you can't te(ou)ch me

with this new job comes learning a new database. i've mastered gifts and tessitura as well as some parts of access, so i thought that raiser's edge would be no problem. except that today is the 5th day i've had to call tech support to get help with an export. this really shouldn't be too hard. i'm young, semi-technologically savvy (recently one of our it guys called me a fast mouser), and i can type 60+wpm. so why can't i get this whole query-to-export thing down? have i gotten mentally old? are cobwebs forming in the crevices of my brain 8 years early? what about when i finally recieve my mp3 player (which should be today!); will i drop it and run for the hills, afraid of new technology? or can i overcome this fear of the new and semi-uncomplicated and embrace my newfound export skills? sure, i could read the manual, but that would be too easy. it's like asking for directions. since i'm a woman, i'd rather ask for help than stare maddeningly at a map for hours with no sense of completion in sight. time to embrace my femininity. bring it on.

follow-up to swapping saliva

last night, a certain guy's fork fell on the floor, so he used mine... i guess we can share forks if his has brushed the floor of a marina pizza joint and is then obviously dirtied beyond belief. or if he's too lazy to get up and walk the 12 feet to get a new one. or maybe he refuses to share forks and spoons just to ruffle my feathers. squawk.

swapping saliva

why is it that i can kiss someone, share their toothbrush in emergency situations, taste the pasta sauce before i serve it to him, but not share forks/spoons when we're dining out? is there some stigma to sharing cutlery? does it signify a bridge that we haven't crossed? is there some contamination factor to the dining-out experience? if we share forks while splitting a delicous piece of blackberry shortcake with white chocolate sauce and raspberries, does it reveal that we're comfortable enough with each other to let me borrow his socks when it's cold out (more man sock per square-inch of my foot means more warmth contained per second!) or floss in front of the other or blow our noses right before cuddling? the man in question has no problem drinking out of my glass (in public), so i have to wonder. what's the deal?

time for a brain fart

ah, the new tv season has arrived. this is a good things, since the a's run has pretty much come to an end, so i need something else to keep my mind numb at night. alias is back (yippee!) as is veronica mars. the new geena davis drama actually looks promising, too. plus, it's time for a woman to rock the white house.

what i'm trying to stay away from this year, though, are reality shows. those abysmal excuses for creative programming that encourage people to eat bugs, prostitute themselves (not quite literally) on the streets, or sell out their friends and colleagues for 12 and a half minutes of fame. this might be hard, as i love america's next top model, which does actually award a covergirl contract and cover of a magazine as opposed to the opportunity to be donald trump's 8th right hand bitch for 3 months. but two versions of the apprentice? a family edition of the amazing race? the same contestants (who previously lost) on survivor? white trash moms being swapped for even whiter trashier moms? didn't reality programming used to mean *gasp* the news? news programming was supposed to be honest, factual information that displayed current events in their most "accurate" light, but now, the news doesn't even have to do that. they can lie in order to rake in advertising dollars (research the BGH trials where Fox tried to pull a news story because a local affiliate exposed Monsanto). or tell a greatly-distorted non-truth and pull it off as "opinion." and since the news organizations are all controlled by 2 or 3 people in total, really we're just being fed a bunch of gobbly-gook fried and dipped in ketchup. but now our reality is some sick, twisted form of mental smush meant to disgust, appall, or confuse us. what happened to quality television, tv that combined both entertainment and smarts? and is mythbusters, a discovery channel gem filmed right here in the bay area, one of our only choice outlets for rewarding brain deflation? i can hear it now: pppppppppppppthsthhhhhhspllllt.

an-i-mal. an-i-mal!

i heard ingrid newkirk, the president and founder of peta, speak yesterday at the veg festival. she's a moving speaker, and she cemented my reasonings on why i'm a vegetarian. at the beginning of her speech, she showed an instense video. the images are graphic, but very telling, and i encourage everyone to watch it. you can also check out the new martha stewart video on why not to buy or wear fur. fur's not a good thing, but the video is.

what's next, accept vs. except?

