Waiting For a Train

Blogging Blackout

2008-09-10T16:32:00.000-07:00

Usually, I like to blog to tease the interesting things out of everyday life, or to celebrate something new and novel that is happening to me. Of course, the understanding is that my life is fairly routine, and the unique is to be seized.

But what happens when every day becomes unique? When scores of experiences happen for the first time, all in a week? In my case, I stop to take it all in, and stop blogging.

In the last two months we've matched for an adoption, seen that adoption work out, and I've become a mom. I've stopped (temporarily) going to the job I go to every weekday, and started learning a whole new job as a mom. I've interacted with the people in my life in different ways, because I stand in a different place.

All of which doesn't mean I'm going to stop blogging.

For one thing, I started a new Holden-focused blog. Click http://hellomynameishandsome.blogspot.com/ to check it out. Please add it to your feeds or bookmark it to follow the adventures of the little guy and his peops.

I'll still be updating this blog, too, as kind of a room of my own.

The Big News

2008-08-20T18:35:00.000-07:00

Well, I've been holding off blogging for a long time. I was kind of keeping a lot of the uncertainty, excitement, and big changes on the down low.

But now it's time to say that T and I have adopted a beautiful baby boy named Holden. I'll probably write more about our adoption story later, but for now I'll say that it's been an exciting and stressful whirlwind, that Holden is a wonderful baby, and that his birth parents are excellent people. I feel that everything has worked out for the best.

The Books of 2008, So Far

2008-07-27T19:08:00.001-07:00

I've read way more books than usual this year for some reason. That's probably due to the fact that so many of them were authored by Lemony Snicket, whose books take a very short time to read (and are great, but too numerous to mention.) So I'll just list the books I really, really liked so far:

The Omnivore's Dilemma, Michael Pollan. This book had a big impact on my life. I started thinking harder about what I eat, and buying only organic, local meat (mostly at Bi-Rite) and organic eggs. Pollan is such an engaging writer that the lessons went down easy, and I still remember lots of cool factoids from the book.

The Shadow of The Wind, Carlos Ruiz Zafon. I've long been interested in the Spanish Civil War. This book is an insanely entertaining drama, set in post-civil war Spain, about a boy who visits a mysterious repository of books as a child. He finds a wonderful novel there, and is drawn into love and intrigue when he finds out that the author's entire published output is being systematically burned. It's dark, dramatic, and romantic, and amusingly aware of it.

T is For Trespass, Sue Grafton. I've been reading these alphabetically-named mysteries about Kinsey Milhone for a long time now, and they're very satisfying. This one entered the mind of a sociopath and was very creepy.

How to Breathe Underwater, Julie Orringer. I thoroughly enjoyed this book of short stories, which mostly depicted the world from the point of view of kids whose countercultural parents are in way over their heads.

Berlin, Jason Lutes. A graphic novel about a sympathetic cast of characters living out their lives in Weimar-Republic Germany. I loved the art and the storytelling, and I'm thrilled to find that the story continues: Volume Two of a planned trilogy is set to be released in August.

Shortcomings, Adrian Tomine. Another excellent graphic novel, this one about a miserable, cynical Asian guy and his misadventures in love. From his Mills College-going lesbian sidekick to his job as a rep-house manager, this book seemed like a piece of real Bay Area life unfolding just around the corner.

The Year of Magical Thinking, Joan Didion. This book is about the death of her husband from a very sudden heart attack, the illness of her daughter, and the aftermath. Even though she was so very good at explaining what it's like to be the one left behind, I still had trouble imagining it happening to me, which proves that all her trenchant points about denial are very true.

The Reluctant Fundamentalist, Mohsin Hamid. I read the whole thing in one plane ride. Great story about a Pakistani guy who falls in and out of love with America. I especially loved the menacing and ambiguous ending.

The Savage Detectives, Roberto Bolano. Every know and then a book comes along that makes me wish I was writing a PHD thesis and could study it for years. This is one. The first section describes the adventures of a young, callow poet, a initiate of Mexico City's "visceral realist" poets, chief among them Arturo Belano, the thinly disguised alter ego of the author. The middle section is a series of interviews with people who know Belano and his best friend Ulises Lima, who drift fecklessly around the globe, losing lovers, teeth and their youth along the way. It's a book about being young, and the sadness that sets in when uncompromising people get older.

The Great Man, Kate Christensen. When a famous, lust-for-life type painter of female nudes dies, two biographers compete to chronicle his life. They interview his wife, his mistress, and his sister, a painter with a secret. The book is really about the wife, his mistress and his sister, and it's a great New York story, a great art story, and a great story about the lives of women.

Points West

2008-07-23T07:32:00.000-07:00

Tod and I took a journey through Washington, Idaho and Montana.

Puget Sound from the ferry to West Seattle.

Dick and Jane's folk art environment, which we stumbled across in Ellensburg, Washington.

A window in Missoula, Montana.

A mysterious sign in strip-mall Missoula.

Garnet ghost town, between Missoula and Great Falls.

When this Montana state trooper gave us a $20 speeding ticket, he said to T "hey, I think I just gave your dad a ticket!" It was true. Jerry's ticket was bigger.

Prelude to a Shriners parade in Great Falls, Montana.

My sister in law Wendy and nephew Clay at a unique Great Falls business.

The beautiful bride, our niece Kelsey, and Ty, her excellent groom. They were the reason for our trip.

At the wedding. The groom is from a large, catholic ranching family, and over 300 people came. There was a lot of praying and red meat.

Piano Pat plays Ring of Fire at the best bar in the world, the Sip N Dip in Great Falls. Note the Shriner in the background.

A mermaid entertains the patrons from the swimming pool behind the bar. The Sip N Dip alone justifies a trip to Great Falls.

Old sign, Spokane, Washington

Photo at top: Top Notch Diner, Great Falls.

The Most Beautiful Chair Ever!

2008-07-07T20:09:00.000-07:00

A few years ago I bought two Knoll chairs on Craigslist from a guy who was moving to Thailand. I think it was like $75 for both.

The orange one, which was sitting in the living room for a few years, started to get mighty dingy. I thought about having it reupholstered, and called Welsh Upholstery, whose owner appears to have walked right out of A Prairie Home Companion. He came over and extolled the beautiful craftsmanship of the chair at length, until I felt that not reupholstering the chair would be a crime against nature. How could I not have gone for it after that? I'm so glad I did.

(The fabric is called Eclat Weave, by the way).

East Coast Highlights, Part Two

2008-07-02T20:02:00.001-07:00

From Philadelphia/South Jersey parts, I headed to New York (above is the view from the rooftop of the Met). Carol lives on the Upper West Side with Bryan (he happened to be visiting my home while I visited his), and she was a great host. It was so fab to stroll in Central Park after dinner and watch the fireflies. From Carol's, I went to Christie and Martin's sunny pad in Williamsburg, and fell in love with their new neighborhood. It sure was fun to experience some steamy summer weather for a change.

Passing Strange. Seeing a Broadway show, much less a musical, is way down on my list of New York activities. But ever since I heard about this musical about a young African-American fellow who loves punk rock and runs away to Europe to become an artist, I've wanted to see it. It was loud, funny, catchy and emotionally satisfying, more of rock concert in which the band interacts with the actors, and if you ever get a chance, don't miss it.

A brush with fame. I was headed to the subway with my rolling suitcase, bound for Brooklyn, but I wasn't quite sure where the station was. I saw a woman striding across the street who looked like a likely source of directions, and hailed her. "Where do I catch the 1,2 or 3?" I said. She began asking me about my final destination and suggesting the best entrance on Broadway when it dawned on me: Cynthia Nixon. You know, Miranda, on Sex and the City. Someone I've always thought was probably a pretty great person. I thanked her and moved on to the subway, feeling like I'd been visited by an everyday angel.

Paradise on earth, or NY Spa Castle. I wish I could write a long magazine article, or maybe a PHD thesis, about this place. I love all forms of bathing, especially in hot water, and Spa Castle, a five-story Korean bath extravaganza in Queens, had everything going on in that department. When Christie and I came in, we got a toothbrush and a wristband which opened and closed our lockers, and allowed us to buy stuff at the food court. Then we bathed with those of our own gender in an enormous and varied series of showers, pools, waterfalls and saunas, with all kinds of jets and push buttons.

The ladies' floor also featured a boatload of free toiletries, and we saw people everywhere showering, brushing their teeth, conditioning and styling, and scrubbing themselves with Korean mitts. While we bathed, Korean ladies wearing a uniform of bras and panties were giving skin-stripping massages nearby. After a while, we put on the pink and orange short sets women are issued, and headed upstairs to the co-ed area, which features a solid gold sauna, an ice sauna, a salt sauna, an infrared sauna...etc. Lastly, a bunch of very inviting looking swimming pools on the roof adjoin a Korean restaurant. The photo above is us in the Spa Castle van, headed to the subway after a few relaxing hours.

Cheap eats on the Lower East Side. Christie and I experienced a triumvirate of deliciousness: First, Vanessa's Dumpling House, where some very tasty, hot shrimp dumplings were 4 for a dollar--I kid you not. Next, Economy Candy, a store that is packed to the gills with every kind of candy, from halva to extra large Atomic Fireballs and MaryJanes to Belgian chocolate. It smells like sugar. And speaking of sugar, our last stop was Sugar Sweet Sunshine, a cupcake bakery that has the best cupcakes I've ever tasted. It gets extra points for having a kind of down at the heels 70s vibe instead of the '50s look most NY cupcake places have. I had a black and white, and got another for the plane.

Last but not least, Jollyship the Whizbang, "a pyrate-puppet rock opera." Basically an indie rock band who are also puppeteers, and lead some crazy-ass looking puppets through a lot of hilarious, tasteless paces and a meandering plot. Lots of fun.

East Coast Highlights, Part One

2008-06-28T15:35:00.000-07:00

Just got back from nine days on the East Coast; a conference in Philadelphia, a couple of day's at my sister and brother in law's house in South Jersey, and three glorious days in NYC. Here are some of the best parts:

Family! I got to check out my nephew Jay's first post-collegiate place of his own in the lovely Fairmount neighborhood of Philly. Aww.

A couple days later, there was a barbecue in Mark and Kathy's bucolic back yard in South Jersey, which brought together two of my three siblings. My brother Mark's (there are two Marks in the family) kids are brilliant and funny. Isaiah is one of few third graders who watch JFK's Ich Bin Ein Berliner speech on YouTube for fun.

Dinner with Jay and colleagues at La Viola near Rittenhouse Square. Philadelphia has a number of BYOB Italian places, and this one was loud, old-fashioned and delicious (I had the gnocchi.) Too bad I had to buy the vino at the dreary state liquor stores they have in PA, where signs admonish the customers not to give booze to their kids.

The Eastern State Penitentiary in Philadelphia. I love ruins, and this one was even more fascinating than I expected. Once upon a time (in the early 1800s, to be exact), Quakers thought that if people reflected on their crimes in utter solitude, it would be a good thing. They built this penitentiary, which involved a lot of solitary confinement in cells that were both gloomy and celestial, due to small skylights that were designed to create an "eye of god" effect. The prison, which is a lovely ruin now, was one of the most influential pieces of architecture of its day; hundreds of prisons in Europe and Latin America were modeled on it. Of course, placing people in utter solitude turned out to be a bad idea: it often drove people insane. If you ever get a chance to go, be sure to do the audio tour, which is voiced by Steve Buscemi.

A trip to the Jersey Shore. When I was a child, my grandparents, who we called mom-mom and pop-pop, lived at the Jersey Shore. Pop-pop, who died when I was very small, was a loving and humorous man. Mom-mom was a grim and hardworking woman, who I loved dearly, and who lived with us when she was nearing the end of her life.

The time I spent at the shore each summer provided a counterpoint to life at home with my parents. While not extravagant, mom-mom and pop-pop were seriously committed to the business of providing a good time for their grandchildren. I remember sticky buns fresh from the bakery, stacks of colorful beach towels, and glasses with cartoon characters on them. Everything seemed just a little bit expensive, unlike at home, where we drank nonfat dry milk mixed with regular, and carried frayed bath towels to the municipal pool. Sadly, mom-mom and pop-pop's little beach house has been torn down now, and replaced with a tacky monster home.

My sister Kathy and I relived some fond memories by taking a trip to the shore. Sadly, it was too cool and rainy to lay on the beach in the sun, overhearing conversations conducted in South Jersey accents and Bruce singing Jersey Girl on the radio. Instead, after a few happy hours spent outlet shopping in Atlantic City, we took a walk on the Ventnor boardwalk. The smell of the ocean was like Proust's madeleine to me.

