Still in the city that I love

Because I’m not all listed out yet…

Highly Underrated because-no-one-knows-they-exist Bits

1. Cable Car Museum. I couldn’t include the cable cars, because they’re ridiculously expensive if you don’t have a muni pass, they’re full of highly annoying jostling people, and the lines at the turnabouts just don’t bear thinking on. But the Museum… well, it’s just the best Museum in the city. And it’s free! And I guess you can ride the cable car to get there, if you really need to. The sound and the smell of the place, combined with the history, never fails to make me grin. Add in the strangely mysterious underground viewing room, and it’s a little slice of heaven. Thanks to shadarko, I am now determined to visit at least once a year in honor of Emperor Norton and his regular cable car inspections.

2. The Columbarium. Cemeteries and the like have always been my favorite tourist locations. In fact, there’s some cities that I barely remember, except for their cemetery. Hidden in a residential neighborhood above Geary (in what used to be Cemetery Central, before all the dead people were evicted a century ago), this is one of the few remaining repositories for human remains in the city, and it hits the perfect balance of beauty, nostalgia, irreverence, and dignity. The care and invention that people put into their niches is stunning. The last time I went, I spent 4 hours just wandering. And that was before I had a tripod. I think I may have to schedule a return trip soon.

3. The Fates. Well, they don’t really have a name, but that’s what I like to call them. At the tip-top of the high-rise at 580 California, there are a dozen shrouded women looking out over the city. Highly realistic, they were formed by an artist draping living models in a special cementy-soaked fabric, or some process something like that. The intent behind them has been debated since they were installed, but they certainly make that rooftop stand out. They’re most perfectly viewed from Chinatown, making for a nice little outing, and they never fail to send a little shock through me when I spot them.

4. West Oakland. It’s a little odd to put an entire, huge neighborhood on my list, but it needs to be there. And I don’t mean the rapidly gentrifying bits, old houses being turned into co-ops, new lofts and condos placed next to bicycle shops and cafes. I like the bits where the Port of Oakland (or PoO, if you prefer acronyms) smacks into the city and photo-ops abound. There’s a cement plant down there that you couldn’t take a bad picture of if you tried. Weird recycling industries, old wooden railroad trestles and abandoned stations, a recording studio with red bricks and ivy in the middle of a street full of import businesses. It’s just lovely.

5. Albany Bulb. And speaking of lovely, my dog park. The bulb sits right next to one of the last racetracks in the Bay Area, and shares it’s tiny stretch of leash-optional beach with the gamblers and fishermen. Even more enticing than the beach is the actual bulb bit, acres of landfill stretching out in a lightbulb shape to a beautiful lagoon at the far tip, that you can just circle if you don’t mind getting your feet a bit damp. There’s a bird sanctuary on one side, but the real beauty is in the public art. People have made amazing ornate driftwood sculptures and intricate paintings on weathered wood. There’s detailed stencils, a spraypainted yellow brick road with political commentary, twisted iron animals and whirligigs, decorated abandoned bikes, and mosaics from trashed mirrors and ceramics. Someday I’m adding my own little shrine here. It’s a great place to wander.

6. Highway 35, Tunitas Creek Road, and the Tafoni. And speaking of wandering… There’s nothing in the world that I love as much as a windy road. Highway 35 comes pretty close to perfect, with it’s intermittent views of the ocean through forests of sequoias. It’s also not terribly crowded, although on a Saturday, you will see a fair amount of people running with or against you. Which is why you ditch it for an even smaller, narrower road. There’s plenty to choose from. And if you’re the type of person that needs an actual location instead of just the road, well, I don’t totally understand you, but check out El Corte de Madera preserve. An easy walk takes you out to a big ol’ sandstone formation that nature has carved into caves and honeycomb patterns. It’s imposing, and surprising, as you run across it fairly suddenly in the middle of a nice stroll through a wooded hillside. It’s also one of those natural formations that your mind won’t accept as natural, like fairy circles. You’re absolutely certain that these patterns are purposeful, and the caves functional, but the by who and why boggle the mind.

