AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: New Blog!
DATE: 8:36:00 PM
-----
BODY:
Welcome to my new weblog. I decided to switch from Blogger to Typepad while attending the Web 2.0 Conference in San Francisco. Unfortunately, neither company can tell me how to migrate my content (143 posts!). Despite the claim that Blogger content can be imported to Typepad, there is no such function in Blogger. And I refuse to copy/paste 143 posts in a beautiful, sunny, Saturday afternoon.
So, if you want to see any of the old stuff, it's here.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Web two-dot oh
DATE: 10:10:00 AM
-----
BODY:
Brea from Cleveland-based Insurance.com, introduced herself to me on the pub crawl and wanted to know all about Web 2.0 lingo.
Alexander, a long-time GABA member, is the business developer for city of Berlin and had a booth at the expo.
Hamish who joined us on the pub crawl, was looking for interviews to podcast for his social media advocacy station in England.
Sheryl the marcom consultant was looking for a white wine to trade her beer for and told me about her upcoming 10-day Buddhist retreat.
Dahlia, a long-time colleague in the German-American business community, told funny stories about the way expo attendees would react to the invest in Berlin booth.
Summer is a recruiter I met at the Leverage Software party, and told me at the booth crawl that she met her husband at a 1999 dot-com party.
Tim, one of my first GABA team recruits, has "found the right place" split between Oracle and his start-up.
Colette, Internet/Web coordinator for California Nurses Association, was looking for relevant session content, and a good beer.
Marc from Rochester is on a 7-month Intel sabbatical, and lost his way on the pub crawl.
... And many other stories of the Web 2.0 conference this week, a mid-size industry affair that was light on session content but heavy on expo fun, and did prove this area is the Web 2.0 center it claims to be.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Yoga in the park
DATE: 8:53:00 PM
-----
BODY:
Completely dispensing of our brightly-colored slippery plastic mats altogether, our group of three took to rooting our sit-bones into the damp grass (worms underfoot; Cypresses wild with a spring wind), cold feet facing one another, and at his cue, progressed at varied cadence from seated bend, flinging legs backward into Plow, pulling them forward crossed Indian-style through arms, then straight into Chaturanga, V-ed at the waist into Down-Dog, crossing them once again to send back through the arms, and straight into a seated bend.
Though giggling -- and toppling part-way though -- it felt good. Probably due to being outside in the fresh elements: wind blowing hard enough to knock you out of your Warrior One, sun so bring you have to squint into your Bridge, and the beauty of Strybing blowing about with brightness and life. And with others who have gathered here word-of-mouth, to this spot that's so close I can walk to it.
Yoga in the park has become one of my Saturday morning traditions -- usually occurring between an early-morning ride, and the over-easy eggs or stack of pancakes I save for lazy weekend breakfasts.
Aside from storing up on positive ions, I'm feeling good from practicing head-stand and learning a new Warrior One/Warrior Two/Warrior Three movement series. Plus I get to be around good people. Namaste!
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Conversation starter
DATE: 7:21:00 AM
-----
BODY:
Going on a thirty-plus minutes wait for an outbound N-Judah train, smashed up against exasperated office drones, in a sea of white iPod tails, and the arrival of a curious pack of girls all wearing the same pink-printed T-shirts, at one of the busiest Muni stations smack in the middle of commute-hour yesterday evening, a kind-faced woman surprised me with a question about how I like my book.
I'm already half-way through Nickel & Dimed since starting it a week ago, a refreshing change from the tedious serious of "should" reads before this (GTD; Rules for Renegades).
She looked not unlike Barbara Ehrenreich herself, asked me if I'd heard the author speak, and then said to me, "I hope there's more class action suits... well, at least they're still in court over Wal-Mart." Then her M-train arrived.
I've noticed a lot of eyes on the train scan the cover of my book with the same curiosity and concern about the working poor that's attracted me to keep turning these pages. Maybe they are, or have been, or know someone on welfare. I looked up her website and wikipedia page, and notice that since being publishing in 2001, she continues to tour the country to speak about economic inequality.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Olympic Torch Rally
DATE: 7:32:00 AM
-----
BODY:
I went to witness the lively mid-day scene on Wednesday-- thousands of protesters had gathered downtown along the planned SF route of the Olympic torch relay -- and to see my classmate Jill Mason, one of the 80 torchbearers, before discovering that a surprisingly effective security blanket had moved the route to Van Ness Ave in order to avoid the chaos of earlier European legs.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: The Parrots of Telegraph Hill brighten my commute
DATE: 8:56:00 PM
-----
BODY:
I get to see the infamous Parrots of Telegraph Hill every day-- their cheerful chatter, curious consumption of cherry blossoms, and striking kelly-green coats, brighten my daily commute.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: "Honey, WHO does your color??"
DATE: 10:02:00 PM
-----
BODY:
"Hi I'm your four o'clock."
He was mid-bite, jumping from a perch on the stair behind a mirrored panel at the back of the store.
"Oh! Hi, hi. So -- um. Hi, can you, uh. Read this to me..."
He pointed to the appointment book where my name was written in pencil, the sweeping block letters barely fit in the box. He smiled at me and giggled, unabashed, and swept his hand over the absurdity of the question. He was right to be a little confused: the "L" looked like a lazy "C."
I laughed and he took me over to the swivel chair in the back room, instructed me to go ahead and clear off a pile of stuff from the seat, and sat me down. I pulled off a baseball hat and tore out the ponytail band. He looked at me in the mirror and asked "Ok: What do we have here?" tugging on chunks of hair, and watching them humbly fall. Of course why would I do my hair that day if I was going to get it styled? I felt the teary urge to dump my entire hair history-- but refrained, rather saying, "I want to see what you're going to do..."
He didn't hear me, suddenly spitting a horrified, "Honey, WHO does your color??"
Uh, me. A blond bottle wash to be exact, and it was just for fun. Over five months ago. An excuse started to bubble up but before I could finish it he shushed me with a cheery fix it and before I knew it he was already puttering around with a bowl and mixer -- "This is an OPPORTUNITY!" he declared -- and oh yeah, not to tell them up front.
That was how Abel ("like Cain and Abel"), the sole stylist at the Pure Beauty Inner Sunset became my best friend for about 45 minutes on a sunny Sunday afternoon, while he worked magic with dye, shampoo, hairdryer, flat-iron, giggles and stories... about people who work with computers trying to press the delete key in real life, about General Funston of San Francisco who fought fire with dynamite, and do I have a social calendar because I need to let him do tresses, and about his City Hall wedding right before it was outlawed again, about his engineer brother-in-law "working for da OIL Man, but I still love him," and "ooo, I know THIS kind of hair! if you just talk near it... whoosh!" blowing his cheeks out and splaying his hands behind my head for effect.
We chuckled about 20-somethings, and recovering catholics, and how it's too windy to walk by Ocean Beach. Then just like that, I said goodbye to the barrel-chested, baby faced Central Valleyan, who'd just made my day.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: "The city is quite a place..."
DATE: 6:42:00 PM
-----
BODY:
"The city is quite a place... Early Thursday, took the ferry to Sausilito, then walked to and across the Golden Gate Bridge, followed the Coastal trail to Sutro's bath, then along the beach into Golden Gate park where I found the DeYoung. After a brief visit I resumed the walkabout, down Haight all the way back to Union Sq, and crashed out, sunburnt but satisfied... I'll be back."
~ courtesy of a new friend, who sent the above with this photo titled "reeds" after returning home to Seattle
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Great Highway ride
DATE: 12:10:00 PM
-----
BODY:
... Early morning in the park when most weekenders are still waking up... long stretches of road... wind whistling on a down slope... wet pavement against an iron colored sky... sleepy sweatshirted dog walkers and packs of synthetic-wearing marathon runners... roar of breakers along rev of engines... brightly-colored condos with weather-worn front doors... the nod of a fellow cyclist passing on the other side of the street... a garage sale, a coffee house, bum with a backpack, soccer players arriving at a game... water bottle at a stop light... shifting, graveling, sailing... home.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: The angels of Heyday throw "All the Saints" book release party
DATE: 12:29:00 PM
-----
BODY:
Last night, Heyday Books celebrated the launch of "All the Saints of the City of the Angels" by J. Michael Walker in San Francisco.
Walking along colorful Capp Street in the Mission District to get to the Community Music Center set the stage perfectly to check out this artist’s homage to everyday Angelenos, in a grand gold-covered storybook about how contemporary life intersects and reflects our mythological past.
After stirring speeches from the author, and Heyday Publisher Malcolm Margolin, Francisco Herrera inspired the crowd to dancing and singing, while party goers got the chance to pose as a saint against a beautiful "All the Saints" backdrop.
The Angels of Heyday deserve praise for their tireless work to showcase the soul of our community, and thus connect enthusiasts like me to the fabrics of our humanity.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Second GABA "Women in Business" event a success
DATE: 6:21:00 AM
-----
BODY:
The second GABA Women in Business event, held at Mindjeton Wednesday March 12th, doubled in attendance from our launch event in the fall. Attracting attorneys and accountants, students and C-level professionals, entrepreneurs and intrepreneurs (corporate innovators), one guy (who was there to represent his German boss), and the attention of local tech entrepreneur network Women 2.0. The women came from Berkeley, Santa Clara, Sausalito and Los Angeles; from their families and home businesses, corporate desks and a German language newspaper. And they want to do it again.
Bettina Jetter, Mindjet Co-Founder, offered insight and an in-depth account of her experience as a female entrepreneur, in Germany and in the US. Others shared their stories, discussed career moves, the glass ceiling, and new jobs.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Moment of beauty
DATE: 5:54:00 AM
-----
BODY:
A moment of beauty in the chaos of commute; a single crumpled page falls from a man's book, marked "DOSTOEVSKY," between frowns, iPods and shopping bags in the stifling car.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Virgin Velo
DATE: 6:50:00 AM
-----
BODY:
On a new years' resolution kind of whim, I decided to crack out my fancy Specialized Stumpjumper from its dark convalescence and join the Velo Girls™ (from a bumper sticker spotting) for a Sunday morning SF-to-Tiburon ride.
The morning couldn't be sunnier, I couldn't be more rested, fully geared and prepared with tires pumped, plenty of synthetic layers, shades, Camelback, and Shimanos.
A group of 20 smiling women dressed in pink and black and lime gathered in front of Presidio Sports Basement and then we were off: up to the toll plaza, across the Golden Gate, curving around to Sausalito, and onto the bike path that leads around the crescent of the bay toward Tiburon Marina.
I knew the route from training with SFRRC; but my current and casual weekly 12 miles running and 14 miles walking (not to mention an 18-month hiatus since my last ride), did not prepare me for four hours of sitting on that seat!
Soon, the crisp sunny morning turned all-too warm, the weight of the bike and my pack grew heavy, pedaling through pedestrians and cars misery, bending into the ferocious bay wind treachery, and resting at the Sam's ferry landing half way through our ride all-too tempting.
Nevertheless, I soldiered on to finish what I'd started (though not after talking my way out of a few extra miles on the return route). Hills or no, the pain continued. Finally back over the Golden Gate, crumpled into my car, knowing there's no where to go from here but up.
And vowing to come back and do it all again next month.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Story of a synchronistic event, on my morning commute
DATE: 9:50:00 PM
-----
BODY:
I don't usually walk on the East side of Davis Street. So when I chose to take the Embarcadero instead of Montgomery stop 0n my way into work yesterday morning, and happened to walk on the East side of Davis Street instead of the West side by the sleeping bagged-bums lining the parking garage wall, AND happened to look left at the very moment of passing the overpass on the outside instead of the inside, I thusly noticed a block-letter statement chalked across the outside, causing surprise and delight with its simplicity and directness. A synchronistic event, worth noting.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Venture to Elkdom
DATE: 10:11:00 PM
-----
BODY:
Two co-workers talked me into discount drinks for happy hour at their local Elks Lodge, and soon I found myself entering the fraternity on Post street (that's also the Kensington Hotel) and touring the narrow staircases, arrested-development recreation rooms, and mediocre athletic facilities.
San Francisco Elks Lodge is #3 of almost three thousand lodges nationwide and the oldest continuously operating lodge, which explains the hotel business and the 1890's-era leather ceiling and dusty showcases. The pool room contains a row of high-backed shoeshine chairs and ancient pool cue cases. There were bleachers and a bar off the racquetball court, and from the roof we could see into the bleak black windows of the St .Francis Hotel, Harry Denton's Starlight Lounge bling, and up the steep incline of Mason Street.
Despite needing an update to the facilities, to the gender balance (open to women starting in 1995), and to the membership age (Heather claims the average age was brought down from 70 to 40), Elks is quaint, and welcoming.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Morning cup of joe
DATE: 7:05:00 AM
-----
BODY:
I set out to mail a Valentine's package to my sister yesterday morning from the Embarcadero post office, on my way to work on Battery Street. I had some time to kill since I stepped off the Muni amazingly on time (or, early) so I had time to debate about where I wanted to buy a cup of coffee. I walked by the Starbucks on California, the Tullys on Davis, the Braizz after Clay, there's another Starbucks on Battery, and a Peets up ahead on Embarcadero One... then I saw it, up ahead: Gambinos, a quaint green-white-red joint, no closer than right next door to my waiting point.
I ordered a large coffee from the smiling guy behind the counter, who asked if I wanted room for cream. Handing him two bucks, I asked if there was a place to wash my hands, "... muni, you know..." But with a quick glance around the narrow shop, I'd answered my own question. "Technically, no. But, well. You can come back here real quick."
Perfect! I dropped a handful of change in the tip jar and scurried around the long row of deli cases while Mr. Register informed two perplexed sandwich-makers that "this nice young lady is going to come back here just to wash her hands real quick." I was there and back with a bunch of thank-yous before one of the Aprons replied, "that'll be twenty-seven dollars."
I laughed and said that I paid the guy up front, who agreed, and said they get a smile, *cheese* to which Register agreed: "and what a nice smile it is!"
On my way out, I assured them that this was my first time here, see, and, now I'll come back.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Locked out
DATE: 7:28:00 AM
-----
BODY:
Relishing a rare opportunity to work from home for the afternoon, on a beautiful sunny winter day, I make my way to my flat in the Inner Sunset as usual, until, I was struck by the sudden sober notion that I may not have my house keys.
Frantically emptying my bag of all its contents, I don't see them. Wildly searching my memory of the last times I laid eyes on them, I search again -- cursing myself for needing to do so.
It can't be! -- but it is. Yes: I forgot my keys. Now, stranded on the sidewalk in front of my home, wistfully watching everyone else who has someplace to go, I wonder what to do next.
I can't believe that after all those times I'd been sure to pause on the way out the door in order to lay my hands on that key before exiting -- that precaution obviously slipped my mind today. Of all days.
Who would have thought that a tiny two-inch piece of metal could tip the scale of my entire day?
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Story of a yogic community of seekers, at Sports Basement
DATE: 7:12:00 PM
-----
BODY:
Yoga: no matter what the time, place or level, it's always a challenge and it's always a reminder that making time to tool the body means time to tool the mind as well.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: "The Lives of Others," is for you
DATE: 10:52:00 AM
-----
BODY:
An annual pilgrimage to the Berlin & Beyond Film Festival brought us to "The Lives of Others," winner of the 2007 Academy Award for Best Foreign Film and a curious mirror to real-life events for Ulrich Mühe, who received the award for Best Performance by an Actor in a Leading Role.
Taking place in East Berlin in 1984 just before the fall of the Berlin Wall, the story reveals each character to not who they initially seem: a socialist playwright makes use of his contacts to write a controversial article in for the West, his girlfriend is coerced to play the other side, and highly-skilled Stasi Captain GerdWiesler is "human, after all."
This drama of gradual disillusionment, with its suspense of political power hitting the home and the stark reality of living in divided Germany at that time, is also unlike it appears. Among the dull colors, under the overcast sky, in the face of the shouts and threats, there's heart and passion and promise, and gratitude for his humanity, after all.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Inner Sunset: Birth of a Neighborhood
DATE: 6:42:00 PM
-----
BODY:
I've lived in the Inner Sunset for six and a half years, and today I learned about the birth Of my neighborhood on a free SF City Guides walking tour beginning on the corner of Hugo, the charming neighborhood street named after Victor Hugo, on a sunny winter morning in the shadow of the concrete mass of UCSF, with tour guide Lorri Ungaretti, who used to live on 7th Avenue but can't afford the housing and now lives on Polk. The one other tour attendee was a girl named Choi who lives on 20th Avenue.
The story begins in the 1860's, when the uninhabitable windswept dunes of the lands outside of the busy downtown, the developed Richmond District, near the swath of land to be Golden Gate Park, and unreachable by train like the the one leading to Sutro Heights, was officially incorporated into the City.
Houses that had only existed near the Stanyan train line and spotted between gunpowder factories and dairy ranches, began to pop up along a stream train line that followed what's now Lincoln. The first map of the area shows an intricate grid of numbered avenues and alphabet streets, which hadn't even begun to be developed at that time, and wasn't completed until the 50's -- due in a large part to a local maverick developer named Henry Doelger who bought up Sutro's land and built & sold $5,000 single-family homes like Model Fords (that now sell for $800,000) in the 30s and 40s.
From Hugo Street, up 7th, to Judah, and down Funston, she pointed out original buildings with their circa 1920's tell-tale beige brick facing on top of white siding and with false fronts, alongside rows of euro-styled "arts & crafts" homes of the 40s, and between all kinds of more recent miscellaneous designs. The only art deco building is Doelger's offices, still on Judah near 9th, used as office space though in sad disrepair.
Judah Street is named after "crazy" Theodore Judah, who inspired the Big Four to fund his crazy idea of a transcontinental railroad and who built the first rail line from Sacramento to the lower Sierra so that miners could more quickly get their gold to the Capital for cash. St Anne's of the Sunset was the first (of now five) Catholic parishes in the Sunset, holding their first masses during the 1900's at the Parkview Hotel on 9th and Lincoln, where Canvas Cafe used to stand. Andronico's used to be a massive lot called the boneyard where old cable cars went to die, and there was a short-lived movie theater on 14th next to an early Safeway sometime around the 60's.
When our little tour got to 9th and Irving, I introduced Lorri to Jim Ng who was working the neighborhood beat, and we chatted pleasantly about how SF cops have moved from cars to walking and how it's too expensive for cops and firefighters to live in the neighborhoods they serve.
From this central intersection, Lorri described how this neighborhood is such because it's not trendy like Cow Hollow or Fillmore neighborhoods without chain stores, though Jamba and Starbucks were the first (Blockbuster flubbed on taking over the SE corner and the tiny, quiet Burger King eventually died). PJ's Oyster Bed used to be office space for the other Doelger brother, who died suddenly at the early age of 37. She ended the tour with the story of the Shamrock, began by a successful entrepreneur who offered free food with purchase of a beer to workers building for the Midwinter Fair of 1894 -- which left as legacy the Japanese Tea Garden, bandshell and park museum (later becoming the M.H. de Young Memorial Museum).