just a few words of wisdom for mlb pitchers out there (although i'm pretty sure none of them have or will ever read my blog):

the verb "to beat" is spelled b-e-a-t. not b-e-e-t. beat means to pummel, to defeat, to mush. like what the a's somewhat did to the rangers today. beets are red root vegetables that make me deathly ill. trust me. i will not bake you cookies with beets. (i will also not include beet leaves in my salad, and i avoid beet sugar at all costs.) but i did beat the butter with the sugar, flour, and vanilla to make those oh-so-tasty ranger cookies. so note to jay witasick: get a dictionary, and don't correct my spelling.

yee-haw

i saw someone on the street, well, the sidewalk really, wearing one of these yesterday (a woman, no less), and i just thought, gee, i need a bullet belt! it would go with just about everything: my red plaid shirt, big harley, and that republican flag waving from my rooftop. and if you go to bulletbelts.com, you can even choose the caliber of belt you'd like. ok, caliber of bullets. that go on your belt. how civilized.

hooked on phonics worked for me

the other night, i was working an event, and one of the waiters came over to me, introducing himself as david. same name as my dad, so i should have known this would take a turn for the worse. i introduce myself by first name only, as i have a nametag on that provides my full name and title. he then asks "are you a student here?" um. no. i have a nametag, dumbass. it says "assistant director of development." plus, i'm 25. so i correct him and his response? "well, you just look so young and fresh." ewewewewew.

strolling with the homies

now that my commute is shortened to a 7 minute stroll, i don’t have that me time. you know, the time to read good books or the paper, stare lingeringly out the bus window, or day dream about how nice it would be not to take the bus. but what i’ve found i do instead is think about one thing constantly all the way from point a to point b. this week, it’s all been the same topic, weight and body image, which has turned this fleeting thought into a nagging hindrance.

yes, i need to lose weight (although don’t most of us, really). i miss the gym and promise to join soon when all these back-to-school meetings die down, and i can take advantage of a membership and not just shell out money to the Jesuits without getting something in return. i’m trying to go to yoga at least once a week, but $13-$14/class gets to be pricey when it’s more than weekly. i’m snacking a lot less, which is a huge plus, and 4 flights of stairs 15-20 times a days will hopefully define my quads, calves, hamstrings, and mental state. but i do need more physical movement. it’s not like in the high school days when i danced every day for 3-5 hours and ate a poptart/diet coke breakfast diet followed by the powerbar/diet coke/fresca lunch plan, or even when i was 5 and ran, galloped, sprinted, and sashayed around on the playground (minus those 2 ½ months where my arm was in a cast thanks to an overeager boy in my class. really, always let girls go first, but not by pushing them.) while downing pb&j. in college, there was the freshman 15, and when i was home, my stepmother pushed metabolife on me for about two years. in fact, she or my dad would stand there religiously and make sure i swallowed the pills. now that i think about it, muy creepy. while ephedra shed pounds quickly, it also made me jittery and sleep-deprived, and i quit. looking back on it, i’m glad. i’d rather be slightly plump and curvaceous but happy than pill-popping and a total wreck. sure, managing my weight will always be a challenge, but i don’t want to get to the point where i can’t enjoy life. because if i can’t, what’s the point?

you talkin' to me?

i was walking home yesterday from work. yep, all 8 minutes of it. or 6 blocks worth. and i walked by the local corner store that also sells porn (yet i live in a family-friendly neighborhood. what's up with that?). outside some guy had parked his ruby red old-school chrysler with white leather/duct tape interior right in the cross-walk, so i had to trudge around the lovely diamond in the rough to get through the intersection. as i was doing that, the car's owner, a young guy, more like a kid really, came out of the corner store with his shorts hanging all low and a big polo shirt and marshmallow man-sized sneakers and said "hay hunee. lookin fiiine, girl. i know somein that would go good wit dat." what does that mean? and in my own hood, am i just regarded as a piece of meat? was it because of my toe cleavage? damn cleavage.

it's a good thing

we went to minako for dinner on saturday night, and once again, great dinner. this time i brought my camera along.

mmm. sake. gulp.

