene jokes throughout the venerable city of San Francisco. Or at least that was the case in my office. But this isn't funny, Or it is, but there's an underlying disturbing quality to it. The mayor shagged his close friend's wife. Granted, the mayor was in the midst of a divorce, and the best friend and his wife were separated, but still. Ewwwww!

And, aside from the gross factor, he broke one of what a commenter on a San Francisco Chronicle blog called the steadfast rules of guy-hood: Don't go after your buddy's wife or girlfriend. That's probably a pretty good rule for girls too. Another person's partner should be off limits.

Actually, some of the comments in the Chronicle were pretty amusing, ranging from angry to non-plussed to assumptions that maybe this means the mayor really isn't gay (a rumor that keeps surfacing, despite all the women he's reportedly been dating. I'm assuming they're not also the wives of friends - especially the underage girl - but you never know.)

Interestingly, in his comments above, he seems to be saying he's deeply sorry that the story got out, and that the public was reading about it. But today was a rough day for his press secretary. Before all this blew up, he'd been front page news too, for having posted many pro-mayor comments on political blogs, using his friend's names as aliases.