Sunday in Sonoma

2008-06-08T22:31:00.001-07:00

Neither my parents nor my siblings live within 1,000 miles of me. But T's brother and sister live in Petaluma, and that is one more reason why the Bay Area feels like home. They (T's sibs that is) are the kind of relatives that are easygoing and drama-free. And Petaluma is a nice place.

T's mom was also visiting, so today we drove to Sonoma for a family barbecue. First we stopped off to do some hiking at Olompali State Park, which I had passed a million times but never visited.

We had a little picnic from Bi-Rite. There's me and my turkey sandwich.

Then we took a three-mile loop hike, which was a good one, especially after we got out of the yellow-grass lowlands and into the shady green trails higher up. We saw a lot of wildlife; wild turkeys, deer, a rabbit with very large ears, many lizards, and a blue snake.

After that, we dropped a bunch of money in a very short time at the Banana Republic Outlet. All the clothes there fit me uncannily well, which is a dangerous thing.

Then, barbecue, and hobnobbing with the family.

Another night in the Mission

2008-06-02T20:36:00.000-07:00

The other night T and I decided to try something a little different. So first we ate at Cafe Gratitude, you know, the place where you have to order by saying things like "I am elated" and "I am effervescent." Even though I work across the street, I'd never eaten there before. Since I generally love any kind of overtly healthy vegetarian food, it was awesome, but dudes! The paintings are weird, and push the restaurant over into the "is this a cult?" zone.

Somewhere between the bhutanese rice bowl and the chocolate cake made of nut milk, T told me he had something delightful to show me after dinner. We strolled out into the evening, and what did he lead us to but this:

Really, what could be better than gazing on three doggie diner heads at once? Very little.

After that, we did another really great thing. We went to see Toshio Hirano at The Rite Spot. The Rite Spot is a 60 year old Mission dive that I should appreciate more. It may be, in fact, the only place in the Mission that serves jalapeno poppers.

Toshio Hirano is a man who really, really loves Jimmie Rodgers. As some of you may know, this blog is named after a Jimmie Rodgers song, so to some extent I know how he feels. Here's a very well-put quote that sums his feelings up, which is part of an excellent article about Mr. Hirano.

"I felt a whole universe sucked into his sound," says Hirano, "that in his voice, when it hit my brain, I felt like that. When I listened to 'Peach Picking Time in Georgia,' I could see something behind his voice. Something kind of came into his music from everywhere, then squeezed into his voice and sound and came to me. That was an amazing experience."

So tonight, I'm grateful for people who follow their passions, for living in a great neighborhood, and for having a husband who shares my serious love for goofy stuff.

Yuppie Safety Revolution!

2008-05-25T21:23:00.000-07:00

I haven't been blogging much lately, partly because I just haven't felt like it, and partly because I've been so busy. In order to earn some extra dough, I took on a large grantwriting project, which involves writing reams of text about planning for the management of various public safety hazards.

I must say it has been very interesting, as my attitude towards law enforcement has always been one of dislike, and my attitude towards other people who work with various emergencies has been one of, well, mostly indifference and incomprehension, as thoughtless as that sounds. Working on the project has made me realize that a lot of very sweet little boys who love toys, and stories about good guys saving the day, grow up and go into law enforcement. Still, at heart, I am not a person who loves the enforcement of public order by authorities. Though on the other hand, if, say, a chemical plant blows up, I'd like someone to be in charge.

I took a break from my ceaseless writing to celebrate T's graduation from San Francisco State, with a B.A. in History. Ask him about Upton Sinclair sometime, I dare you. We ate at a rather perfect restaurant called Chez Papa, which was totally worth walking up a lot of hills and paying a whole lot of money. The sauce on T's mussels may have been the most delicious thing ever.

After dinner, we crossed the freeway overpass from Potrero Hill back to the Mission, headed for Hugh and Mati's. Hugh threw a slideshow/party to commemorate the 40th anniversary of the 1968 uprising in France, which balanced very well with too much time spent thinking about the management of "incidents." Slideshow? Sounds boring? It was full of humor, great graphics, irreverence, and big questions about why and how social change happens.

I especially enjoyed the lack of true-believerism of it all, the shouted comments and debate. Though I consider myself left of liberal (that quiz says I'm left libertarian), I get annoyed by unsubtle cheerleading about leftist causes, especially when that cheerleading is about some wonderful "leader" who is going to make it all better.

Below are some not so great photos of some of the many people who were there.

Mati and Kate

The host

Part of the throng who enjoyed spending Saturday night trying to translate french denuciations of capitalism and situationist slogans into English

Ohio

2008-05-01T23:24:00.000-07:00

So I went to Ohio to visit my parents.

I won't pretend that my parents didn't disappoint me. I always really wanted to get away from home as a kid, and live a life completely unlike the one I knew. And I did. But them getting older has changed my attitude towards them. They're in their late 70s now, and I worry about them.

I've known Kim for almost as long as I've known my parents. We were best friends growing up in the suburbs of Cleveland. As kids we lived in our own little world of weirdness, which was a great comfort to me. Once my husband told me that I sound different whenever I talk to Kim on the phone, more relaxed.

Kim is a very hardworking mom. While I visited, we got a chance to sneak away for a night out. We stayed in a fancy hotel, and consumed a number of cocktails. I loved the Prosperity Social Club in Tremont, a big old bar that was cool without trying too hard. I won't repeat all of the strange private jokes we have been rehashing for decades.

The next day, we got together with Stan, Arun, Marc, and Mr. R. I saw Mr. R and Arun just a couple of years ago, but I hadn't seen Marc and Stan for about twenty years. I felt like I could have talked to them all day. I also noticed that not too many people get to the age of 40 or so without having had something really sad happen to them.

Mr. R is quite a bit older than 40, but apparently he has a picture in his attic, because he looks about the same to me as he did when I was a teenager. I will never forget when I was in high school, and Mr. R. read from his favorite book, A Death in the Family, to our English class. He was so moved by the words that his voice trembled and his eyes filled with tears. That is how much he cared about the power of words, and he cared that much about his students too. Mr. R still seems just as passionately engaged with life as ever, and that inspires me.

After brunch, Kim and I went to a baseball game. When we were kids, my dad subscribed to The Plain Dealer, and hers got The Cleveland Press. Both of us would cut pictures of our favorite baseball players out of our respective newspapers and look at them together. We especially liked Rick Manning, because he was cute, not because he was a good player.

This is how I spent a lot of my trip: driving back and forth between my parents' house and Kim's over the flat Ohio highways.

Saturday

2008-04-19T22:33:00.001-07:00

My Saturday brought together some of my favorite preoccupations: food, clothes, and music.

First: my love of quinoa, an amazingly healthy and tasty grain (it's actually a seed, but that's another story.) Here's a new recipe I've improvised. I had it for lunch today.

Lemon Almond and Herb Quinoa
1.5 cups quinoa
3 cups vegetable or chicken broth
chopped herbs (I used rosemary, tarragon and thyme)
1 cup chopped veggies (I used carrots, but zucchini, asparagus, etc. will work)
a large shallot, minced
a small handful of almonds, chopped coarsely
olive oil and/or butter
1 tablespoon lemon juice

Saute shallot in 2 tablespoons of olive oil at medium heat. When shallots start to soften, add veggies and saute until tender. Add quinoa and mix thoroughly to coat each grain of quinoa. Add broth. Cook on medium heat, covered, until quinoa becomes fluffy, about twenty minutes. In the meantime, toast the almonds in a small amount of olive oil, just until you smell a toasty smell. Mix the almonds, herbs and the lemon juice into the quinoa, heat for another minute or two to reduce moisture, and serve.

Second: my new jeans. I buy 75% of my clothes at used-clothing stores like the Crossroads Trading Company and the Buffalo Exchange, but jeans are tricky. Repeated trips to my used-clothing haunts were not yielding anything but Old Navy jeans and tiny acid washed flares. So I hit J.Crew with a gift card my mom got me for Christmas and snagged the jeans below. Now I'm ready for spring.

Third: my new favorite song, which I listened to five times when I got home. Every now and then I find a song I love so much that it brings me great joy, and I listen to it over and over until I learn all the words. I might even listen to it so much that I get sick of it. As you must have guessed by now, most of the songs are about death, broken hearts and rebellion. Past songs have included:
Confeso, Amalia Rodriguez
Romulus, Sufjan Stevens
Clandestino, Manu Chao
The Greatest, Cat Power
Paper Planes, MIA
I Know No Pardon, Vetiver
Back to Black, Amy Winehouse
(not to mention the entire recorded output of Led Zeppelin)

This month's favorite is She Sends Kisses, by The Wrens. I found an adorable claymation video of it on YouTube. Check it out! It might become your favorite too. Maybe then we can scream the lyrics together like I do at home.

Adoption

2008-04-13T08:15:00.001-07:00

I have the feeling that some people read this blog mostly for the adoption stuff. In that respect, I feel like an author who insists on focusing on a dull subplot, while her readers hanker for the juicy parts.

When our adoption in October didn't work out, it had a huge impact on me (and on both of us). I think many people waiting to adopt keep their desire for a child right in front of them, and wait very actively. The only way I have been able to protect myself from the sadness is to get on with life, and put adoption on the back burner. T was telling me the other day how he always looks at babies when he's out in public. I have gone in the opposite direction. I avoid babies. It's hard to feel my desire to become a parent right now.

I think that's one reason people give up on adoption or fertility treatments and decide not to become parents. They assume because they don't feel the desire for a son or daughter, that it's no longer there. I know that my desire is still there, because every time I'm asked to make a wish, a successful adoption is the first one I think of. Every time I'm part of a serious conversation about dreams and hopes, the kind of conversation that puts you in touch with your better self, I feel the desire come out of hiding.

On a day to day basis I check Statcounter to see who's been looking at our adoption website, read our adoption agency's message board to see how the other wanna-be adopters are doing, but I don't think about it that much. Even though the chances are, logically, that it will happen within a year. I'll be utterly surprised when it does.

And just to advance the plot, we had an adoption contact, one that could have turned into a match, a few weeks ago. But it just didn't feel like the right fit, mostly because the woman who contacted us was only one month pregnant. I didn't feel I could handle that long of a wait, and I was also aware of the statistics that say that a long match is more likely to fall through. It was nice to have a possibility to think over, but sad to let someone down, which is something we've had to do twice now.

See why I haven't written any adoption posts lately? I feel like I should be upholding the spirits of people who are waiting to adopt, or educating people who read this blog about the wonders of open adoption. But right now I'm in no position to be a spokesperson. I'm just someone who's slogging along.

Shuffling

2008-04-11T22:43:00.000-07:00

A very sweet colleague of mine, who works at Apple, offered to order me an iPod Shuffle with his friends and family discount. I know I'm the last one on earth (the privileged Western "earth," that is) to have such a device.

This little player lets you load 240 songs. I've spent a few hours today scouring my iTunes and CD collection for my absolute favorites. I thought it would be fun to share the first ten songs that shuffle to the surface, no matter how embarrassing or obscure. Most of the artist links will take you to a performance of the song.

"You fixed yourself, you said, well never mind. We are ugly but we have the music."
Chelsea Hotel No 2, Rufus Wainwright. I've long loved songs about dramatic, tragic lives and lost love, tossed off with nonchalance. This Leonard Cohen cover pretty much epitomizes the genre. When Leonard Cohen wrote this song, which is about Janis Joplin, he became enraged when his publicist was so unchivalrous as to share the back story.

"Well nobody made this war of mine."
Mysteries, Beth Gibbons & Rustin Man. I love Portishead, but I love Beth Gibbons' solo album even more. This song sends me into a metaphysical swoon, with its lyrics about life as mystery. She's playing my song, because I think several times a day about how I'm alive right now, and how amazing that is.

"Memories mar my mind."
Love is a Losing Game, Amy Winehouse. More tragedy. Sometimes I wonder about myself. Why do I love Amy Winehouse, who is an utter wreck, with such great fervor? I'm a highly responsible taxpaying citizen, practically a teetoaller, and I have a tendency to run from drama. Yet I'm convinced there's a tiny little Amy Winehouse inside of me, who is demanding sensation and colorful madness.

"You were quicker than they thought. You just turned your back and walked."
Still the Same, Bob Seger. I've already dealt with my strange love of this song here.

"That money pump of power knows. The best defense is attack."
I Am the Law, Jon Langford. I've long had a crush on Jon Langford, because in my alternate, Amy Winehouse-ish mental world, I am drawn to drunken, larger than life outlaw/artists (but they have to be funny and self-deprecating.) This song, which is about the uses of power, totally rocks in a leftist sort of way. MP3 available here.

"Come to the fireworks, see the dark lady smile."
Burn It Blue, Caetano Veloso and Lila Downs
Caetano Veloso is another leftist musical hero, and he sings like an angel. I'm actually a little ambivalent about the slightly generic romanticism of this song, but I love Lila and Caetano's voices together.