the miso is homemade, and there's no fish broth used. this version had mushrooms, sprouts, and leafy greens. it was so good, we sipped it down before i could take a picture.

we got a complimentary lotus root appetizer. it tasted sort of like a finer water chestnut, and it came tossed in a sweet sauce.

we decided to branch out and try the lightly battered eggplant with teriyaki sauce. delicous.

this is the avo (as in avocado) tempura roll.

two different rolls: the closer one is the green river, which has veggie "eel" and other veggies w/spinach and avocado wrapped along the top. the back roll is the arlee roll. veggies inside, but wrapped in inari, carrots, and spinach.

complimentary dessert. they do lots of different vegan gelatins, all accompanied with organic mint from the chef's garden. this gelatin is sweet potato.

that's right. delicious sushi (veggie and non-veggie) all at minako. be there or be hungry.

odd combination

honey, when you go to the corner store to grab a newspaper and milk, can you get me some hip hop clothing, too? thanks.

(picture taken at 18th and mission)

you are no hamburger helper

note to readers: don't recount all the details to a vegetarian about the "delicious" pulled pork you're cooking, the "succulent" leg of lamb you're roasting, or the" juicy" steak you recently chowed down on. ew. ick. blech. that mound of flesh on your plate used to be a cute little furry/feathery/swimmy little animal who frolicked around the farm all happy and golucky or was kept in a cage/pen/enclosed area until his dream of being a grandfather four-legged friend came to a halt so that you could eat your antibiotic/hormone-filled dinner. trust me, your comments are not appreciative. plus, i'll retaliate and tell you all about the great sweet potato burritos i munched on. so please keep your animal-eating details to yourself. thanks and peace out.

oops, don't do it again

britney’s brought a baby boy into this world. now, if the father wasn’t kevin federline, I’d probably be ok with it. unless the father was michael jackson. that would be worse. slightly. But another federline spawn? it seems unjust and cruel to the child. sure, he has a used-to-be hot momma, but dad’s got that trailer trash look going, and um. that’s it. let’s hope brit and kev quit while they're ahead. or that madge esther knocks some sense into her, and she realizes that he’s using her for her money and instead she donates all her cash to kabbalah (wait, is that better?). or when he doesn’t shower for 3 months, she acknowledges that the smell isn’t coming from the evil tiny dogs in her purse and runs. or maybe kev will go sterile. or the kid turns out to be mensa and shows brit, through a 120 page thesis with accompany powerpoint, what a bad choice she made in husbands. yeah, right. we’re all doomed.

i sink i can

our kitchen sink backed up this past weekend. it's a common occurrence in our building. most, if not all of the pipes, haven't been replaced since the building was built (1920s?), so every 6 months or so, a pipe backs up and then that sink/tub/whatever becomes unusable until fixed (and because of the old pipeage, we can't use liquid plumber or anything new and revolutionary. grrr.). our landlord likes to try and fix everything himself, but more often than not, he has to then call in a plumber because he made the situation worse. when our bathroom sink stopped up two months ago, he spent a day himself trying to fix it (which didn't work) and then seemed to think that the reason the sink clogged was mainly due to me "washing my hair" in it. um. no. i, like most people, use the shower. our cat insists on using his tongue as a faucet, but he's a cat and not a person, so he doesn't count. plus, when his pipes get clogged, he produces a nice yet soggy hairball. no snake or plumber required. our bathroom sink also has two faucets which would require me to move my hair back and forth repeatedly in a headbanging motion while trying to avoid burning my scalp w/the scalding hot water coming out of the faucet labeled "H." seems fruitless if you ask me. same thing happened last night. "i found lots of hair. you shouldn't wash your hair in the kitchen sink." um. ok. now i'll have to shower like all the clean people. or use my tongue like alphie. ew.

break out that speedo

yesterday, in my tickets.com envelope, i got a little postcard/flyer for endless pools. for an undisclosed sum, i could buy an 8'x15' personal pool for my house/apartment/cloud city/hovel. i'm sure my landlord would like that. our sink is practically a pool since it refuses to drain, and every now and then there's a strange leak in the stairwell from the skylight. a pool would just cancel all of those out! but this whole swimming-against-the-current thing (nevermind swimming in general) sounds a little strange, plus it looks a little uncomfortable. but having a pool would give me an excuse to buy lawn furniture; big, fuzzy towels; margarita mix; a 3 meter springboard; and a palm tree or two. or i could just use the pool at the koret with my soon-to-be-newly purchased gym membership. like that will ever happen.

must face reality

random quote warning to protect the innocent from material items discussion:

that's no moon. that's a space station.

if you can place the quote, you get a non-material prize!


someday soon, i'm going to have to take the plunge. no, not THAT plunge. the one where i give in to society and purchase an mp3 player. next month, i'm going to join a gym that doesn't supply mini-tv monitors/cd players for all cardio equipment users. this spiffy invention kept me motivated; for example, if i went at lunch, i couldn't finished ellipitacalling until i found out who kidnapped natalie on one life to live, and if it was early in the AM, i wanted to check the weather to make sure i packed the appropriate clothes. if i didn't, well, at least i knew somewhat in advance that i was screwed. but now, all i'll have to keep me moving is a magazine, and the view of sweaty coeds- not my style.

so how to determine what the best mp3 player for me is? after much thinking, researching, and twiddling my thumbs, i realized that i have two options.

• purchase an mp3 player with a hard drive, ability to play multiple music formats, choose what song i listen to when, and has an fm tuner. color choice would be nice too, especially if it's blue, purple, or pink. extra options such as cappucino maker, toaster, maid service, traffic prediction, and furry dice would be optional but handy. cost to self: $160 plus voluntary 2-yr circuit city/best buy/good guys/whatever insurance.

• just pick a cheap one, as in 5-8 months, everyone will come out with a better one, and my little bundle of joy will cease to exist. instead, i'll have a rectangular piece of metal crap that sings every now and then, but will be obsolete pretty much even before i buy it. cost to self: $100.

sure, my breakdowns aren't objective, but i think my choice is clear. i need to chose the path of least resistance. now which one is it?

proper yoga attire

this weekend, i went to yoga with susie and daniel. a funny thing happened though, on the way to the forum. no, really a semi-not-so-funny thing happened as i was getting ready for yoga. i couldn’t find any clean yoga pants. todd and i had been putting off doing laundry for weeks, and you would too if you had to drag your dirty clothes down 4 flights of stairs, 2 blocks of sparsely tree-lined streets, and then back again. i love fresh, warm clothes, but i’m not doing 3 loads all by myself, especially when i have only contributed to approximately 1 of those loads.

but this all came back to bite me in the butt when saturday morning, i discovered that all i had to wear to class was a pair of loose fitting grey pants and a club monaco tank that grows over time (the soft cotton feel is great, but with lots of movement the hem was to my mid-thigh by the end of class). the pants seemed fine for the gym- in fact, they breathe really well, which proves useful on the elliptical when i’m surrounded by a whole bunch of sweaty people- but what i had never really tested was their ability to stay attached to my waist and in this case, one of my only pairs of clean underpants which just happened to be semi-granny underpants or at least not cute feminine ones (unless I was 85 years old and a mormon), upside down or in contorted positions.

i want you all to know that i now recognized my mistake, and i vow to regularly do laundry from this day forward. oh, and i apologize to anyone in my yoga class who had to stare at my tumbling pants and sad-ass undies through downward facing dog, warrior II, and handstands. now chant om three times and pass me the detergent.

blue ribbons at bluefly

how do these people get to be designers in the first place?

this shirt is on clearance for $579 on bluefly; it retailed for $1,130. no way anyone payed that much for this joke of a top. john galliano must have gone blind right before designing this shirt. weird white stripes (and not the band) with a satin tie, including designer logo embroidery, at the chest? nononononono. even i know better, and john galliano should have, too.



these are on sale at bluefly for a measly $259 (originally $450). the company stupidly named themselves chuckies. scary. nuff said.

lastly, this hideous excuse for a purse. i feel bad for the cows and minks who lost their lives for this pitiful $1,995 bag. shame on you, yves saint laurent. you get the double-cruelty award: cruelty to animals and cruelty to purses.

say it ain't so

is weezer really this popular? sure, i went (was dragged?) to their concert a few years ago. and i've always wanted to dress and dance like a psuedo-nerd covered in plaid and bow ties, but do they have some kind of backdoor agreement with flyted and united? double-click on the image to decide.

Only in Florida

today's a busy day, so enjoy a strange news story. boogaboogaboo.


Landlord Sues Restaurateurs Over Ghosts
Thursday, September 8, 2005
3:58 PDT Orlando, Fla. (AP)--

The landlords of an Orlando entertainment complex are suing two restaurateurs for refusing to move into a renovating building because they claim it is haunted.

Subcontractors who worked there and other people have reported seeing ghosts or other apparitions, said Lynn Franklin, attorney for the restaurant owners.

"It's very serious," Franklin said Thursday. "A lot of people are corroborating having seen incidents in this location."

The $2.6 million lawsuit filed last month by the owners of the Church Street Station entertainment complex says an offer to hold an exorcism was refused.

"I asked them if these were good ghosts or bad ghosts, and if they were good ghosts why it was a problem," said David Simmons, an attorney representing the building's owners, who include boy band promoter Lou Pearlman. Simmons is also a member of the state House.

For more visit, this link.

An open letter to TJ's

Dear Trader Joe's at Masonic/Geary,

I stopped by your store last night to pick up a few necessities for dinner this week: bread, cat food (for the cat's dinner, not mine), pasta sauce, string beans, etc. And I had this eggplant at home, so I was really excited to whip out my Szechwan-style eggplant dish with rice. The flavors mix together in a sweet and tangy way, perfect on a cold, foggy night like last evening. But this never came to fruition because you were out of Soy Vay Chinese Marinade! You know, the hoisin-like sauce that used to be strategically placed at eye-level next to the Soy Vay Teriyaki sauce, and probably where the "temporally out of stock" sign should have been posted, but wasn't. Using this marinade, I could combine 3 of the required ingredients and make my eggplant in 5/6's the time. Instead, all I found was teriyaki sauce galore: pineapple teriyaki sauce, spicy teriyaki sauce, sweet and sour teriyaki sauce, soyvay teriyaki sauce. Oh, and then there's the soy sesame ginger sauce that tastes mighty similar to the legit teriyaki sauces. Plus, you're selling Chinese chicken salad sauce to the left. But no Chinese marinade. Feeling hurt and dejected, I bought everything else on my list and slinked away. But now I have eggplant and no sauce plus an unhappy tummy. Where has my marinade gone? Please bring it back soon. Like by tomorrow. Otherwise, I'll have to go to Albertson's. Gasp.

With warmest (yet empty stomach) regards,
Becca H.

Besides P.E., geography was my best class in high school. I was in this gifted class when I was younger, and it was wicked! - Steve Nash

we tried to go see wicked this weekend. when it did the pre-broadway run a year or so ago, tickets were scalping for $500 apiece, and that was just too rich for my blood. really, a wicked ticket or a month's rent... tough choice, but i'm going to go with what's behind door number 2, alex. yes, i've won a month's rent! sponsored by becca's checkbook! whoo-hoo!

wicked is finishing up it's touring production here in san francisco, and the tickets are just as expensive as they were before. $85 for an orchestra ticket and $40 for a balcony seat. yeah, $40 for nosebleed seats where you need to bring massive binoculars to determine which witch is green. no thanks. and craigslist is still home to the blown-out-of-proportion ticket prices. but the orpheum was offering "lottery tickets." nothing to help subsidize public education, mind you, but you basically got to the show really early, put your name in a hat, and if called, pay $25 to practically sit onstage and sing along w/the cast and crew. not a bad deal for a month-long run that has been sold out since the land of time and which people are performing pony-tricks to get tickets to.

