Foosball

The 33

CCA Night

Breakfast, Lunch, Chicken Teriyaki

Wolf's

: older, long-gray-haired guy yells at a 71L bus for not stopping at a non-limited stop, “Hey! Hey!!” pounding the metal side; Whole Foods salad bar shows no sign of shortages, outages. Craving chicken and beets. Eat on the grass in the shade of the Metro PCS billboard; one of the hottest days; wander to Trader Joe’s and BB&B for a vegetable peeler. Utensils these days are swollen and heavy. Crowded store, everyone behaves like they’re the only ones there. Myself included. I put back the packages of lowly salted almonds and organic dried cranberries. Single guys don’t push carts, they carry baskets or nothing at all; Now, how the hell am I going to get home?; walk towards Market, lady in short shorts and white halter, “Excuse me, can you do me a small favor?”, pass a street littered in debris, smells like urine, comparing Tokyo to San Francisco; catch the 6, “I just didn’t have the mind for Folsom this year… nakedness throughout the city, it was great… “, the bus is depressing, girl reads handwritten notes from a journal some of which are highlighted, a young and hobbit-like couple fawn over each other, we pass boarded shops in congested street traffic; a bottle of Yellowtail Cabernet, microwave dinner like a grandmama on Hoarders; Dexter and Desperate Housewives. R. and I chat in her room over wine before pouring into our beds.

Dario

: it’s early but that’s OK. I slept too much yesterday. Take a shower and avoid shaving. Not interested in my clothes; N Judah to Embarcadero, I like his golden knees and I like his orange shirt and thick wrists, corded; Rockridge outdoor festivities always competes with Folsom Street Fair; E. meets me at Hudson Bay with Dario; we walk him around the block before going back to Manila and seeing Nagamuko; drive to her new apartment building, a 4 unit, old-fashioned, reminds me of Nana Libra and Nonni’s place in Saxonville; brass and crystal fixtures, a lever that pulls and closes the downstairs door, mirrors and prints left behind, an iron shadow in the hardwood floor, scattered ventilation masks and tea cans, armoires, plastic wicker patio furniture, an empty bottle Smirnoff left on the porch stairs; we leave Dario in the car while we go to Rudy’s; Pixar tore up the secret garden in favor of an office building that looks like Sylvan; Pancakes Deuces Wild, coffee, side of bacon; pulling boxes from the pantry top shelf, sticking to the paint. “How did I ever get these up here?”; “He’s a tomcat, a mouser."; S. and S. are in the backyard, sipping Scotch; she cuts his hair with clippers, we talk Mercedes MacCambridge, Johnny Guitar; Scotch and homemade cookies; Polaroids and old photographs. We were babies; On the way to San Leando BART, “I’ve been listening to that remix: they be rapin’ evry’body up in here. Hideja kids, hideja wife”; Sun in my eyes; Man, red-faced and a red sweatshirt wearing nothing else; Safeway for coffee, yogurt, cereal and other supplies; Walking up Haight run into J. and his boyfriend J.; How do we not have a vegetable peeler?; Tuna sandwich, Project Runway and Top Chef: Just Desserts.

Takahashi Building

Red & Gold

: AIDA on the jumbotron at AT&T Park, spread on blankets with 7-Layer dip, $20 Scotch, plastic cups of red wine; smoking outside the gates; the moon rises like a bomb going off, orange and bulbous; drinking beer in the car ride home, some kind of Kona blend.

Yellow Car, Yellow Bear

Corner of 15th & Kansas.

Wednesday Farmers' Market

Market & Noe

: sunny from Haight through 16th; oatmeal with brown sugar and crushed pecans; setting up log-ins, passwords, access. "I'm going to Thailand for Christmas."; learning new platforms; pad thai; birthday cake with chocolate pudding; lost his bike helmet; walk home into the sunlight. Strangers' figures and faces are blown out; Farmers' Market patrons; creeped by false flirtation, like birds of a scarecrow; washing dishes to Fleetwood Mac, "Little Lies" and "Gypsy"; rice, smoked salmon from a pouch and sliced tomato; First episode, Season 2 of Glee makes me very happy and I want to see more, wished they played out the "Telephone"-off; The Event which tweaked my interest but it's possible it could go the way of FlashForward or V.

Where's My F'n' Hover Car?

Where 8th Meets 16th

: early morning darkness; fog horn is a snoring giant; Jonathan Franzen's Freedom; sesame bagel with hummus and tomato, California breakfast; porch-steps to a screen door office; my picture taken next to a mannequin; we talk as he smokes Benson & Hedges; dogs in Ohio; lunch at JB's, tuna sandwich, cranberry juice and a bag of Lay's; take the 10 towards downtown; can hear Coldplay: "Yellow" from someone's earbuds; where to rest my eyes? Knees seem like an OK spot in-between maudlin (feet) and perverse (crotch) but not creepy (face); tuxedo fitting by boy in a bright blue shirt, ignore his dandruff; Mondays are a "bloodfest"; yogurt and granola then Lean Cuisine Chicken Parmigiana for dinner, nuke the living daylights out of it; outside the night air is window and the trees are loud; police lights on the edge of the park, a figure dances in the searchlights and more scan the bushes and lawn.

Haight, Sunday Morning

Just down the block.

Book Review: Margaret Atwood "The Year of the Flood"

The Year of the Flood by Margaret Atwood




A prequel to "Oryx and Crake" this book follows the pre-Flood years of two characters and the hazy period of time following. Frighteningly prophetic with our potential futures; genetic-splicing, environmental collapse in the face of better-efforts, clearly delineated caste systems this book is a peek into a frightening future just as "A Handmaid's Tale" did decades earlier.

This book freaked me out. Having just moved back to San Francisco, I was near finished. Grocery shopping with products labeled "organic" left me feeling uneasy. Walking through the Haight was a good backdrop for the pleeb-state sections of this book or the arcades of major Japanese cities.

Recommendation: re-read "Oryx and Crake" before or after. I'm not certain "Year of the Flood" works as a stand-alone. There are many references to animals and organizations that are explained in "O&C".

View all my reviews >>

Jumped The Shark

Good afternoon...

The Werewolf Hotel has temporarily changed locations. They have moved operations to their Japan campus and can be located here:

Oukamiotoko no Hoteru

Please have a pleasant stay.

All I Wanted Was A Lousy Diet C*ke!

Last night I watched Comedy Central's Roast of Pamela Anderson: Uncut & Uncensored. Largely because the beautiful and exquisite Courtney Love was on stage acting up like the punk-rock girl that thought she would've made a better Lucy in her high school production of You're A Good Man, Charlie Brown. She's a national treasure and I'm not kidding.

So, this show was basically all about how Pam is a bag of STDs, her V is so big she uses a trampoline for a diaphram, and how her boobs will be donated to the Smithsonian when she dies even though she's Canadian. Then they'd sparkle a little praise about her commendable involvement with PETA. It was funny and I think Pamela Anderson is a pretty swell gal mostly because she says what's on her mind, is committed to what she believes in, and comes off like a caring person.

So, throughout the show, since it was TV-MA and "Uncut" and "Uncensorsed" I heard EVERY cuss word in the English language (C*** included.) Bea Arthur was in attendance! She heard it all, ask her. Also, Pam's nippies were beaming through her sheer black blouse. Fine by me. They don't scare me.

Now, Lisa Lampanelli gets up there and she's doing her bit about big c*cks and p*ss*ies and b**b**s... so her joke ends with her, for some reason, needing a soda and she says Diet [insert brand of sodie-pop here]. And they bleeped it!

. . .

They bleeped Diet C*ke? After nearly torching the FCC with firebreathing curse words they bleeped out Diet C*ke.

When did products and corporations become worse words to use on air than curse words? I swear to you, while wearing my jammie-jams, eating a Tr*d*r J*'s J*-J* and drinking a tall glass of water I laughed.

Products, corporations, and their intellectual property are sacred territory now. More so than our genitalia, our reputation, and our privacy. These words require more protection than people who reside around failing infrastructure.

Pretty Soon This Will All Be Different

I have a few weeks left. Then, The Werewolf Hotel is going to relocate for a while. There will be a new address and, I'm sure, a very different look. More or less.

In the meantime:

I keep a playlist on my iTunes for songs I become obsessed with for a period of time. I delineate it by the year. It's a fun way to record songs that are important to me, that mean something, that recall an experience like a night out or someone I met. This weekend I added Rufus Wainwright's Between My Legs to that list. It's been on heavy rotation, slowly climbing my Most Played list.

But there's another contender. A beautiful tune that I don't available to me yet because it hasn't been released. Isn't that frustrating? Understandable, yes. A reminder that in these days of instant gratification there is still do not open until Xmas situations.

Juliana Hatfield has a new album coming out the very day I leave for Japan called How To Walk Away. Her new song Shining On is currently being played in my myspace profile and hers! I have to say, the first time I heard it I was inspired. I like when art does that. Doesn't make you jealous, doesn't make you wish you had done something different; it moves you to be creative yourself.

Occasionally I'll wonder to myself: What will be the next song that really gets under my skin.

This one is it. Look for Shining On.

Another thing I love to do is look in the background of pictures. Reading book titles, recognizing CD spines, things like that. Often I take pictures of my own bedroom for future examination. It's a way of pack ratting without packing.

SPIN Magazine took this idea and ran with it. Here's Juliana Hatfield in her living room, surrounded by belongings, with a description for each one.

Notice that she has a copy of Wind Up Bird Chronicle. We share the same story.

Here. Is. Your opportunity...

...to witness majesty in action. Kate Braverman will be reading at Cantina in San Francisco this coming Saturday evening. This is very exciting; she has never failed to impress the few times I've seen her read.

Information:

Babylon Salon, San Francisco’s rollicking reading and performance series, presents a night of literary mayhem…

When: Saturday, June 14, 2008, 7:00 p.m.
Where: Cantina SF (basement level)
With Performances by: local authors Ann Ryles, Corinne Loveland, and S.J. Sasken; Farallon Review editor Tim Foley; and 2008 O. Henry winner, NEA Fellow, and Executive Director of Kore Press, Shannon Cain

And Featuring the incomparable Kate Braverman, award-winning author of novels, short stories, poetry, and non-fiction.