"In the morning when you finally go, and the nurse runs in with her head hung low."
Casimir Pulaski Day, Sufjan Stevens. Sufjan Stevens is all about goodness, and living in a carefully controlled moral universe. This is very appealing to me, because I grew up in a very religious family, where it was believed that the smallest actions were making a splash in god's universe. This song seems to be about a chaste romance between the singer and a young girl who is dying in the bosom of her strict, religious family, and it's lovely and very philosophical.

Petit Pays, Cesaria Evora. I'm all about the lyrics, and Cesaria is singing in Portugese, which I don't understand (though I know she's singing about her "little country.") But when it comes to Cesaria, I don't need lyrics. Her voice contains the beautiful melancholy of living, and it soothes my soul. I saw her play once at the stunning Kimmel Center in Philadelphia, and she was a stolid, barefoot presence, who seemed drenched in fatalism.

Samba Tranquille, Thievery Corporation. The first thing I ever liked about the Thievery Corporation was their name. This instrumental makes me feel like I'm in the dark, looking at city lights in the distance. MP3 available here.

"Is it a memory, or are you calling from somewhere?"
Do You Think About Me, Waco Brothers. I've always thought the Waco Brothers, one of Jon Langford's bands, were kind of mediocre, but I love this song, which energetically asks a straightforward question that I've had from time to time about past loves and lost friends. MP3 available here.

There's my 30 minute soundtrack. How about you?

Festivities

2008-04-05T22:04:00.001-07:00

We celebrated T's birthday today.

First, the birthday person relaxed in his bathrobe with his beloved laptop.

Then we joined Margaret, BZ, Max and Aiden for some East Bay baseball.

My two favorite teams, the Indians and the As, were playing. Sadly, the Indians lost, 6-1. They are my first priority (I'll save tales of the Indians-directed fanaticism of my youth for another post.) T, however, had no preference, so he was not at all disappointed in the outcome.

We continued celebrating over dinner at Spork, a Mission District restaurant that replaced a dreary KFC not too long ago.

Dining at Spork is much more like dining at Design Within Reach than dining at KFC. And I mean that as a compliment. There is no chicken at all on the menu. I love the place. Everything I've tried at Spork has been delectable, especially the chilled asparagus salad and the airy dinner rolls. Here's the swordfish dish that I had.

The most quirky thing thing about Spork is not the sporks, or the teeny-tiny hamburger cookies they give you with the check: it's the fact that they don't serve tea. I love tea. This time, I asked them, hey what's up with the tea thing? The waiter told us that when they first opened, elderly people came in for the first seating and dawdled over their after-dinner tea for an inordinate amount of time. So they just took tea off the menu. That struck me as a bit unkind, plus I've never really seen an elderly person in Spork.

The birthday person had the steak, and the grilled strawberry salad, and finished with beignets, served with a rather fancy silver spork.

Happy birthday, T!

Walking

2008-03-25T23:50:00.000-07:00

I'm lucky enough to live in a neighborhood I love, the Mission District. I've lived here for almost fifteen years now. And I'm even more lucky, because I work there too. I'm one of the 2.5% of Americans who walk to work. Google Maps told me that it's .9 miles each way. Ah, built-in exercise!

My route is a little different each day. Here are some things I saw today.

Spring in flower form outside of Bi-Rite. I think I've been underestimating pink all these years.

An enigmatic sign.

Valencia Pizza and Pasta displays the day's specials.

A mysterious lady with enormous teeth lives in this abandoned convenience store.

The Homestead, where I used to hang out alot when it was Dylan's, admonishes its customers.

Some very friendly graffiti.

What is going on back there?

The War Works Hard

2008-03-20T21:50:00.000-07:00

Today at my fellowship, one of the other fellows (she's from the Middle East and was educated in Iraq), read this poem to us. She wanted to share it with us as a reflection on the war in Iraq, which has been going on for five years now. Sadly, it was written during the first Gulf War. Now I want to share it with you.

The War Works Hard
How magnificent the war is
How eager
and efficient!
Early in the morning
it wakes up the sirens
and dispatches ambulances
to various places
swings corpses through the air
rolls stretchers to the wounded
summons rain
from the eyes of mothers
digs into the earth
dislodging many things
from under the ruins
some are lifeless and glistening
others are pale and still throbbing
it produces the most questions
in the minds of children
entertains the gods
by shooting fireworks and missiles
into the sky
sows mines in the fields
and reaps punctures and blisters
urges families to emigrate
stands beside the clergymen
as they curse the devil
(while the poor remain
with one hand in the searing fire).
The war continues working, day and night
it inspires tyrants
to deliver long speeches
awards medals to generals
and themes to poets
it contributes to the industry
of artificial limbs
provides food for flies
adds pages to the history books
achieves equality
between killer and killed
teaches lovers to write letters
accustoms young women to waiting
fills the newspapers
with articles and pictures
builds new houses
for the orphans
invigorates the coffin makers
and gives grave diggers
a pat on the back
paints a smile on the leader’s face.
It works with unparalleled diligence!
Yet no one gives it a word of praise.

By Dunya Mikhail
Translated by Elizabeth Winslow and Saadi A. Simawe

A Vacation at Home

2008-03-17T21:25:00.000-07:00

I've been working way too hard lately. I love my job, but I was starting to resent how hard I was working. So I decided to take Monday off.

I went shopping for recycled clothing at Crossroads Trading Company and the Buffalo Exchange. As usual, I found lots of Anthropologie stuff for 20% of retail, which makes me feel like rubbing my hands together with glee. Ha! Ha! Republicans! I'm wearing your beautiful clothes and you didn't get a cent!

I had a chai and read a great book called Fieldwork at Morning Due.

I got a pedicure in Noe Valley, to go with my new sandals.

I ran into Steve, Allan, Jessie and Mona, just walking around in the sunshine.

It's things like sunshine, used clothing, red toenails, random encounters, and good stories that make me feel lucky to be alive. I'm happy.

Tagged Again

2008-03-16T09:46:00.000-07:00

My friend Christa, who has a wonderful blog called Hyperlexicon, tagged me. Thanks, Christa, I needed an excuse to do a blog posting anyway!

What were you doing 10 yrs ago?
I was working at an affordable housing nonprofit as a fundraiser. I was a member of the same book group I'm in today. I lived in a cute studio on 14th Street (now I live on 18th Street, and both buildings are owned by the same annoying landlord), by myself with my two cats, who have both passed away. I was dating sporadically and struggling with my health a lot.

Snacks I enjoy
Barbecue potato chips
Rice cakes with almond butter
Chips and guacamole
Extra sharp cheddar and pretzels
Tartine chocolate chip cookies
Ben and Jerry's Mint Chocolate Cookie and Coffee Heath Bar Crunch

Five things on my to-do list today (Today is a very good day)
Go to Zeitgeist and play Scrabble
Buy spring-y flowers
Do laundry
Eat
Sleep

Things I would do if I became a billionaire
I have fantasized about this before, although I was thinking of it more in millions, so I have a ready answer.

Start a foundation. My key causes would be stopping corporate domination and supporting women in developing nations. Maybe I'd also start a music prize like The Mercury Prize for American music. I would also create an endowment for the nonprofit I work at now.

I'd create trusts for my close relatives and friends, so that their needs for housing, retirement, education, etc. were met.

I would buy a four bedroom house in San Francisco (a bedroom for me and T, a bedroom for our future child, a guest room, and an office) with a dining room (something I've always dreamed of having). And I would have a glorious time buying modern furniture and art by local artists.

And I'd travel with T. And buy lots of shoes (see the Fluevogs above.) And I'm sure T would have an entire list of his own, probably involving electronics.

3 bad habits
Spending too much time on the internet
Sugar!
Not doing my laundry for way too long. I hate doing laundry.

5 places I have lived
Rhinebeck, NY (ages one-five)
Cleveland, Ohio (until I was 17)
Columbus, Ohio (17-22)
Iowa City, Iowa (22-23)
San Francisco, CA (23 to the present)

Jobs I have had
Department Store Clerk
Cafeteria worker
Painter of parking garages
Parking garage attendant
Setter-upper of events at the student union Factory Worker
Waitress (fired from 2 of 3 waitressing jobs)
Life model for art classes
Office temp
Teaching assistant
Social science telephone surveyor
Assistant to very mean woman at market research company
House manager at runaway shelter
House manager at domestic violence shelters
Nonprofit Program Director
Nonprofit Fundraising Coordinator/Manager
Executive Director of Nonprofit

Things people don’t know about me
I've had to share things people don't know about me so many times that people probably already know all of the things, but:
I have an extremely good memory for song lyrics
I hate citrus fruit, raisins and tomatoes
I never went camping or hiking until I was 21
I am afraid of flying, but do it anyway. I find it impossible to understand how the plane stays up in the air.
I am pretty much impervious to background noise
I am an ENFJ on the Meyer's Briggs test. I like this quote about ENFJs: "Because ENFJ's people skills are so extraordinary, they have the ability to make people do exactly what they want them to do." Watch out, everyone!

I am tagging Mati, Kim, Margaret, and Lola.

A Little of This

2008-02-20T21:28:00.000-08:00

I really wanted to make a grid of photos on my blog. I even got help from Mati (who makes the best photo grids ever). But something was wrong with the Flickr code for making badges, so I'm going to have to try it again, when I'm feeling less sick and more patient and techie-like. In the meantime, I'm including some photos I took around our apartment, which would have looked a lot cooler in a grid.

I will report that we visited our adoption agency today, to meet with our very sensible and down-to-earth (in a bleached-blonde sexy-mom kind of way) adoption counselor and renew our home study. You see, it's been a year since we first became part of the pool of waiting families, so we had to let them know that we're still in good health and tell them about changes in our lives.

It was also time for a low-key pep talk. We got some reassurance that we're still within the average wait time for an adoption, that our letter (the one that possible birthmoms see) is great, and that with two match possibilities over the year, we've done well, in terms of the response to us as an adoptive couple.

We just haven't adopted yet, and we were told again that if we are willing to just hang in there it will happen. I think I believe it, too, which I couldn't say three months ago. It certainly has helped that I've seen other folks signed up with our agency go through long waits, matches that didn't work out, and failed adoptions like ours, and then I've seen them adopt.

Top to bottom:
Big Boy among the produce in our kitchen.
Valentine's Day tulips in the living room.
A vintage fan we bought in texas
Vintage matches and more in an old printer's drawer
Doll head among the books in our office
Two guys duke it out on the cowboy movie poster in our bedroom.

I Heart Tu Lan

2008-02-06T19:50:00.000-08:00

To say I've eaten at Tu Lan hundreds of times would not be an exaggeration.

I've been eating there for about fifteen years. For about six years, I worked nearby, and went there once or twice a week.

During all the time I've known Tu Lan, a debate has been raging. Is Tu Lan a disgusting, grease-covered place, where cockroaches climb the walls and irascible cooks buy stolen goods from crack addicts? Or is it an incomparable cheap-eats find, with a certain reverse, Sixth Street cache for those in the know? Such is the debate, but I long ago lost all objectivity, and cannot answer that question. The flavorful, abundant and somewhat greasy Vietnamese food is like Proust's Madeleine to me, full of comfort, memories and associations. I was rather pleased to see that, on Tu Lan's last inspection by the health department, they received a score of 86, which is really quite respectable.

Tu Lan is a loud, narrow, old-fashioned place with dingy white walls and an open kitchen. If you sit at the counter you can watch the cooks make each dish, a process that involves a lot of leaping flames, tongs and clattering pans. The cooks don't look happy and they sweat a lot. On a number of occasions, I have indeed seen them examining goods for sale by residents of the local single room occupancy hotels. Once, a cook shouted at me after I complained that my shrimp salad had onions on it, when I requested it without. He angrily claimed that I had made the same complaint last week, which I denied vehemently (I hadn't).

Another time, I saw a man who was being pursued by the police jump from a crawlspace above the dining area into the middle of the restaurant and escape out the front door. It was truly like being in an action movie.

Though the male:female ratio at Tu Lan is usually about 3:1, I've never felt the least bit unsafe or uncomfortable there. The place is a veritable melting pot of San Francisco society from the poorest street person to the upper middle class. Many of the items on Tu Lan's menu still cost less than five dollars. And the servers have a gruff kindness about them, especially my favorite, a stooped man with a mustache who has called me "sir" many times.

And of all the enterprises I've ever been associated with, Tu Lan has the lowest turnover rate. Last night, 90% of the staff had been working there for at least eight years. Most had been there since I started going to Tu Lan. They've gotten older right along with me.