The Golden Gate Heights Stairway Tour is next, where I do my early-morning runs.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Attention passengers: this train will stop..."
DATE: 8:47:00 PM
-----
BODY:
"Attention passengers: this train will stop at Cole & Hillway due to police activity at UCSF; shuttles will be provided."
The announcement sounded upon boarding at Embarcadero, around 5:45 pm last night. It repeated after every stop, and people tilted their heads quizzically to make out the intercom voice. The raspy voice of a woman seated behind me slowly and loudly repeated the news into a cell phone.
Once at Hillway, passengers disembarked en Mass into the night -- some seated on the steps of the complex across the street from UCSF, some standing bewildered facing the train cars, others urgently dealing with cell phones. It was a nice night for walking, so I decided to hoof the 14 blocks home and along the way, figure out what happened.
Pushing through pockets between dark coats and bags, and began a brisk pace down the block -- past a cigar up ahead, a man who muttered "nice shuttle" behind my right shoulder, and through silent zombie-like hoards traveling Westward down Irving Street.
There was life in a corner convenience store I'd never been in before on 4th, so I stopped in for a can of evaporated milk. The short pink-jacketed lady who sat next to me on the train, was there shopping for broccoli.
Further down Irving I caught, "...what happened to Muni?" and "...got hit really bad..." and "...Ninth and Irving..." And as I approached the main intersection, the street was silenced and cops stood gruffly with feet askew, facing out from between the corners on 8th Avenue, and I followed fellow voyeurs J-walking across the intersection at 9th, slowing down to hear any snatch of information about the N-Judah adventure.
Three N-Judah trains in a row were stopped along the curve of track heading West to South, and I changed direction from crossing Ninth to crossing Irving instead to spot the incident site along the inside of curve on the Jamba side, which looked like a CSI scene with light trained onto yellow markers spotted on the ground by a stationary train car, flashing police lights, a man clutching a Cal trans vest rushing onto the scene from an SUV.
Then I overheard a portly woman who was smoking in front of Mucky Duck report to a pedestrian that an N-Judah train struck a 90-year-old woman crossing the street who couldn't hear, and that the streets have been blocked since then. At the top of the block at Judah I saw a single car train marked "Special" delivering passengers, and chuckled at the whole thing.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: A Winter Solstice Wandering
DATE: 12:31:00 PM
-----
BODY:
Today is "winter solstice," the instant when the Sun's position in the sky is at its greatest angular distance on the other side of the equatorial plane from the observer, meaning today's the shortest day and the longest night of the year (not to be confused with the darkest day or night).
Of course, this is relative to us on the Northern Hemisphere. Those on the Southern Hemisphere are celebrating the long days and short nights of summertime now.
The seasonal significance of the Winter solstice varies to astronomically mark both the beginning or middle of a hemisphere's Winter, and commonly a full 24-hour period though Winter Solstice itself lasts only an instant. The word solstice derives from Latin sol (Sun) and sistere (stand still), Winter Solstice meaning Sun stand still in winter. Today it's about 53 degrees in San Francisco, and a faraway sun has broken through the dull morning cloudcast.
Worldwide, some of the greatest architectures were built so they aligned with the solstices and equinoxes, and interpretation of these events have been celebrated for thousands of years -- like the candles, evergreen, feasting and generosity of the Christmas season. Tradition has it that one stays up all night in order to be assured the sun does rise the next day. Like Groundhog Day.
My ancestors, the early Germans built a stone altar to Hertha, goddess of domesticity and the home, during winter solstice. With a fire of fir boughs stoked on the altar, Hertha was able to descend through the smoke and guide those who were wise in Saga lore to foretell the fortunes of those at the feast.
To me, this is always the kind of time that's busy and cold and emotionally complicated but full of simple wonders... I agree with Earl W. Count, in 4,000 Years of Christmas, who likens Christmas to the web in a loom, where the pattern changes as the mind changes: "at first, we are not sure that we discern the pattern, but at last we see that, unknown to the weavers themselves, something has taken shape before our eyes, and that they have made something very beautiful, something which compels our understanding."
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Turned away from the Olympic Club for wearing jeans (almost)
DATE: 5:02:00 PM
-----
BODY:
The afternoon was going as expected, having traveling via the F-Line to Powell Street, and walking up toward Post and Mason to the Olympic Club for the SCU Fall Alumni Luncheon, it was about 11:45 am approaching the ivy-ed brick of the oldest athletic club in the US, past the "Members Only" plaque, to the glass doors and just past a uniformed man speaking French at the gold podium by the door toward a circular set of marble steps...
"Excuse me, ma'am -- "
"Oh, yes. I'm here for the Santa Clara Luncheon, and --"
"Yes. But I'm afraid there's strict dress code. No jeans."
"But..." I looked down at my legs to check that I did indeed have jeans on, and then up at him.
"But," I stammered. "I already paid for the luncheon... they didn't say on the invite... "
He blinked at me, and said again, "No jeans."
Did he know these were my new birthday Seven Jeans for Humanity?? I noticed an overweight guy in baggy khakis and a sweatshirt wandering around the mezzanine area. Surely me in my black blazer and vinyl boots looked more acceptable than that.
"Just a second ma'am." He picked up the phone and spoke into it in French.
A brunette woman entered from the doors behind me and asked for the Santa Clara Luncheon. Jerry the doorman instructed her politely to go to the elevators, take them to the second floor, and go left. From my leaning vantage point on the podium, I checked out her attire: black high-heeled boots, black Capri pants, gray sweater-vest, white blouse, trendy haircut.
Jerry cradled the phone. A few uncomfortable silent seconds went by. The phone rang, Jerry answered, said a few words, then hung up.
"She said, you can enter from Sutter Street. The parking garage. Just go around the block -- " He gestured out the door with a curve of his arm.
"Out the street? Around the block?" Was this just a ruse to get me out of here?
"Yes, ma'am."
With a sigh, I went out and down the steps, turning right, and up the street (a big hill), huffing it around to Sutter Street. Sure enough, there was the Pedestrian Entrance of the Olympic Club. Guys in jeans carrying sport bags waited for valet. More uniformed employees ushered me to the back elevator in hushed tones.
And like the clandestine lady I was, I entered the luncheon scene with barely a minute to spare.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Yelp on!
DATE: 9:41:00 AM
-----
BODY:
After suffering a 30-minute line for the "Yelp Elite" which wrapped around Mission Street and nearly all the way around Yerba Buena Gardens, Yelp's 3rd annual holiday party was in fact pretty cool for a freebie, swaggie party... despite the watered-down open-bar Yelptinis, junior-high gymnasium-dance space, and wedding-reception hip hop and 80s dance beats.
The YBCA gallery was showing a Dalai Lama exhibition, sponsors like Nokia and North Beach Lobster and Zipcar and Firestone Brewing were in full form, and founder Jeremy Stoppelman announced Mayor Gavin Newsom's proclamation of December 5th as “Yelp Day” in San Francisco... but my favorite was the hip-hop dance troupe performance.
And, my friend Neil who's worked at Yelp for all three holiday parties, confirmed that the Yelpland holiday-hipster crowd has grown from 500 the first year, to 1,000 last year, to over 2,000 this year.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: The San Franciscans visit The Portlanders
DATE: 11:02:00 PM
-----
BODY:
San Franciscans visit Portlanders for the holiday weekend; strangers in a strange land... of too many ciggies, not enough veggies, the odd absence of sales tax, unusually friggin' coldly-cold, inquisitors masquerading as polite conversationalists, and Thanksgiving dinner on paper plates around the tellie-set.
Beset (blessed? cursed?) with whatever pre-conceived conceptions of SF, we were prodded, observed, isolated, tested, and pursued... Received with genuine warmth, dutiful hospitality, absurd disinterest, cheerful curiosity, thinly-disguised desire for connection, fear, the joy of generations gathered together to experience one another, and the good 'ol fashioned oral tradition of story-telling.
And thus shadows were cast as long as the sunny fall afternoon, and in the seasonal shades of a factory alive with the happy chugging of industry, and that of a dead and dilapidated building alongside the highway.
Some things never change!
Be it ever so humble, there IS no place like home.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: The ladies of GABA's Women in Business IG launch a series with an engaging event
DATE: 8:54:00 PM
-----
BODY:
Unsure of what the first of a new networking event series would bring to the seasoned set of international business industry groups, the ladies of GABA's Women in Business IG left the evening event aglow from the positive atmosphere of a small but earnest group of German and American female professionals, who gathered to discuss cultural and workplace differences, challenges, and continued connections.
The event was conceptualized and managed by GABA President Caroline Raynaud, visiting Gender Expertise Consultant Astrid Müller, GABA Chairwoman and Peritus Precision Translations, Inc. founder Dagmar Dolatschko, MaCS, Inc. VP US Operations Susanne Khawand, and me.
It was an enjoyable endeavor, one which captured the interest and spirit of the group, and which we've agreed to repeat.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Sliding Doors: Adventures on MUNI and the Streets of San Francisco
DATE: 10:21:00 AM
-----
BODY:
In the glum silence of commute-hour, squashed among earbuds, cellphones, paperback books, and pink plastic shopping bags, a striking woman dressed in a proper school-girl skirt, crisp collared shirt and a friendly crop of braids, seats herself next to me for the 33-minute rail ride.
We talk about world travels and young secretaries who think themselves too good to wipe down the office kitchen, and mystery novels... and since she has my same commute, I promised to lend her the first of Bonnie Hearn Hill's newspaper thriller series.
Sure enough, the week I put "If it Bleeds" in my bag for Antione, the kind-hearted Brit, I ran into her. But then for weeks after that, no sign of the pleated skirt and friendly braids. I had no way of contacting her other than MUNI, but I felt sure we'd run into one another again someday.
Then, on a Tuesday morning, as my commute took me up Sansome Street past Mr. Two Twenty and we exchanged a familiar wave, I spotted Antione walking the opposite direction right in front of me and the Two Twenty building.
"Why -- hello!"
And with an excited exchange like old friends under the green awning, about missing one another with no way of contact, writing down phone numbers and such things, Andre himself emerged from between the glass doors to say that he'd the story I wrote about him and how it touched his heart.
It was a real-world vortex of story! I promptly thanked him, and turned to introduce Andre to Antione, who reflected kind energy to one another with a polite handshake.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: A Story About the Largest Privately-Owned Tank Collection in the World
DATE: 9:33:00 AM
-----
BODY:
It was a beautiful fall Sunday afternoon to enjoy the world's largest privately-owned tank collection at the fundraiser for the San Mateo County Horsemen's Association, at Jacques Littlefield'sPony Tracks Ranch in Portola Valley. The world famous collection of 205 tanks from WWI to the Gulf War resides in three barn buildings at the historic 450 acre ranch developed in the 1920's by "Sunny Jim" Rolph, a longtime mayor of San Francisco.
I had the good fortune to attend a docent-led tour the first time I was there in 2005, and again this time, I was hosted for this private party with this small group of horse friends and neighbors.
Here is a picture of Jacques himself, doing what he loves best.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: A Sunset Shoe Repair Story
DATE: 8:37:00 PM
-----
BODY:
A frantic Friday evening errand destination: the tiny outfit smashed between a dry cleaners and an athletic shoe store on Irving Street, just shy of 7th Ave., with a giant, unlit neon sign shaped like a shoe, reading "Sunset Shoe Repair."
Rain pouring, soaking the ink off a paper bag that held a few items intended for Crossroads all over my fingers and white raincoat.
Wet on the outside and on the inside from the 5-block run uphill, Glen welcomed me in from the dark outside, and exclaimed about the rain, offering me a pink plastic "Have a Nice Day" bag to replace the wilted paper one, while examining the item in question, a pair of Spring 2007 Franco Sarto vinyl boots, with a strange bendy thing happening on the inside of the left heel.
His prognosis: the heel had shattered on the inside, which could be fixed... for $20. He said it as a question, and I answered, no problem, thinking it was merely a quarter of the cost of the shoes. Then he turned the boot over and noted that the bottom of each heel was worn off to the nails, to which I quickly said no problem about replacing those, too.
As he pointed to where I should fill out my name and phone number on the purple order slip, he made a final exclamation about the holes on the bottom of the pointy heels.
"See the hole?" he asked. I nodded.
"I'd be able to fix it if there was something for me to attach material to, but this goes all the way through; I can't fix it."
"Ok..."
"Are you sure it's worth keeping these? I can take a black marker to the holes, if you want to try to sell them at Crossroads.'
Faced with fixes adding to almost half the cost of the boots along with a new, unfixable problem, and the rain coming down outside and sure to continue, I decided to go with it.
Glen gleefully proceeded to prepare the boots for sale, turning the heel against a nearby rotating wheel, markering the tips, and buffing the tops with a white towel, till they looked about as new as I'd bought them, seven months ago.
Across the street, Crossroads examined them, sought a second opinion, and priced them at $32 (taking none of the other items), half of which I got as store credit.
Since his door was still open, I stopped in at Sunset Shoe Repair to report the outcome to Glen on my way back. He smiled.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Recently-Reviewed: Litquake, a moving though not earth-shaking adventure
DATE: 12:29:00 PM
-----
BODY:
I attended Litquake for the first time this year since engaging an evaluation of the SF-area lit scene, and it's pretty much what I thought it'd be: an organic array of authors and topics grown too big for it's pants, though some sincere pieces can be found in between the chaos of too much content, in too many different places.
The two events I witnessed are perfect examples of this dichotomy: the Feisty Femmes panel at Bubble Lounge on Friday night, and the somewhat infamous festival-concluding Lit Crawl. I liked the classy and busy-but-not-too-crowded situation of the Femme panel; while the hectic, overlapping phases of good stuff in the short sprints of the Lit Crawl left me unsatisfied.
If I do it again, I'd attend the opening night, maybe another mid-week panel, and for the Lit Crawl, pick one place out of the many, get there early and stay late.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: A Study of Oktoberfest: Part 3 of 3
DATE: 11:23:00 PM
-----
BODY:
The third and final edition of my study, is on the biggest and loudest event of the three.
In fact, Oktoberfest-By-the-Bay, the annual festival at San Francisco's Fort Mason Center that attracts tens of thousands revelers over it's four-day stretch, boasts itself as the largest festival of its kind in California.
I've attended this event over the last four years in various business-liaison capacities for GABA, but this year, as a guest of Spaten at their VIP party on Gemuetlichkeit Night.
People are right to rate this event poorly for the annoyances of its high prices, limited beer and food selections, and long lines of drunkards obviously there for one thing.
BUT, isn't that exactly what makes it worth attending? Or else, why go out! It was, however nice to be above the fray in the completely catered VIP area, with other, more refined, revelers.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: A Study of Oktoberfest: Part 2 of 3
DATE: 7:12:00 AM
-----
BODY:
The second edition of my study, the Oktoberfest Networking Reception, is an event in downtown San Francisco that I've been involved with since it's inception three years ago.
Though there was the predictable format of nametags, raffle bowl, literature table, food and drink stations, there was the delightful surprise of live German band, and high-quality German foods.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: A Study of Oktoberfest: Part 1 of 3
DATE: 3:39:00 PM
-----
BODY:
October is one of my favorite times of year, when the weather grows colder (or, just as cold but sunnier than a San Francisco summer), and city dwellers seek the comfort of beer and bar, meat and potatoes, and OKTOBERFEST, that warm, uber-euro holiday for everybody, like St. Paddys and Cinco de Drinko. A little more reason than usual to populate your favorite watering hole.
Oktoberfest is the reasons I found myself out last night (and a weeknight at that) at Toronado Pub's Oktoberfest kick-off, celebrating with Spaten Oktoberfest beer on tap, live performances by The Internationals, and catering by Rosamunde Sausage shop.
Because I happen to be a proud German, and in the spirit of curiosity and social experiment, this will be the first of three installments of a study of Oktoberfest.
The best thing about Oktoberfest is that warm and fuzzy friendliness that comes with the gathering of random stein-wielding revelers, who dabble with a little German garb, drink a little more than usual, come up with each necessary move of the revoltingly-silly 'chicken dance,' and find themselves sharing stories with strangers about a shared favorite subject: BEER.
My first time at Toronado was just as great as I'd heard; cozy, plenty of table seating, vintage wall hangings... just enough to hold interest till the booze kicks in. My table neighbor told me all about GOOD magazine, I met a Rick who didn't realize he was wearing a cap emblazoned with an "R" (for Rutgers), and after a few bottomless pints of Spaten, it was time to push off.
Overall: excellent atmosphere, despite a little rough around the edges.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: A Post-Yosemite Writers Conference Reflection
DATE: 7:11:00 AM
-----
BODY:
A month after attending the fourth annual YWC, it’s time to tell the story about the Yosemite Writers Conference.
It's an exclusive destination conference on book publishing, full of dynamic panels, literary illuminati, and eager authors, against the backdrop of one of the most beautiful places in the country.
It's about inspiration and information, sharing and teaching, timely topics, readings, and eating… but most of all, it’s about people.
There's been some noteworthy souls associated with my YWC experience:
Author David Morell, creator of Rambo said in his keynote speech that “daydreams are your subconscious bubbling up as your narrative voice;”
Author and YWC founder Bonnie Hearn Hill said in the “Chick Lit is Dead” panel that “the character needs to want something on every page, even if it’s just a glass of water;”
Author and creative writing professor Steve Yarbrough encouraged attendees to “write what you want to, in the way you want to… how your heart calls you;”
The journey to the conference began in June of last year, when I was put in contact with Bonnie after a blind phone call to DNC to inquire after an ad about YWC they published in one of their newsletters. I told Bonnie about my passions and my ideas, and offered to volunteer publicity expertise in exchange for attending the conference. After attending an inspirational YWC in 2006, I resumed volunteer publicity activities in March of this year, sending out the press release, contacting each California Writers Club, posting the event listing to every online calendar I could find, spreading the word to friends, and creating a co-marketing arrangement with a local writing group and a women's radio network. And just before the conference, I created a colorful portrayal of the publicity conference activities within a mindmap, which I displayed on my personal and company blog.
And what does all this mean to my writing?
These conference experiences, along with Sunset Stories, various corporate communications, collages, SF Zine Fest, Ripe Fruit Writing, Litquake, scrapbooking, journaling, designing and networking... all works together as part of my Personal Narrative.
It was a brightly-shirted, energetic crowd that gathered in the blustery dusk at Crissy Field at 6 o'clock yesterday evening... some more ready than others, to brave the weather and fellow runners on the 3.5-mile course.
Two months of postering, emailing, mapping (see image), and cheerleading colleagues to join the Corporate Challenge, resulted in an impressive 18 men and women from nearly every department at Mindjet (including the CEO), some marathon trainees, and some for their first race ever.
After the race, we gathered at the jazzy Bistro Yoffi for food and drinks.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Porchlight Storytellers at Cafe du Nord
DATE: 3:28:00 PM
-----
BODY:
I first heard about Porchlight from Malcolm Margolin, publisher at Heyday Books and one of my favorite storytellers.