7. Beach camping at Bolinas. Bolinas itself is an adorable little town in a perfect stretch of coast, and a live concert at Smileys is a party I don’t want to miss. But the best thing about the place is that they don’t mind if you throw a wee tent up on the beach, or if you just chuck a sleeping bag out there on a lovely night. Waking up first thing in the morning, unzipping the tent, and letting the dogs gleefully hurl themselves out onto the beach is my idea of a perfect vacation spot.

Bits I left out
Sutro Baths. Historically fabulous, it’s not as great as it was before they renovated the area and made it all history-park-like. They formalized all the spooky out of it. Musee Mecanique. For mostly the same reasons. It used to be in a dark, cramped basement, perched above a seawall. It was so loud you couldn’t hear a horse fall over. It felt like a treasure, your own personal hidden treasure. Now it feels like a museum, with bright white walls, well-designed display signs, and plenty of elbow room. Fabulous, sure, but just not as fun. Sunnyside Conservatory. Once a beautiful, overgrown surprise of a spot, now it is a nicely tended park. (Are we sensing a theme here? If you clean up your shit, you’re not as interesting anymore. Sorry.) Legend says that following some tremendous changes in fortune, it fell into disrepair and became so overgrown that people forgot there was even still a building in there. Until someone’s dog chased a ball into the thickets and revealed… a gigantic Victorian sanitarium. ‘Kay, probably just a legend. But still, cute. The Oakland Mormon Temple. Because it feels tacky to put a church on a list like this. Filbert and Vallejo Street Steps. Because I couldn’t decide which list to put them on. But they’re freaking awesome. The Palace of Fine Arts. Because while my heart may sing and make me want to dance like children of the night while strolling through it, there’s not much else going on there. Children’s Fairyland. Because while I acknowledge the wisdom of the rule, I still hold a grudge for them not allowing me to enter without a kid. Cleveland Cascade. A beautiful spot, but it won’t be truly great until they restore the waterfalls. Defenestration Building. Way fun, but there’s not much exploring you can do. And, if they finally follow through on their threats, it’ll be torn down any day now.

And I should probably stop now. I’ve barely tipped the iceberg of everything I love about the bit that I live in, but I’ve cheered myself up already (searching for a roommate and the high cost of rent has been bringing me down). Now, if I could only ditch the niggling feeling that I’ve slighted something…

Remind me in the comments?

In the city that I love

There are a great many things about the Bay Area that I love. I’m not the first blogger to say that, I’m sure. I’m also not the first to make a list. But I don’t care, I’m in a misty, listy mood.

Highly Underrated Touristy Bits
I was faced with that perfect San Francisco view coming in to work today, and once again, I was reminded how much awesome this place holds. When a vista that you’ve seen a million times in person, and on postcards a million more, can still move you, you know you’re in the right place. I’m heartily tired of the phrase, “Oh, I liked that too, when I first came to the city.” Well, f* you, mister too-cool-for-anything hipster. I was born here, and I don’t give a dang, I’m still going to enjoy these.

1. The Golden Gate Bridge
Ah, The Bridge. I tend to forget about it, living on the East Bay side. In fact, my sister and I were referring to “The Bridge” in mixed company the other day, and it took me a moment to realize that our Massachusetts friends were naturally assuming we meant the GG. The trials and tribulations of the Bay Bridge tend to take up the whole “thinking about bridges” part of my brain. That’s not necessarily bad, as it means I can fully appreciate every time I’m visually jolted back to awareness of the superior bridge. As Beth Spotswood so eloquently wrote, the Golden Gate never lets us down. Prettier and more reliable is a hard combo to beat. Plus, I have a big soft spot for anything featured in Vertigo.

