Sunset Stories

New Blog!

2008-05-13T20:36:00.000-07:00

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.

Happy Blogging!

Web two-dot oh

2008-04-27T10:10:00.000-07:00

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.

Yoga in the park

2008-04-19T20:53:00.000-07:00

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!

Conversation starter

2008-04-17T07:21:00.000-07:00

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.

Is upper-class America listening?

Olympic Torch Rally

2008-04-10T07:32:00.000-07:00

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.

The Parrots of Telegraph Hill brighten my commute

2008-04-08T20:56:00.000-07:00

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.

"Honey, WHO does your color??"

2008-04-07T22:02:00.000-07:00

"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.

"The city is quite a place..."

2008-04-05T18:42:00.001-07:00

"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

Great Highway ride

2008-03-29T12:10:00.000-07:00

... 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.

Springtime Pronoia celebration in Golden Gate Park

2008-03-17T21:50:00.001-07:00

Ides of March bikeride

2008-03-16T14:38:00.000-07:00

The angels of Heyday throw "All the Saints" book release party

2008-03-15T12:29:00.001-07:00

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.

Second GABA "Women in Business" event a success

2008-03-14T06:21:00.000-07:00

The second GABA Women in Business event, held at Mindjet on 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.

Bravo for another excellent execution!

Time to plan the next one, for summer.

Moment of beauty

2008-03-11T05:54:00.000-07:00

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.

Virgin Velo

2008-03-04T06:50:00.000-08:00

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.

Story of a synchronistic event, on my morning commute

2008-02-28T21:50:00.000-08:00

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.

GABA "ad" by the VP Marketing (me)

2008-02-28T09:17:00.000-08:00

Venture to Elkdom

2008-02-23T22:11:00.000-08:00

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.

My valentine

2008-02-16T14:04:00.000-08:00

Gladiolas, in wedding colors:

Morning cup of joe

2008-02-14T07:05:00.000-08:00

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.

I heart my houseguest

2008-02-11T19:45:00.000-08:00

Super Tuesday, at Saint Anne's of the Sunset

2008-02-11T19:39:00.000-08:00

After 16 takes... popped my YouTube cherry

2008-02-05T21:07:00.000-08:00

Gamefood extravaganza

2008-02-04T22:01:00.001-08:00

Chicken tacos

Potato skins

Locked out

2008-01-31T07:28:00.000-08:00

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?

Story of a yogic community of seekers, at Sports Basement

2008-01-27T19:12:00.000-08:00

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.

Today it was a free beginner Vinyasa class at Potrero Hill Sports Basement, taught by beginner instructor Stacy of Work In Progress Fitness, where about 30 strangers gathered on a rainy Sunday afternoon, in all manner of story, to yoga together and warm the cold warehouse room.

Macworld-ing it

2008-01-18T07:17:00.000-08:00

Macworld, currently at the Moscone Center in San Francisco, is widly known as a consumer show.

This year boasts the most booths ever, at 450.

And the debut of Macbook Air to its very tech-savvy audience.

"The Lives of Others," is for you

2008-01-13T10:52:00.000-08:00

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 Gerd Wiesler 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.

Inner Sunset: Birth of a Neighborhood

2008-01-12T18:42:00.000-08:00

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.

Attention passengers: this train will stop..."

2008-01-08T20:47:00.000-08:00

"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.

Top Three of 2007

2008-01-02T15:33:00.000-08:00

Durty Thirty Birthday

800 Feet to Mount Langley

Job at Mindjet

A Winter Solstice Wandering

2007-12-22T12:31:00.000-08:00

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."

It's beginning to feel a lot like...

2007-12-12T08:51:00.001-08:00

In this busy, cold, emotionally complicated, and simply wonderful holiday time, I have begun to celebrate...

with (pictured) hanging ornaments on the lovely potted Rhapis excelsa palm, and uniquely-repurposing a few seasonal greeting cards.

Turned away from the Olympic Club for wearing jeans (almost)

2007-12-07T17:02:00.000-08:00

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.

Yelp on!

2007-12-06T09:41:00.000-08:00

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.

Yelp on!

