now he has a saw

His name is, well never mind that. He's about 60+, originally from Inkster, MI (of course), lives alone, and takes high doses of Prednisone to treat his severe asthma. This drug has a long list of side effects, each one being either severe or less severe. Chronic sleeping trouble and nervousness are the two that come to mind immediately though.

He's nocturnal. He lays low in the daytime, which means this is when he hoses the sidewalk off for 1-2 hours and does 50 loads of laundry. Because of his asthma, he's obsessed with keeping his environment--both inside and out--totally free of dust and/or dirt particles. And this is why him living on a street where the above-ground train spews track dust into his living room 24 hours a day, 7 days a week makes no sense to me. But because he's lived in his rent control flat since the early eighties and probably pays only $1k a month, it makes total sense.

So it's during the evening hours when he "wakes up" and we hear him drag the Shopvac out and start vacuuming his entire place. And I can't be certain, but it sounds like he even does the walls and the ceiling. Every once in a while, he'll change it up a bit and start hammering something or throwing things around. And one of his most recent activities includes moving things: large furniture? heavy boxes?dead bodies? His hours for this task are usually anywhere from 10pm to 2-4am. The room directly below our bedroom seems to be the destination for these items. Thought I was going to be able to throw the earplugs out after New York--guess not...

So tonight he is sawing. Lord only knows what he could be assembling or disassembling, but he's not stopping. And in between some of this back-breaking carpentry, are his usual grunts, moans, and angry cursing. Sometimes I picture him doing things like Michael Keaton's character from Pacific Heights.

Nice, big rent-control flat in a lovely neighborhood? He's not going anywhere. But we are (and maybe soon). Hopefully the new neighbors are a little more chill and don't need to vacuum (or saw things) all night long.

Remembering Johnny

I was 11-years-old when Dirty Dancing came out in 1987. And just a few months ago, on a Friday night, I flipped past it on AMC. Ten minutes later, I sat staring intently at Patrick Swayze's high-waisted pants and Jennifer Grey's poofy bob. I wasn't going anywhere.

Like probably every other girl and ahem...woman on the planet that year, this movie was mesmerizing. All those gyrating, shaking, and dipping dance moves--it was so different and so...dirty. I wasn't that into boys yet, but I wasn't that not into them either. And Baby's crush on Johnny was enthralling to watch. "I carried a watermelon." Ugh. Who could ever forget that one?

Until that night, I had (expectedly, as one could only hope) really fogotten about this movie. And as I watched, I saw that the characters looked outdated and silly and the picture looked grainy. And I thought to myself, "Gee, this movie is so dumb." And it all was really, pretty bad. Even as a young person, I knew something was amiss. I still remember thinking there was something not quite right with a few of the songs on the soundtrack. How does the sound of "She's Like the Wind" or "Hungry Eyes," which were both so very 1987, really be playing at Kellerman's in 1963? Did they really expect us to believe these songs were hitting the top-40 charts with the likes of the Ronettes' "Be my Baby" and Frankie Vallie's "Big Girls Don't Cry?"

So it was goofy. But it worked. And everybody kind just went with it, played along, and enjoyed the music. It happened once, but I doubt anyone will ever be able to do it again.

I think it's legal here

From Cole Valley, through the Haight, then down to Fair Oaks and 24th. Little nervous because I don't have my helmut on, but the air feels wonderful on my head. Stop at Metro for a cheesesteak. Yum. There's an old guy wearing rings on every finger (even the bloody one that looks chewed up) chain smoking and not looking like he's going to get out of that seat we need. Probably would be a little grossed out to eat my lunch there anyway. Walk the bike to a corner where there's a little stone wall and sit down and eat there. Another old guy comes by and asks if those stacks of VHS tapes are ours. Nope. On down past the Castro and to the Mission we go. Oops, I nearly collide with a fellow bike rider. Hey, there's a person lighting a joint over there and a cop on the opposite side of the street. Pass all the sandwich shops and the bars. Ah. Valencia Street is so cool, really. It feels like an old-fashioned village right here inside the center of our city. I can almost see it with no cars allowed and only bikes and maybe horse-drawn carriages. No, probably not horses actually. I would imagine the Valencian's wouldn't stand for that sort of animal cruelty. Anyway, it's a great street. Hey, there's somebody smoking a bowl over there on that corner. Huh. We ride over to a friend's house and come through with our bikes into their "backyard" area. "Hey, how are you? What have you been up to? God the weather is nice today. Yes. Let's get together for Halloween. We'll come over after the show and hang out for a bit. Sounds great." We walk back out to the street. I smell weed in the air. Where is it coming from? It can't be that older couple walking towards us. Or maybe it is...