2. North Beach
I think my love for this place dates back to when I was six years old, living on an island with only one Christian radio station, and only my parents old vinyl to sate my musical lust. I became addicted to The Kingston Trio’s “Live From the Hungry I” album. Mostly because I was six and there was a song about beheadings. Later, when I realized the Hungry I was still there, I was thrilled. A pilgrimage was planned. Yes, there was some disappointment when I realized that instead of Village-y folksingers and live bongo concerts it now featured… well, boobs, but the disappointment was quickly overcome by afternoons in front of St. Peter & Paul, profiteroles, and the best cappuccinos I’ve ever had in my life (Cafe Puccini, if you were wondering). Puccini quickly became my favorite spot in the city, as I recognized a true neighborhood cafe in a city whose neighborhoods are so often overrun with invaders.

3. Fisherman’s Wharf
I know, this one’s a little bit hard for even me to understand. Mostly I love it for the bush man. And it is nice to ride a bike through there, early on a drizzly weekday morning.

4. Golden Gate Park
O, the infinite variety to be found! Though I rarely venture to the panhandle side of the park where all the annoying drum circles are, it’s somehow comforting to know that it’s there. I personally love the rambley, wild, sandy west side of the park, with nothing but slightly menacing jogging paths and random ponds. And the landmark windmills. But then there’s the spots to practice drunken softball, to listen to amazing free bands, to sniff a rose… I’m sorry, but I’m never going to tire of it. Again, someone referred to “The Park” in a conversation with me the other day. Slightly shocked, I had to gently school her when I realized she was talking about Dolores. No. That shall never be. They can renovate the hell out of it, it ain’t never gonna be The Park.

5. Alcatraz
It’s hard not to love a floating prison with such awesomely shady stories surrounding it. I’ve only gone once in the past 10 years, due to cost and the fact that I forget I love it, and I’m not sure it really deserves the insane amount of memorabilia and t-shirt shops dedicated to it, but it’s a great place. As evidenced here. And it’s tied in closely to number

6. Any Ferry
I feel truly, truly blessed that my home and work right now are in such perfect alignment that the cheapest, greenest, and most reasonable way for me to get to work is by ferry. I get to ride my bike down an easy flat stretch to Jack London, then float gently practically to my work’s doorstep near Pier 41. On the last jump, from the Ferry Building to Pier 41 I am generally the only commuter, so I feel confident placing this in the touristy section. Although if you ask me, there’s no need for the crazy pricy “Explore the Bay!” boats that run you around. Just hop on the commuter one, you get the same views for a fraction of the price. Sometimes you even get to ride the Emperor Norton, a behemoth of a boat that’s crap for bike storage, but makes you feel like you’re in a 60s spy movie, sipping out of a flask while sitting on a cold fiberglass bench, waiting for your contact to whisper the code phrase in your ear. And it’s really the best people watching spot I’ve ever found. As evidenced here.

I was going to do my best to include some East Bay locations, since that’s actually where I was born and still live, but that side ain’t heavy on the iconic tourist spots. So they’ll have to wait until my next post: Highly Underrated because-no-one-knows-about-them Bits.

Blogging with my eyes shut

Somewhere between writing today’s title and getting to the text box, I somehow turned my writing white. White on white. So I actually am blogging with my eyes shut. Huh. Self-fulfilling prophecy, anyone?

I logged on and started this post with something bery definite in mind. It wasn’t very interesting or important, but it was something.

It’s totally gone now. Driven out of my head by tiredness and the novelty of not seeing what I’m writing. Ooo, except, when I write a word that doesn’t exist, little red dots show up!

This is far too much fun. Anyway.

Let me just state how much I hate meetings. And people, kinda. No, not really. Just today. Most days there’s a touch of misanthropy in me, but I squash it down. Remind myself of the people I do like, and the bizarre characters that I can appreciate. I love people watching. I just don’t love people. Strange, ain’t it.

Anyway. On days like today, exhausted, preparing for board meetings, collaborating with everyone and her mother, I remember my childhood dream of living in a remote spot on the coast, telecommuting to my multiple clients, as I. .. did something for them, in a writerly fashion.