The San Franciscans visit The Portlanders

2007-11-27T23:02:00.000-08:00

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.

A Tri-State Thanksgiving Trek

2007-11-25T18:53:00.000-08:00

$300: Chevy Impala car rental

$260: 3-night stay at the Troutdale Holiday Inn Express

22: hours driving in holiday traffic

1,354: exits passed on highway 80, 505, 5 and 30

$200: filling up the tank five times

1,308: miles across three states of tree-carpeted foothills, abandoned industrial areas, and fast-food rest stops

$26: four Wendy's spicy chicken sandwich combo meals #6

Holding my 6-week old nephew for the first time: priceless.

The ladies of GABA's Women in Business IG launch a series with an engaging event

2007-11-18T20:54:00.000-08:00

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.

Sliding Doors: Adventures on MUNI and the Streets of San Francisco

2007-11-13T10:21:00.000-08:00

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.

Doppelganger?

October's Hunter Moon

2007-10-31T12:11:00.000-07:00

Moonrise...

... and set, over the Sunset.

A Story About the Largest Privately-Owned Tank Collection in the World

2007-10-23T09:33:00.000-07:00

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
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.

A Sunset Shoe Repair Story

2007-10-19T20:37:00.000-07:00

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.

Recently-Reviewed: Litquake, a moving though not earth-shaking adventure

2007-10-14T12:29:00.001-07:00

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.

A Study of Oktoberfest: Part 3 of 3

2007-10-13T23:23:00.000-07:00

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.

Too bad the lights have to be so bright.

A Study of Oktoberfest: Part 2 of 3

2007-10-12T07:12:00.000-07:00

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.

Four German-American groups, GABA, GACC, State of Bavaria, and Carroll, Burdick & McDonough LLP, hosted the event.

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.

And, while no lucrative business opportunities were networked, it was a pleasant intersection of familiar faces, like Alexander Imberg, Caroline Raynaud, Susanne Khawand, Carole Granade and EJ Dieterle.

A Study of Oktoberfest: Part 1 of 3

2007-10-05T15:39:00.000-07:00

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.

A Post-Yosemite Writers Conference Reflection

2007-09-26T07:11:00.001-07:00

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;”
Linda Rohrbough, who made the winning bid for Mindjet's MindManager software said, "I’ve heard about this and I can’t wait to use it!"
Victor Grippi from Pasadena told me he found the conference on WritersMarket.com, and that the short story is about the “single effect;”
In the “Blogging Your Way to Fame” panel, Nick Belardes called a blog a “conversation with people;”
And, Melinda Carroll from Bakersfield, who I met last year, told me that she’s currently writing women’s fiction.

To see more about this year's conference, check out ABC23’s Managing Editor Nick Belardes discuss the hot talk at the conference in “Is Book Publishing Dead?” the Sierra Star’s feature story on the conference, and conference emcee Rik Bollman's YWC photo album on Flickr.

But there’s one story I’ve neglected: mine.

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.

Team Mindjet at JPMorgan Chase Corporate Challenge

2007-09-20T15:20:00.000-07:00

In a proud display of corporate camaraderie, the third annual (and biggest yet) Team Mindjet competed along with 5,340 participants from 233 companies in the 23rd San Francisco JPMorgan Chase Corporate Challenge.

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.

Porchlight Storytellers at Cafe du Nord

2007-09-18T15:28:00.000-07:00

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.

What's Your Type Typewritter Jewelry

2007-09-05T21:57:00.000-07:00

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.

Great conversation pieces; and I love recycling!

Yosemite Writers Conference benefits from MindManager auction

2007-09-01T09:59:00.001-07:00

Mindjet's MindManager fetched one of the highest bids at the Yosemite Writers Conference, where over 100 writers gathered for an inside look at the book business from August 24-26 at the Tenaya Lodge.

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.

Climbing one of the Sierra's highest peaks

2007-08-31T23:36:00.001-07:00

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.

Whoa Nellie Deli

2007-08-31T22:42:00.000-07:00

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.

Two weeks till the Yosemite Writers Conference

2007-08-09T20:00:00.000-07:00

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.