Lastly, I recommend the shrimp-fried rice, the ginger fish (pictured above), the tofu salad, the bean cake with crispy noodles, and the spring rolls. Don't get the soup.

Thanks to mswine, tempo and vanderwal for their excellent flickr commons photos.

Maui Top Ten

2008-01-25T10:17:00.000-08:00

Just got back from Maui this morning. It was all it was cracked up to be, and just the vacation we needed, what with all the gentle sun, rain and wind, healthy outdoor fun, and time to just be. We did spend a million dollars, though. Perhaps Maui exists to make me appreciate the relatively low prices in the Bay Area.

Here's my top ten, in no particular order:

1. The colors of Haleakala (see above), an inactive volcano that looms over Maui. I think any kind of designer (especially one who loves the '70s) would be inspired. And as an added bonus, we got to experience being inside a cloud while hiking Haleakala.

2. Listening exclusively to CDs from our mix CD group while driving Maui's beautiful highways and byways, with special props to Stag by Reva, Clock Says Now by Chi-Hui, and Summer Fun by Georgia. And me, if truth be told, since I always like my own CDs best.

3. Maui Brewing Company's Coconut Porter. They describe it thusly: "It begins with a malty-toasted-coconut aroma followed by a rich, silky mouthfeel with tastes of dark malt, chocolate, and hints of coffee. It then finishes with flavors of toasted coconut and hoppy spice to balance the finish." Yup. Only sold in Hawaii, but we have four cans in our fridge.

4. Puppies. As we drove the Road to Hana (which was a blast), we took a detour to check out the lovely coastal views in Nahiku. On the road, what should we see but a troop of gamboling puppies, who swarmed adorably around our shoes when we got out of the car. This was on a day that we also saw multiple waterfalls and rainbows.

5. Eating at Mama's Fish House. The most expensive lunch either of us had ever had, and completely worth it. Gently complex flavors, locally caught fish, attentive service, and amazing chocolate/caramel pie for dessert. And an ocean view to boot.

6. Experiencing the soothing effects of asian sculpture. The first place we stayed was Maui Retreat, an off the grid working bamboo farm that offered new-agey services from tantra lessons to psychic readings (we just stayed there). The place made me see rain and wind in a whole new way, because there the rain was nourishing a million green leaves, not pounding on hard surfaces, and the wind was warmly sighing through all of that greenery, not rattling our old windowpanes. Likewise, the grounds were full of some pretty amazing sculpture, and the more I stayed there, with the wind, the rain, and the wise looking figures everywhere, the more relaxed I became.

7. Oheo Gulch. This collection of idyllic waterfalls and pools near Hana is also referred to as Seven Sacred Pools, though it's neither. The water was cold, the rocks were slippery, and the place was just plain gorgeous. We didn't bring our camera because we were needlessly afraid that it might get stolen while we swam.

8. The Shadow of the Wind. I was glued to this neo-gothic drama by Spanish Author Carlos Ruiz Zafon for most of the trip. It's the story of a young boy in post-civil war Spain who finds a book by a mysterious author named Julian Carax, and then realizes that someone is hunting down and burning all of Carax's work. Why? Read this awesomely entertaining book and find out.

9. Snorkeling in Napili Bay. Our next lodging was the Hale Napili, an oceanfront condo where the median age was high, the accomodations were practical, and a perfect beach was right there in front of us. We did some great snorkeling and got lots of sun.

10. Not using a computer or hearing any news the whole time (except on my second to last day, when I heard that Heath Ledger died and was sad).

The Books of 2007, Part 2

2008-01-05T23:22:00.000-08:00

My list of books read in 2007 has come to an end, along with the year itself. Above, the brilliant David Mitchell holds my favorite book of the year, Cloud Atlas. My other favorites? The Road, Fun Home, Last Evenings on Earth, The Emperor's Children, and All Aunt Hagar's Children were pretty amazing.

I feel like I've accomplished something--I read 37 books. Why am I so ridiculously goal oriented and obsessed with numerical measures? That is a question for another day.

So here are the rest of the books I read in 2007, from July through December. Once again, the books in bold are the ones that wowed me.

Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic, Alison Bechdel. This graphic novel deserved to be named the 2006 best book of the year by Time Magazine (even if Cloud Atlas was the best book of the year.) The drawings were meticulous and lovely. The autobiographical coming-of-age story introduces us to a young girl who realizes that her home-decor-obsessed dad is gay, and that she is a lesbian. They live in a funeral home. And yup, they deal with their sexuality in very different ways. Gripping and well-structured.

The Emperor's Children, Claire Messud. I have heard a lot of people hating on the supposed superficiality of this book about the intertwined hijinks of liberal, ambitiously literary New Yorkers. What does that say about me? Because I ate up every minute of it.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, JK Rowling.

Ghostwritten, David Mitchell. This book was absorbing and brilliant, but can any book ever be as good as Cloud Atlas? Not likely.

The Happiest Baby On The Block, Harvey Karp. Someday when we really do adopt, this book is going to come in very handy, if I haven't completely forgotten the five S's by then.

The Whole World Over, Julia Glass.

Imagining Argentina, Lawrence Thornton. I liked the premise (a man can see the fates of the disappeared in Argentina, during that country's Dirty War) a little better than I liked the book, but it was worth reading. It was strange that the author never visited Argentina before writing the book.

Imperial Life in the Emerald City, Rajiv Chandrasekaran. Excellent book about the debacle that has been the American occupation of Iraq. I was torn between horror and schadenfreude. For the 1,000,000th time, yes, real life is more surreal than fiction.

The Last Life, Claire Messud. Messud's first novel, about the travails of a French/Algerian/American teenager, came off as precious and navel-gazing, and was a bit of a slog.

The Dissident, Nell Freudenberger. Satisfying and readable book about a dissident Chinese avante-garde artist who goes on a residency to the United States and gets involved with a crazy rich family. I would never have learned about the fascinating East Village Chinese art scene without this book.

Parable of the Sower, Octavia Butler. I had always wanted to read Octavia Butler. Like a lot of science fiction, I suppose, the ideas in the book were more interesting than the plot. I think the main character was Octavia, though, and I really liked her.

The Crazed, Ha Jin. This was an (intentionally, most likely) dreary book about a demented Chinese professor who reveals the emptiness of his life to his protege, who must then make some decisions of his own. In the end I was glad I read it, because it went to unexpected places.

A Series of Unfortunate Events: The Miserable Mill, Lemony Snicket.

All Aunt Hagar's Children, Edward Jones. This author fascinates me. He seems so monastic and committed to his work. Just look at his glasses! And his work is brilliant! Each one of these stories, which are mostly about African-American life in DC, paints a rich and vivid world. He gives Alice Munro a run for her money.

Collected Stories, Amy Hempel. Okay, I really, really didn't like this book. It took me months to get through, and it annoyed the hell out of me. It was just so damn quirky and idiosyncratic. The strange thing is that I had the terribly mistaken idea that I would love it.

Exit Wounds, Rutu Modan. This graphic novel, set in Israel, revolves around the disappearance of an elderly man who, at first glance, no one seems to care much about. Was he killed in a suicide bombing? His cranky taxi-driving son and a very tall young woman try to find out, and reveal a lot about Israeli society in the process. I loved it.

Love is a Mix Tape, Rob Sheffield. I got this for T for Christmas, and we both read it in a day or two. It's a love story (and a loss story) built around mix tapes and the music the author shared with his late wife. Sometimes it was annoyingly clever and rambling, other times it was geekily epic.

A Sad Phone Call

2008-01-03T20:24:00.000-08:00

When you are adopting in the way we are, you have a 1-800 number. If a "potential birthmom" happens to see your website and wants to get in touch, they can call that number, or email you.

In the time we've been waiting to adopt (10 months now) no one has ever called us out of the blue to chat on that number. Nor has anyone (except easily identifiable scammers from Cameroon) ever emailed us. We've had two contacts (one a potential match that we turned down, and one a match that led to our failed adoption). Both were arranged by our adoption agency.

Tonight I got a call on our 1-800 number. It was a teenage girl, and she said she found our website and thought we looked nice. She started telling me a really sad story, about being abandoned by her mom, then living in a group home, and not getting along with her family. I listened and asked some questions, and then I said, "So you're pregnant?" "No," she said. "I must have misunderstood your ad." Oh no. She wanted us to adopt her. What a brave and lonely call to make for a 13 year old.

All I could say is that I was glad she told me her story, and that I would be thinking about her and hoping for her to grow up strong, and to take care. I am sitting here hoping she will find her place.

So long, holidays!

2008-01-01T23:29:00.000-08:00

The sock monkey, an adorable Christmas gift from T, tries to comfort the sad clown, who seems to be asking his stuffed friend why he even bothers.

The crisp, sunny weekend between Christmas and New Year's was a perfect time for brunch at The Cliff House and a walk along the seawall. I had the Johnson Omelet.

A long afternoon hike at Chabot Regional Park. Walking among tall trees with friends was the perfect way to start the New Year.

Someone was a bit suspicious of our group, and I don't blame her one bit.

Understand Corrosion to Prevent It

2007-12-23T22:44:00.000-08:00

T is done with finals, so tonight we went out to dinner (at Chevy's, for some strange reason) and to see the movie Juno.

Unless you've been living on Mars, you know that Juno is a well-reviewed film about a teenage girl who gets pregnant and chooses adoptive parents for her child. It really was as good as all that--every scene between Ellen Page and Michael Cera brought a well-earned lump to my throat.

I was kind of hoping that the movie would bring me some sort of magical healing vis a vis adoption, but that was probably expecting too much. I think it would have helped if the adoptive mother in the movie (Vanessa, played by Jennifer Garner) was a little more like Juno--since I could see some of myself in Juno, but not much of myself in Vanessa.

On the way to the movie, T and I were talking about Christmas presents. The other day, I asked my dad what he wanted for Christmas. He requested a book called Understand Corrosion to Prevent It, by a Canadian professor. My dad is a retired engineer, and he enjoys conducting experiments in the backyard.

I had to send a check to an address in Montreal to get it. Here is a brief description of the book:

Corrosion failures produce accidents, environmental damage and large financial losses to companies, which could be prevented or mitigated by the application of known technology. This 50-page booklet is a simple, concise, and practical introduction to corrosion problems written for engineers, technologists and administrators in industry, as well as for students. Its aim is to make the reader aware of corrosion failures, costs and prevention methods and to avoid costly blunders.

When I mentioned this to T, he remarked: "I bet that Understand Corrosion to Prevent It has never been given as a Christmas gift in the history of the world."

True. But isn't preventing corrosion something we could all do a little more of?

Thanks to Polandeze for the flickr commons photo.

Unsilent Night

2007-12-22T21:41:00.000-08:00

I don't usually think in year-long increments, but it occurred to me tonight while I was out Christmas shopping that this hasn't been a very good year.

There was our failed adoption, which keeps casting a gloomy shadow. The experience made it clear that, when it comes to child-getting, we're just not very lucky (not yet, anyway.) We also don't have much control over what comes next. We just have to wait, and trust, which is not easy right now.

My mom was also in the hospital three times this year, each time because problems with her medication caused her to lose her grip on reality. A long time ago, I realized that I had to raise myself, because my parents hadn't really done it all the way. I wish it could have been otherwise, but to make it, I had to put up a protective wall between my mom and myself. I don't think moms and daughters can ever be truly separated, though. So I've felt the sadness of my mom, who has suffered a lot in her mind, pulling at me across the country this year.

The holidays tend to dredge up that same sadness in me, and this afternoon, shopping downtown, I felt like a stereotypically anomie-laden American consumer. I was headed home, feeling hungry and tired, when I collided with a huge and quiet stream of people at 18th and Church. At the same time, I heard bells.

It only took me a minute to realized that this was Unsilent Night, a musical happening that T told me about. People with boomboxes, each playing a different set of bell-like sounds, were scattered throughout the crowd. It felt just right to join the crowd pouring into Dolores Park, which formed a circle, and listen to the wash of bell tones. I didn't see anyone I knew there, but I didn't feel alone. And all the sudden I felt part of everything, and grateful just to have the chance to be alive right now.

Retreat from San Francisco

2007-12-07T18:06:00.000-08:00

Wow. I just got back from a three day retreat, for a work-related fellowship.

I feel lucky. It was three days of nature, wonderful people, heartfelt conversations, and good food. The best part is that this is just the beginning.

Here are some pictures from the grounds of the beautiful Marconi Center in Marin, where the retreat took place.

This was our view of Tomales Bay.

This was a mysterious, unused mansion on the grounds.

There were green, blooming things everywhere, even in December.

O Christmas Tree

2007-12-05T09:14:00.000-08:00

I am an atheist. I always say this to a general audience with some trepidation, not because I'm not comfortable with that choice (I am) but because I picture the dismay of good-hearted religious people like my parents, who just don't understand.