Started by Arline Klatte and Beth Lisick at the San Francisco underground Cafe du Nord six years ago, the monthly gathering attracts an eclectic mix, to be entertained by candlelight with 10-minute improv stories about a specific theme.
The month the theme was "May I Help You? The Customer Service Show, and favorite stories were: Arline's mother-in-law telling about her experience as a 19 year-old barmaid and "B-girl" at a dive bar in New York late 1960s, and Bucky Sinister as an early PlayStation tech-guide developer who relayed instances of speaking "red-neck" with certain customers and working for a Rod-Stewart lookalike female alcoholic boss.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: What's Your Type Typewritter Jewelry
DATE: 9:57:00 PM
-----
BODY:
I couldn't help but stop by the vintage typewriter jewelry table at the Yosemite Writer Conference, carefully decked out with shining sterling silver bracelets, earrings, cuff links and rings, set with colored letter, number and symbol keys of a era only recently gone by.
The smiling man behind the booth was Kerry Loeb, who together with Rachel Hannah makes the recycled pieces from old typewriters that are too damaged to be saved intact. She told me that the rest of these damaged typewriters are then donated to a Tahoe artist who uses them to build life-size human figures.
They were at the conference seen here last year, and once we got to talking I realized I wanted one. I chose a sterling silver ring with a question mark/comma key, and then returned to purchase a random-key bracelet for my mother, who has grown up using these now vintage machines. Today I ordered alphabet-earrings for a writing-and-reading friend in her initials.
The software has helped many authors organize their thoughts in order to write their books, and attendees were wowed by the colorful information visualization capabilities MindManager presents.
The winner, Linda Rohrbough, said she would use MindManager to help run the writers' boot camp she's involved with in her home state of Texas.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Climbing one of the Sierra's highest peaks
DATE: 11:36:00 PM
-----
BODY:
The last three days were spent here, at Long Lake in the Central Sierra Nevada, deep in John Muir Wilderness, Inyo County.
The trek started in SF two days earlier at sea level, driving up to 10,000 feet at Tioga Pass on Hwy 120 in Yosemite, down, then up again to 10,000 feet at Mammoth Lakes on Scenic Hwy 395, down, then up finally from the high desert of Lone Pine to 10,000 feet at Horseshoe Meadows, where the car was left for the boots and packs to carry us 6 miles north-west to our 11,000 feet campsite.
The trail began in Golden Trout Wilderness, passed a pack-camp, and a glacial bowl of lakes just below New Army pass. Granite was everywhere, including this peculiar valley of boulders just before Cottonwood Lakes #1 and #2.
After an overnight at Long Lake we continued up past High Lake to New Army Pass at 12,500 feet. At the top was a desolate glacial wash between Inyo and King's Canyon/Sequoia National Park, leading to the straightforward Mount Langley ascent. Langley is the southernmost Sierra peak at 14,000 feet, one of the top five highest peaks in the lower 48 states and not far from the highest, Mt. Whitney at 14,491. The round trip back to Long Lake was a strenuous 10 miles, with an elevation gain of over 3,000 feet.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Whoa Nellie Deli
DATE: 10:42:00 PM
-----
BODY:
As generic as it looks from Highway 120, the Mobile "Restaurant" was especially recommended for its gourmet food. And since we planned to go through Lee Vining on our way back through Yosemite, we decided to pass up Nicley's to try it.
On the advent of Tioga Pass, we pulled in to park. Past outdoor picnic benches set to gaze upon the nearby majestic Mono Lake, a bustling crowd of hungry drivers clustered in awe around a beautifully illustrated cursive Woah Nellie Deli, and a simple but complete menu drawn on a whiteboard.
Articles by Food Network, Los Angeles Times and Gourmet magazine decorate the hallway to the restrooms. Between jewelry stands, shelves of sundries, and Yosemite-printed treats we ordered barbecue chicken and steak sandwiches and Mammoth Pale Ale at the counter, and were called to pick up the beautiful steaming plates of art a few minutes later.
Inside this unlikely oasis on a remote stretch of Highway 395, we watched Chef and Kansas City Royals fan Matt Toomey serve up lobster taquitos, buffalo meatloaf and tenderloin in an apricot-brandy glaze. It's to die for.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Two weeks till the Yosemite Writers Conference
DATE: 8:00:00 PM
-----
BODY:
In exactly two weeks, a select group of authors, editors, literary agents and publishers from across the state, the other side of the country, and perhaps a few from overseas, will gather together to inform, inspire and enjoy one another at the exquisite Tenaya Lodge for a weekend in the unparalleled beauty of Yosemite.
The journey to YWC begins with a drive from San Francisco in the early morning hours before dawn on the 24th, starting from city scapes and long stretches of highway, through small towns in the central valley, and finally across a flat stretch leading to the mighty Sierra.
These select will learn writing, refine it, sell a finished work, and rub elbows with fellow writers in a celebration of the craft.
YWC was the birthplace of these stories; what will happen this year? Below is a MindManager map of the people, press and place of YWC.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Mr. Two Twenty Sansome
DATE: 6:48:00 AM
-----
BODY:
If the lights on Sansome Street synchronize from red to green in a certain way with my morning gait and I navigate between the canyons of buildings to bring me across Bush without stopping, before the red hand starts to flash across Pine, then my commute takes me past Two Twenty Sansome, where just behind double gold-gilded glass doors is perched a gleeful security guard, who waves to me with a fever again and again until I'm out of sight, leaving me with smile for the whole rest of the block to California Street.
I don't know what causes this random act of goodwill, and at first I thought I'd been mistaken for someone else. This was surely the reason, and left me without another thought until the next time the lights randomly brought me by.
There he was again, perched as before and with a gleeful, toothy wave directed right at me. Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence but three times... This time, I replied with a subdued smile and inconspicuous wiggle of my fingers at my side, lest any of the sullen faces trudging along the sidewalk would be disturbed.
I didn't think of him again until the next time the lights synchronized and that toothy wave caught me walking by. This time, I smiled and returned an open wave. Totally infected all the way to work, I wondered again about the reason for this random rainbow.
But that's it! There IS no reason! I am the reason! The smile is the reason!
It's a treat to pass by Two Twenty. I save it for those random days when I want a smile, when the lights align like the stars, and when I want to make Mr. Two Twenty smile.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: SFMarathon: Finish!
DATE: 6:51:00 AM
-----
BODY:
It was a perfect day for a race: about 50 degrees, starting the hour before dawn, pacing in place together in warm excitement with about 17,000 sports tops and shorts. As we started moving at about 5:30 along the Embarcadero, celebrating together the culmination of our individual journeys on this pavement, in this direction North, and then West... passing landmarks I know well, Pier 23, Coit Tower, Pier 39, Maritime Museum, the hill before Fort Mason, the Bay Trail, the Golden Gate... approaching that familiar pain I know even better, and the wall I fear with adoration... watching faces of pain and sorrow pass me going the opposite way on our loop across the bridge... anticipating each last step to the end, where truth be told about my ability to finish this race, and beyond... where every hill screams adversity, each water stop smile a friendly blessing, painfully aware of each resource desperately depleting... The warm encouragement of a loved one joining me for the last 5 miles, random acts of pockets of cheering crowd fueling me around one more bend, then along the last quarter mile, and finally-- sprinting toward the finish.
Beat my estimated time, and nearly matched the best I'd ever run: 2:32; 11:15 pace.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: SFMarathon: 24 hours to Race Day
DATE: 4:01:00 PM
-----
BODY:
The race shirt hangs on the chair, a bib printed with my first name above number 12428 in red on black is waiting nearby for clothespins. The Saucony's are waiting for the chip to be tightly tied between two criss-crosses. The course map is unrolled across my desk-- each hill, each city block, and the gentle rise and fall of the bridge will receive its due examination-- the skyline masked in darkness, bay blanketed in fog, creeping dawn over everything, duly imagined. It will be cold, it will be exciting, it will be wet, it will be crowded, it will be hard, it will burn, it will be over before I know it... and it will be glorious.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: "How's the corporate world out there?"
DATE: 8:45:00 PM
-----
BODY:
"How's the corporate world out there?" It was about 6:30pm on a Thursday. I'd run to catch the #30 from the corner of Sutter and Stockton, and the be speckled bus driver directed the question toward me as soon as I borded, so I answered, "busy, and good." He asked if I was going to hit happy hour, grab a martini somewhere and celebrate the successes of the day. For the ease of the situation, I said yes and asked if he stops at Bryant but he said Brannan, just a block past. So we chatted about how he goes around and around the number 30 route, nine times a day, from 5:25 pm until 2 am. No breaks. But that he also does number 9 and the California 1 on the weekends, so the crazies don't catch you. Then he mentioned that there was one in particular, on the number 21 line and I asked him where that goes, and he said, Hayes to Fulton to Market. "Was he just crazy, or crazy for you?" He said he "can't tell, but these days, you never know." And then he pointed out two girls playing violin in front of Macy's at Union Square, who he noticed have a grandfather who's the security guard and comes around to collect their money. Then we talked about his gig with the Department of Health and how he'd take the bums to Saint Anthony's rather than to General because they'd be better taken care of, and how a shot effects five different people five different ways-- some want to hug you and some want to kill you. Then there came a time when they made it clear his job was about to end that he joined up as a floor trader for a few years around the time of the dot com boom, but that he knew nothing and learned about 401(k)s and such things but that the verbal abuse was the worst he'd ever heard and that NY bought SF in case of another disaster and they needed a financial center, but it's all online these days and that after three years of doing that in 2000 he joined MUNI since no one wanted to do this job but it's steady and when the state and the city agree and there's no union and guys saving to buy a house and support their kids, then everyone gets 9-hour shifts with no break rather than a split 12-hour shift (I said he must be thirsty), so he just puts his money into taking care of himself, and that a massage with a chiropractic right after is the right combination right before bed that will make you sleep like a baby, and I commented that a glass of wine does it for me. Then we pulled up to the Brannan stop and I thanked him for making my ride so pleasant, to which he replied that's the Department of Transportation's job, and that his name is John.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: SFMarathon Training: Week 3
DATE: 6:36:00 AM
-----
BODY:
This was my cross-training:
A nine mile round-trip "Four Mile Trail" to Glacier Point in Yosemite National Park, over about 6 hours (with newbies), in partly-cloudy summer weather, minimal ankle pain, a totally laid-back schedule, and with pure awe and appreciation.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: How to Macgyver a tent when you don't have the poles
DATE: 6:49:00 AM
-----
BODY:
THE SITUATION: It's inevitable... hundreds of miles from home, on a camping trip, after a long drive, in the dark and-- something important's been forgotten.
This weekend it was in Yosemite National Park, on Friday the 13th, at 10:00 pm... and-- no tent poles.
(Well... at least it wasn't cold out!)
THE SOLUTION: come up with a temporary fix, and think about what it takes to get that thing working... in this case, one (1) ball of tent rope from Crane Flat store, a pack of four (4) tent stakes, and the cork from the bottle of wine, finished last night thinking about the situation.
STEP 1: position the tent between two trees, and tie a really long length of rope to one, as far above your head as you can reach. STEP 2: tie the cork inside the top of the tent to create something to wrap the rope around. STEP 3: tie the rope around the cork, and to a second tree as far above your head as you can reach and as taut as possible.
This should create a tee-pee effect and enough of a space inside for the essentials.
(And don't forget to find those poles soon as you get home and put 'em in the tent for next time).
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: SFMarathon: Training Map
DATE: 8:47:00 AM
-----
BODY:
Nearly two weeks till race day, and between losing a week of training to a cold bug traveling through friends at camp over Fourth of July week, and departing today for a Yosemite hike, I'm back on track after a split-day 13-miler yesterday... up before 5 am for a 5-miler through GGPark and then straight out for a 7-miler to Ocean Beach right after work... was a tiring endeavor but convenient, and equitable to all 13 miles at once... caught both the rise and fall of the sun, with colors and light unlikely but welcome for SF summertime... and MindManager comes in handy for laying out everything related to the training schedule: race website, favorite gear, the course, and journaling the journey.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Currently reading: Bonnie Hearn Hill's newspaper thriller series
DATE: 8:04:00 AM
-----
BODY:
The third edition of Bonnie Hearn Hill’s newspaper thrillers continues the paperback series featuring the funky hearing-impaired reporter Geri LaRue and her many-layered journey through familiar California cities and landscapes... weaving the mystery like a cozy Murder She Wrote episode-- danger, love interest, newsroom drama, but safe distance away from controversial and provocative. The inside of each cover is personalized by the author, in heavy, black scrawl, from one Gemini to another.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: 3 Degrees
DATE: 11:05:00 AM
-----
BODY:
It's three degrees from anyone when you're mixing with lovely strangers wearing swimsuits and frolicking in a pond, listing to ambient beats, sharing their chili chicken, smiles and good vibes with you, together in the clean air of sunlight... as dusk grows a little colder and cozy, the intensity of outdoor sounds grabs you and claims you, wrapping everyone in dusty whirlwinds that won't let you go, as the full moon rises slow and solid between the great dark green trees, where colorful laser lights play on the tips... 3 degrees... 2 degrees... 1 degree away from you, my friend, as we move together in this silent and sweet camaraderie grooviness, forever.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: John, Milano's Pizzaria owner, made my sausage sandwich
DATE: 11:34:00 AM
-----
BODY:
After a long and busy (week)day, it's a treat to crawl over to one of the coziest spots in the neighborhood for some good 'ol comfort food hot from the oven... Sausage sandwich, meatball sandwich, on thick french bread, extra salad, root beer. Between a table of D&D nerds sucking down a pitcher of beer, two date tables and a exiting group of mousy girls, there was an older man taking a break from cooking in a chair, moping his forehead and spying on the customers. When he moved from his seat, I saw him in the pictures on the wall. Our half-wasted waitress confirmed, "oh that's John, the owner. He made your sandwiches." So I went over to John to shake his wiry hand, and listen to him smile and point out all the other places in the pictures on the wall where he appeared.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: SFMarathon Training: Week 6
DATE: 12:48:00 PM
-----
BODY:
It's interesting to see what kinds of people are out early on a Saturday morning. Mostly, the kind who are training for something or otherwise exercising in some fashion. Other runners, bikers. Closer to the Haight, there are hooded-bums huddled on the curb at the entrance to Golden Gate Park, leather and studded guy with a guitar crossed JFK squinting into the rising sun. A tennis player at her trunk noticed someone's dropped house keys and put them up on a nearby curb. The mileage from Funston to Stanyan, through the Park, down Great Highway to Sloat is almost 6 miles, so I figure I ran 12 miles in 2:12. For the first time this training, I wore a watch which I used to take minute walk-breaks about every 8 minutes-- constantly adding 8's and holding my wrist steady to watch the seconds whir to 60-- and to suck down a gu at Lawton, after 1:04.
Once in the Park and on Great Highway, yellow-shirted Team in Training groups plodded past in clusters of three to 15, chatting, beeping and cheering one another on. Wonder what they thought of me on my own wearing an SFRRC hat.
The weather was a dream summer day: a constant cool breeze complimented the perfect rising sun. Wearing runner shorts, full-torso sport tank, short sleeve shirt and vest worked well. By the time I'd rounded back up the Highway, I noticed that cut on my heel from yesterday was no longer a sharp pain but a warm glow... and (the brand new! last in stock!) size 10 Saucony's carried me like a cloud.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Dr. Kurtbay, inspired by Buddist Optometrists in "Visioning Tibet"
DATE: 6:58:00 PM
-----
BODY:
Dr. Kurtbay, the highly-rated Inner Sunset optometrist, makes small talk while wiping down the chin rests and readying the lenses in the small office.
"I saw an interesting documentary last night, about two San Francisco optometrists who travel to Tibet and give cataract surgery on the poor."
Except, this was more than small talk-- he went on and on about Dr. Lieberman, who practices Buddhism and travels through the tough Chinese border to deliver this help to the people, because he saw he could do it there, but not here. It appears Yunus Kurtbay was inspired. Though he was quick to say he couldn't make such a noble trek.
Anyway, I did the $33 retinal scan and they look good except one spot on the top right, that's been padded by extra pigment because the second layer is a little thin. Something to watch for in case of detachment, or it may just stay this way forever.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: "But how will we know which one to take?"
DATE: 1:15:00 PM
-----
BODY:
"But how will we know which one to take?"
The unmistakable Irish accent, caught out loud from her to him on the escalator at EmbarcaderoMuni, at about 9 'o clock last night.
They were dressed comfortably in jeans and tennis shoes, carry bags and traveling from probably a full day of sightseeing downtown, back to his twin brother's house on 41st Avenue.
It's her first time in SF, his second.
They listened politely to suggestions of Crissy Field to see the Golden Gate, pointed out the museum section of GGPark, Ferry Building, and that the Powell Street Station gets you to Union Square.
Very nice to meet you! Have a great visit.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: La Entrada Class of 2007
DATE: 10:48:00 AM
-----
BODY:
The power went out on Wednesday afternoon just before the 8th grade graduation ceremony was scheduled at La Entrada in Menlo Park. But the soft-spoken principal assured us that if anything they've learned to be flexible, and the well-heeled families sat politely in rows of white plastic folding chairs on the basketball court outside in the sweltering sunset to watch their little Suzy's and Billy's all dressed up in suits and sundresses, saunter nervously into the next chapter of Life. The air thick with anticipation and cameras, enthusiastic claps after speeches about clouds with silver linings and one with a Bob Marley lyric, a "we are the best!" yelp from the Spirit Captain, and a few sound-off bells from the crowd, the small cluster of students was finally ushered down a plastic-ivy isle to hang out with doting moms and dads while the gymnasium waited for PG&E to hold their word so the dance could begin.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: SFMarathon Training: Week 8
DATE: 10:40:00 AM
-----
BODY:
The view from the Arguello Gate looking south to Sutro tower is stunning. The sun had begun to fight off the fog so that tracks of the tower, of Twin Peaks, of sky could be seen. As was the view going the opposite direction, into the Presidio, looking out onto Alcatraz. This was a first-time run and a good one: starting from Funston Ave, around Stow Lake, up Arguello to Lincoln, standard Bridge approach, to Washington Blvd and back to Arguello. New sights, and favorite views. Time: 120 minutes; approximately 11 miles.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Support Chasing Amy's Bi-Bhangra Bash, this Sat. June 9 @ the El Rio, SF
DATE: 3:01:00 PM
-----
BODY:
Join Chasing Amy and all sorts of colorful characters at her Bi Bhangra Bash, a PRIDE fundraiser featuring DJ Laird, henna artist Farrah, dancers performing on stage, and India-inspired munchies (men also welcome!).