Mr. Two Twenty Sansome

2007-08-01T06:48:00.000-07:00

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.

SFMarathon: Finish!

2007-07-30T06:51:00.000-07:00

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.

SFMarathon: 24 hours to Race Day

2007-07-27T16:01:00.000-07:00

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.

"How's the corporate world out there?"

2007-07-26T20:45:00.000-07:00

"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.

SFMarathon Training: Week 3

2007-07-17T06:36:00.000-07:00

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.

How to Macgyver a tent when you don't have the poles

2007-07-16T06:49:00.000-07:00

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).

SFMarathon: Training Map

2007-07-13T08:47:00.000-07:00

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.

Currently reading: Bonnie Hearn Hill's newspaper thriller series

2007-07-12T08:04:00.000-07:00

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.

3 Degrees

2007-07-08T11:05:00.000-07:00

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.

John, Milano's Pizzaria owner, made my sausage sandwich

2007-06-27T11:34:00.000-07:00

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.

SFMarathon Training: Week 6

2007-06-24T12:48:00.000-07:00

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.

Dr. Kurtbay, inspired by Buddist Optometrists in "Visioning Tibet"

2007-06-22T18:58:00.000-07:00

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.

"But how will we know which one to take?"

2007-06-19T13:15:00.000-07:00

"But how will we know which one to take?"

The unmistakable Irish accent, caught out loud from her to him on the escalator at Embarcadero Muni, 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.

La Entrada Class of 2007

2007-06-14T10:48:00.000-07:00

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.

SFMarathon Training: Week 8

2007-06-09T10:40:00.000-07:00

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.

Support Chasing Amy's Bi-Bhangra Bash, this Sat. June 9 @ the El Rio, SF

2007-06-08T15:01:00.000-07:00

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!)

Union Street "Any Reason to be Intoxicated in Public During the Day" Festival

2007-06-03T12:24:00.000-07:00

One of the last true street booze fests still standing in SF, the Union Street Festival this 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 Bon Jovi.

SFMarathon Training: Week 10

2007-05-26T16:27:00.000-07:00

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!

Sidewalk Astronomers

2007-05-25T08:48:00.000-07:00

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.

B2B: The Best SF Party of the Year

2007-05-20T18:34:00.000-07:00

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.

Saying goodbye to a decade

2007-05-17T10:19:00.000-07:00

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!!

SFMarathon Training: Week 12

2007-05-12T09:36:00.000-07:00

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.

Technorati!

2007-05-10T09:32:00.001-07:00

Technorati Profile

Met a MindManager enthusiast at a Future Fuels event

2007-05-08T23:14:00.001-07:00

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.

Instead of training-- bikeride

2007-05-06T13:15:00.000-07:00

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.

SCU's Women in Business Conference

2007-05-02T19:28:00.000-07:00

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.

SFMarathon Training: Week 14

2007-04-28T10:03:00.000-07:00

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.

A Moveable Feast

2007-04-22T16:21:00.000-07:00

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 generation perdue (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."

SFMarathon Training: Week 15

2007-04-21T16:33:00.000-07:00

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.

SFMarathon Training: Week 16

2007-04-14T10:55:00.000-07:00

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.

Moon

2007-04-10T20:15:00.000-07:00

Just read: Female Chauvinist Pigs, by Ariel Levy

2007-04-08T18:38:00.000-07:00

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.

Vivienne Westwood: a story of the extreme

2007-04-01T15:24:00.000-07:00

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."

Just read: Vanishing Acts, by Jodi Picoult

2007-03-27T20:38:00.000-07:00

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.

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."

Just read: Female Chauvinist Pigs, by Ariel Levy

2007-03-24T18:28:00.000-07:00

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.

A change of scenery

2007-03-23T21:10:00.000-07:00

"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."

At peace with work

2007-03-22T09:08:00.000-07:00

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.

"300" times better on the big screen

2007-03-19T09:16:00.000-07:00

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

St. Paddy's neighborhood bar-hopping

2007-03-17T17:40:00.000-07:00

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

Story about a plugged drain

2007-03-13T19:12:00.000-07:00

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.