Oddly enough, as a child I never dreamed about being a published author. I just dreamed about supporting myself with my writing. AEqually hard, yet it’s something I’m doing. And I still find myself running into people far too often.

Heh. I just used italics for a line I can’t even see. Sweet.

And on that note, I think it’s bed time. I’m getting punchy.

(un)Peacefully at Home

As I do practically every day, I was whining to someone today about how lazy, unmotivated, and procrastinatey I have been feeling in regards to my writing. Since the beginning of the year (and if I’m going to Honest, probably a good bit further back than that), I’ve been slacking, big time.

Part of it is that I’m afraid to jump back into the Novel. The one that I love. The one that needs some MAJOR pacing work. The one that essentially needs me to attack it with garden shears and elmer’s glue until it resembles something readable.

Last night I had an engagement that didn’t get me home until about 10, but after that, I felt motivated. Maybe not motivated to face the Novel, but motivated to surf writing blogs, anyway. I wandered over to the divinely inspiring Paperback Writer and sifted through some of her sub ops postings. I found five calls for short fiction that I was ready to answer. If I can’t jump into the big project, I should at least be able to jump into a shorty fun project, yes? They’re all still up in another window, actually, still waiting for me to pick up the damn phone.

I hate excuses. Mostly because I have a ridiculously productive sister that manages to hold down a more-than-full-time stressful job, run a home chock full of dogs, cats, and wives, write up to 3 novels simultaneously, and knit a fair isle cabled lace sweater dress for conjoined twins all at the same time. While playing the ukulele with the other hand. Bitch.

But okay, putting the super-human sister aside, I do kinda have reasons for not writing right now. I have strep, for the fourth time in a year. Hopefully the antibiotics will kill it or the tonsils, they’ll be a-coming out. My work’s going a bit nuts, what with being a non-profit in a struggling economy. I just got called back to the railroad. I’m interviewing about 6 people a week for my roommate spot. I have volunteer hospice training on Saturdays this month, my pub quiz team expects me to be there every Monday, and other random nights are committed to V-Day and the Vagina Monologues. Plus there’s all the fun concerts, steam-punkery, birthday parties, baby showers, and game nights that I hate to pass up.

Oh geez, am I really going to publish this? Wah wah wah, my life is just so full of things I like right now. Poor me.

What’s the point here? Oh right, why I’m not Writing. I just… I love writing, I really do. I’m just finding it hard to decide which of the other things should be sacrificed. If I was really a Writer, I’d be sacrificing sleep, finding some way to fit it in. If Writing was like breathing to me… Well, it’s not. I’m not a Writer, I’m just a writer. And it’s gettin’ shelved, at least for today. And fuck if I’m going to feel bad about it today.

I’ll come back ’round. I always do. Writing’s not like breathing to me, it’s like laundry. I won’t DIE if I stop for a bit, I can put it off for a month, two if I buy more underwear, but eventually, I’ll get ‘er done. And oh, the purring happiness and satisfaction to be found in clean, warm clothes.

Next month. This month, I’ll be dirty and happy in steampunk gear, yelling about my vagina to a room full of railfans.

Riot Rainbow Grrrls

I have a frighteningly huge collection of books I haven’t read. There are reasons for all of them.

First, there are the books that I rush through and read like crazy. These include: YA, regency romances, suspense, and fantasy mass-market paperbacks. The fun, easy, happy books. The ice cream. Yes, I read those first. Just like I eat dessert first, if given the option. These are the bulk of my bookstore purchases, since I tend to race through them.

Then there are the GOOD books. The Rushdies, the big fat trade paperbacks that you have to chew solidly through. They’re worth it, but they take some time, like a good filet mignon. I tend to collect these, but I hesitate to jump into them. It’s a commitment, and one that I’m embarrassingly rarely ready to make. I’d rather eat a quick bowl of ice cream.

And then there are the tapas. The rare books that you can dip into and out of at will, having a bit of this, a bite of that. I love these ones, because they make me feel like I’m reading really good shit, without the commitment. My favorite one of these at the moment is my Punk Planet collection, interviews with really fucking interesting musicians.