WHAT: Bi-Bhangra Bash WHERE: El Rio: 3158 Mission Street, SF, CA 94110 Cross street is Cesar Chavez (it's south of CC); WHEN: Saturday June 9th 4-8 PM WHO: Chasing Amy members & their bi-supportive spouses, lovers, friends, family, coworkers, neighbors, pets, subs, State Farm agents, strangers on the street of any gender, orientation, age, size, race, ability (El Rio is wheelchair accessible!), etc....ALL ARE WELCOME!!! BRING: $10-50 sliding scale (Short on cash this month? Volunteer in exchange for entry!! I still need a few more women to help with set-up, clean-up, and there's 1 door shift still available, from 6-8 pm. Also, it goes without saying that if you want to bellydance/go-go dance for this event, you'll get in free and so will your friend!)
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Union Street "Any Reason to be Intoxicated in Public During the Day" Festival
DATE: 12:24:00 PM
-----
BODY:
One of the last true street booze fests still standing in SF, the Union Street Festivalthis weekend was more quiet than usual because of the cold weather, but still attracted local hotties en mass: women in tight cotton tops and sparkly shoes, slick-looking men in loafers and pink shirts, party girls in neon wigs and roller blades, muscle-shirted barrels, a bizarre contingent of Asian girls sporting blonde mustaches, all manner of fried food and, of course, beer tents upon beer tents to corral the drunken animals. There were far fewer belligerent guys overall, but in the words of favorite Union Street Festival artist Anthony Hansen, the day went from quiet to intoxicated with no middle. Everyone musta been pre-partying at that rooftop party blasting BonJovi.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: SFMarathon Training: Week 10
DATE: 4:27:00 PM
-----
BODY:
This every-other-week training run works well for a busy spring schedule. The eight-mile option for a 6-8-10 SFRRC run starts at Sports Basement and weaves through the Presidio. An early start and foggy morning afforded a peaceful run (and this time, the directions would be followed exactly). It was easy, I felt great. Not overloaded or over clothed; awake. Without sunny sights to draw my eyes to the horizon, I attend to the immediate... Unbelievable: finished in 65 minutes!
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Sidewalk Astronomers
DATE: 8:48:00 AM
-----
BODY:
Last night, at the corner of 9th Ave and Irving Street, a sidewalk astronomer named John Dobson asked if we wanted to see the moon. The sky was still light at 7:49 pm, and the quarter moon straight ahead shone bright white. He gestured toward a humble cardboard contraption that looked like a homemade science project. Leaning into the tunnel, I could see the faraway half orb filling the entire peep hole with fantastic light and detail. Then the sharp spoken, white-haired man in a parka shoved this flyer to me, and quickly returned to his station by the cardboard tunnel among the pedestrians.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: B2B: The Best SF Party of the Year
DATE: 6:34:00 PM
-----
BODY:
The annual Bay to Breakers race is SF's carnival, a crazy street festival for everyone from runners to revelers in costumes, celebrating any way imaginable together for a few golden hours on a sunny spring Sunday morning.
Hand made floats, salmon swimming upstream, an enormous contingent of Elvises (Elvi?), rock bands, keg stands, Fell Street Patio Potatoes, bemused cops, sparkles, strollers, face paint, fun.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Saying goodbye to a decade
DATE: 10:19:00 AM
-----
BODY:
It's strange to think that today is the last day of this decade, and that tomorrow a new one will begin.
It certainly doesn't feel any different today (except that the weather is fabulous). The world hasn't changed, people and traffic and the city is same today as any day. Milestones haven't suddenly been met, or life purpose magically realized, I don't feel that significant rush of "idealism giving way to practicality."
The web is full of info about this transition: self-help, one guy's big lesson, what to expect, financial advice and countless blog accounts... according to everybody, there's supposed to be some moment of crisis, some moment of truth today-- but the slow evolution of life as usual isn't something to write home about.
I've already wished the ingenue flush of youth goodbye, I've already been seeking and finding wisdom and balance. And it's not downhill from here! Life hasn't just "begun;" it always has been.
But what the heck: let the celebrations begin!!
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: SFMarathon Training: Week 12
DATE: 9:36:00 AM
-----
BODY:
Another beautiful morning at Marina Green. Cold, windy, a few early risers jogging, riding, setting up for a soccer game. Today is 9-miles, which I planned to achieve starting from the Green, through the Standard Bridge Approach, then across the bridge, and back along Bay Trail. I remembered our SBA runs being 5 miles, and I know the bridge to be 4 round trip, so should be about right for today. And if I'm on target remembering my pace to be about 10 minute-miles, then it should be 7:45 am at the turnaround point in Marin, and 8:30 am when I get back to my car at the Green.
I'm on track for Week 12, even skipping a long run last weekend. I could even skip every other weekend if I want to and be fine for 15 miles-- but I like the thrill of these mornings too much. I thought about this as I straightened against the wind, blowing hard and long from the Northwest. This'd be the worst of the wind since it's Mile 1, along this stretch of flat Marina Blvd., before it eases up into Mile 2 Southwest and up Lyon and into the Presidio. A shorts-and long-sleeve combo works best for the cold, sunny morning.
After the wind at the Marina, the next challenge is the long uphill of the parade grounds around Mile 3. I only look up to see if any obstacle is in my path ahead, and then tune out to concentrate on one foot at a time. I asked myself why I'm training for this... to celebrate a new decade, celebrate adulthood! To see if I can still do it. To challenge myself; to achieve body tell; to sweat. And if it so happens that my journey's interesting enough for just one person to do something similar, than that's what I want to achieve-- something beyond just me.
I see it on the faces of people passing me the opposite way-- truly blissed out smiles! It makes me laugh out loud when I see those goody looks, of happy people doing something good for themselves. And probably noticing beautiful things around them that they wouldn't otherwise see, from a car or their living room: ships knocking against one another tied up to the bayfront; an incredible string of red steel against the horizon; and other blissed out people passing by on the asphalt, under a blazing summer sun.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Technorati!
DATE: 9:32:00 AM
-----
BODY:
Technorati Profile
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Met a MindManager enthusiast at a Future Fuels event
DATE: 11:14:00 PM
-----
BODY:
Since he was waiting for a cab that was already 20 minutes late, I took Ralf to the airport and learned that he'd diverted his trip to North Carolina in order to catch tonight's event about what's truly his passion: cleantech.
Ralf runs an innovation energy and automation group within the corporate Goliath Siemens out of Orange County, and told me that he's asked himself what software has to do with sustainability. He decided, it has a lot to do with sustainability. Like, during a visit to Conoco-Phillips in LA he learned that they'd rather employ a software t o alert when the old 1970's-era pipes will break, rather than replace them all with stainless steel.
And, told me that he can't live without MindManager-- and showed me handwritten notes from the meeting, drawn as a mindmap. Maybe he'll write to the Mindjet Blog, or provide contacts to others in the industry using MindManager in their passions and professions.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Instead of training-- bikeride
DATE: 1:15:00 PM
-----
BODY:
With such an incredibly sunny day upon us, and having a late start to the morning, and being on track with training anyway, I decided to postpone the 9-miler till next week and opted for an afternoon beach bike ride instead. Getting to Ocean Beach is an easy breeze downhill on Kirkham for 38 blocks, sailing through stop signs under the blazing sun and through blowing wind, with the advancing Pacific, was taking and giving hit after hit of oxygen.
At the beach, it's like another world. Skateboards and surfboards; and dogs and sunbathers. Kites, early evening bonfires. Sightseers, runners. Everything slows down here by a few paces.
Past the Cliff House to the top of Geary, across the street to Sutro Heights, a leisurely roll to the lookout to take pictures and capture this brilliance. The water is captivating. Heading down from Geary through the Avenues in Outer Richmond afforded a chance meeting-- a souped up 1969 Chevelle, parked in a driveway at 41st and Anza, stopped us and we circled in for a closer look. The proud owner was not far away, and emerged from the garage to describe each part he had lovingly detailed himself, and out of his own checkbook.
The gravely-voiced Richard Madden is one of a lost era, when blue-collars populated this city and could afford this simple beauty by the ocean. He has the hair of an aging be-bop hipster, a stub of a cigarette burning at his fingertips, an ankle-biting dog yelping behind the makeshift fence. He mentioned his wife, three daughters and checkbook twice in the conversation, so we had no reason not to believe him state that this vehicle appreciating in value, is his own personal bank account.
A dramatic white roll bar structure is inside, there are racing-type seat belts secured on the front seats, custom-ordered rims on the wheels, yellow and red flames blazing from the front hood. In the middle of the back seat is mounted a screaming daemon mask, to which Richard Madden simply pointed to the dashboard where STREET MONSTER had been printed.
What a wonderful day in the neighborhood.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: SCU's Women in Business Conference
DATE: 7:28:00 PM
-----
BODY:
Cynthia Ringo, Managing Director of VantagePoint Venture Partners, recounted her mother's inspiring words: "if it's worth doing, it's worth doing right."
The middle-aged Georgian woman, with a curved, multi-directional lifepath blasted on the wall behind her, conversationally told a small group of graduate-school women (with a few brave men), the story of how she's succeeded professionally in a world of men, without the gender, or the engineering degree, or the MBA, expected to do so, during a keynote address on the fifth anniversary of this private school businesswomen conference in Palo Alto last Saturday.
She guessed that this success occurred as a result of her naivete about taking risk, but the Q&A period revealed a sad-but-true formula of businesswoman luck: supervisor-mentors and sacrifice of personal life.
Linda Alepin offered a more intuitive version of success, or, authentic path. She recounted taking the long way home after a particularly bad day at work and standing by a stream, envisioning women from around the world coming together to lead and empower themselves, and, three years later, the Global Women's Leadership Network came to fruition.
Eighteen other speakers addressed entrepreneurship, corporate finance, competitive advantage and marketing at this day-long gathering to support leadership in a changing world.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: SFMarathon Training: Week 14
DATE: 10:03:00 AM
-----
BODY:
Dawn came quickly from the dark without fog to hold it in, and by the time I was getting in my car to drive to Crissy Field at 7 am the sun was already fully out. I knew the Presidio would be busy, and sure enough there were March of Dimes cones were out everywhere and droves of people in like-printed T-shirts arriving by car to the scene. It was like returning home, to this-- my old familiar training ground of SFRRC years, now a few years ago. I had a 6-8-10 mile run outline that I'd printed from the computer this morning. The starting followed each step carefully, but it soon the course became abridged for a restroom stop at the Toll Plaza, and an addition of a Ft Point out-and-back. I passed only a few random runners on the Bay Trail, some dog walkers enjoying the park, and several bike cavalries that zoomed dangerously by... but otherwise it was quiet and reminding me of the beauty of this precious place, circling back right on top of the water, diving between waving licorice brush, sidling monstrous eucalyptus trees, squinting into hazy sun, unmasking the glorious steel bridge and skyscrapers downtown in the distance. I figured if I arrive back to the car at about 8:20 the mileage would be about right, and it was.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: A Moveable Feast
DATE: 4:21:00 PM
-----
BODY:
A reader's rash and heavy pen marks within Hemingway's famous memoir of his time living among the ex patriots as a young man in Paris in the 20's, are themselves as true and as sustaining as the very feast he found.
Stein's Paris address is now a point of historical interest and "still there!"; the girl in the cafe who sat by herself at a table near the window is "a writer's visitor;" Stein "confuses homosexuality with pedophilia;" "things become sharpened and clearer and more beautiful if you were belly-empty, hollow-hungry" with a different kind of hunger; the casual dropping of names like Joyce, D.H. Lawrence and Pound; the reading of a boxer's eyes as those of an unsuccessful rapist; the mot juste of a most trusted critic, and the "Rooshians" who made people come alive at times like almost no one else did;" the heavily underlined generationperdue (that all generations were lost by something and always had been and always would be); the allusions to his second wife who symbolizes the end of an innocent era, marked in The End of an Avocation with "racing never came between us, only people could do that."
Written a year before he committed suicide in 1961, these memories were as compelling 40 years later as the memoir's filling sense of food and drink and writing, and its tragic undertones of madness-- illustrating the point that happiness often occurs in hindsight.
"After writing a story, I was always empty and both sad and happy, as though I had just made love."
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: SFMarathon Training: Week 15
DATE: 4:33:00 PM
-----
BODY:
Though it was a later start than last week, today's training run was pretty good. Early afternoon in Golden Gate Park is far different than morning-- more people out, more cars, various picnics full of party-goers, streamers, beats and kegger kick-ball. With the overcast skies, it could be any time of day. This was the same run as last week, with an extra mile to the bowling green at the end to make seven. About a third of the way to the ocean, sprinkles were hitting my windbreaker, stopping as quickly as it'd come. It was otherwise a quiet hour+10m. At the beach, I watched four sets of triangle kites kiss the sky in synchronicity. I sensed colors like silver and Kelly green, watching other runners and walkers pass me by. I felt relief to be out on the pavement, in the fresh air, breathing heavy, feeling the toxins escape through my sweat. Before long, I was back on Irving Street, to walk the four blocks back home.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: SFMarathon Training: Week 16
DATE: 10:55:00 AM
-----
BODY:
Today is my first day of training toward the SF Half Marathon, in 16 weeks.
There is a special kind of quiet early on a Saturday morning like this. No pedestrians, no shoppers; only a few cars. The sky is blocked by fog, and a static cold hangs on everything-- asphalt, crosswalk, grocery, parked cars. It's exciting, to be out by myself this early, dressed in synthetic wear, tennis shoes, and a water-bag corset. The whole stretch of street, park and morning before me. A new adventure on foot, though not altogether unfamiliar... I've had probably hundreds of other journeys like this.
The barber shops and sushi places are closed on Irving Street -- except at one vintage spot, where a white-haired man gets his hair cut by another white haired man. The light turns green just in time as I reach the crosswalk, and now I'm in the park. The grass looks greener and the air smells fresher probably because I'm breathing hard from running. I sail by lush shrubs dotted by bloom, ferns as tall as I am, pine trees reaching overhead, and a winding sidewalk taking me downhill to the ocean. The California poppies are closed. A heavy smell of vegetation is in the air... like roast beef that's been cooking for hours.
It's only 2.8 miles but it feels like a far longer journey... past the pond, walkers in hooded windbreakers, the closed-for-safety windmill. As MLK empties onto Great Highway, I start walking. A grey ocean growls on my left; dirty park shrubbery stands stationary on my right. One runner passes by. A single car is parked in the Beach Chalet lot, 1000 Great Highway. At the usually busy JFK corner, I silently turn back into the park and continue running. Heavy fog turns to rain, dropping comfortingly at first, then heavier as I struggle up the gradual rise in elevation. More cars on the road, and runners who offer me an acknowledgement or a perfunctory wave. The bison paddock is active. A crouched cat under a Not a Through Street sign follows me as I pass by.
Soon I'm back at 19th, and approaching the dull stretch of Lincoln Ave. At Funston I stop running and walk the 1.5 blocks back to where I started, a mere 70-some minutes later, still early, still quiet and cold.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Moon
DATE: 8:15:00 PM
-----
BODY:
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Just read: Female Chauvinist Pigs, by Ariel Levy
DATE: 6:38:00 PM
-----
BODY:
Ariel Levy, the conservative daughter of hippie-feminists (actually thinly-disguised intellectuals), is conflicted about the state of contemporary sex. At one point she calls it the "overlap of character and chemistry," but throughout the book, she crys "raunch culture."
What is raunch, you may ask? It's the granddaughter of suffragists, it's the bastard child of the 70s-era feminist movement, it's the black sheep sibling of 80s-era objectification. It's the mono-syllabic "hot" that all women are supposedly reduced to become -- as they sadly join the frat party of pop culture, and judge each other all the way to being "like men." However shocking, it's confusing and unsupported.
Levy leaves holes in her research, in her interviews, and in her grammar. Christy Hefner isn't a victim, she's an executive. What's wrong with genderqueer exactly? And with teens seeking a thrill? Mark Morford sums it up like this: "aside from the "thrill" of seeing bits of young flesh and cringing at the 10 million ways teens can find to abuse the English language, there is really nothing of substance here... they simply have yet to do much of anything truly interesting."
In only two places do I hear how Levy truly feels: anxious and aroused and, bored and tense. This would be more exciting as a memoir! In 200+ pages, she's defined nothing more than a fad. And the symptoms of that fad.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Vivienne Westwood: a story of the extreme
DATE: 3:24:00 PM
-----
BODY:
Vivienne Westwood's signature counter-culture fashions are on exhibit at the de Young museum, the reason to warrant a visit to the landmark neighborhood attraction.
Starting with items from the London boutique she opened in 1971 (which had been topped by a backward 13-hour clock), the pieces portray an unexpected sensuality with the juxtaposition of rubber, chains, tartan, taffeta, penis buttons and studs. Her fashion is a reinvention of historic garments mixed with fearless nonconformity, manifesting provocative, practical garments that give expression to the extreme.
Attributed to launching punk fashion in the 1970s and reinventing the corset in the 1980s, she is known as one of the most inventive and influential designers of our time.
"I'm comfortable being so arrogant," she says in a video showcasing her 40 years of fashion. "Because I'm so appalled at the banality of everything else."
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Just read: Vanishing Acts, by Jodi Picoult
DATE: 8:38:00 PM
-----
BODY:
Picoulttells the lively story of Delia Hopkins, a woman leading a charmed life who suddenly becomes aware she was kidnapped and abused as a child. Now searching for truth, Delia's journey is described in chapter-by-chapter shifts from the perspective of one main character to the next, to reveal a truth that's outside everywhere else she'd been looking.
This authentic progression from one moment to the next, and from one place to another during the weeks her father is collected, put in custody, and stands trial, are more defining of each of these lives than where each character came from, who they belong to, what they wished for, and what they claim to have lost.
The author's parallels of character with action/situation are beautifully woven into the intense bare backdrop of the desert: the father's hobby of smoke and mirrors comes to save his life; the daughter's search-and-rescue profession she comes to be employ on herself; the slippery-slope of loving an alcoholic spouse remains forever slippery; and a parent's instinct clashes with the letter of the law, and the truths of others.An excellent read.
"Let me tell you what happens when you cook down the syryp of loss over the open fire of sorrow. It solidifies into something else. Not grief, like you'd expect, or even regret. No, it gets thick as paste, black as ash; yet it isn't until you dip a finger in and feel that sharp taste dissolving on your tounge that you realize this is anger in its purest form, unrefined; a substance to be weighed and measured and spread."
"There is a reason the word belonging has a synonym for want at its center; it is the human condition."
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Just read: Female Chauvinist Pigs, by Ariel Levy
DATE: 6:28:00 PM
-----
BODY:
Ariel Levy, the conservative daughter of hippie-feminists (actually thinly-disguised intellectuals), is conflicted about the state of contemporary sex. At one point she calls it the "overlap of character and chemistry," but throughout the book, she crys "raunch culture." What is raunch, you may ask? It's the granddaughter of suffragists, it's the bastard child of the 70s-era feminist movement, it's the black sheep sibling of 80s-era objectification. It's the mono-syllabic "hot" that all women are supposedly reduced to become -- as they sadly join the frat party of pop culture, and judge each other all the way to being "like men."