Let's go for a walk

2007-03-12T23:38:00.000-07:00

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

Seeking full-time employment

2007-03-03T14:30:00.000-08:00

Marketing or business development project manager positions!

Rainbow

2007-02-26T21:33:00.000-08:00

Googled!

2007-02-16T08:31:00.000-08:00

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 Gooooogle strap, 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!

Quote for the day

2007-02-15T17:26:00.001-08:00

”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

Writers' ripening at Isis Oasis

2007-02-11T17:45:00.000-08:00

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, Los Angeles screenwriting, San Rafael 60-year celebrating, and Half Moon Bay art study.

Under the careful guidance of Leslie Kirk Campbell and her mentor, Loreon Vigne, 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...

"Know thyself," She says, and we do.

Photo album:

Isis Oasis Ripe Fruit Writing Weekend

Sunset Stories

New Blog!

Web two-dot oh

Yoga in the park

Conversation starter

Olympic Torch Rally

The Parrots of Telegraph Hill brighten my commute

"Honey, WHO does your color??"

"The city is quite a place..."

Great Highway ride

Springtime Pronoia celebration in Golden Gate Park

Ides of March bikeride

The angels of Heyday throw "All the Saints" book release party

Second GABA "Women in Business" event a success

Moment of beauty

Virgin Velo

Story of a synchronistic event, on my morning commute

GABA "ad" by the VP Marketing (me)

Venture to Elkdom

My valentine

Morning cup of joe

I *heart* my houseguest

Super Tuesday, at Saint Anne's of the Sunset

After 16 takes... popped my YouTube cherry

Gamefood extravaganza

Locked out

Story of a yogic community of seekers, at Sports Basement

Macworld-ing it

"The Lives of Others," is for you

Inner Sunset: Birth of a Neighborhood

Attention passengers: this train will stop..."

Top Three of 2007

A Winter Solstice Wandering

It's beginning to feel a lot like...

Turned away from the Olympic Club for wearing jeans (almost)

Yelp on!

The San Franciscans visit The Portlanders

A Tri-State Thanksgiving Trek

The ladies of GABA's Women in Business IG launch a series with an engaging event

Sliding Doors: Adventures on MUNI and the Streets of San Francisco

October's Hunter Moon

A Story About the Largest Privately-Owned Tank Collection in the World

A Sunset Shoe Repair Story

Recently-Reviewed: Litquake, a moving though not earth-shaking adventure

A Study of Oktoberfest: Part 3 of 3

A Study of Oktoberfest: Part 2 of 3

A Study of Oktoberfest: Part 1 of 3

A Post-Yosemite Writers Conference Reflection

Team Mindjet at JPMorgan Chase Corporate Challenge

Porchlight Storytellers at Cafe du Nord

What's Your Type Typewritter Jewelry

Yosemite Writers Conference benefits from MindManager auction

Climbing one of the Sierra's highest peaks

Whoa Nellie Deli

Two weeks till the Yosemite Writers Conference

Mr. Two Twenty Sansome

SFMarathon: Finish!

SFMarathon: 24 hours to Race Day

"How's the corporate world out there?"

SFMarathon Training: Week 3

How to Macgyver a tent when you don't have the poles

SFMarathon: Training Map

Currently reading: Bonnie Hearn Hill's newspaper thriller series

3 Degrees

John, Milano's Pizzaria owner, made my sausage sandwich

SFMarathon Training: Week 6

Dr. Kurtbay, inspired by Buddist Optometrists in "Visioning Tibet"

"But how will we know which one to take?"

La Entrada Class of 2007

SFMarathon Training: Week 8

Support Chasing Amy's Bi-Bhangra Bash, this Sat. June 9 @ the El Rio, SF

Union Street "Any Reason to be Intoxicated in Public During the Day" Festival

SFMarathon Training: Week 10

Sidewalk Astronomers

B2B: The Best SF Party of the Year

Saying goodbye to a decade

SFMarathon Training: Week 12

Technorati!

Met a MindManager enthusiast at a Future Fuels event

Instead of training-- bikeride

I heart my houseguest