sometimes

Sometimes I go looking. Sometimes I go looking for them in my dreams and sometimes in my waking life. Sometimes I send emails that say, “How are you? I miss talking with you.” Sometimes I hear back and sometimes I don’t. This dream I had, I was throwing things into my bag, the bigger bag that I carry to work, the sturdy and slightly more expensive than I wanted bag that my purse and book fit into perfectly. I was running late; I was late; I was running. I had my hat and coat on. I was running. Things were falling out of my hands. Things were falling. Suddenly, I had to go to the bathroom. Suddenly, I couldn’t find my place or where the bathroom might be in it, and suddenly, I was in a gigantic bathroom with rows and rows of toilets....

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Posted on 30 Mar 2007 | 8 comments

sflickr2

sflickr2

SF Flickr Meetup #4 Originally uploaded by pinhole. Once upon a time, a handful of people met up at a café to talk about one of their favorite websites, Flickr. Thanks to the diligence and enthusiasm of our little community, SFlickr meets every month on the second Thursday, and so we will celebrate our second anniversary on 12 April at Crossroads Café. Won’t you join us? If you would like to purchase the commemorative t-shirt featuring the names of our members, 1 April is the deadline. This is not a money-making venture; our fearless leader Bringo, who designed the shirt, is merely attempting to break even. Thank you for reading. You will now be returned to your regularly-scheduled...

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Posted on 28 Mar 2007 | 1 comment

single white metaphor seeks same

The headache broke with a carnival of mucus, which normally I wouldn’t write about because, hey, gross, but I need to remind myself for next time: it’s just a sinus headache, self! You do not have a brain tumor! Today I have another health development to report: hives. I have itchy, scratchy welts all over my arms and neck. What? You wanna bring it, thirty-mumble? You wanna give me sinus headaches and hives and some weird eye-twitchy thing? Well, okay, then. Insert empty threat against a meaningless construct here. And a tiny fist shake for good measure. My mobile informed me of new voicemail 5 hours after the fact, which stretches the definition of “new” a bit, or really turns it into saltwater taffy and jumps rope with it. So...

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Posted on 26 Mar 2007 | 2 comments

crying on the left side

Despite the hovering left-eye-socket headache that keeps me as irascible as my last entry indicated, I want to write something here. It’s Friday night and after a rough week the MSG is already asleep and I am doing laundry. Many loads of it, in fact; I had no time during the week to get it done, plus the machines in my building are sketchy at best. The new job — can I still call it that? it’s been almost 8 months — has become vastly more challenging, which is in turns wonderful and painful. Still, I’d rather have those turns than boredom. After a long hiatus from a short story I began a year ago, I doubled its page count and did some cursory editing. My writing group is very excited to read the next draft, which inspires me to...

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Posted on 23 Mar 2007 | 6 comments

receptacle

I had no idea that spam subjects poem would be such a hit! I’m glad some of you enjoyed it. It’s one of those strange things I do to relax. When I saw the subject line “Anthony Hopkins” I just had to go for it. Yesterday, the MSG and I ended up making a series of assumptions which landed us on a very long and strenuous hike, which couldn’t have been a better metaphor if it had gone to Metaphor School and really, really applied itself. Today we are extremely sore, and have been hobbling around as a result. While we were hobbling across the street earlier, someone waiting at the stop sign grew so fed up with us that she yelled out her car window, “Move your FAT ASSES!” It was so strange and un-San-Franciscan that it...

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Posted on 18 Mar 2007 | 1 comment

spam subjects poem

She will love you more than any other man – just talked to him. The narcotic analgesics are very similar. Separate yourself from other men. Anthony Hopkins is so familiar. Are there any precautions and side-effects? Didn’t understand it; can’t be a lover anymore. These girls are all alone. What did we do to make it happen? [Addendum: I apologize for not explaining how these are constructed. I go into my spam folder and read through as many subject lines as I can take (roughly 500-1000), choose the ones I find most intriguing, then use each one as a discrete line of the poem, only adding punctuation and line breaks. Try it for yourself. It's fun!]

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Posted on 12 Mar 2007 | 9 comments

when you’re standing

No matter where it is, my cat will sit on paper. Right now she is sitting on two pieces of mail that slipped off the coffee table. There is an entire flat at her disposal, and two laps, and there she is. As Inkbot put it, Zen looks like she is hovering on a little paper cloud. I would be happy to have a habit like hers. On the subway, I wouldn’t focus on the sight lines out the station-facing windows, or on the fastest way to the door. I would just unfold a small sheet of paper from my purse, arrange it on the orange plastic seat, and sit. ._.-. In my dream, I was in a play but I hadn’t ever been to rehearsal. Instead of being upset about this, I took the stage and owned it. Unlike my actual days in the theatre, I was truly impressed with my...

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Posted on 5 Mar 2007 | 5 comments

decline to state

How it begins: someone sends a fascinating email or an interesting voicemail. I want to respond to it, but of course I want to think on it deeply first. Then I want to respond, carefully and entertainingly, a response that will somehow magically indicate the exact depth and breadth of my esteem for the receiver. Time passes. Sometimes hours pass, or days, or weeks. This last time: three months. Three months. I don’t know how it’s gotten so out of control again, but somehow it has, this Perfectionist thing. I cleared up some of the backlog today, but there are still things I have neglected to say, or in the intricate construction of them, forgotten why I was saying them. Like forgetting to answer the rung doorbell, opening the door months later,...

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Posted on 4 Mar 2007 | 6 comments