Nonetheless, I enjoy many of the material trappings of the holiday season, and I'm especially enjoying my silver tinsel tree. T put his foot down. He didn't want any more live trees. So this is our tree from now on. Though maybe next year I'll get another one, and decorate that one with all green ornaments. Hmmm...

Keyword Analysis

2007-11-27T23:10:00.000-08:00

Okay, maybe this is unbearably self-referential. But I have to share with you selections from a recent list of keywords that people searched for, causing them to land on this blog.

Yes, apparently I have a lot of time on my hands, because I do look at statcounter every now and then to check out the activity level here and on our adoption website.

I thought this list was bizarrely poetic. Here they are:

My gay encounter
Country song waiting for a train
anti-wedding
gay encounters on the train
crocker park is gay
life is like waiting for a train
jim thorpe lip cancer
they feel like a couple waiting for a train
why is jim thorpe town named jim thorpe
roberto bolano david mitchell haruki murakami

Portland, Oregon

2007-11-24T21:14:00.000-08:00

For Thanksgiving, T and I took a trip to Portland. T's dad and his wife just moved there. An ever-growing number of friends from many walks of life have also moved there. It seems that all roads are leading to Portland.

We had Thanksgiving with the family.

Then we visited our friends John and Anna in their cool house.

We hung out with Brendt, Nina, Dennis and Julian.

T, Wendy, Clay and I viewed the ghostly paintings at the Kennedy School.
Mick and I have been playing Scrabble for almost twenty years now. He won this time.

While I was there, I had the distinct sensation that I had to move there, whether I wanted to or not, because everything was just so danged perfect. Here is a brief and in no way complete list of perfect things I encountered there.

Incredibly short lines in the airport, during a usually-insane holiday time.
Unbearably delicious meals in adorable surroundings at Lovely Hula Hands, Mother's, and The Screen Door. If you ever go to Lovely Hula Hands, be sure to try a cocktail called Talulah's Bathwater.
Evidence everywhere of superb urban planning and environmental awareness, with all kinds of amazing parking, bicycling and traffic calming innovations.
Attractive, affordable houses everywhere.

However, the fact that most buildings were one, and at most, two stories high kind of bugged me, urbanite that I am. I remember someone (I think it may have been my friend Allan) saying disparagingly of Portland: "It's nothing but a bunch of houses." Well, kind of, yeah, but a bunch of houses doesn't look too bad to a real-estate starved Bay Area resident like me.

Still The Same

2007-11-17T07:59:00.001-08:00

There are so many things I could write about. One is my recent obsession with Bob Seger. Another is something I feel I should write about, because people keep asking me about it: how I'm feeling after our recent failed adoption.

I have a rather strange, yet comforting mental quirk. Songs run through my head alot; many times a day. The song of the moment tends to be suggested by some event or emotion. The songs themselves veer wildly through all genres, from advertising jingles to indie rock, with stops in between for jazz standards, country music, hip hop, and classic rock. The songs must have words, and the words must be in English.

Some might feel sorry for me, thinking that this must be annoying. But it rarely is. As a child, I turned to music for comfort in a bad situation. And I think music became, for me, a way to become organized, mentally. Even though I don't sing well or play any instruments, music is deeply enmeshed with who I am.

Last week, the songs in my head started to trend quite decidedly towards the music of my childhood. At the top of my mental playlist was a song called Still the Same, by Bob Seger.

Here is a sweet digital-storytelling type treatment of Still the Same I found on YouTube (an analysis of the maker's intent could probably fill a whole blog post itself).

The more I revisited this song, the more I became convinced that Bob Seger is fucking brilliant! One of the most interesting things about Bob was that he would often portray himself as a lonely outsider--waking up to find his girl gone, peering in the window of the bar, "trying to lose those awkward teenage blues." I remembered how his more ballad-like hits, like Still the Same, Mainstreet, and Night Moves painted nuanced, bittersweet portraits using very few words. His arrangements, especially the piano and female backup singers, heightened the poignancy. It was all a great soundtrack for an out of place, midwestern adolescent of the late '70s and early '80s like me.

But, you may ask, what about the adoption-related content you seemed to promise earlier?

Well, I don't think I'm being at all glib when I say that the reiteration of Still the Same in my head seems to be telling me just that. We are still the same, even though we're feeling kind of battered and bruised. We still know we are going to be parents, even if it's a little hard to imagine right now. And like Bob Seger, we're feeling a sadness around the edges, and a sense of still being on the outside looking in. But there's still a lot of sweetness in our lives, and we can't help but appreciate that every day.

Our friends and family have carried us through, and here we are. The counselors at our adoption agency, because they feel sorry for us, have offered to let us join something called the Last Minute Hospital List before our time, which will increase our odds. We are moving forward because that's what we have to do, and there's no telling how we will feel when our next match rolls around.

Dennis the Menace

2007-11-07T20:15:00.000-08:00

Earlier this week T sent me an article from Salon, entitled Stop Lying to Yourself. You Love Dennis Kucinich.

I, in fact, am not lying to myself at all. I voted for Dennis Kucinich in the last Democratic primary, knowing, of course, that the former boy mayor had no chance in hell. That has never mattered to me at all. Presidential politics bore me to tears. The whole election cycle seems like a spectacularly dull and crooked show, and I am positive that no one I really like could ever win.* Anyone I would like would be way too threatening to the rich. I could get a lot more excited about a good school board election.

But yes, just as the article says, Dennis and I pretty much agree on the issues. And not only that.

When I was a child growing up in the eastern suburbs of Cleveland, Dennis (or Dennis the Menace, as he was often called) was Cleveland's mayor. Then, as now, Cleveland was half-ruined, and going further downhill from there, and Dennis was seen as the young fool who drove the city into even more ruin.

I remember Dennis exuding a strange fascination for me, just by being such a strikingly weird personality in a pretty boring place and time. Only later did I learn that much of the controversy around his mayoralty was about public power. Dennis refused to privatize the municipal power company, and the local bank, who stood to gain, retaliated by cutting off the city's credit.

It turned out that resisting privatization was--surprise--a bright move, which saved the city an estimated $195 million over ten years. And it also turned out that, after Dennis spent the eighties making, like, $38 a year and living with his friend Shirley MacLaine, Clevelanders realized that, and elected him to Congress, and continue to elect him over and over again, though he is way more progressive and vegan granola-ish than 99% of the people I have ever met in Cleveland.

I may be making it seem like Dennis is my hero. It's not that, really. Dennis is a pretty silly, new-agey guy, and politics of a congressional nature just isn't my game. But I still delight in the anomaly of him, just like I did as a kid. I believe that most people holding high office in this country are reveling in the status quo; in the potential to shovel money towards associates, in their own power, in their own place in an unquestioned game. Dennis got into the same game, and has made it a platform not only for veganism, universal health care, and a Department of Peace, but for his own exaltedly goofy ideas about life's meaning.

And yes, I am planning to vote for him in the next primary.

*Though I think Hillary Clinton would be a much lesser evil than you-know-who.

I've Got It!

2007-11-02T18:19:00.000-07:00

On Thursday night T got Hugh and I free tickets to see Yo La Tengo and Jonathan Richman at the Palace of Fine Arts. Being old, I love to sit down when I see live music, and I was relieved to see that the over 35 portion of the indie rock crowd is following right along with me.

Jonathan Richman has played a major role in my life. He's kind of a philosopher, and helped me when I was a confused youth who was enraged at the world and drank way too much beer. An example of his brilliance:

Now I've watched you walk around here.
I've watched you meet these
boyfriends, I know, and you tell me how they're deep.
Look but, if these guys, if they're really so great,
tell me, why can't they at least take this place
and take it straight? Why always stoned,
like hippie Johnny is?
I'm straight and I want to take his place.
Oh I'm certainly not stoned, like hippie Johnny is.
I'm straight and I want to take his place.
I said, I'm straight
I said, I'm straight
I'm
I'm straight and I want to take his place

It struck me while watching Jonathan that he is a Romantic Poet for our day--you know "the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings" and all that stuff. The first time I ever saw him was when I lived in Columbus, at the defunct Stache 's. I remember that a friend of mine began to cry when he played, I believe, Hospital, and Jonathan patted him on the back and said, "there, there, fella." Jonathan lives in San Francisco. I remember seeing him in Trader Joe's once and feeling very excited.

I got hooked on Yo La Tengo while I was going to grad school in Iowa City. How many hundreds of times have I listened to the album Fakebook? It has given me a lot of solace. At the Palace, the band played a couple of songs, then answered questions from the audience, which Ira used mainly as a springboard for comedy. They sang lots of quiet songs (Madeline and Did I Tell You? were standouts), some obscurities from their endless store of same, and a couple of loud YLT specialties. It was kind of the ideal Yo La Tengo show, as far as I'm concerned.

The End

2007-10-22T08:54:00.000-07:00

Some of the readers of this blog may have already heard, but our adoption has fallen through. We went to Sacramento and were present for the birth of the baby, a beautiful girl. Things seemed to be going very well, and E seemed very set on the plan. But E's family members had a change of heart and decided that the family should parent the baby. Things changed very quickly. E was conflicted but went with the wishes of her family.

We spent a day and a half with the baby and the whole thing is very sad for us. It's one of those really bad adoption outcomes that happen to some people, but we hoped we wouldn't be one of them. Like I mentioned in another post, this happens about 10% of the time to people who are clients of our adoption agency. So we hope we'll be in the lucky 90% the next time we get to this point.

The silver lining to this cloud is that we have so many supportive people in our lives. I know that will help us get through to the adoption that does work.

We will wait until we are feeling a bit better, and then go back into the pool of waiting families. We have both agreed that we learned a lot from the experience, from preparing for parenthood to taking care of the baby. We will be much more ready when it really does happen. But does that mean it doesn't suck? I think you know the answer to that.

Today, we're going to drown our sorrows in a movie or a walk in the park, and I guess tomorrow we'll get back into life.

Before the Storm

2007-10-13T19:03:00.000-07:00

So E's due date was Friday, and it's Monday now. That means we are waiting, and we could get a phone call any minute. We have rented a car (we don't own one). We have a suitcase packed, with a change of clothes and some diapers, formula, bottles, blankets and clothes in it. We have gathered all of the paperwork we need. We have a carseat. A coworker is holding a bassinet for us, which she will bring over when we get home. And the brownies are in the freezer.

As of Saturday, the last time we talked, E didn't feel at all close to going into labor. She'd rather let the baby come on her own time than inducing labor, which I respect. We've been talking to E frequently this week, and she's full of frustration, and also funny, irreverent comments. We are lucky--E. is someone we click with. In fact, we find her delightful.

We have a lot of moments of truth in front of us. There is the moment of truth of being the witness and companion to someone who is giving birth, if we get there in time. Then there is the moment of truth for E, after she gives birth; it's a time that the adoption decision is made all over again, or in 10-15% of cases, unmade.

Have we had any indication that she might change her mind? None whatsoever. Quite the opposite, in fact. When she talks to us, she frames the situation thusly: She's chosen us, the parents. She is carrying the baby for us. And she is very eager to hear that we are excited.

Adoptive parents have to walk a fine line. We need to show the woman we match with that we are really excited, and reassure her that we care enormously about her baby. But we (at least I) still have to protect a corner of our hearts, and be cautious. I think it's way easier to throw yourself headlong into something exciting than to maintain this strange emotional vertigo.

We'll be talking to E today, and finding out more. She visits the doctor today, so we'll see what is said about induction.

Photo: daedalicious

Footloose and Fancy Free

2007-10-06T21:37:00.001-07:00

This week the Mr. and I did something we don't usually do. We went out three times. We wanted to experience life without a child just a little more. If our adoption really happens, it could be the end of our carefree existence of doing what we want, when we want to, etc. At least for a while. A long while.

On Tuesday we went to Farmerbrown. Farmerbrown is a southern/soulfood restaurant located in the Hotel Metropolis at Mason and Market. The restaurant was decorated, and arguably slightly overdecorated, in a charming folk-art meets industrial style. The food is sustainable, focused on benefiting local and african-american farmers. The service was friendly and down to earth. The highlights were the cheesy grits, and the pecan pie, both of which were possibly the best versions I had had.

Last night, we grabbed sushi at Sushi Time, tucked away under Books Inc. in the Castro. Wow! I ate there when it was Castro Sushi Underground, and I think it's even better now. The Barbie Roll, which had an extremely thin slice of lemon on top, was to die for, as was the seared white tuna nigiri with ponzu sauce. Really, really good, fresh sushi at reasonable prices. While we were there, we realized that this is not a place you can bring a baby at all. It's just too darn small.

