green top and blue cheese
I attended my very first Yankee Swap last night, and had a terrific time. In short, a Yankee Swap (also known as a white elephant gift exchange) is the snarky cousin of Secret Santa, during which participants are allowed to steal gifts from one another. I was surprised at the quality of the gifts — hello, iPod-controlling jacket — and stole a terribly unattractive yet cozy top from Old Navy, pictured above as I try to struggle out of it while FunkyPlaid looks on. (Photo credit: Nathan, one of our charming and talented hosts.) The first half of the evening was a cheese-tasting extravaganza. Each person invited was asked to bring, well, cheese. We brought a wedge of Mimolette and another of Robusto. The best cheese we tasted was Fourme...
Read Moreprologue to a dream
Black rubber on white marble, both colors worn with the exertion of the city around them. Slow footsteps make small sounds of relief: whew, whew. “Why are you laughing?” smirks the security guard. My demeanor may be misplaced in this place, an hour before opening, its pall quieter than usual. I am usually so cautious with my words, but these clamber out of my chuckling before I can think: “Because I am happy. I am excited.” I turn to regard the massive rotunda shining in the morning light, and something so much larger than my heart flutters, then settles. The automatic door exhales me onto the damp street. The next time I enter, it will be a years-long dream realized: the first day of my tenure at the San Francisco Public Library.
Read Morehear you
To the woman who yells, “Tax-EEEE!” on my street, one of the most taxi-ridden streets in San Francisco, because she must have waited a whole 30 seconds before seeing one: I hear you. To the man who asks people for money on the corner and then makes snide comments about the size of their asses as they walk on by: I hear you. To the car-alarm symphony at three in the morning: I hear you. Your owner does not hear you, not for maybe ten or fifteen minutes, but I hear you. To the thick sound of the industrial clothes-press at the wash-and-fold, every minute and a half between the hours of 8 and 6: I hear you. To the unusually articulate pimp explaining difficult economic concepts to inattentive yet captive audiences: I hear you. To the taxi brakes...
Read Morestripes
Certainly it is the same path to the train. Certainly it is; the same blocks, in the same arrangement, are eight — or four and four, six and two — but always the same starting and ending points. On a wet Wednesday night, people in suits and nametags tumble out of blandly expensive restaurants, perpendicular distractions to a focused walker. My broken rib aches when I forget it and slide sideways to avoid collisions. Carefully, I breathe deeply, remembering the pain before it hits, hoping I am doing it right. To the train, then: almost empty outbound, wet blotches on discarded newspaper underfoot, steady whine and hiss. I think about the moment we are suspended between this station and the last, after acceleration and before the brakes. My stop is...
Read Morethis is the new year
2007, neatly bisected into “without him” and “with him”, allowed me the clearest of Before and After photos. Just like in the denture-cleaner commercials, my life, briefly dunked, came out sparkling. I like to tell the story of how our paths crossed nine years ago through his store, five years ago through LiveJournal, and last year through the briefest of emails. I like to tell the story, but mostly I like it when he tells the story, because I think the historian makes a better storyteller than the archivist. With truth and love comes peace. So many things unsorted and confusing in the beginning half of 2007 are now utterly clear. I recovered from my ennui because there is nothing to be sad about anymore: I know who I am and where I am...
Read MoreHello What
Nestcam
Reading
Listening
Serious Stuff
Thank you for reading. You can support this site in the following ways:
Hosted by Bluehost. Powered by WordPress, MarsEdit, Dropbox, unflappable optimism, and builder's tea.
Disclaimer: The opinions expressed herein are solely mine and not of any employer or organization.
The original content on this website is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License. When in doubt, ask.
Wheaton's Law applies here.