However shocking, it's confusing and unsupported. Levy leaves holes in her research, in her interviews, and in her grammar. Christy Hefner isn't a victim, she's an executive. What's wrong with genderqueer exactly? And with teens seeking a thrill? Mark Morfordsums it up like this: "aside from the "thrill" of seeing bits of young flesh and cringing at the 10 million ways teens can find to abuse the English language, there is really nothing of substance here... they simply have yet to do much of anything truly interesting."
In only two places do I hear how Levy truly feels: anxious and aroused and, bored and tense. This would be more exciting as a memoir! In 200+ pages, she's defined nothing more than a fad. And the symptoms of that fad.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: A change of scenery
DATE: 9:10:00 PM
-----
BODY:
"THAT'S THE BIGGEST GRAPEFRUIT I'VE EVER SEEN."
The blond lady seated at the counter shrilled over the sharp sizzle of something savory on the exposed grill, overwhelming the pleasant hum of the tiny restaurant's suppertime.
The chef paused and grinned at her politely, rotating his tall frame around by his shaved eraser-top head. "No, actually it's a pomelo."
"OH, A POMELO? I DIDN'T KNOW THERE WAS SUCH A THING. I THOUGHT IT WAS SOMETHING YOU GUYS MADE UP. IS IT SWEET? WHAT DOES IT TASTE LIKE?"
Our conversation in the gathering laze of a sunny day over an early Friday evening dinner, is now totally derailed. She'd alighted from a cab in front of our sidewalk table just moments earlier, dressed with a determined look on her face, in a cotton purple dress trimmed with frill.
"SO HOW'S YOUR GIRLFRIEND? YOU KNOW I SAW HER COME IN, THE TIME BEFORE LAST I WAS HERE. SHE WAS CARRYING SHOPPING BAGS. SHE MUST LIKE TO SHOP! DOES SHE? YOU KNOW, I'M GOING SHOPPING TOMORROW."
The chef turned back to his craft. The dramatic amulet-adorned waiter floated over like a savior with our check.
"IS THAT MY DINNER? SURE LOOKS LIKE IT! I RECOGNIZED IT BECAUSE IT LOOKS LIKE BEEF. THERE ISN'T ANY GARLIC IN IT, IS THERE? BECAUSE I CAN'T EAT GARLIC. IT'S LIKE 20 KNIVES TO MY STOMACH FOR THREE HOURS."
A sun-hat sat on the chair next to her, her smart black wedge heals crossed neatly at the ankle on the bottom rung of the bar stool. The bottle-blond of her outdated bob betrayed the eccentricity of a Boomer-era be-bop. She clutched her chardonnay (French; dry) with manicured nails and a twinge of desperation.
As soon as we escaped from the seventeen-seat lime and maroon box, he turns to me.
"I have just one word: CATS."
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: At peace with work
DATE: 9:08:00 AM
-----
BODY:
A random flip through a yoga magazine recently speaks directly to a realization I've had that your work is not who you are.
Work/life balance, passion for your work, work as doing what you love... whatever you want to call it, everybody wants it.
Instead, we call it the daily grind, being chained to your desk, what we do to get paid, time in-between weekends.
We spend a third of our life at work, and whether we like it or not, it's a part of our identity. It speaks to our education, our skills, interests and social networks. It's a way in which we express ourselves -- use our imagination to contribute an action. This in itself is purposeful; this is existence as a form of energy, requiring imagination, action, observation. Otherwise, we'd be dormant and in a state of decay.
So, our work is the practice of dharma and the result is the action of karma. It's an expression of the art we are in this world. My art is connecting people to ideas, and to one another. I develop and communicate and administrate; I encourage and confirm and welcome and evaluate. I contribute and support. And no matter what I'm doing, I can't help but imagine and learn.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: "300" times better on the big screen
DATE: 9:16:00 AM
-----
BODY:
The hyper-stylized film "300," based on Miller and Varley's historically-inspired comic book of the fierce Spartan-Persian Battle of Thermopylae, is truly best seen on IMAX.
Exaggeration of color, glorious and brutal battle scenes with blood bursting out in fans of rose petals as a graphic-novel does., tells this story out of history with the emotion of that time but with the distance of culture and the ages in perspective.
Attention to details of the bizarre warlike culture of ancient Sparta, such as the jutting beards, manner of dress and code of manhood, attempts to make such a distant story relevant to a modern audience. Vastly outnumbered by the invading Persian Empire army, the Greeks held back the Persians for three days in one of history's most famous last stands, inspiring the 1962 film "The 300 Spartans" and the 1978 film "Go Tell the Spartans."
The burial mound of the Spartans at Thermopylae is engraved with the Simonides epitaph:
Go tell the Spartans, passerby, That here, by Spartan law, we lie
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: St. Paddy's neighborhood bar-hopping
DATE: 5:40:00 PM
-----
BODY:
It's a beer-drinkers delight to have a holidays fall on the weekend and adding even more reason to celebrate to all the regular weekend-reasons, with this afternoon no exception, so why not join them. A few fog-filled hours spent bar-hopping the neighborhood spots, a little more busy than usual plus tossed with lime and green crepe paper, someone wearing that ridiculous Guinness felt hat, someone else with blinky plastic beaded necklaces. Nearly everyone is wearing something green; there's a rowdy crowd waiting for the downtown train, but otherwise the same lo-key it always is.
First, a Red Tail Ale at Yancy's, where we gaze upon the sidewalk comings and goings at a rickety street-side table by the big open window. Drinking while it's still light outside! Sure is nice to be chill, while all the MG's* who were carting cases of Stella onto the train at 11 this morning are now securely away with their whooping and hollering in drunken stupor amongst hoards of revelers teeming in the downtown post-parade madness.
Next, to Shamrock around the corner for a Fat Tire, and a Bob sitting on a bar stool, wearing a Shamrock t-shirt and years of beer on his face, tells us this while we wait for our drinks:
"A guy walks into a bar and the bartender says, what's the trouble? Let me buy you a drink. My wife left me, says the man. In that case, let's make it a double, says the bartender. What happened? Well, says the man, I come home one night and she accuses me of being a pedophile. And so I turn to her and say, that's a mighty big word for an eight-year old."
There are nearly-full, and half drink pints of beer sitting on the floor around the tired sofas and chairs where we're sitting at the back, and we joke about what might be in them while anxious patrons pace and lean on the wall waiting for the toilet to open and pretending not to listen.
Then, it's back around the corner to the Blackthorn where a jukebox pumps an energetic crowd in the booths and against the sprawling s-curved wooden bar. A guy in glasses and a felt Shamrock hat sitting with two tired-looking friends is sipping red wine and smiles and offers us Girl Scout cookies, which he must have purchased on the corner from those savvy-salesgirls and their guardian mothers keeping close watch on the business.
We thank red-wine guy, and I tell him, "The only thing that could make this any better would be to have ACDC playing!" With that, he jumped off to the jukebox to take his chances with the lineup.
Sweet-smelling corned beef and potatoes sat steaming neatly in catering chafes at long tables at the front, frequented on occasion by individuals who look like they'd been there all day, and who weren't planning on leaving anytime soon.
But we do, while the serious bar-hoppers continue on to the Duck. Way more reveling than I can handle at 5 o'clock in the afternoon.
* MGs = Marina Guys, Marina Girls
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Story about a plugged drain
DATE: 7:12:00 PM
-----
BODY:
Everybody knows the story: a home emergency turns your Day Off, into a workday.
You're taking a late Saturday-morning shower. So it doesn't register right away that you're standing in ankle-deep water. Drat. And a swipe of the catch with Kleenex won't do it; the drain is officially clogged.
You finish, and balance on the edge of the tub with an unwound length of an wire coat hanger, poking and probing out nasty gobs of hair and soap-stuff from the reachable regions of the pipe below, cringing but victorious with the thought that this dirty necessity is coming to some productive conclusion.
But then you discover it's not enough. You conduct a test to see if the tub can now pass water (with the stopper up), and sure enough, it's ankle-deep, once again.
The day is already totally shot. Time to trudge down to the nether regions of the house to explore this clog from the other side. Downstairs, in the garage, armed with a pail and a step stool, we're balanced below the curving question mark of pipe, relieved just above the ceiling of the floor, and we're gripping and grasping and pushing that curve straight with all our might, to get that curve to budge the clot.
The release of this particular part will open the pipe, reveal the clog, and free the weekend from this drudgery. It will be a golden crowning moment for all Harry Homeowners everywhere. Expertly applied brute force freeing a complication of its cage. Yes, this incredible white-hot strength will produce the resolution we seek: a victorious release of the drain from its evil soap-clot!
After several moments of grunting and hoping, and shaking and sweating, the pipe releases its rusty hold on the parent part and produces more clog for our effort. We are jubilant. Relieved.
But upon re-attaching and a subsequent water test -- ankle-deep water yet again. Damn!
Time to call the plumber.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Let's go for a walk
DATE: 11:38:00 PM
-----
BODY:
Have you ever been sailing?
You're coordinating the raising of four sets of sails, struggling to keep the bow straight, setting up shivs, all while plowing straight into the head wind, trying to keep the boat upright...
When suddenly, you hit a pocket or a current or something, and are tilted at just the right angle, going in just the right direction. And it's smooth sailing.
That's how it's been, these last few weeks.
Of course -- until some fool gets in your way, or messes up your current!
~ on a sunny afternoon, with Malcolm Margolin
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Seeking full-time employment
DATE: 2:30:00 PM
-----
BODY:
Marketing or business development project manager positions!
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Rainbow
DATE: 9:33:00 PM
-----
BODY:
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Googled!
DATE: 8:31:00 AM
-----
BODY:
Hermann Scheer, member of the German Bundestag, President of EUROSOLAR, General Chairman of the World Council for Renewable Energy, and winner of the World Solar Prize and the Alternative Nobel Prize, was coming to town.
One of the most distinguished renewable energy policy makers in the world, and mastermind behind the model German feed-in-tariff law, spoke to a eager crowd of industry fans in a packed room at Google, Inc. -- inside of The Google? Not to be missed!
Cheerful staff wearing bright blue polo shirts wisely approach with, "do you know where you're going?" and point you the right way. Building 40 looks just like 41, which looks just like 43 -- glass cubes full of important stuff and diligent employees tapping away, on floors two and three, and on the ground floors surrounding a courtyard are steady streams of bicycles and skateboards and pedestrians with backpacks and sweatshirts, filing in and out and around Cafe No Name, a room full of laundry machines, and lounges with leather recliner chairs.
Above the check-in desk is a floating flat screen scrolling informative text, and a friendly table where attendees receive a name-tag hanging from a Goooooglestrap, and where another cheerful blue-shirted person directs you to the stairs.
There is a room painted yellow, seeming even brighter with hanging theater-style lights and blinky logo pins exclaiming Google on corners of the food and beverage tables.
The audience chairs are plastic yellow, red or blue, and greet the sitter with the gift of a Google pen, your very own blinky-pin, and a notepad with stamped with an image of Google Earth, made in that retro-graded-transition-material where the image changes as you move.
And upon exit, don't forget a cold drink or snacky food from the free convinence store by the door.
Google-glee!
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Quote for the day
DATE: 5:26:00 PM
-----
BODY:
”Think that the reasons that elude you will one day catch up, that the lessons that have stumped you will one day bring joy, and the sorrows that have crippled you will soon give you wings.”
- Mike Mawe
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Writers' ripening at Isis Oasis
DATE: 5:45:00 PM
-----
BODY:
These characters don't need the dark to come out, they came enlightened and ready to receive.
Nine women came to embark on a writing retreat, to ripen their perceptions, their emotions, their histories, to have soulful interactions with one another -- and more... over a rainy winter weekend in the wine country. They came to purple-painted buildings with turquoise felt steps, with animal-print accents inside, and rainbow window stickers, and Egyptian figurines carefully placed by mirrors and near oblong windows; to a black swan and a white swan floating gracefully in the pond outside, near cages adorned by exotic birds and beautiful cat-like creatures -- all (un)covered by a mysterious mist. They came from Palo Alto new mommy hood, Mountain View tech writing, San Jose public relations, San Francisco marketing, from story-physiology therapy, LosAngeles screenwriting, San Rafael 60-year celebrating, and Half Moon Bay art study.
Under the careful guidance of Leslie Kirk Campbell and her mentor, LoreonVigne, the Arch Priestess of Isis, these nine gathered around a cozy fire to channel an ancestor, cook a potluck dinner, imagine their family trees, life landscapes, explore Body Tell, and lounge on leopard-skin pillows, while writing the stories of their lives. Each has left this place a little more devoted to their personal living art project, and to returning Goddess energy to the world...
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: A good story about Gav
DATE: 9:59:00 PM
-----
BODY:
What is Mayor Gavin Newsom like after dark?
Well, the public sure got a good peek this week, the worst of the worst made itself known, the fear of all fears, a brutal skewering of Gav in full public view...
... ADULTERY, with the wife of his deputy chief of staff!!
And, ALCOHOLISM, entering treatment for a long-rumored problem!!!
Gav told his staff this afternoon that he will be entering out-patient treatment to manage issues with alcohol abuse (as reported by The Chronicle, though radio KGO described it as alcohol use"), but he will not be stepping down as mayor. "I take full responsibility for my personal mistakes and my problems with alcohol are not an excuse for my personal lapses in judgment," he said through a press release statement.
Allegedly, "questions have been raised about Newsom's drinking for quite some time," with today's announcement on the heels of the outing of an affair he had with Ruby Rippey-Tourk, his appointments secretary and the wife of his then deputy chief of staff.
So what does this have to do with his job as Mayor? Dorothy Barnhouse, of The Richmond neighborhood had this to say: "Newsom does not have to apologize to me or to anybody except the parties directly involved, just as Clinton did not have to apologize to anybody except his wife and, if the two of them as parents agreed it was appropriate, their daughter. Private behavior between consenting adults concerns only those adults and their spouses. Whoever first publicized it, and whoever continues to publicize it, needs to apologize to me."
Whatever Gav likes to do in the dark, stays in the dark. Unless you happen to be there. It is, however, a dark day for the Mayor.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Faces of SF night life
DATE: 7:38:00 PM
-----
BODY:
Be careful what you pretend to be,
because you are what you pretend to be.
-- Kurt Vonnegut
San Francisco night life leaves so much to discover. Beyond the normal fare of fine dining spots, movie theaters and clusters of corner bars, can be found live shows, music, dancing, and characters. Performers and posers, fashionistas and fans, house-heads and young hotties -- everyone after a good time, after the sun goes down.
At the M.A.C. Cosmetics Chinese Dress Exhibition in the grand Westfield Shopping Centre, Chinese QiPao tradition was modeled in a live gallery exhibition to an velvet-rope crowd, by thin Asian-mixed women dressed only in heels, headdresses and body paint detail. Beautifully featured, powerfully colored, elaborately decorated, these models were art pieces in a museum -- placed on boxes and lit by spotlight -- and cold (notice pink sweater on Juicy Couture)...
... Not unlike the infamous Fetish Ball, where scantily-clad and painted freaks bare their breasts under rubber dresses, or don piercings where no one normally would. Standing, and Modeling. Painted, patient, poised. And on show (too bad this years' is postponed)...
... The New Century Theater is more of a show, where women prance and writhe and pole up and down on a raised stage to screaming pop beats, barely amused as they swing incredibly spiky heels around your face, in a methodical strip of their barely-there clothes... to nakedly scurry around on their knees to collect the paper bills left behind as shallow compliments to their efforts...
... At the colorful Cabaret Verdalet, performers with huge feather fans and sparkly pasties to sultry show tunes. They play the keys, the mike, the pole. They synchronize carefully coordinated vaudeville routines, with an obvious joy for the discipline of practice and performance of this lost art. And they're available to admiring fans for face-time afterward, genuine and sweaty.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: A Thursday night cab ride
DATE: 10:14:00 PM
-----
BODY:
I was having a bad day when I climbed into the Yellow Cab. He took me from downtown to my street, a $15.90 ride (I noticed later he gave me too much change back). Irish, wearing a white cap over ruddy eyes. He took immediate notice of my three-drink attitude and tipsy laugh. Somehow we got on the topic of beer, and I suggested he go to that place I can never remember -- Amnesia -- where there's Belgian beer on tap. Then he offered me one of what he was drinking because he was so sure I'd like it-- Wittekerke, from a Trader Joes bag on the front seat. He asked me what I do, not for a living. I said, talk to good people; go outside; that sort of thing. That I like living in SF, because I get to meet good people, to which he agreed and went on about that sort of energy and inspiration which is so very attractive. When we got to the stop he gave me the Wittekerkeas promised, and I asked him his name. He said he means to be published someday; thanks for the smile, Ed Graham!
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Der Junge ohne Eigenschaften
DATE: 12:35:00 PM
-----
BODY:
Huddled in the hard seats at the cold Castro Theater, the sparse crowd had listened numbly as one woman couldn't help herself enough to the microphone. "She had plenty of class to be a factory worker; I should know -- I was one!"
Dressed in red sweats with matching red loafers, with salty hair and coke-bottle glasses, she had the sympathy of a divorced high school principal.
"Let's ask all the women in the theater here what they think about the sympathy of (the low-life boyfriend) Rolf!"
Talking about The Boy without Qualities (Der JungeohneEigenschaften) and the Q&A session with director Thomas Stiller afterward, was more interesting than watching the movie itself. Congregated in the Khawand's Castro flat with a bunch of other international-intellectuals and - philes on a Sunday evening, sipping Becks over the finer points of German versus American film making, on San Francisco life, and even exchanging a few perverse views of the world, has become an annual event around the local Berlin & Beyond film festival.
Stiller had repeatedly deflected any kind of significant answers: No, he had no inspiration for the script; no idea where it came from. German films have a problem getting funded? This German film was funded (though at only $100,000 and the actors worked for free). Was there a lack of real-life context for the character because it's his story? No, no comment on whether this was a manner of storytelling or if it had anything to do with the $100,000 budget.
"I have arrived at an interesting observation," our hostess said. "That German films are all documentaries, following the day in the life of somebody -- like that guy there." She gestured to someone crossing ahead of us on 18th Street.
"Right," I quickly agreed. "As opposed to American films, which are full of helicopters exploding and ridiculous stories."
We were both immediately accused of being wrong -- generalists -- and a heated discussion ensued about how this low-budget film portrayed the too-grim life of a Hamburg youth, complete with suicide tendencies and a fantasy view of the world to which the other one-dimensional labeled as retarded.