Back through the Mission, past the Castro and to the Haight again. It's always more work to get back home--all up hill. Huh, Lower Haight looks like it might be a little more sketchy. No, it's always been this sketchy. Nothing new. It was the same in 97' when we lived down here. Stop at Divisadero. I want to get off and walk my bike. "Want to get off and walk the bikes?" Yes! He's tired too. We stand on the corner waiting for the light. Ha. There's a guy in a full bear costume. Now, if we we're anywhere else in the country, I might know this person is just being goofy and is going to whip off the costume and get into a car soon, but not here. No, I'll bet he (or she, maybe) has been walking around SF all day with that thing on. Stop at the hat store and pick up the hat I've been wanting for a while. Put it on. Past the WackDonalds. Oh look, the kids are all huddled and lighting up and appear to be selling things right outside the golden arches. And there's a cop driving slowly past the whole lot of them. Well.

On up past Kezar with all the rugby players milling around outside. God, those guys are always out there. Up to the house. On the last hill now and I need to walk my bike again.

Birds of Paradise

No, not that ravaged-looking plant that goes by the name "Birds of Paradise", but which genus name, Strelitzia really suits it better. Let me stay side-tracked for a moment--this plant is genuinely ugly. We have the luck of having one in our own backyard. One big pokey burnt leaved, cob-webbed filled mess of a thing. It's hideous. And the healthy versions, in my opinion, are just as bad. With the healthier ones, even though the dead portions have been removed, you still have the flower which doesn't at all resemble a bird to me, but an obnoxious, spiky monstrosity that might just bite.

While gardening last weekend, we gave it a good trimming (more like hacking) and it looks a little better. We'd like to pull the whole thing up, but our neighbor likes it.

Our beloved parrots of Telegraph Hill are the true Birds of Paradise. And I am fortunate enough to work near this area of the city where I can hear and see them everyday. Sometimes, while out to lunch, I'll look up to see a flock of their little green bodies. It's so mystical and cool.

Not everyone feels this way of course. The other day, I heard this conversation on the street:

woman to man: "Can you imagine living up here?"
man to woman: "They're cute."
woman to man: "Yeah, they're cute, but they're noisy."

She's right, they are loud. But I can't imagine this city without them. They've become a part of this natural landscape and have made Filbert Gardens that much more amazing. They're an integral part of this neighborhood experience and I'm so glad to be able to enjoy it.

Back in Cole Valley, our neighbor told us that the parrots "summered" in a large tree behind our house. Really? We didn't hear them for a very long time (most of the summer months). But, sure enough, I started hearing their squawking in the morning while getting ready for work. I live and work in neighborhoods where the parrots dwell. Aaahhh...well. :)

Cabbage Patch Kid

They look like little cabbages, those yummy Brussels sprouts. And that's what they are.

I never knew "Brussels" was plural. I'd always said, "brussel sprouts". Brussels is capitalized too. Hmm..

Anyway, a few days ago, I ate this vegetable for the first time in my life. Why I'd been so afraid of it, I'll never really know. Was it the appearance? Little green buds with an unknown center. Was it the name? I'd heard negative references about them forever: television, movies, kids on the block whose mean moms were forcing them to eat them. This was a not a food eaten for pleasure or hunger, but for pure punishment. Punishment from overzealous parents or, worse yet, overzealous friends' parents trying to exert control or influence over their neighbor's kids.

Well, punishment or not--they're good. Brussels Sprouts are delicious. My first-try recipe is simple: steamed for about 10 minutes then sauteed with butter and salt for about 3-4 minutes.
You get a juicy, plump, leafy bundle of flavor. Yum. Serve with a steak and you're good to go.

However, I discovered the real problem with the Brussels Sprouts later. Like it's cousin, the broccoli, one must accept a certain level of digestion issues after enjoying it. Perhaps a shot of Pepto Bismol or even some Beano beforehand might do the trick.

Penny Pincher

What I didn't (couldn't have, but sort of really did) know yesterday was that part of "the hard part" was going to involve a pay cut. Yes, my already very low salary was reduced by 10% this morning. These are hard times. But I have a job. And I really can't get too upset when my Grandparents just lost their dental and vision insurance--my Grandparents for God's sake. This is what happens when a big, stupid automobile company loses its ass. So, yeah, I'll just continue bringing my lunch everyday. And continue watching every penny I spend--but just a little closer. Life goes on.

Today Was a Good Day

I did it. I got a job at a magazine. In the midst of what may be the biggest economic downturn most of us will ever see in our lifetime and definitely what surely is the biggest economic downturn for print publishing, I was hired at San Francisco magazine. It feels good. Not only does it feel good to just be out of the house and be a contributing member of society, but also to be working in an industry that I've been fighting to get into for the past 4-5 years. But getting the job was the easy part. The really hard work starts now. Stay tuned...


ps. "Today" was actually April 27th--hey I've been pretty busy.