After sushi, we repaired to the Swedish American Hall, where, it just so happens, we got married, to see The Mekons. Here is a brief description of The Mekons, from the Wikipedia:

The Mekons are a British rock band. They are one of the longest-running and most prolific of the first-wave British punk rock bands (rivaled in both categories only by The Fall).

But that's so dry! I love them because they are full of joy, imperfect, clearly love each other, have excellent politics, and, in their 40s and 50s, are full of playfulness and improvisation. The show last night was a joy to behold.

Tonight, we met friends at Emmy's Spaghetti Shack. Always liked the place, haven't been there in a few years. Great meal (I had a pasta dish and we shared some fantastic pesto/feta green beans and a mushroom risotto). Kinda loud. Kinda fun! We saw a kid get the tallest wedge of chocolate birthday cake ever. It was a veritable tower.

Speaking of baked goods, E. asked me to make some brownies and bring them to her in the hospital. She's due October 12, which means any day now. So that's on my to do list for tomorrow. I know I could use a mix, but this occasion, I think, calls for doing it by hand.

Chance Encounters

2007-09-23T16:38:00.001-07:00

I love living in San Francisco, one of the more densely populated neighborhoods in one of the more densely populated cities in the country. One of the best things about it is all of the random encounters I have with people. I've lived here a long time, so I have a lot. I thought I'd share the random encounters I've had in the last week or so.

On the 33 Stanyan. I had a cold and was feeling kind of discombobulated, but there was something sort of familiar about the lady sitting a couple rows in front of me, talking to friends and holding some shopping bags. As I was getting off, we made eye contact, and I realized it was Mrs. M, who lives at the housing complex where I used to be a social worker. I told her it was great to see her, and asked about her family. Her answer was very careful: "Your, my family is very good."

A long time ago, I had a crazy coworker at the housing complex who was very threatened by me (and many other people). Mrs. M's son's car was hit by someone in the garage, and my coworker accused me of doing it. She demanded that I back up my car in order to prove I couldn't have hit his car. I refused. For years after that I was mortified to think that the family thought I might hit their car and lie about it. The coworker was eventually fired after she asked another staff member to withhold my paycheck from me.

Downtown. I had just been to the dentist, was incredibly hungry, and was also struggling with the aforementioned cold. While considering which restaurant to go into, I ran into N, who I've known for more than ten years but only run into every three years or so. N was (maybe still is) a friend of an ex-boyfriend, and I attended his wedding, which was held at the Castro Theatre. At that time, the man I would eventually marry was working at the Castro, and helped said ex to hook N up with the wedding venue. I, however, didn't know my now-husband at all. Within a couple of years of his wedding, N got divorced, which saddened and surprised me.

The next night, I went to a party, and N was there. It turned out that he was in the same Burning Man camp as the host. He wrote me an email after that and said that my husband seemed like a "solid bloke."

On the K Line. I saw another resident from my former job in housing. She is a manicurist in a salon next to the Castro Theatre, and I run into her every few months. She is always delighted to see me--once, a few months ago, she said, "I love you, Linda," when we saw each other in the Castro. I jumped up and sat down next to her.

She asked me if I had a baby yet. That told me that she understood our last conversation, in which I told her that my husband and I were adopting. I wasn't totally sure. I told her that we might have a baby soon, maybe in October. I wondered what the other passengers were thinking, and changed the subject to her three kids. She told me that they are all in graduate school now, only she didn't say that, she called it "more school after college." I kind of got a shiver of joy. She and her husband emigrated from Vietnam, worked in very low-paying jobs, had so little in the way of resources, and their three kids are all in graduate school!

On Guerrero Street. I ran into my friend Steven, who was shopping at a garage sale. He said he was out perusing garage sales and getting coffee. I felt like I got a glimpse into his weekend routine. He asked me where I was striding to so purposefully. In fact, I was going to pick up my City CarShare car, to go grocery shopping, and I was running a bit late. He asked where I was going, and I named Costco as one of my stops. He told me that his dentist had advised him to get a certain kind of electric toothbrush, and asked me to see if it was in stock at Costco. I programmed his number into my cell phone, which I had just gotten the day before. Later, I called him from Costco to say they didn't have it.

Thanks to Jamison for the Muni image.

Taking a Ride

2007-09-18T20:03:00.000-07:00

Whoah.

So, it turns out that our match isn't off after all.

E went on vacation, was really busy when she came back, started procrastinating, stood us up at the hospital, felt really guilty...

I think you know the rest.

Our counselor called today and said she'd reached her, and that she'd told her that all of us weren't quite sure whether she wanted to go on with her adoption plan. She said that nothing had changed. She'd been to the doctor, who said that all was well, and that if she went into labor anytime now, it would be fine.

Well, at least we've taken a tour of the hospital, so we know what to expect, kind of.

Seriously, I am just happy. Not mad, not even annoyed.

A Major Twist

2007-09-14T20:12:00.000-07:00

Well, our adoption journey has taken a turn off the straight and narrow path it was on.

Last week, we were to meet E. to tour the hospital where she will be giving birth. She sent us directions the week before, and we emailed her the day before to tell her how to reach us if anything came up.

We got there, found the faceless classroom in mazelike halls in the basement, seated ourselves among a bunch of pregnant women and their support people, and began listening to a rather listless presentation about giving birth at the hospital. The leftist and the educator in me were both getting quite angry, because the women there seemed to be mostly working class, and the presenter had such very low expectations of them. After 45 minutes went by, I was sure that E, who has never been on time to any of our meetings, was not coming.

We continued the tour, feeling pretty out of place, and went home. (On the way home, my temporary crown, which had been put on the day before, fell out, making me feel even sorrier for myself).

The next day, we told our counselor what happened, and she urged us not to embrace the worst case scenario. After all, E is no model of organization or timeliness. She suggested we call and email E. That's what we did, and that's what our counselor did too. No answer.

A few days have gone by now, and I'm feeling reasonably sure that E has changed her mind, or at the very least that a large drama has erupted causing her to have second thoughts. The wild cards our counselor warned us about involved her 5 year old daughter, who hadn't been told about her pregnancy, and her ex, who wants to get back together (he's not the father of the current baby). But all in all, our counselor felt that this adoption was probably more likely to work out than most, so we were cautiously optimistic. Now we are not optimistic at all, and I for one am just starting to assume that we'll be moving on to a new period of waiting, matching, etc.

I imagine if it really happens, I'll be quite sad, because I really like E, and have felt like it's a good fit. On the other hand, liking E might make it easier in some respects, because I think I would find it hard to be truly mad at her (as things stand now, anyway). Also, I do think telling myself hundreds of times a day that the match could fall through may have been a wise policy after all, because I'm finding myself not all that shocked.

One thing I can say is that my faith that we'll adopt has not been shaken. In fact, it's been kind of strengthened by our experience so far. It's not terribly uncommon to match more than once before adopting, though it's not terribly lucky, either.

However, if we really do unmatch, I would not mind distracting amusements or extra-kind treatment at all. I may need some help getting back on the path.

Photo by Jenya, courtesy of Flickr creative commons.

Labor

2007-09-03T17:21:00.000-07:00

I have certainly felt like a laborer lately. It feels like my life is conspiring to prepare me for parenthood by parading before me an endless array of challenges that feel just a little bit out of my comfort zone. Today I didn't do much of anything, and that was good.

I remember my first real job, as a 16 year old clerk at a now-defunct department store called The May Company, on the East Side of Cleveland. (The store, shown above, is now a Macy's). My parents were pretty terrified of the world, and unsure of its limits, and I too was terrified of doing something wrong on the job and getting fired. I never did get fired, but I witnessed a lot of things I remember, and that convinced me of the idiocy of working for any kind of for-profit business. The funny thing about that was that I wasn't really aware of what one could do besides work at a for-profit business, so I just filed it under my general conviction that the world was a stupid and hypocritical place.

I'll share a few May Company stories, in honor of those who still labor in retail today:

Racism on the Sales Floor
We were trained by a middle aged woman who had an unpleasant schoolteacherish air; in fact, I think she had once been a teacher. During the training, one of the other trainees asked what to do if a customer acted racist towards an employee. Well, the trainer said, it's just not worth dealing with a person like that, so just give the sale to someone else!

An Unfortunate Fainting Spell
One day, while working in ladies blouse department on the first floor (I was putting little size markers on hangers), I fainted, and threw up simultaneously. When I came to, I was sitting at the employee exit on the second floor. They had called my dad, and he was on his way to get me. As I sat there, it came to me that they had carried me upstairs so I could leave via the employee exit. As my father arrived, the owlish HR clerk rushed out with my schedule, saying "It's a good thing you don't have to work tomorrow!"

Grooming on the Job
For the last few months I worked there, I was a stock assistant in the ladies' shoes department. The shoe salespeople were the most exalted line staff in the store, because they got commission, and probably made a salary of something like $35,000 per year in today's dollar. One of them was a young man named James, who loved heavy metal. He was rather sallow, gaunt, had a long ponytail, and was a very successful salesperson. At some point, the powers that be decided that long hair was not permitted. Rather than give up the job, James began wearing a wig to work, which made him look like a cancer patient.

My department store experience, coupled with my father's leftist tendencies and hatred of his job, drove me toward a happy future of nonprofit work. But it also left me with another strange trait: an affinity for department stores. I have a Macy's credit card, and I find myself drawn to the downtown Macy's at least once a month, even though I like very little of the merchandise in the store. In fact, I went there today, and bought a little baby outfit. The staff at Macy's San Francisco is one of the few at any department store in the U.S. who are unionized.

I've Been Tagged, Dagnabbit.

2007-08-28T20:44:00.000-07:00

So Britt of Have Fun Do Good tagged me for a meme, 8 random facts about me. Matirose tagged me for the same meme a week or so ago, and I never got around to posting.

Here are the rules:
1) Post these rules before you give your facts
2) List 8 random facts about yourself
3) At the end of your post, choose (tag) 8 people and list their names, linking to them
4) Leave a comment on their blog, letting them know they've been tagged

Okay, but I don't know eight bloggers. Just warning you.

8 Random Facts about Me
1) When I was a kid, I hated vegetables and fruit. Now, vegetables are always the first thing I taste on my plate, but I'm still icked out by citrus fruits, raisins, and tomatoes.

2) I was raised in a very devoutly Christian household in which drinking only occurred on major holidays like Christmas and Thanksgiving, in the form of one glass of wine. Now, it kind of doesn't occur to me to have a drink about 90% of the time, even when I'm surrounded by drunken revelry. I'm glad about this.

3) The best movie I've seen so far this year is The Lives of Others.

4) One of the best hair products I've ever discovered is called Lustrasilk Olive Oil Cholesterol. I gather that it's primarily an african-american hair product, and it makes my dry hair look smooth and non-crunchy. Best of all, an enormous tub of the stuff costs about two dollars! It's true.

5) I have always hated my name, but I've learned to live with it.

6) Hearing the Velvet Underground changed my life irrevocably.

7) Thinking about Spain or Argentina fills me with longing, and I wonder when I'll visit a foreign country again.

8) I would rather live in an apartment building on a crowded city block than a house, anywhere.

I'm tagging Kim, Monica, Chris, Margaret, Hugh, Mark, and Sarah.

Wedded

2007-08-27T07:44:00.000-07:00

We just got back from Mati and Hugh's wedding at Wellspring Renewal Center. It was a beautiful weekend, with a lot of generous-hearted people, from the friends and family of the bride and groom to the staff of the center. I had been helping Hugh and Mati to plan the wedding, but the reality of it was so full of colors, flowers, happy volunteers and handmade objects that the abstract lists and spreadsheets that had gone before seemed almost unrelated. I think Mati and Hugh gave us all a gift--a chance to be part of a community. There really is nothing better in life than that. I came away from the weekend thinking about how I can be a better partner in my own marriage.

There were also lots of kids there--urban kids who wore pirate costumes, sang Moon River to the crowd, played highly imaginative games, and wore nary a logo. T and I were taking it all in, trying to learn a few things.

The Sad Clown, who appeared at our own wedding, also occupied a photo booth at the wedding. The Sad Clown was found on the street by our friend Tom, who, at his girlfriend Monica's urging, gave him to us. We hide him behind the couch, and occasionally bring him out and try to cheer him up. It hasn't worked so far, but we will keep trying.

Here are Beth and Steven with the poor guy at our wedding, and below, Patrick, Petrina and Ann (one of the officiants) at Hugh and Mati's.

Lastly, here we are, relaxing on the deck with Brian, who coordinated the wedding.

On the way home, we took the coastal route. We stopped at Hog Island Oyster Company to fulfill one of my greatest wishes--to eat large quantities of oysters. It wasn't a month with R in it, and they only had extra smalls left, so it wasn't a peak oyster experience, but it was still great to get out our oyster knives and horseradish when we got home.

Thanks to Petrina for the hot-off-the-presses photos.

Becoming a Man

2007-08-18T19:52:00.000-07:00

No, the title doesn't say Becoming a Mom, though our adoption prospects continue to occupy much of my mind, like a program always running in the background.

Last night, I attended a bachelor party for Hugh (that's him and man-Mati at the top). I suspect it could be the only bachelor party I ever attend, and to squeeze under the definition, all the women involved were asked to don man-drag.

I hadn't been thinking much during my insanely busy week about dressing up as a man, though I had formulated a plan of emulating Hugh by wearing a vintage shirt he gave me along with his default outfit of black jeans, black lace-ups and a hat. Before leaving the house, I wrapped my chest, and then before the boys arrived, joined the girls in applying facial hair and lots of heavy eyebrows, sideburns, etc.

What surprised me is how much I really enjoyed dressing up as a man. It felt as if some part of me that is dormant was very ready to carry myself as a man. I also felt younger as a man of forty than I do as a woman of forty, which I can probably attribute to social programming. It was freeing to lose my daily drag in favor of another kind. I'm the guy in plaid, by the way.

It makes sense that I enjoyed myself so much, though. I guess I've always steered away from overly feminine behavior. I've always gravitated toward men as friends and conversation partners, probably more than the average woman. I still wonder about a negative review I got at work long ago, and whether a man would have been been reviewed the same way. So I guess you could say my male side is already somewhat developed.

One thing is for certain: I want to be Tom Waits for Halloween.

You can view a picture of me and the man of the hour here, along with some other fantastic shots.

Match Part 2

2007-08-11T21:24:00.001-07:00

So a couple of days ago we had the last half of our match meeting. E and her mother were late. They were late the last time too. Both times, it was for the same reason--they had to get E's disabled brother ready to go out. E and her mom have a lot of hard work in their lives.

This time, our meeting went well too--it felt a little rushed, because E wasn't feeling too well, but we still had some good conversation. Our impression that E has a hilariously dark sense of humor deepened. She has had her strugles, but anyone can tell she's a complicated and whip smart lady.

We went away feeling that E (and her mother) are pretty set on this adoption plan, and have their reasons, which are good ones. They are also up for a more open relationship, including visits, than we had first thought. There are reasons to feel hopeful that we'll be parents soon, but that very hope provides me with an incentive to repeat to myself over and over: "40% of matches fall through." I have an intense drive towards self-protection.

So I'm living in a strange adoptive parent-to-be limbo, in which I'm reading 90 books about parenting at once, but refuse to bring a stitch of baby clothing into our house. I feel like someone who has been told that they may be taking an extremely long and exotic trip--no, that they will be taking this trip, and that the trip will probably happen in a couple of months, but then again it may happen at some other, unspecified time in the future.

A Match

2007-08-03T07:20:00.000-07:00

So. Most of the people who will be reading this blog know that we are planning to adopt. Some of you have been in our betting pool, and some have been asking us how things are going.

We have our biggest news so far. We have matched!

A potential birthmother, who I will call E, chose our profile from a stack of letters, along with a couple of others. It turned out that the other two couples she chose had just matched with someone else. Our adoption agency told us that E would call us, but she never did. At that point, I was pretty sure she would never call (probably a desire for closure on my part). A week or two later, our adoption agency called and said that E didn't want to talk on the phone, she just wanted to meet us and match with us. So we set up a meeting, which happened yesterday. At that point, our agency declared us matched, and we had to make yet another payment to them.

Before the meeting, we didn't know what to think. We had a lot of unanswered questions, and we had never even met her. We definitely didn't walk into the room (a rather blank room, at a faceless business center in downtown Sacramento) totally sure of matching.

In the first few minutes that E and MK, her mom, walked into the room, we really liked them ALOT. We both had images of them in our minds, and those images were completely wrong. They were warm and funny and irreverent and just sort of unique. We had questions about some issues, like the birthfather and the degree of contact we'd have with their family if we adopted, and they were answered in a way that felt okay to us. So we knew, after less than an hour, that it would be a fit. E and MK said they had a good feeling too, so we agreed to go ahead with the plans for the adoption.

E is due in October. She lives in the Sacramento area, and she already has a beautiful five year old daughter. The baby she is carrying is a girl.

One caveat. Just because we have matched, doesn't mean we will be adopting. Before the birth, 25-30% of matches fall through. At the hospital, about 10% do. And 4% even fall through after the adoptive parents take the baby home and before the relinquishment is signed. E could change her mind, and in order for this to be fair, we have to be willing for that to happen.

So basically, we are a lot closer to becoming parents than we were a week ago. But it still seems kind of unreal!

Camping and a Recipe

2007-07-29T19:27:00.000-07:00

This weekend, T and I went on a camping trip to Sanborn Skyline County Park in Santa Clara County. It's part of a chain of lovely parks that run along Skyline Boulevard, and get lots of play from cyclists and bikers alike.

If you ever go camping there, you should know that the park has great summer weather (cool but summery in the wooded campsites, sunny and warm on the picnic lawns). You should also know that all the sites are walk-in, and you climb a rather steep (though paved) hill to get to them. We knew, but it was still painful, yet calorie-burning. Next time, we'll reserve earlier, and closer to the bottom.

While we were relaxing amongst the trees, I finished the new Harry Potter book, which caused me to exclaim aloud multiple times. T was reading River of Shadows, by Rebecca Solnit, which is about Eadweard Muybridge, who could be said to be the guy who created the first timeline with photographs, paving the way for film.

I have a camping recipe to share. I think it was one of the most delicious over-the-fire creations I've ever made.

Potatoes with Leeks in Foil
Makes two servings

Ingredients
15-25 small and medium sized redskin potatoes, cut into quarters or eighths
One medium sized leek
1/4 cup Chopped Fresh Herbs (I used Rosemary, Sage and Thyme). You could also use dried herbs.
One large clove garlic, minced
Two tablespoons butter
1/2 teaspoon Salt

Divide the cut potatoes onto two large pieces of foil. Sprinkle the leeks, herbs and garlic among the potatoes. Cut the butter into four pieces and put two on each half of the potatoes, along with 1/4 teaspoon of salt.

Fold each packet, making sure that the potatoes are in a single layer, and place over the fire or on the grill. Cook packets until the biggest pieces of potato are tender. Your time will vary. We cooked ours using charcoal, over a fire pit, and it took 20-30 minutes.

The Books of 2007, Part 1

2007-07-16T07:57:00.000-07:00

Last year I started keeping a list of all the books I've read, inspired by a former coworker. This year has been an especially book-heavy year for me, for some reason, though I have been remiss in reading nonfiction. I think I get my nonfiction from magazines and the internet.

Here's the list for the first half of 2007, with some commentary. The bold ones are the ones that really wowed me.

Best Short Stories 2006

The Ladies of Grace Adieu, Susannah Clarke. A collection of short stories that is the followup to Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell, and expands on the magical yet very English world depicted in the book.

Cloud Atlas, David Mitchell. The struggles of six outcasts linked through time. The author invents new worlds and reimagines old ones, while writing in six different styles, all of them riveting. One of the best books I have ever read.

How Much Is Enough?, Clarke, Dawson, Bredehoft. A very good parenting book about how indulging kids harms them, and how to raise self-reliant kids.

Number 9 Dream, David Mitchell

All She Was Worth, Miyuki Miyabe. A curious Japanese noir novel about what credit cards can do to a person.

The Inheritance of Loss, Kiran Desai. This book was very well written, but sort of left me cold in the end.

Jesusland, Julia Scheeres. Page-turning memoir about a girl whose oblivious Christian parents adopt two African-American children, and how they all grow up, not too happily in rural Indiana.

Best Short Stories 2004

Last Evenings on Earth, Roberto Bolano. The author was a Chilean who wandered the earth, and lived out a noveau-bohemian stereotype of the chain-smoking, hard-living writer (there he is above, smoking away) before dying in his 50s. This is a book of short stories that is deceptively simple, and a fresh new look into the Spanish-speaking world without a single incident of magical realism.

Soar With Your Strengths, Donald Clifton and Paula Nelson. An annoying business book I had to read for a training. I hate business books.

Mothering Without a Map, Kathryn Black. A parenting book for mothers (or mothers to be, like me) who had absent, abusive or neglectful mothers. This book was a necessary read for me, and it made me really sad.

Serious Girls, Maxine Swann

The Zahir: A Novel of Obsession, Paulo Coelho. This is one of the worst, most half-baked books I've ever read.

The Mistress' Daughter, A.M. Homes. Another adoption memoir, about the novelist Homes' less than idyllic reunion with her birthparents.

Drown, Junot Diaz. Fantastic book of short stories about Dominicans in New York and the D.R. Tough-minded but really kind, too.

Eat The Document, Dana Spiotta. The story of 60s radicals who go underground after a bombing goes wrong. It has a lot to say about the leftist politics of the 60s and today.

Noone Belongs Here More Than You, Miranda July. Yeah, I know that Miranda July is a cool lady, but this book had a few good Lorrie Moore-esque stories and some that just weren't very good.

Norwegian Wood, Haruki Murakami. A surprisingly linear Murakami that was a lot of fun to read. I think I've read all of his novels now, except for his new one.

Suite Francaise, Irene Nemirovsky. Three linked novellas that tell the story of the German occupation of France and the ways the rich, poor and middle class adapted or resisted. This author, a Russian emigre to France, died at Auschwitz, and the novel was discovered only recently.

The Road, Cormac McCarthy. This dystopian novel about a father and his son looking for safety in a destroyed world was impossible to put down and has haunted me ever since I read it.

Now I'm on to the second half of the year. I've been wanting to read a book called The Emperor's Children, by Claire Messud, and have come close to shelling out $15 for it a couple of times. While walking through Noe Valley yesterday, I found a hardback of it lying on the ground, with someone's airline ticket stub and pictures of a mother and child inside.

Living in Sin

2007-07-13T22:08:00.000-07:00

At work, I've been asked to reflect on my past a lot lately. We are using a fundraising model that asks you to put yourself into describing why you do your work, not intellectually but emotionally, so you can ask other people to care too. It's cheesy in a way, but also really powerful, and it's what I need right now personally, I think.

So I've been thinking a lot about reading, and how it really saved me from my parents' madness as a kid, and how it was my parents that gave me the tools to escape from their madness. Books helped me spin my bohemian dreams, and I think I've been pretty faithful to them, in my own practical way. I still remember in high school when we were discussing the Adrienne Rich poem below. I just looked it up, googling Adrienne Rich and "shawl"--hadn't read it since then and didn't remember the title. It means even more to me now.

In high school (see photo above), the teacher asked the class to say where the poem was taking place. Reflexively, I raised my hand and said "Greenwich Village." Right, said the teacher. All of my suburban Cleveland classmates were totally freaked out--how did I know that? I felt, gladly, different.

Living in Sin

She had thought the studio would keep itself;
no dust upon the furniture of love.
Half heresy, to wish the taps less vocal,
the panes relieved of grime. A plate of pears,
a piano with a Persian shawl, a cat
stalking the picturesque amusing mouse
had risen at his urging.
Not that at five each separate stair would writhe
under the milkman's tramp; that morning light
so coldly would delineate the scraps
of last night's cheese and three sepulchral bottles;
that on the kitchen shelf among the saucers
a pair of beetle-eyes would fix her own---
envoy from some village in the moldings . . .
Meanwhile, he, with a yawn,
sounded a dozen notes upon the keyboard,
declared it out of tune, shrugged at the mirror,
rubbed at his beard, went out for cigarettes;
while she, jeered by the minor demons,
pulled back the sheets and made the bed and found
a towel to dust the table-top,
and let the coffee-pot boil over on the stove.
By evening she was back in love again,
though not so wholly but throughout the night
she woke sometimes to feel the daylight coming
like a relentless milkman up the stairs.

Summer Fun

2007-07-08T22:12:00.000-07:00

Last week our friend Christie came to visit from New York, which was almost as good as going on vacation. Christie and I have been friends since the early 90s, when we were both going to school at the University of Iowa. We have been to countless thrift shops together and shared numberless indie rock and alt country listening sessions.

On the 4th, Christie, T and I went to Point Pinole, a very cool piece of land that juts into San Pablo Bay. It's on the site of a former dynamite factory, and you can see overgrown industrial ruins as you hike. You can also see tons of Richmond industrial ugliness across the bay from certain parts of the shoreline, while other places look lovely and wild. The mix is intriguing.

On the pier, we saw a man catch a little shark, which scared me, but I felt I had to look because I eat a lot of fish. Christie took this lovely portrait of T and me.

We also went to the St. Francis Fountain with Hugh and Mati. I have long been aware of the existence of the Fountain, which I think is SF's oldest ice cream spot, but I had never been there or tried their affordable and abundant breakfasts until recently. Which was very foolish of me. Don't make the same mistake I did.

"I'm so gay it hurts," or My Gay Pride Weekend

2007-06-24T21:09:00.000-07:00

Gay Pride Weekend is a meaningful milestone for me, given the fact that it's the anniversary of my move to San Francisco. Last weekend marked 15 years for me here in SF, which I think is as long as I lived in beautiful South Euclid, Ohio with my parents.

Guess which 15 years I enjoyed more.

Anyway, I haven't actually gone to the parade for a number of years, even though it's very inspiring and campy. I don't really have to, when the Dyke March roars right past my building. Unfortunately, I stayed in the bathtub for way too long this year, and I missed the whole thing (though I did get to enjoy the milling about afterwards).

After the march passed me by, I headed out to meet T at the Kabuki to see Ocean's Thirteen, which I found enjoyably silly and T found way too silly. Afterwards, we hopped on the 22 Fillmore, which was packed to the gills.

A man on the bus met up with a compatriot, who seemed like someone he'd gotten to know in jail or a treatment facility. He told him a very long story, which I cannot do justice, for the whole ride. I was on the edge of my seat.

The fellow had been on probation and parole, when he was crossing the street and was hit by a taxi. He began an altercation with the taxi driver about this, which led to him smashing the window of the taxi with his skateboard (an act he said the taxi driver had deliberately driven him to commit.)

The police came and arrested him, and beat him up so badly that his jaw was messed up. He said he had pictures. Because he was on parole and probation, it seemed very likely that he would be going to jail for seven years, especially since the police had neglected to mention that he had been hit by the taxi in their report.

But he found a witness, and persuaded the man, who didn't really want to get involved, to explain what he had seen (he didn't even end up paying him, though he offered to). On top of that, the hearing was scheduled for the late afternoon, and everyone wanted to go home very badly. As a result, our hero lucked out, and was assigned to many months of anger management counseling and a couple of years at Walden House.

Something had happened which led to the protagonist not staying at Walden House anymore, and he was on his way to visit "a little girl who's dying to see me" in Crocker Park. At this, the man's friend laughed in disbelief, thinking the girl was actually living in the park, but no.

The final phase of the story concerned a lawsuit the man planned to file against the City because the police beat him up. He said that he was going to see Heather Fong, San Francisco's police chief, to talk to her about it. And, he said that he'd even claim to be gay when he did it. "I'm gay as fuck," he said. "I'm so gay it hurts. I'll wrap myself in that fucking rainbow flag."

His friend laughed and called him crazy, while the gay men next to him shrunk away.

His friend was squeezed in right next to me, and he was a very large, soft man. He was also an exceptionally kind and patient listener, and gave the story his full, but quiet attention. I was quite tired, and I had a strong urge to lay my head on his shoulder and close my eyes.

Weekend at the Russian River

2007-06-18T18:29:00.000-07:00

I've been wanting to write a post about Ed Jew and the trouble he's gotten himself into. However, I've been rather busy with work and the story has been raging without me, so I'll write about my fun weekend at the Russian River instead.

T and I and a bunch of other folks rented two houses by the river and spent a long weekend eating, swimming off our dock, boating with small craft through very shallow water, and soaking in the hot tub. When you live in a one bedroom apartment, pretending (for a weekend) to live in two houses is really fun. Many things happened, including lots of margaritas, various mental breakdowns, talented musicians playing, and three sizes of dogs. Most of us also said goodbye to Adrienne and Fahr, which was sad.

I think I'll focus on just one story, though. T and I were canoeing down the river, our friends Sonya and Eric a ways behind us. In the middle of the river was standing a fully clothed teenage boy with a dirty blonde pageboy haircut. Because of the low water levels, he was about up to his waist. He was holding a piece of metal, and as we drew near, he said to us "Look at this. It's a car antenna. I found it in the water." He gestured towards the shore, where a large piece of metal sat. "And look at that," he said. "It's a (here I'm forgetting what he said, perhaps car chassis?) I dragged it out of the river myself." Then he gestured to his left: "And there's a washing machine down there. It's white." He appeared to be delivering this speech to every one of the considerable number of canoes that was passing by. I would have photographed him, but our camera had fallen into the river a few miles back.

Since we passed him by, I have been wondering why he did it. Was it out of concern for the environment? (I didn't otherwise notice a lot of debris along the river, but maybe I wasn't looking hard enough). Pride in his scavenging skills? A desire to share his acquaintance with this stretch of river? I guess I'll never know. T said it seemed like something out of Deliverance.

And for those who were there, and those who weren't, a truly excellent gazpacho recipe I had some requests for. I felt especially decadent just throwing away the sprig of thyme.

Linda Goes to Vegas

2007-06-02T23:42:00.000-07:00

I'm here in Las Vegas for a work-related conference. It really is as overstimulating, phony and craven as I imagined. The potential for fun is an inch thick and a mile wide, in general.

However, I did do two amazingly fun things. One was hang out with Matt, Keith Matthew, and their cohort from New Orleans. We took a couple of very cool teens to an event called First Fridays, which is a gallery walk. It kind of reminded me of living in Columbus, where there wasn't a whole lot going on, and as a result, everyone came out for everything. One of the teens, Roque, has written a fantasy novel, and was very excited about discussing all of his favorite books, from Harry Potter to the Chronicles of Narnia to the Golden Compass.

Before the gallery event, we ate at the mall food court. Did you know that Hot Dog on a Stick sells tofu corndogs? Matt is eating one. Keith is not happy with the food selection.

The next day, I went on a bus tour called Vintage Las Vegas sponsored by our huge conference. Our tour guide, who works for the city, seemed to think it was cute that the mayor is a former mob lawyer and that the city is trying to build a stadium encroaching on one of the city's only culturally active neighborhoods. The heroes of the tour were the folks at the Neon Museum, which is currently a neon "boneyard"--cast off neon signs collected in a couple of lots in a somewhat sad-looking neighborhood. They're raising money to build an indoor/outdoor museum. Below are a few of the many photos I took. I was in heaven. (I also met Larry Harvey of Burning Man fame--he was on the tour too).

Young Master Jay Takes on the World

2007-05-29T18:12:00.001-07:00

Ever since he was quite young (perhaps 12 or so?), my nephew Jay has had a passion for urban planning. That alone has made me very proud. Any time questions arise about career paths not taken, urban planning is always the first thing I think of. So in a way I feel like Jay is representing a part of me out there in the world.

Last weekend, he got his BA in Urban and Regional Planning from Cornell. He's headed for a temporary position with an urban planning think tank, and from there, who knows? I'm 40 now, and pretty settled, so it's kind of exciting to think about the wide open possibilities Jay has right now.

Here's the graduate, along with his proud parents Kathy and Mark. Mark said he wanted his screen name to be Zorro, but unfortunately I cannot honor his request.

A bunch of family traveled to Ithaca for the festivities. Besides seeing family, T and I also got to hike a gorge, have some delicious soondubu and stay in a real dorm room (which kind of made we wish I could decorate my dorm room all over again). It also took us two days to get home, but that is another, less celebratory story.

Here's our dorm room, which we had an irresistible impulse to mess up, just like real college students:

Below is the dresser from Jay's childhood bedroom. They may be hard to see without clicking on the photo, but mixed in are some SF anti-gentrification stickers collected during his visits, as well as Catalunya per la pau sticker from a very memorable anti-war protest we attended in Barcelona.

Here's me, in the middle of a gorge.

A Town Named Jim Thorpe

2007-05-27T18:22:00.000-07:00

Where does this photo look like it's from? Off the top of my head, I'd say Brooklyn, or Chicago. But in fact, it was taken in a tiny town named Jim Thorpe, Pennsylvania, population 4,804. It captivated my imagination when I first visted a couple years ago with my sister Kathy, on my way to visit my nephew Jay in Ithaca. On the way to Jay's graduation, I just had to check it out again.

Here are the reasons it's such a very odd place:

1) The town, built with coal mining wealth and the seat of Carbon County, was originally named Mauch Chunk, certainly one of the weirder names for a town I've ever heard. In the 1950s, the town, down on its luck and desperate for publicity, was renamed for legendary Native American athlete Jim Thorpe--who had recently died (a broken down wreck, of lip cancer) and had never set foot in the town in his life. He's now buried there.

2) Jim Thorpe is one of the denser towns I've visited in my life. Its tightly packed homes, many of them victorians, line streets terraced on a steep hillside. Stone walls and mysterious staircases abound. It feels like a swatch of European city, complete with an opera house, has been plunked down in the Pennsylvania mountains.

Jim Thorpe was created by mining, one of the more rapacious activities known to man. Some of the Mollie Maguires were hanged at the courthouse. The Mollie Maguires movie was filmed here too. But now it's full of mountain bikers and daytrippers. There's a small tattoo shop, and lots of old ladies sitting on porches.

Below, T poses with some mining equipment.

One of the town's many large and impressive mansions.

Extremely Cute Bicycles

2007-05-23T23:22:00.000-07:00

When I lived in the Midwest, I used to ride a bike all the time. I still have wonderful memories of riding through dead-quiet summer streets, full of brick houses with porches, when I lived in Columbus.

But since moving here, I just don't like riding all that much. It's just too fast-paced for me, too hilly, and I'm basically too afraid of being hit by a car. So my bicycle is gathering dust on a hook in our building's storage area while all of my more adventuresome friends enjoy riding in Critical Mass, saving fossil fuels, and putting One Less Car stickers on their bicycles.

I'm very impressed, however, by a project the city is considering--perhaps impressed enough to consider being a part of it. Basically, it sounds like they might have clumps of bicycles around the city that people can take on short trips. They can explain better than I can:

The City may require the selected contractor to implement a bicycle-sharing program to make bicycles available at key transit stops through a pre-paid option similar to car-sharing business models. Bicycle-sharing stations could be incorporated into a transit shelter design—provided they did not impede access for persons with disabilities and other patrons—or they could be free-standing. The initial phase of the Program may include 10-20 pre-paid bicycle sharing stations throughout the City, at locations to be identified by the SFMTA.

I like the idea of being able to use a bike briefly without lugging it around all day and worrying about it. I have enough trouble just remembering my lunch.

And right now, the city is asking for feedback about the bicycles they are considering buying. You can see them here, and vote for your favorite. Here's mine:

An anti-wedding? Or not?

2007-05-21T19:37:00.001-07:00

I went to one of the best weddings I've been to in a long, long time yesterday. It was a very fun potluck picnic on Angel Island. Actually, I go to very few weddings, so it's not really fair to say that, since I haven't actually been to a wedding since last summer's very fun wedding.

But at any rate, Adrienne and Fahr are moving to Egypt. Adrienne's got an amazing professorship lined up in Cairo, so they've gotten rid of their worldly possessions and are taking massive Arabic lessons.

I guess marriage and all of its benefits kind of needed to be part of the deal for a bunch of logistical reasons. But really...isn't it obvious that Fahr shares the same brilliantly skeptical worldview as Adrienne, and is therefore excellent mate material for her? At any rate, it was billed as an anti-wedding, and there was even a pinata labeled The Institution of Marriage.

But I'm kind of suspicious, I must say. Let me go down the list of common wedding elements:

Feast. check.
Cake: check.
Special dress: check.
Interesting place, preferably a little hard to get to: check.
Special invitations, followed by logistical emails: check
Friends and family: check.
Ceremony: check
Kiss: check
Legal documents: check
etc.

Hmmm....

I also wondered...why haven't I visited Angel Island, after living here in San Francisco for at least fifteen years? Since it's truly paradise on earth (and warmer than San Francisco), I must be deranged. Thanks Adrienne and Fahr for helping me see that.

Thanks to Kim, for the photo I stole from her blog.

Hey, I started a blog!

2007-05-20T21:13:00.000-07:00

After watching friends like Mati, Kim, Sarah and Chris blog so admirably, I thought...why not me? I have many random observations to share. I can take a photo or two. I'm definitely as opinionated as the next person.

And I have to admit it. Sure, the blogosphere abounds with intelligent content (repeated 1,000,000 times, but who's counting?) But what I most enjoy is just reading about what people are up to, especially people I know.

Why the title Waiting for a Train, you ask? Well, I've always loved the song by Jimmie Rodgers--the lyrics are about a hobo who tries to hop a train, but has no cash to bribe the brakeman, and ends up sleeping alone under the stars. It also reminds me of being a city dweller, and waiting for a million MUNI and BART trains, and somehow enjoying it each time, just being a part of it all.

So me, Jimmie, and the J Church welcome you to my blog!