The best thing about the evening is that I walked away with a contemporary comparative structure for German versus American films. And, that one answer to the trans-Atlantic violence versus porn problem is latent mother issues.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Elbowed at the Elbo Room
DATE: 11:18:00 AM
-----
BODY:
The name describes it perfectly -- at the Elbo Room, you get elbowed. I'm squeezing through the crowd of 20-something hipsters, posturing rudely in packs around the dimly-lit bar, unable to hide their buy-in to the pervasive thrift-store chic, nor the fact that everyone's pretending to be locals. It smells like weed. Tweed hats, lacy tops, corduroy jackets, puma shoes and plaid skirts everywhere. Two hombres walk in front of me carrying Pabst talls. Now I know I'm slumming it with the rest of the yuppies, Mission-style. My jeans, pink ribbed tank and short black jacket makes me stand out. An eager Italian guy bravely approaches me at the bar with an immediate fumble of his pick-up line, to which I smile, he apologies and leaves. Another guy who's "with the band" tries to invite me to dance, not noticing the full beer from which I'm sipping nor that his playful retort beginning with "you people on the West Coast..." tunes me out. A dark, wild-haired gal swings her hips and stomps her boots violently to some mediocre turn-tabling of familiar 80's tracks. Then the drum-and-bass jam session returns to stage. The weed and elbowing gets worse; time to go.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: All the way to the ocean
DATE: 6:28:00 PM
-----
BODY:
All the way to the ocean sounds like a long way, but it's actually only about 2.8 miles from here. It is, however, a journey to get there... especially on foot, at 45 degrees in the morning, and the longest run I've done in a long time.
Down Funston Avenue to Lincoln. Left at the corner, down several blocks to the busy 19th Avenue intersection. Look both ways twice before crossing this street, and then you're in the sanctuary of Golden Gate Park, where it's a easy sidewalk decline along lawns and lakes, congregated ducks and walking dogs and Tai Chi sessions preformed on sunny patches.
The ocean is a brilliant blue surprise, lapping up to the short shore only a few hundred feet from where my road curves around to meet the surfer's parking lot. I slow down to a delicious walk for this parallel to the water, craning my head to see this earth being ended by the sea, until I get to the Dutch windmill, the signal to re-enter the park and start on the nasty return. Uphill.
More greenery... and brownery... and peoplery... until my knees ache, my ankles burn and my face is thoroughly lashed. Finally, reaching the approach to 9th Avenue, and then --
Done.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Inside looking out
DATE: 5:41:00 PM
-----
BODY:
Nearly sunset.
The sun reflects off the ocean with a mild January shine onto this odd oasis of natural things in between the pavement and stone and tile and stucco nearby, painting a set of vertical stripes onto this wooden platform, this bench, those stairs.
The low roar of traffic below fades into a indiscernible white noise, where above at this throne bright succulents congregate quietly in cheerful clusters in the crevices and corners where nothing but that sun can reach.
Once-cheerful paint has been stripped from the bench where the disapproving weather and instruments led by fingers have important lessons and stories to tell.
A chorus of birds suddenly whistle in alternating octaves of questions and answers, breaking the sleepy drone of the late afternoon where this warm embrace will soon turn cold, and the echos of this open heart will stop.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Top Three of 2006
DATE: 8:22:00 AM
-----
BODY:
landlords
road trip
glacier point
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Freakonompire
DATE: 10:35:00 AM
-----
BODY:
"Oh, Freakonomics! I always wanted to read that."
Steven Levitt, the explorer of everyday riddles, seems to have launched a new kind of fuzzy science. A form of economics that asks and answers the unconventional question about why things work the way they do. Freakonomicsoperates on the premise that humans operate on incentive: that if morality represents how we would like the world to work, then economics represents how it actually does work.
But why would we want to be "armed with enough riddles and stories to last a thousand cocktail parties" as the book jacket declares? According to it's marketing machine, Freakonomics has been adopted into high-school and college curricula, as big as Cal, Georgetown, American University, Purdue, and NYU. Levitt speaks at conferences (how I happened upon it) all over the country, and international versions of the book have translated the signature apple-orange logo into sheep peeling to wolf, and to illustrations of city scapes and celebrities. Where can I buy a t-shirt?
Is Levitt's paradigm so unconventional that it redefines the way we view the modern world? Who is this 'forceful,' 'wry,' 'devilishly clever' guy, who apparently can't open a jelly jar without his wife's help?
Perhaps he is not so groundbreaking, as creative. Levitt teaches economics at University of Chicago, won some awards, was named one of Time Magazine's "100 People Who Shape Our World," and coined a new word.
Maybe Freakonomics is more a lesson in marketing, than economics.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Story about a Treasure Island wedding
DATE: 7:37:00 AM
-----
BODY:
The ballroom was packed with kind, smiling faces of every age and color, chatting and gathering to watch for the guests of honor. A decorated mariachi band stood at attention with tremendous golden instruments and voices, heightening the anticipation of the crowd to the rafters above. A deep microphoned voice suddenly bellowed for attention, and began to recite the names of the wedding party as they entered to be seated for dinner. A sea of dresses and suits rose from the rings of tables and chairs with hands clapping warm welcomes. Finally, the moment arrived for the bride and groom. Upon their entrance, the clapping got louder and faster, and excited whoops and hollers came from the crowd. We saw his beaming face and then her dress swung up in the air as he carried her to the dance floor. The music became even more glorious, while they danced around and around one another like beautiful spinning tops in a sea of flowers, the moment was punctuated by a single, slanted ray of sunlight breaking through the hanging clouds to shine directly on them.
More incredible occasion photos courtesy of Mr. Webbery.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: The real McCoy: a good story about Marketing
DATE: 1:36:00 PM
-----
BODY:
Mccoy (N) [mê-'koi]
1: As in "the real McCoy," meaning the genuine article, the original, not a substitute. A phrase used to emphatically assert the originality of an object, idea, or reputation. Etymology: The origins of "the real McCoy" are unclear. The top contender is a marketing jingle from Messrs. Mackay of Edinburgh, who made a brand of fine Scotch whisky that they promoted as "the real Mackay" from 1870 onward. During the Prohibition era in the United States (1919-1933), the phrase was extended to any hard liquor from Canada as opposed to lesser domestic brands. Since "the real Mackay" was already in the language, a widening of the phrase's scope in the alcoholic spectrum makes sense. Next we move from Scotch to the fightin' Irish. A popular Irish welterweight pugilist, Norman Selby (1873-1940—a life that includes the years of US Prohibition) had difficulty convincing people outside the ring of his identity. Once he floored a drunk who doubted his name and the drunk responded by saying, “That’s the real McCoy, alright,” using an Irish adaptation of “Mackay.” Selby was so impressed he changed his professional name to “Kid McCoy,” at which point he had to punch drunks to prove he was the real (Kid) McCoy. Any way you look at them, the McCoy stories point to the success of the Messrs. Mackays' publicity campaign, which means that the phrase "the real McCoy" originates in the development of public relations hype, self-promotion, and celebrity.
—Audra Himes, formerly, yourDictionary.com
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Susanne Khawand, glass designer
DATE: 6:29:00 AM
-----
BODY:
My German friend (who is not very typically German!) finds the time in her busy life to launch into glass design with an impressive arrangement at San Francisco'sPublic Glass where glass artists come to create, display and sell their one-of-a-kind creations...
I am a proud owner of this beautiful limited edition SK Glass Design plate.
Ja wohl!
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Story about an author booksigning
DATE: 8:35:00 PM
-----
BODY:
This is the story of a book signing event with three Central Valley authors and one marketing dynamo, on a warm and wonderful winter afternoon, deep in the tourist-ridden wharf area at Barnes & Noble, in San Francisco.
Bonnie Hearn Hill, Sheree Petree, and Hazel Dixon-Cooper (adorned with black pearls and silver flasks) railed into The City from Fresno for the day, and together with the enthusiastic energy of local business developer Karene Conlin, lunched at Scoma's, appreciated the local color along the pier, then sailed in to arrange themselves at the upstairs skirted table adorned with their publications under the guidance of gentle Oscar, B&N community relations manager.
At first, it seemed that no one would come to fill the dozen folding chairs set out for the panel discussion and book signing afternoon event. Friends didn't show, people on the street couldn't be coerced from their sunny strolls, even shoppers inside didn’t seem interested in browsing. The security guard up front said, "there's more people at 5."
Still, the three sat cheerfully to sign stock for the store, with Karene and Oscar nearby. Soon, three diners who stopped to meet the authors earlier at Scoma's arrived at the aforementioned book signing, engaged the ladies in a lively exchange, realized their paths had crossed in Fresno, and promptly bought one of each book. A wandering pair of sisters came over to buy one of Hazel's books for a friends' birthday today and one for their mother who liked a little romance with her mystery (Bonnie quickly supplied Cutline, set in SF). Then, an online writing class student of Bonnie's arrived, and graced the panel with tales of her adventures in Bonnie’s class, describe how her therapist practice was born from astrology (where in South Carolina she’s doing the devil's work), and the channeling of fictional characters to keep her from going crazy. The security guard from downstairs came up to inch closer and closer to the table and was soon engaged in a discussion with Hazel on how his Chinese birthday relates to interpretation of his astrological sign, while various staff persons dropped by the panel to give their good wishes. Soon, the event was up.
Bonnie concluded that this "was the most fun book signing I've ever done." The quotient of interesting strangers far outweighed friend-fans that might usually fill the chairs. Lots of smiles and positive energy all around. Perhaps this is the karmic justice Hazel was smiling about, and which Sheree quietly understood.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Namaste
DATE: 5:05:00 PM
-----
BODY:
yo-ga [yoh-guh] N.
1. a school of Hindu philosophy advocating liberation from the material world and union of the self with the Supreme Being or ultimate principle.
2. any of the methods prescribed, esp. a series of postures and breathing exercises practiced to achieve a state of perfect spiritual insight and tranquillity. I wouldn't say that I've achieved perfect control of my body and mind, but this is a story about my three-year journey to an understanding of this system of exercises practiced as part of this discipline I initially thought of as a boring hour of stretching.
Three years ago exactly, between marathons and right in the middle of training, during the wet part of the year, I over-extended on the downhill of a trail run full of slippery wet leaves. Thinking nothing of the ensuing pain and a limp that hurt even while walking, I went to the Doctor's and discovered it was a muscle pull. GROIN pull, to be exact. Yuck!
As an avid runner, I was devastated. No running till it's healed -- about six months. What was I going to do for six months? But, I knew I had to take care of myself so I started yoga because I figured I got the pull in the first place because I simply wasn't stretching enough for all the running I was doing. Partially true; but... I also couldn't touch my toes. So I started with an beginner-level morning yoga class at my local YMCA. I knew nothing of the different kinds of yoga but I heard that Hatha is the way to go. This class however was too beginner, and I became frustrated that the blue-hairs and mid-life moms could accomplish the poses better than me so I quit after a measly three months, and then scrapped the thing altogether as soon as my gait stopped aching.
I tried Bikrahm at the encouragement of a substantial friend who swore by the advantageous concept of suffering to hold sweaty poses in ninety minutes of sauna hell, but I just couldn't see it. Plus the humid funk just didn't justify the bucks. That next year I ran a full marathon, and figured with all the running I'd better get back into that stretching -- er, yoga -- stuff again.
This time I opted for a more youthful, hip beginner yoga class at 7 pm on Wednesdays at my neighborhood Golden Gate Fitness. So easy I could walk to it; so fun I was meeting local neighborhoodies there; so cheap I could justify the $20 per class; and so inspiring I sampled other stuff like pilates. And then poof! Just like that, the entire studio was replaced by a bigger cardio center, and so no more yoga classes for me. I gallantly attempted home-sessions to Internet print-outs of perfect model poses and three paragraphs about how to do it, but that quickly lapsed into speedy half-hearted sessions, growing shorter and shorter till I stopped altogether.
Then magically, last year, a professional yoga instructor named Rebecca Snowball arrived at my office to provide lunch-time lessons. Couldn't get any easier! I liked her style, and she taught Vinyasa -- a step up and variation of Hatha that I was ready for. After I left that job, I sampled the local community college yoga but decided that it's high time I had a proper environment studio class, so I settled with Rebecca's 7 am Friday session at Avalon Art and Yoga Center, a mere mile from work. I learn something new every time: last week was "let your story go..." and before that, "turn your shoulds into coulds."
Each time, I learn a new way how to go to my edge, and how to exhale or inhale into a movement. I can become truly calm, and I don't watch the clock anymore to see how much longer I have to bear it. I really like hanging out on my purple mat, and the poses are finally familiar to me. I'd call that a body-and-mind something that I didn't have before.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Yosemite: Glacier Point
DATE: 1:00:00 PM
-----
BODY:
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Star
DATE: 8:07:00 AM
-----
BODY:
Star light star bright,
Hang on high to guide me on my way tonight,
Sparkle with promise of good things to come!
Shine with beauty of youth and fun!
This I wish with all my heart,
And hope to have my wish tonight.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Story about a M.A.C. trainer
DATE: 7:44:00 PM
-----
BODY:
"Daniel will be talking to you guys today -- you'll love him. He's, like, totally down to earth 'n stuff," said the friendly MAC cosmetician with incredible auburn dreads and magnificent turquoise eyeshadow to our small and humble group of every-citizens, as we wove through other cosmetic counters on a busy Saturday Shopping afternoon, deep in the heart of the San Francisco Shopping Mecca. The plain-Jane blond mom with her tweener, the sweet naked-faced chica, tittering pair of excited Mac fanatic gal-pals and I were lead into the elevators, to the fifth floor, past the Norstrom Spa, and into a cheerless conference room where plastic bags with corporate paraphernalia greeted guests on every seat, and a tray of strange looking expensive chocolates tossed with blueberries and raspberries sat regally on black plastic trays at the back of the room under a spotlight.
I sat in the front row and made small talk with a trendy young girl I'd seen earlier receiving a makeover before we were led to the seminar. She wore a trendy cap, had her hair cut in angled blunt layers around her face, and slouched in her chair, pencil poised over a piece of paper from the paraphernalia bag marked "notes." Her cute face was painted with dark eyes and colorful shadows. She couldn't have been older than 15.
Daniel the trainer, sharply dressed all in black, arrived at the front of the room and placed himself in the director's chair at the front of the room under a spotlight marked M.A.C. He smiled gracefully and introduced himself. He spoke with wit of a City man in this 30's, and in sharp metro-tones.
"... I do everything from making up celebrities, to attaching lashes on models in their hotel rooms, to friends for a wedding, and relatives... but my favorite thing is to be here with you guys, the people who want to know how to wear makeup everyday." Then he asked us what we wanted to learn today. "I'd like to know how to wear makeup under glasses," I said, to which he nodded and replied, "good question."
Other guests appeared slowly and placed themselves carefully spaced in the empty rows (all women). When he decided to begin, he led the class through the a colorful tour of the paraphernalia, then suddenly turned to me. "What's your name?"
I snapped to attention. He must want to attribute my question about what I wanted to learn today. "Linda," I said.
"Linda, would you be my model today? I'll call you up in just a bit." I spent the next hour in the director's chair with 50 eyes on me, under his artistic lesson of applying makeup, chiding us on common shortcuts and leaving the house without proper attention to our brows. We where to find my crease, what shadow colors go with any skin tone, and how to go from basic to bombshell in the matter of just a few buffs and blends, tabs and swipes.
Cool, at least I don't have to do my makeup tonight. I was politely dismissed after he finished with the lesson on me, and needed a new subject for red lips. A salty brunette named Dee who needed something that wouldn't scare her husband quickly accepted the invitation. When I returned to my seat the tittering gal-pals tapped my shoulder in order to see my face close up. "Oh, it's so pretty!" one of them gushed.
Afterward I went up to Daniel to say thanks. "I should take you out for a drink or something" I half-joked. He said, "oh thank you so much for being my model" with a smile. I left him to the clutching questions of half a dozen eager young attendees and returned to earth.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Story about a poll mama
DATE: 10:29:00 AM
-----
BODY:
I was the first person at my voting location today. Last election year on November 7th, I stood in a long line of responsible citizens caught between routine and a morning rush of duty, and I wasn't going to make that mistake again.
The polls open at 7 am and I was there by 6:50, sipping coffee and ready to vote as efficiently as possible before my usual beginning of any other day.
I got to watch the volunteers set up their signs, sweep condensation off the handicap ramp, and chat with other early-birds who arrived after me. I watched the Poll Mama scan the sidewalks and homes across the street or any illegal political advertising. And with a sorry face she told me they weren't delivered any "I voted" stickers. Darnnit, that's what I came for! At 6:59 am we were officially invited in, and I discovered that as first voter I get to make the final check on the voting machine -- Poll Mama showed how it was empty, at zero, and had produced a ream of zero receipts, looked at me for confirmation, then locked it up and set me to go.
With much ceremony, each long paper form was torn from its pad and placed in it's big blue secrecy sheath, then handed to me by Poll Mama, who said with her crooked-grin, "vote early, and often!" I went to the first cubby-hole booth, carefully marketed my pre-determined choices, collected the forms and walked over to feed them through the machine.
I bid the volunteers farewell and Poll Mama said to me: "it's been a pleasure to participate in Democracy!"
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Shaken from sleep
DATE: 12:45:00 PM
-----
BODY:
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Story about an Oakland wedding
DATE: 7:36:00 PM
-----
BODY:
Just like the bride, this wedding was as simple and pretty as she is... Married at sunset, surrounded by friends and family, at the trunk of a big tree.
She, blushing; he, gazing; bridal party, shifting; pastor, fumbling; kids; mumbling... but one soon forgot about all that and the highway traffic below, clicking heels on the clapboard floor, mis-hap with with the processional tune. It all came together, as things always do, for the Big Day. And we were proud to witness -- along with the other colorful crowd of guests -- our friends, who are, as it turns out, as authentic and romantic as the namesake of the center where they wed.
And Mr. Webbery himself chronicled the event. Along with the Eldos crew, and the beer I adore.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Trade winds
DATE: 4:06:00 PM
-----
BODY:
Weary after several hours dragging myself through the harrowing tidal wave of an information-hungry, oversubscribed mob of attendees, to this mega-sponsored, ultra-paneled event, in a stark hotel ballroom without enough air, refreshments, sound or seats, I found my humble, bizdev-hostess soul brightened at the end of the night seated in the joyous surrounding of a bustling, full service grill and encouraged by the friendly faces around me.
A friend, a colleague, and a stranger joined me at a table, where, with the promise of food and drink, we proceeded to spend the next hour in an enthusiastic exchange -- not about business or on the panel topic or about networking, but about culture and community and family.
All of us at the table were German in some way. D moved to the US after a high school study abroad program in Portland, where he met his wife. M moved to the US in the 80's to study comparative literature at Stanford, and started a second career in technology instead. H is the child of academics who went to school on the East Coast but returned to the West Coast where she connects with her fellow Cal classmates. And (people are often surprised to learn) I was born in Germany and raised in SoCal, knowing German traditions but not the language.
We talked about coming to America, and how that meant opportunity and openness not found in Germany, but often at the cost of loyalty among friends, finding interest to explor other places, or a place having any history. We discussed family left behind, and how that's the hardest part of being here. The best part being this salad bowl mix of people, who can do just about anything for a living. I talked about how the US population just reached 300 million, with more sons and daughters of immigrants than non-Hispanic whites, when the last 100 million was reached in 1967, and before that, in 1915.