so we went on saturday trying to get lotto tickets for the 8pm show... but the line was around the corner and down larkin! after counting more than 250 semi-strung out theater geeks, families of 4, and single lonely men, i felt hopeless. todd and i each submitted our names for 2 tickets, hoping to double our chances, but after waiting for an hour, our names were not called, and we had to click our heels three times together and say... ok, we didn't get that far, we just hopped on bart and attempted to eat sushi. i say attempted b/c there was an hour and a half wait. so we went to kezar to drink and watch the giants game. but that was sort of blah. so we ended up at a bluegrass music event at the local coffee shop... which wasn't quite our cup of tea. ha. i think i need to talk w/the wizard and ask him for a better social calendar.

things to do before i change jobs

1. get fingerprinted and background checked by the doj and fbi - most likely will pass.
2. color-code emails by received day of the week.(joke)
3. take home my massive hoard of work shoes from the corner of my office, but leave one pair for rest of week.
4. visit shoe pavilion to add to dwindling shoe pile in said office. (semi-joke)
5. navigate the tenderloin and gorge on indian food at shalimar. mmm. paneer masala.
6. refile everything in reverse alphabetical order. (totally a joke. jen would kill me.)
7. go to gym 5 times a day for the rest of the week to get the most out of my membership that doesn't expire until the end of the month. while at it, steal towels and robes & pilfer lots of the free samples from the front desk (tea, lotion, gnc discount cards, etc.). on second thought, don't pilfer or steal. it might come up on background check. but contemplate deeply.
8. traipse through all of the union square area shops and acknowledge how much money i'll save by working in the haight. or revel in the thought of full-fledged shopping trips.
9. let my coworkers know that i'll miss them.

i present a redwood.

today is sunday, so in lieu of writing a long post containing virtually nothing of substance, i thought i'd give you one of my favorite photos from recent travels.

better than bobbleheads

sunday, september 25, is breast cancer awareness day at the oakland a's game vs. the rangers. and not only that, but it's bobby kielty troll doll day for the first 10,000 ticket holders! way too cool.

on a mission.

i went to meet lisa for dinner last night in the mission. she'd never been to minako, which i'm sure i've mentioned at least once before... maybe. minako serves absolutely amazing all-organic japanese homestyle food and innovative sushi, including a whole page of vegetarian options. the service isn't too speedy, but judy, the hostess with the mostess, plays tunes to keep your foot tapping (we had a mixture of bollywood, copa cabana, and rock last night) and makes sure your tummy doesn't go hungry for too long. so, just to recap, the best sushi in all of san francisco resides in the mission. it may seem like somewhat of an oxymoron, but the only moron is you if you don't go.

to get to minako, i took bart down to the mission, and i had just gotten my hair cut earlier in the day, so naturally i was distracted, what not having tons of hair blocking my vision and all. i could quite clearly see the 3 drug deals i walked by, along with the baby seller and mariachi veteran in need. but what i seemed to miss was the little latino man following me for a block and a half. and trying to put his hand on my arm. and then saying "aylo, mees. yu so preety. wan tu go owd wit mee?" um. no. i don't. after whipping out some amazing matrix-style moves, like running up the fruit seller's walls to perform spinning mid-air kicks and whacking my fist into the ground creating mini-earthquakes, he left me alone, and i was able to go get kick-ass sushi in a safe and protected restaurant. the whole experience was worth it because now i can think about the tempura roll wrapped with avocado and spinach and the non-fish broth homemade miso soup w/sprouts and the complimentary appetizer of mushrooms and other fine things of the earth wrapped in salty nori and the funky dessert of dark bean puree encased in a light gelatin material topped with plum jelly. mmmm. so worth it.

h2o no-no

yesterday, it hit me. yes, it. the it. well, an it, really. but not cousin it. the only pro to leaving oh-so-wonderful gym for the usf fitness center: no more "are you naked?" people in the pool. i normally use the elliptical machines that face the pool, and recently there have been swimmers who make me do a double-take. like "is he/she/it naked?" it seems some people, potentially visitors to our lovely city by the bay, forget their bathing suits, and instead of doing some other form of clothed and equally gruelling yet not so low-impact exercise, they decide to strip to their skivvies and do the dolphin. but bras, panties, and boxers (especially of the light-colored variety) were not constructed for swimming! really, if you look down and notice that you can see your hoo-ha, everyone else can, too.