Read Michelle Richmond’s interview with Kate here on Fiction Attic.

Braverman’s groundbreaking novel Lithium for Medea imbues a raw, dangerous world with her startling lyricism. Her latest work, the Graywolf Press award winning Frantic Transmissions to and from Los Angeles, brings the same sensibility to memoir. The result is a genre-bending challenge to the form.

Cantina SF is conveniently located at:580 Sutter Street, San Francisco, CA 415-398-0195(www.cantinasf.com) Plentiful parking below Union Square. Up one block on Powell, left on Sutter; or Powell Street Bart Station, walk past Union Square one block to Sutterthen left, 1/2 block on right. (580 Sutter)

-Free Admission-

Come at 7:00. Reading and performance begin promptly at 8:00. Complimentary eats. Cash bar exotica.

Babylon Salon is a reading and performance series sponsored by alumni of the University of San Francisco MFA in Writing programYour hosts: Timothy Crandle, Timothy B. Rien, Lindsay Tam Holland, Maury Zeff and Laurie Doyle.

I'm Impressed Press

In three hours a press was born. A press is like a match.com profile; everyone has one but so few get updated.

I wrote a few short vignettes and bound them into an 8 page booklet called "One of the Strangest Days" IIP-001. I love serialized things, assigning objects numbers and a place in line. Perhaps I ought to be an airline ticket agent. I think not.

This is the mission plan: I'm Impressed Press will be (1) a free publication given to friends or anyone. (2) Anything and Everything. (3) Whatever I want.

Here's a sample for you:

Running Up That Hill

Alex and I were walking down 16th Street towards the Mission to get to BART. She walked her newish red Schwinn and we had just finished drinking some drinkie-drinks at Il Pirata after a tedious day of working at our jobs.

As we passed the SFPCA a woman was running towards us. She wasn’t dressed for running, and by that I mean that her outfit was more suitable for a squat in a comfy office chair. Her run was smooth and had the appearance of ease; a little too easeful for climbing a steady but noticeable incline. But something was wrong with her mouth. It was… removable. As she passed I saw her pop out her lower teeth, play with them and pop them back in.

Alex and I looked at each other. Could the day get any stranger than this?

I *Heart* Canadians

And, right now, South Park is high on my list.

Before I left for Vegas I caught the show where Canada goes on strike and the turn-around phrase of "I'm not your buddy, friend!" "I'm not your friend, guy!" I'm not your guy, buddy!" stayed with me from SFO to the Flamingo. During a cloudy afternoon we sat by the pool and wouldn't you know the douchebags behind us started in on this exchange. I didn't know realize it had cult status.



I wonder what Canadians have to say about their portrayal through South Park.

What I Did With My Summer Vacation

Yesterday I took a plunge that can be more humiliating than getting an STD test with your primary care physician.

I sold some old CDs.

I've done this a million times before, I've even been on the other side of the purchasing counter. I know the drill. I know not to take selling the Christina Augilera & Ricky Martin duet single (do you even remember that? When I found it again - I thought it must have dropped in from an alternate universe) personally but there's still that twinge of shame, guilt, and desire to explain why you once had a copy of Santana's Supernatural (I got it for free!) or 3 or 4 Groove Armada albums (again, free).

I wanted new music but, now more importantly, I wanted to release myself of these deadweights. Ten years ago I surrounded myself with walls of CDs; I loved their security and comfort; the way the binding colors blended (ever line them up according to the visible light spectrum? I did), monitoring the growing width of my Throwing Muses section, the geometric splice and slice when they were shelved alphabetically and then by year released. I thought for sure I would eventually have a closet devoted to their storage.

With MP3s and development of three digit gigabyte storage capability hanging onto the remixes of Destiny's Child's Bills, Bills, Bills is no longer a priority. I still own it. In digital form on my computer. And, if anything were to happen to that computer and the greatest hits of Whitney Houston disappeared into the 0/1 ether I can be okay with that. I don't need to archive the popular culture of late 20th to early 21st century music. My CD collection will not end up in the Smithsonian when I die. Atleast not one with the Go soundtrack.

There are some dinosaurs that I will never, ever get rid of even if the only time I ever listen to a CD is when I'm taking a shower or going to sleep.

I'll still need a closet space to hold all the CDs I will never get rid of, that's for sure. And I still buy them on a semi-regular basis. I once vowed to never by music in digital form while there was a tangible version somewhere. The idea of buying an album without touching it, reading liner notes, closely inspecting cover art was horrifying. But I found a great subscription site and I moved forward, deeper into the millenium.

Anyways, I slept easier last night knowing that the corpses of CDs I haven't listened to in almost 10 years have been buried in greener pastures with the hopes that someday some brave soul will dig them up, give them a spin, and shoot 'em with a laser.

Oh! And BTW I did improve my collection yesterday with the purchases of the following: Aimee Mann: @#%&*! Smilers, Cyndi Lauper: Bring Ya To The Brink; The Knife: Deep Cuts; and The Go-Go's: God Bless The Go-Go's (pulled from the brink of used CD extinction).