Time stood still for the four of us seated around the table, exchanging ideas. This is not the kind of conversation one could have while networking, or in the hallways at work, or via email. Thank goodness the winds took us in this direction, tonight.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Ladies of the night
DATE: 10:02:00 AM
-----
BODY:
Far from any big city and off the information highway, wandering through the dusty articles of curiosity under glass in the museum in Bodie, I happened upon a book tucked away on the store shelf unlike any of the other individual accounts of the Wild West, or of botanical interest in the Eastern Sierra. This narrow paperback -- tucked away because of it's controversial subject matter, with the quaint moniker "Soiled Doves" in a gentle script, announced it's an account of the "grey world of prostitution and the women who participated in the oldest profession." My curiosity was aroused; I bought the book because I want to know about these ladies of the night, what role they play in history, what role they play in the present.
The back cover claims it's a "strong book proved(ing) a toughing insight into the ladies of the night." 165 pages strong, this self-declared "touching insight" is composed mostly of rare photos, re-typed newspaper accounts, and heartfelt comments by the author about the years she spent researching old and out-of-print books, and many thanks to the individuals who "allowed her mother's fascinating book" to be used as reference.
Who is this Anne Seagraves and what compelled her to write "High-Spirited Women of the West," "Women Who Charmed the West," and "Women of the Sierra?" She lives in northern Idaho where she is currently working on her seventh book. Wesanne Publications, also in northern Idaho, has four titles in print and no web address -- three of the four titles are by Seagraves.
Some of these "ladies of easy virtue" I've heard of, like Calamity Jane; and a place that I know, Lola Montez, is named for where the most sought-after courtesan of the era once lived. These fallen women are described in colorful detail, not sparing the glamour of these fancy "houses" (author's quotes) decorated with elaborate furnishings, and describing the admirable qualities of well-known madams who "saved innocent lives" of girls coming to them for work. Though never socially accepted, these ladies played an important role in the early West -- some of them strong entrepreneurs, and settling the frontier right along side male pioneers. But the reader is often reminded that this was a way of life scorned by citizens then and now, a life without hope, where flesh was sold, women exploited and seduced into prostitution, alcohol and drugs... sometimes ending in suicide, or at least shame if she tries to marry and lead a normal life.
There are other women with an interest to keep this part of history alive; Jan Koski and many others have published on red-light ladies, purveyors of pleasure, sportin' women, ladies of ill-fame, and every other manner of labeling the nortorious history of the American old west.
Overall, I give Seagraves an "A" for effort and a "D" for grammar, style and presentation.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE:
DATE: 3:42:00 PM
-----
BODY:
"Are you guys by chance heading to the San Francisco area tomorrow? I need a ride and I have a flight out of SFO to catch... it'd just be me, and two small bags."
Uhhhh... ?
We blinked at each other quizzically, mid chicken-soup bite, slumped on the picnic table at our cold campsite, in the complete blackness of 9 o'clock at night.
Completely wiped from a six-hour excursion that day, we'd trekked up the Four-Mile Trail with a nearly 4,000 foot elevation gain, stopping along the way to take dozens of photos, dragged ourselves through a public showers-ordeal at Curry Village, then, relieved to be off our feet and warm and clean, started in on the tedious process of food preparation, and not in any frame of mind to think -- let alone deal with a hitchhiker.
The young man looked at us with polite expectancy. He was dressed in a forest green sweatshirt and khakis -- at first glance I thought he was a park ranger -- and he'd walked straight to us with a determined stride. He placed one foot on the bench across from us and leaned into our camp light to speak to us. He had very blond hair, and a long, groomed goatee.
I leaned back to see where he came from -- a short station wagon idled on the dirt road. He must be a passenger since I could see a driver at the wheel. The story didn't make sense. Why couldn't that driver take him? Why did he have a flight arranged from SFO when he was here camping in Yosemite without a ride? And what was it that he wanted again -- a ride? How would that work for us? We hadn't discussed what our plan would be for tomorrow.
I nodded vaguely, unsure of what to say. I looked at Rex. This was for him.
He spoke haltingly, "We're, uh, not sure of our schedule tomorrow." He turned to the guy, "So -- uh -- can't help you..."
"OK," said the guy. He must have gotten a lot of that response. He must have made a lot of inquiries.
He took his foot off the bench and turned to leave just as abruptly as he came. We watched him walk to the car, and enter the passenger side. It drove a few yards down the road to stop in front of the neighboring campsite, where he approached with the same determination. A few words were exchanged; we could see the family hudled around their campfire shake their heads no to the polite inquiry. Soon, both the guy and station wagon were out of sight.
What was that all about? He wanted a ride. A free ride. Why didn't he offer to pay for gas? Or breakfast? Something. That's how you ask for something. That woulda gotten us to consider it.
And why us? Cus we have a car. And there's just two of us.
WAITAMINUTE. How does this guy has the means to camp in Yosemite, and the mula to have a flight to wherever, but no ride? What's that all about? Does he just expect that because this is a capitalist society that some fat fool will float his needs?
And, he's hedging his bets -- don't offer compensation when someone will do it for free.
Well not me, no siree. I pay taxes, I got a car, I pay for gas, I make reservations, I'm a nine-to-fiver. Guess I just don't get the hippie mentality.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Oktoberfest!
DATE: 2:01:00 PM
-----
BODY:
"Welcome to San Francisco's Oktoberfest.
Where we serve the wholesome... the filling... the good-for-you... BEER.
So, drink up! And eat up! And without delay... let's start the festival!!"
So said the German Consulate's Minister of Culture (Gav was unavailable) as he bent down over a little wooden keg, propped on a small table and decorated with a paper Spaten tablecloth, with the grand feather-capped and lederhosen-adorned oompah-pah band watching from the stage behind, and a hushed crowd of festival-goers gathered semi-circle on the dancefloor in front, and on top of benches beyond. And after several difficult whacks with the flimsy faux-wooden hammer, bubbles and beer leaked, dripped, and then finally gushed forth... all over his nice dress suit and shoes... to whoops and hollers of the excited crowd.
And so began my third annual Gemuetlichkeit Night, the grand opening of the four-day festival "celebrating in the true Munich tradition." Biggest one around, drawing about 20,000 partiers and a quarter million dollars. Despite it's price of admission ($25, which includes a glass, a beer and a bratwurst), the orange-haired "Jager girls" (no comment), the wide-eyed Marina boys, and rows of stuff to buy (sunglasses, glasses, t-shirts, wool socks), American Showplace Productions does a pretty good job of turning the former airplane hanger at Fort Mason into the warm, bustling atmosphere of a beer hall.
Cheerful Bavarian music, brave costumed dancers, German-themed food, groups of gals, groups of guys, strollers and smiles and leers, and Spaten beer flowing as much as your waistline and pocketbook can handle -- my favorite holiday!
Ja wohl!
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Characters come out during the day, too
DATE: 11:20:00 AM
-----
BODY:
Every day, we hear about a new corporate scandal: yesterday, it was backdating stock options. Today, it's responsibility-rejecting settlements; Martha Stewart is still a topic of water-cooler conversation, and Enron has become a modern Shakespearian tragedy.
In the heart of Silicon Valley, at an SCU Leadership Briefing yesterday morning, an attorney, an accountant and a director sat behind mics in front of a few dozen business people sipping out of teacups and seated at white tablecloths, to talk about the minefields and mire running rampant through our corporations.
The session flyer called the topic "Corporate Governance," and promised to provide a panel of Silicon Valley veterans who have integrity and commitment, give advise on how to keep your organization out of the headlines and out of court. "Navigating the rules and regulations of corporate governance means you must do more than put into practice your company's code of ethics," the flyer warned.
Dean Barry Z. Posner, having just arrived back from a Deans conference in LA, opened the early morning session with a warm smile. "I just celebrated more than 2,000 days as Dean." Pause. Then, "In the US, the average tenure of a dean is 400 days; in California it's 200." And after a few nods and chuckles from the audience he continued: "About half the conference attendees laughed at that, and the other half didn't; go figure."
Thank goodness that with such a tenuous topic, at least we don't have to worry about our host being disingenuous! I felt immediately at ease.
The three male executives at the front of the room smiled nervously.
Dean Posner continued with his warm delivery of insightful questions to the panelists, and the gentlemen obliged. Point, counter-point. With careful precision, the lawyer and the acountant assured us rules aren't easy to understand but that governance of corporations is long overdue. All too easy, a company's board can become stagnant, flippant, paperwork can be all too quickly be signed without proper review.
But it was the self-described voice for executive directors, Michael Kourey, SVP Finance & Administration, CFO & Director, Polycom, Inc., who stole the show. A smooth and passionate "early retiree," he rattled off stories and statistics so fast you couldn't tell which was which under the artful delivery of a practiced debater.
"If you ask any man or woman on the street, they'll stay that executives are as crooked as politicians," said Kourey. "Which is pretty bad if you ask me." He talked about how CEOs have gone from pushy to paranoid, he declared that while no one wants to do the audit committee, somebody's gotta, and he performed a short reenactment of how he edits a quarterly report.
Are we better off now? In 1970, Directors spent about 30 hours a year on corporate governance. Which was comprised mostly of hours logged on exotic golf courses, at expensive steak houses, and that sort of thing. In 2001, the number increased to 120 hours. And now, it's over 200 hours.
At the end, a show of hands from the audience was overwhelmingly in favor of corporate governance being better off today, versus three years ago.
Go figure.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: What character do you play
DATE: 6:41:00 PM
-----
BODY:
... ON ... ... THE... ... SOCIAL ... ... NETWORKING ... ... FRONTIER... ???
I attended SCU's Center for Innovation and Entrepreneurship Entrepreneur Speaker Series panel yesterday evening with four of the top ten leading social networking sites -- Affinity Circles, Bebo, Friendster and LinkedIn -- discussing their startup stories and giving advice on starting a social networking company.
Fred Stutzman, researcher on social networking and social software, moderated a discussion on each sites' success with the current social networking phenomenon and their growing pains during startup.
I've been half-heartedly poking around social networks since Friendster led the boom in 2004, but providing homepages and event listings and picture albums is serious business. There are hundreds of companies out there that have built infrastructure and international teams around my desire to share weekend photos and chat about local art. Innovative engineers toil tirelessly to respond and address the "information needs of users," launchings up to seven new functions a day, constantly reading metrics, and surveying for feedback.
Keith Rabois, a wise VC who's also VP Business and Corporate Development at LinkedIn said: "We don't collect feedback... users don't know what they want -- we look at what they're trying to do."
The charismatic 25-year-old Steve Loughlin, President and CEO of Affinity Circles, said, "After graduating Stanford, I was the only non-engineer on staff when the Board asked me to be CEOÂ and we needed to hire, so I actually used my social network to find people."
Now as a five-network user and full-time marketeer, the discussion on viral marketing was the most compelling -- each panelist preached viral as the essential method to building their user-base (though careful to not divulge the "secret sauce"), and continue to build business plans and financial forecasts around this essential part of the processes to introduce advertising.
But, how can the ads be successful? Tribe has succumbed to banner ads on their site, but I don't pay any attention to them. Friendster is so ad-heavy I don't use it anymore. Bebo seems to think you'll want to buy the product your friend features on her homepage.
There's still lots to tame out 'dare, Partner.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: My career as a writer
DATE: 2:49:00 PM
-----
BODY:
Since getting involved with the Yosemite Writer's Conference earlier this year, WRITING has been hitting me over the head to get noticed. It's not just a hobby, anymore. No: it's an art. My art. It's an outlet. It's a child... who needs time and fun and discipline (yes, I am a recovering Artist's Way-er). Writing can be colorful and sparkly, it can be short and sweet, it can be long and sour. I'm super jazzed about this zine-thing where I can dress up my writing on cool paper and use stickers and stuff.
So, I guess it's not as hard as I thought it'd be, to write. Here's this blog I made up, a character in itself, a playground for the Artist's Goal I birthed from the culmination of Cameron's intense workshop/therapy session. Yikes! It's writing and it's alll it should be -- art, colorful, short, long. I'm working on the sparkly part.
But, it has been on hiatus for two weeks because of this cold virus that got the better of me... until I ran into the San Francisco Lit Festival online this morning. All kinds of cool writing-stuff going on! I may check out some local writers at the SF Library this Saturday, or a Porchlight storytelling team on Monday in the Castro. Too bad the Your Career as a Writer workshop at the Foundation Center is full. I'm feeling the need for group therapy with other struggling artist-writers.
Ok, back to work.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Folsom Street
DATE: 7:16:00 AM
-----
BODY:
Folsom Street
Smashed together
Chains and leather
Merchandise
Beer on ice
Gawkers
Gawkees
Nets or nothing
Night owls out during the day.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: North vs. South
DATE: 8:46:00 PM
-----
BODY:
Eldorado is one of my favorite characters. He has timing and heart and humor, and loves good company and beer as much as me. He is the longest friend I've had, and we've shared many an adventure. He is master of spontaneity, master of ceremony, and people love him. So when he called to say he'd landed in SF for a random Tuesday adventure, we did what we do best: tasty beer. At Eldos.
Rex, Civic, and even Orchid were on hand for this fine occasion. Beer! Around 8pm, free of dull responsibilities, we settled in around two rectangle tables shoved together, under soft spotlights, at the foot of the bar-alter, light from TVs sporting silent athletics shining on our faces. The place is long and dark often deserted, and as comfy and friendly as my livingroom. Near the door hangs a modest chalkboard with a flowery-pastel list of ales: Arboretum Amber, Pollywog Porter, Parnassus Pale Ale, mighty IPA, Sabrina's Sexy Sangria. The staff can dress in anything black. They're like family; we visit twice or thrice a week to catch up, relax and indulge in what we love most. Beer!
An Amber for Rex, IPAs for the rest of us. Chips 'n salsa, celery 'n wings, burgers 'n fries. House music, weather, work, school. And North versus South. Yes! I love to hear this topic come up. Each individual take on it. NoCal. SoCal. Cali. Frisco. LaLa land. Nevermind that we're on the same coast, in the same state. South is jealous of North because it's better. North is the one that's competitive -- South doesn't care. South is where the industry is, and characters from PAs to producers, while the North sports everything from techie geeks to winery snobs, beach to mountain access, in scenic, compact, hour-long drives.
Eldorado lives in LA, but he's not an LA guy. He loves it here... and on that we can ALL agree.
Beer!
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Story about a Carmel wedding
DATE: 7:35:00 PM
-----
BODY:
I was a wedding date, accompaning the lovely violinist of a swanky wedding weekend in Carmel Valley, and at the pinnacle of harvest-season... warm weather, wine, smiles, lovliness... especially for all kinds of prime emotions to converge in a glorious mash-up of dreams, fantasies, loves, families, prides, and heightened charge.
The event took place at the prestigious hideaway Bernardes Lodge and Winery with about 150 guests from the West Coast, East Coast, and Australia. It was a Jewish ceremony -- which I'd never seen before -- including some personal elements such as a Kahlil Gibran reading (one of my favorites: "The heart's affections are divided like the branches of the cedar tree; if the tree loses one strong branch; it will suffer but it does not die; it will pour all its vitality into the next branch so that it will grow and fill the empty place"), lots of laughs from the wisecracking groom, and lots of tears and face-holding by the strong and thin bride. Then: to the booze!
These two are known partiers and boy did they prove it, with hours and hours of dancing to the enthusiastic Wonderbread 5 -- belting out everything from Van Halen and Prince, to current pop hits and even a Beastie-Boy montage with crazy-colored live instruments, decked out in orange-and-silver suits and enormous afro-wigs, with suburb delivery that kept the dance-floor full till the very end.
The bride and groom then returned to join guests in the hotel bar in jeans and flip flops, sharing smiles and towels for a late-night dip in the pool. The groom took a moment to thank my lovely violinist date and breathe a sigh of relief about the day, saying "we just wanted to make it the best party." Yes!
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Life is a stage
DATE: 9:36:00 PM
-----
BODY:
This is not my usual read, but -- because I happened to catch a cable broadcast at some book conference in Chicago of James L. Swanson talking about this narrative with a passion for all things Lincoln that he's had his entire life, as well as with neurotic detail characteristic of attorneys and historians, I was convinced I needed to read this.
The bright, compact hard-cover book arrived before I had a chance to forget about Swanson's caterpillar eyebrows wiggling provocatively on that book-fair stage, and dove right in to the story. True to the superbly smooth delivery I saw on the cable broadcast, I read an equally superb account of the excruciating details of "the most thrilling true crime story never before told." Didn't know that.
And, I also didn't know much about the assassin. The book-cover picture certainly hearkened some memory of wading through an American history textbook in fourth grade on a hot afternoon, but I didn't know much about Booth or why he did what he did.
Booth: the Shakespearian thespian with the angelic face, and the riveting eyes. Booth: the beautiful demon -- the most dangerous kind... the kind that seduce you with tales that sound true, the kind that act with racism and criminality that seem right. Hence, the difficulty in reading this account -- one that seems not really to be about the hero Lincoln, but is rather about the excellent actor who dramatically took him over.
Booth took me over. He earned my attention, my consideration, my musing, and, my respect. Not because I think Lincoln should have died or anything like that, but because he did what he said he would, and without fear of death.
And, I think that despite his lifelong fascination with Abraham Lincoln, despite his entire life's work devoted to the hero Lincoln, that Swanson himself is equally taken.
Booth, one of the handsomest, most popular men of his time, and a renowned actor, performed the assassination of the President in such a dramatic way that it's perceived not as the horrible crime that it is, but as theater! Even 140 years after it happened, you and I know of it not as a horrible crime, but as a grand, gruesome historic performance. Having happened, no less, on a stage.
Life is a stage, is it not?
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: So what's all this zine business about anyway
DATE: 9:30:00 PM
-----
BODY:
Today I adventured to the local SF Zine Fest at CELLspace, an open artist-collective-event-space in the Mission District. (Freshly arrived back in town, it's a relief to be among the weird and the strange of this City again from the downright homogeneous and grotesque populations in less cosmopolitan areas where the Wild West Adventure went.)
I'm fascinated by this world of zines, heard about and now have touched -- paper booklets and postcards, buttons, pamphlets and comic books, each made by hand and made to solely represent the individual insight and flair of the designer. So many commentaries and sketchbooks and blank recycled-paper notepads, but I settled on a companion book called Inside the Brambles from Briar Levit, a little travel guide to a favorite urban walk complete with Japanese-inspired imaging, park map and inspirational quotes. My kind of zine!
Also picked up two copies of Bootleg Comics Age of Sinnocence, to "have something different on the coffee table." Cool.
Though I figure I got some exploration to do before I launch my own zine, I also realized that zine defines exactly the type of thing I've already been doing, what with my collages and e-newsletters, greeting cards and gift-books produced for family and friends or prosperity's sake.