I started the one with Kathleen Hanna tonight. The bit that inspired this post was actually a single line in the intro, a bit about how conventional media and conventional girls groups felt threatened by the Riot Grrrl movement and Bikini Kill.

I’ve always kind of walked the fine line in between conventional and non. In high school, I was an honor student, it’s true. I also smoked pot out behind the theater, and ditched class in my VW bug. Even then, I loved the contradiction I was living and never saw a reason to choose one path or the other.

Even earlier, when I was in 6th grade, I received an exclusive invitation to be a part of the International Order of Rainbow Girls. I was flattered. I was tempted. I dithered for days. They did some pretty awesome stuff, and I was totally into their mission statement. In the end, I decided to decline. My reasoning? I had to wear a long skirt (ankle-length) to the entrance interview. Ignoring the fact that I only owned jeans at that point in my life, I was immediately mistrustful of any group that required me to dress as a conventional “Girl.”

So Rainbow Girls? F# you, if I can’t also be a Riot Grrrl at the same time. F$ you if you can’t understand that I can be both at the same time. The old ways are changing, and you can’t deny that shit.

Oh yeah, and by the way? I’m totally drunk while I write this, as I had friends from the non-profit I work for and college dorm friends over to play board games tonight. We had vodka tonics, talked about hallucinogenics, played Taboo! and made dates to go rock climbing tomorrow. Fuckin’ rock on. Variety rules.

Et wah la

After a little googling, I’ve determined that there was a serious lack in the interwebs. As far as I can tell, no one was actually compiling some of the fabulous and ridiculous translation fails from voice recognition programs.

Et wah la. VRPoetry was born. Someone had to do it. So send me your best Google Voice garbles, your weirdest translation errors… Or just call me a lot, so I can get a few more on tap.

EDIT: Okay, there is a tumblr blog. But there’s only three entries, so it doesn’t count.

Saipan, 1985

I have a boonie dog, a dog I affectionately named Boonie. I’m not real inventive sometimes.

I spotted her at a dog adoption fair in Alamo Square years ago, and kinda froze. She looked JUST like the dogs from my childhood. The ones that ran out of the jungle, the boonies, from time to time, and that the Americans on the island just couldn’t help adopting. Like these guys, Molly and Peanut:

They were pretty spazzy dogs, as I remember, but pretty awesome, too. Most of the boonie dogs snarled and ran off if you got to close, but a few of them were just as sweet as can be and desperate to be pampered pups. I ran into those pics last week, rejects from our Saipan kodachrome days, and I was reminded again why Boonie caught my eye.

Lucky girl. Happy 4th Birthday, Boonie!

(and, funny enough, she poses just like Molly used to in that second photograph, when Rachael rubs her tummy. Real ladylike.)

Over there!

Oy. As if I actually updated this thing enough to warrant it, I’ve been tempted into creating a new blog, a completely separate photo blog.

I can’t help it! WordPress keeps doing shiny and cool things… This duotone theme has the background changing color to complement your photo! How nifty is that? Anyway, so I’ll be posting my pics over here now. Sorry to be a pain in the rear, but I love new shiny things.

I almost forgot…

Demonstrated Chicken Loan.

Somehow I left that out of my Speech Recognition Poem. Not sure how, that’s one of the best parts!

Speech Recognition Poetry Slam

Hey, it’s me.

I’m calling so late.
I think,

parts.

I guess,

i’ll just keep an eye.

And

But

I can’t remember what happens when your Daddy to do.

Gimme moves.

I think it’s better ad.
Well, stupid,

and okay.

Hope you’re doing.

I’ll grab a Mike

that next recall right.

Talk to you?
Bye bye.

How sad is it that I’ve never been able to write poetry, but given just one day, Google Voice comes up with the strangest straight-from-a-zine authentic shit? Damn it. Technology is totally building a better human. That shit had soul.