I guess that means now's the time to get my voice out in the world.
Stay tuned!
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Story about beach pirates
DATE: 7:23:00 PM
-----
BODY:
Not long before sunset on Friday, Rex and me journeyed out to enjoy some lazy-day surf and the cleanest sand in all of LA: Zuma Beach.
It was a lovely spot to park books, blanket and sandwiches to relax for a while, though a bit overcast and empty -- or, at least empty of humans, but full of the ever-scavenging beach pirates.
Yes, true to tell, it happened not 100 feet from where we sat -- the beach pirates staged an amazing display of mutiny over an abandoned picnic blanket, out of sight and left unmanned while its owners boogie-boarded on the far-off surf.
First, a brazen scout swooped in and diligently pushed and pecked at a standing wicker basket until a hidden and sealed bag of chips tossed itself out. Once these efforts produced booty, fellow pirates quickly gathered, squawked away by the scout until....
... several more landed to take action. Circling the bag in a frenzied fashion, the pirates quickly had the prize surrounded, and joined beaks together in poetic gluttony to move in for the kill...
... with a collective crack and snap of the sealed bag, the garish group devoured all contents in an instant.
Soon, one of the blanket-humans returned to the site of slaughter, only to see a few stragglers prancing about, near the remnants of what was once a Kettle Chips snack-sized treat.
The end.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Almosts, near-misses and no-shows
DATE: 8:01:00 AM
-----
BODY:
Rex and me decided to hit up ElDorado in el-LA-ay as the last leg of the journey, and lucky that he answered his phone Thursday morning as we were leaving our Applebee adventure (another story) -- so we went south, rather than north or west from Cedar City.
Our rendezvous point was to be the Red Lion Tavern in Silver Lake for a goodbye get-together for visiting celebrity Jill Gillessen and to eat a light dinner at Gingergrass across the street first. After nearly nine hours in the car thank goodness the restaurant was an entertaining nexus of fabulously-dressed hipster-types since we couldn't be seated unless the entire party is present and so our hungry traveling souls were on wait for over an hour... After all, nobody walks in LA. Fortunately however, the situation was soon remedied with good company and a light-hearted server who swapped recent Burning Man stories with us.
Meeting up with the Belgium Underwear Model was to be a similar tale of waiting but with good company, and so we continued to entertain ourselves with stories of characters and of adventures and of the open road. Jill soon magically appeared and with similarly good company, so handshakes, light conversation and smiles were exchanged all around. I can never say no to a good German pub, and as tasty as the dunkel Spaten was, and as compelling as the Kenny-Rodgers lookalike synthesizer sounded, it was soon time to end fun times for that evening.
The next-night's meet-up proved to be equally exciting. I made contact with Los Angeles-based flute-and-dancingwing-maker and tribal friend Durian to meet him at a social gathering somewheres about town, but alas ~ that too proved to fall through, as had his lovely companion in Salt Lake on this very same journey... Instead, we settled with light fare at an overly-cheery Crocodile Cafe on Brand Ave.
I'm disappointed. Sheryl Crow said it best in her drunk years: "All I wanna do is have some fun/until the sun comes up over Santa Monica Boulevard." Maybe it's from the 20 years of living here and the terrible mass of humanity one is constantly beset by... and maybe that there are no striking vistas or incredible canyons to distract me from the oppressive states of excess and non-committal whimsy... and maybe it's that Maps to the Stars and ocean sunsets are marginally interesting here... and maybe because the crazies here are not quite so crazy... or maybe it's because I'm tired and it's time to go home.
Yee-haw, on the road again!
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Story about Angel's Landing
DATE: 9:04:00 PM
-----
BODY:
Today was devoted to an adventure in Zion National Park, about an hours' drive from Cedar City. Named sanctuary by the Mormons that discovered this place, biblically-named sandstone cliffs rise over a thousand feet from the Virgin River below... a majestic masterpiece of a thousand colors and shapes and types of landscapes.
More beautiful than I could describe or show here. I'm in love with Yosemite, but this is the Yosemite of Southern Utah.
Only shuttles are allowed within park boundaries, so we joined other visitors on the way to the Grotto stop, where the scenic five-mile trail to Angel's Landing starts. On the way there, a group of four -- a couple with their parents -- entered the bus and sat directly across from us with smiles all around and some comments:
"Where y'all from?" asked the elder.
"San Francisco," J. replied.
"Ah, well we used to live there. In the East Bay. Concord." Then, "So -- is that where you're from?"
"Uh, he is, I'm not. Southern California," I said.
"Los Angeles?"
"Uh, yes."
Ok, so in my parts, that'd be considered nosy, but around here I get the sense this is the normal way to proceed with strangers. Smile, ask where they're from, make nice conversation, gather info. Got it. Well anyway, I did like the gal's leather Harley cap.
Getting started on the hike was easy. It was humid and cloudy; perfect for taking pictures. And since it's after the summer rush, not too much traffic. Interestingly, nearly the entire trail was paved -- which usually indicates it's an easy trail, suitable for the cooler-and-stroller crowd, but since this area is made of sandstone rather than granite as I'm used to, I noticed that the trail would otherwise be unwalkable under all the feet that turn it into sand.
After a few loops on West Rim, the trail entered Refrigerator Canyon... such amazing colors.
Quickly the trail climbs toward 5,000 feet on Walter's Wiggles -- a stone and masonry wall engineered in 1924 made of 21 switchbacks. Sounds intense, but that's nothing compared to the 99 switchbacks on Mount Whitney at 12,000 feet in sleet... But, that was three years ago. Scouts Lookout was the pinnacle for us. The trail went on for another 500 feet to the tip of the ridge, but -- look at the trail!
It's a scramble across the tops of stone, with merely a chain-link in the sandstone to keep you from falling the 1,200 feet to ceratin death in the canyon below. So, we were satistified with taking fabulous pictures at the Lookout instead.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Leavin' Las Vegas
DATE: 7:02:00 PM
-----
BODY:
A thundercloud on Highway 15, heading North from NV, through AZ, to Cedar City, UT
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Vegas after dark
DATE: 12:12:00 AM
-----
BODY:
Green hue from the casino lights Illuminates the make-believe show Of this Hollywood-themed place: Fake lights, fake trees, fake gilded picture frames. And the bigger-is-better Joins all this larger-than-life together To ensure a win no matter what. But the real prize Is permission to let-loose-your-wild-side... Except -- It's not really all that wild. But people enacting their versions of wild -- That's real entertainment.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Story about a Bodie Character
DATE: 9:44:00 PM
-----
BODY:
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: What the wild west is really like
DATE: 7:18:00 PM
-----
BODY:
A tiny town called Bridgeport serves as a stopover point on the way between the Bay Area and destinations south or east via Hwy 395. The people there are earnest, simple, polite, raw.
The Rhino is my favorite spot there -- it serves as the local restaurant, poolhall and bar. Visitors, kids and locals mixed with ease. Food was suprisingly excellent, service cheerful, and an artist's touch -- notice the intricate landscaping of beer taps, license plates, and beer bottles. There's also a fine collection of police and sherrif patches on display, to the right and outside the picture. And a sailor-hatted rubber ducky on top of the ancient cash register. Cool.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Yee-haw! Welcome to my adventures.
DATE: 4:50:00 PM
-----
BODY:
These are the Sunset Stories -- about the characters that come out after dark.
These stories begins with a Wild West Adventure. Leaving the fog of San Francisco far behind, a brief stop in sprawling Sacramento to Bridgeport, Calif., for a tour of the ghost town Bodie... Then traveling down the raw and beautiful Highway 395 to Lone Pine, Calif., "in the shadow of Mount Whitney" to visit family and do some heavy breathing on the Eastern Sierra trails... From there, plogged through the hellish Death Valley in 120 degrees... And, onto sin city itself, Las Vegas, to live it up for two days with the zing and the bling here... From here it's either Grand Canyon or straight to Zion National Park... How I love the open roads.
--------
Two co-workers talked me into discount drinks for happy hour at their local Elks Lodge, and soon I found myself entering the fraternity on Post street (that's also the Kensington Hotel) and touring the narrow staircases, arrested-development recreation rooms, and mediocre athletic facilities. 
Chicken tacos
I've lived in the Inner Sunset for six and a half years, and today I learned about the birth Of my neighborhood on a free SF City Guides walking tour beginning on the corner of Hugo, the charming neighborhood street named after Victor Hugo, on a sunny winter
From Hugo Street, up 7th, to Judah, and down Funston, she pointed out original buildings with their circa 1920's tell-tale beige brick facing on top of white siding and with false fronts, alongside rows of euro-styled "arts & crafts" homes of the 40s, and between all kinds of more recent miscellaneous designs. The only art deco building is Doelger's offices, still on Judah near 9th, used as office space though in sad disrepair. 
After suffering a 30-minute line for the "Yelp Elite" which wrapped around Mission Street and nearly all the way around Yerba Buena Gardens, Yelp's 3rd annual holiday party was in fact pretty cool for a freebie, swaggie party... despite the watered-down open-bar Yelptinis, junior-high gymnasium-dance space, and wedding-reception hip hop and 80s dance beats. 
And, my friend Neil who's worked at Yelp for all three holiday parties, confirmed that the Yelpland holiday-hipster crowd has grown from 500 the first year, to 1,000 last year, to over 2,000 this year. 
Beset (blessed? cursed?) with whatever pre-conceived conceptions of SF, we were prodded,
And thus shadows were cast as long as the sunny fall afternoon, and in the seasonal shades of a factory alive with the happy chugging of industry, and that of a dead and dilapidated building alongside the highway. 
...
It was a beautiful fall Sunday afternoon to enjoy the world's largest privately-owned tank collection at the fundraiser for the San Mateo County Horsemen's Association, at Jacques Littlefield's Pony Tracks
A frantic Friday evening errand destination: the tiny outfit smashed between a dry cleaners and an athletic shoe store on Irving Street, just shy of 7th Ave., with a giant, unlit neon sign shaped like a shoe, reading "Sunset Shoe Repair."
October is one of my favorite times of year, when the weather grows colder (or, just as cold but sunnier than a San Francisco summer), and city dwellers seek the comfort of beer and bar, meat and potatoes, and OKTOBERFEST, that warm, uber-euro holiday for everybody, like St. Paddys and Cinco de Drinko. A little more reason than usual to populate your favorite watering hole.
The smiling man behind the booth was Kerry Loeb, who together with Rachel Hannah makes the recycled pieces from old typewriters that are too damaged to be saved intact. She told me that the rest of these damaged typewriters are then donated to a Tahoe artist who uses them to build life-size human figures. 
After an overnight at Long Lake we continued up past High Lake to New Army Pass at 12,500 feet. At the top was a desolate glacial wash between Inyo and King's Canyon/Sequoia National Park, leading to the straightforward Mount Langley ascent. Langley is the southernmost Sierra peak at 14,000 feet, one of the top five highest peaks in the lower 48 states and not far from the highest, Mt. Whitney at 14,491. The round trip back to Long Lake was a strenuous 10 miles, with an elevation gain of over 3,000 feet. 
Inside this unlikely oasis on a remote stretch of Highway 395, we watched Chef and Kansas City Royals fan Matt Toomey serve up lobster taquitos, buffalo meatloaf and tenderloin in an apricot-brandy glaze. It's to die for. 
A nine mile round-trip "Four Mile Trail" to Glacier Point in Yosemite National Park, over about 6 hours (with newbies), in partly-cloudy summer weather, minimal ankle pain, a totally laid-back schedule, and with pure awe and appreciation.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: How to Macgyver a tent when you don't have the poles
DATE: 6:49:00 AM
-----
BODY:
STEP 2: tie the cork inside the top of the tent to create something to wrap the rope around.
Nearly two weeks till race day, and between losing a week of training to a cold bug traveling through friends at camp over Fourth of July week, and departing today for a Yosemite hike, I'm back on track after a split-day 13-miler yesterday... up before 5 am for a 5-miler through GGPark and then straight out for a 7-miler to Ocean Beach right after work... was a tiring endeavor but convenient, and equitable to all 13 miles at once... caught both the rise and fall of the sun, with colors and light unlikely but welcome for SF summertime... and MindManager comes in handy for laying out everything related to the training schedule: race website, favorite gear, the course, and journaling the journey.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Currently reading: Bonnie Hearn Hill's newspaper thriller series
DATE: 8:04:00 AM
-----
BODY:
The third edition of Bonnie Hearn Hill’s newspaper thrillers continues the paperback series featuring the funky hearing-impaired reporter Geri LaRue and her many-layered journey through familiar California cities and landscapes... weaving the mystery like a cozy Murder She Wrote episode-- danger, love interest, newsroom drama, but safe distance away from controversial and provocative. The inside of each cover is personalized by the author, in heavy, black scrawl, from one Gemini to another.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: 3 Degrees
DATE: 11:05:00 AM
-----
BODY:
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Dr. Kurtbay, inspired by Buddist Optometrists in "Visioning Tibet"
DATE: 6:58:00 PM
-----
BODY:
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Sidewalk Astronomers
DATE: 8:48:00 AM
-----
BODY:
Last night, at the corner of 9th Ave and Irving Street, a sidewalk astronomer named John Dobson asked if we wanted to see the moon. The sky was still light at 7:49 pm, and the quarter moon straight ahead shone bright white. He gestured toward a humble cardboard contraption that looked like a homemade science project. Leaning into the tunnel, I could see the faraway half orb filling the entire peep hole with fantastic light and detail. Then the sharp spoken, white-haired man in a parka shoved this flyer to me, and quickly returned to his station by the cardboard tunnel among the pedestrians.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: B2B: The Best SF Party of the Year
DATE: 6:34:00 PM
-----
BODY:
With such an incredibly sunny day upon us, and having a late start to the morning, and being on track with training anyway, I decided to postpone the 9-miler till next week and opted for an afternoon beach bike ride instead. 
Cynthia Ringo, Managing Director of VantagePoint Venture Partners, recounted her mother's inspiring words: "if it's worth doing, it's worth doing right."
Dawn came quickly from the dark without fog to hold it in, and by the time I was getting in my car to drive to Crissy Field at 7 am the sun was already fully out. I knew the Presidio would be busy, and sure enough there were March of Dimes cones were out everywhere and droves of people in like-printed T-shirts arriving by car to the scene. It was like returning home, to this-- my old familiar training ground of SFRRC years, now a few years ago. I had a 6-8-10 mile run outline that I'd printed from the computer this morning. The starting followed each step carefully, but it soon the course became abridged for a restroom stop at the Toll Plaza, and an addition of a Ft Point out-and-back. I passed only a few random runners on the Bay Trail, some dog walkers enjoying the park, and several bike cavalries that zoomed dangerously by... but otherwise it was quiet and reminding me of the beauty of this precious place, circling back right on top of the water, diving between waving licorice brush, sidling monstrous eucalyptus trees, squinting into hazy sun, unmasking the glorious steel bridge and skyscrapers downtown in the distance. I figured if I arrive back to the car at about 8:20 the mileage would be about right, and it was.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: A Moveable Feast
DATE: 4:21:00 PM
-----
BODY:
A reader's rash and heavy pen marks within Hemingway's famous memoir of his time living among the ex patriots as a young man in Paris in the 20's, are themselves as true and as sustaining as the very feast he found. 
Though it was a later start than last week, today's training run was pretty good. Early afternoon in Golden Gate Park is far different than morning-- more people out, more cars, various picnics full of party-goers, streamers, beats and kegger kick-ball. With the overcast skies, it could be any time of day. This was the same run as last week, with an extra mile to the bowling green at the end to make seven. About a third of the way to the ocean, sprinkles were hitting my windbreaker, stopping as quickly as it'd come. It was otherwise a quiet hour+10m. At the beach, I watched four sets of triangle kites kiss the sky in synchronicity. I sensed colors like silver and Kelly green, watching other runners and walkers pass me by. I felt relief to be out on the pavement, in the fresh air, breathing heavy, feeling the toxins escape through my sweat. Before long, I was back on Irving Street, to walk the four blocks back home.
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: SFMarathon Training: Week 16
DATE: 10:55:00 AM
-----
BODY:
Today is my first day of training toward the SF Half Marathon, in 16 weeks.
Vivienne Westwood's signature counter-culture fashions are on exhibit at the de Young museum, the reason to warrant a visit to the landmark neighborhood attraction.
Picoult tells the lively story of Delia Hopkins, a woman leading a charmed life who suddenly becomes aware she was kidnapped and abused as a child. Now searching for truth, Delia's journey is described in chapter-by-chapter shifts from the perspective of one main character to the next, to reveal a truth that's outside everywhere else she'd been looking.
The hyper-stylized film "300," based on Miller and Varley's historically-inspired comic book of the fierce Spartan-Persian Battle of Thermopylae, is truly best seen on IMAX.
These characters don't need the dark to come out, they came enlightened and ready to receive.
They came from Palo Alto new mommy hood, Mountain View tech writing, San Jose public relations, San Francisco marketing, from story-physiology therapy, Los Angeles screenwriting, San Rafael 60-year celebrating, and Half Moon Bay art study. 
Huddled in the hard seats at the cold Castro Theater, the sparse crowd had listened numbly as one woman couldn't help herself enough to the microphone. 
Nearly sunset.
landlords
Three years ago exactly, between marathons and right in the middle of training, during the wet part of the year, I over-extended on the downhill of a trail run full of slippery wet leaves. Thinking nothing of the ensuing pain and a limp that hurt even while walking, I went to the Doctor's and discovered it was a muscle pull. GROIN pull, to be exact. Yuck!
"Daniel will be talking to you guys today -- you'll love him. He's, like, totally down to earth 'n stuff," said the friendly MAC cosmetician with incredible auburn dreads and magnificent turquoise eyeshadow to our small and humble group of every-citizens, as we wove through other cosmetic counters on a busy Saturday Shopping afternoon, deep in the heart of the San Francisco Shopping Mecca. 
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Story about an Oakland wedding
DATE: 7:36:00 PM
-----
BODY:
Just like the bride, this wedding was as simple and pretty as she is... Married at sunset, surrounded by friends and family, at the trunk of a big tree.
"Are you guys by chance heading to the San Francisco area tomorrow? I need a ride and I have a flight out of SFO to catch... it'd just be me, and two small bags."
"Welcome to San Francisco's Oktoberfest.
... NETWORKING ... 
... FRONTIER... ???
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: Folsom Street
DATE: 7:16:00 AM
-----
BODY:
Folsom Street
Today was devoted to an adventure in Zion National Park, about an hours' drive from Cedar City. Named sanctuary by the Mormons that discovered this place, biblically-named sandstone cliffs rise over a thousand feet from the Virgin River below... a majestic masterpiece of a thousand colors and shapes and types of landscapes.
Green hue from the casino lights
--------
AUTHOR: linda
TITLE: What the wild west is really like
DATE: 7:18:00 PM
-----
BODY:
