| Wednesday, August 29, 2007 |
| Cruisin' |
For some reason, I never seem to write blog entries on Wednesdays; the last time I did so was on June 20, when I was on vacation. Since I usually write about my recent activities, and all I seem to do at this time of the week is work and go to my Tuesday night book group, there's not a lot of blog fodder. However, I just watched the most entertaining video on Slate.com, and I had to recommend it: it's a dramatic reenactment of Sen. Larry Craig's restroom antics, with narration taken from the actual police report. Meanwhile, ABC News reveals "Secret Signals: How Men Cruise For Sex" ("Tapping of the foot is pretty standard for men who cruise in toilets" -- isn't it fun when the news is so educational?), and sex advice columnist Dan Savage tells CNN viewers that these days, men use the internet to find lists of "cruisy toilets". Out of curiosity, I decided to see if I could find out if any of the restrooms in the San Francisco Airport are considered "cruisy," and indeed, a well-known web site (which I'm not going to link to here, for obvious reasons) suggests "South Terminal, upper level near US Airways." Also, the entry on the airport restroom where Sen. Craig got busted has a long trail of comments, beginning in September 2006 ("This place is unbelievably hot!"), followed a few months later by many urgent "Heads Up!" alerts ("Twenty people were arrested within the past week"; "I just got busted here"). Is it mere coincidence that Sen. Craig just happened to wander into the one restroom at MSP that has a reputation as being a hotbed of man-on-man action, and indulge in a frenzy of foot-tapping? I don't believe it, but then again, I'm cynical that way.
In other trends, Talk of the Nation ran a segment yesterday on "life lists," the idea of making a list of goals you want to accomplish before you die. There are, of course, several web sites devoted to life lists, the most popular of which is 43Things.com. You can look up the most popular goals there; unfortunately, the #1 goal by far is "Lose weight" (wouldn't "Exercise at least 30 minutes every day" or "Eat more fruits & vegetables and fewer processed foods" be more likely to inspire action?). #2 is "Stop procrastinating." Stop spending so much time browsing web sites and do your work instead! Over 13,000 people want to get a tattoo, and over 12,000 simply want to drink more water.
It's fun to look at other people's goals and realize that I've completed them: "start my own business," for example, or "be able to jog for an hour without stopping." "Move to California" -- check! "Shake Stephen Colbert's hand" -- yeah, I've done that, baby! "Become a millionaire by age 35" -- darn, I'm too late for that one.
I'd be interested to know if anyone reading this has made a life list. I haven't made a formal attempt, but a few that I can think of include: live in a home where I can hang my laundry outdoors to dry; take Benjamin and Janelle to Disney World; visit all 50 states, and all 50 state capitol buildings; learn to program Adobe Flash; release a CD that sells over 5,000 copies; be a guest on an NPR show; own a really fine watch. It would be difficult, I think, to come up with 43 things; by the time I got to the late 20s, I'd be flailing around and writing down things like "Clean inside the microwave." My50.com wants you to top 43things.com by seven, and for the truly committed, there's your100things.com. Anyway, if you have written a list, please link to it in the comments section. |
posted by 125records @ 5:32 PM  |
|
|
|
| Monday, August 27, 2007 |
| Word for word |
Even if you're an agoraphobic, you probably know that the Bay Bridge is going to be closed over Labor Day Weekend. Caltrans has been spreading the word by means of enormous digital signs all over the area, and the long-planned closure has also been the subject of several front-page newspaper stories.
So, no auto trips into the city next weekend. I usually prefer transit anyway, and wasn't sure it would be worth the trouble to fight the Sunday bridge traffic to get to an industrial area not easily reached by public transport to see Word for Word Performing Arts Company's new production, "Angel Face." However, my friend Janet R. said it was fabulous and a must-see, so we decided to check it out. Luckily, Janet was right and it was worth the inconvenience.
WfW is kind of an unusual theater company. Instead of producing plays, they produce theatrical adaptations of short stories. And as their name suggests, they don't change a single word. They perform them verbatim, with all the "he said"s and "she said"s intact. It can be distracting, but "Angel Face," a first-person, dialogue-heavy tale, is particularly well-suited for the WfW treatment. The story was written by noir pioneer Cornell Woolrich back in 1937, and is about a gorgeous dame fighting to save her brother, who has been framed for a murder, from being "short-circuited" -- that is, put to death in the electric chair. Woolrich knew how to pen a hard-boiled turn of phrase; a helpful noir glossary in the program explains expressions like "The cat's out of the bag and the bulldog will probably chase it" ("The deception has been discovered, with consequences") and "You're headed straight for the eight ball" ("You're headed in the wrong direction"). New York transplant Laura Lowry does an extraordinary job in the demanding title role, and six additional actors manage to make a whole ensemble of down 'n dirty characters come alive.
We also finally managed to see "Sicko," which unfortunately seems to have closed everywhere except the Bay Area, but it'll be out on DVD in November, no doubt with hours of bonus features. Even the hardiest free marketeer would no doubt be moved by the surveillance camera footage of an indigent woman, still dressed in her flimsy hospital gown, being dropped off by a taxi onto Los Angeles' Skid Row. The practice of "patient dumping" by hospitals is a target of investigation by the L.A. city attorney's office. Very sad indeed that such a thing could happen. |
| posted by 125records @ 2:50 PM |
|
|
|
| Friday, August 24, 2007 |
| The high cost of living |
Earlier today, my friend Neal e-mailed me a link to a wonderful article from the Albuquerque Tribune about his house concert series. After I read it, I checked out the box on the right-hand side of the page displaying the headlines of the paper's 10 most popular stories. One of them immediately caught my eye (and no, it wasn't "Rainbow Rodeo: Gays and lesbians living the Western way"). It was the one titled "It's getting harder to sell a house in Albuquerque," a look at the city's current real estate scene. According to the article, the median home price there is $214,900, but a Coldwell Banker spokesman commented that "homes in the low $100,000 range are easier to sell" than more expensive houses.
If you live in the Bay Area, let that sink in for a while. Homes in the low $100,000 range. Do you know what you could get for $100,000 around here? Nothing. The cheapest listing in Berkeley right now is a $329,000 condo that is less than 600 square feet. In Oakland, there's actually a detached home selling for $200,000, but it's in a sketchy neighborhood and is described as "a fixer... show to your contractor client or handy first time buyer." Oh, and it's really ugly.
To my mind, the chief reasons to live in the Bay Area are the weather and the culture, and I feel I do a good job of enjoying both of those assets. I enjoy not having to shovel snow or melt in 90-plus-degree temperatures, and Joe and I attend lots of theater and art-house movies that aren't available in smaller cities & towns. Of course, a lot of Bay Area folks do sell their wildly overpriced real estate and use the proceeds to buy veritable mansions in places like New Mexico, Colorado and Oregon. That's why everyone there hates us.
Perhaps because moving to a detached home is such an expensive proposition here, I've noticed that a lot of people just tend to stay put. We have lived in our condo for over 10 years now and there are lots of folks who have been in this building far longer than we have. Despite our long-term proximity, though, I haven't really made friends with anyone here (we are good friends with our downstairs neighbors, but since we knew them before they moved in, that doesn't really count). There are many people I chat with in the elevator or who always say hello to Hobie, but I know very few of them by name. After 10 years, it seems like it would be silly to ask them. Instead, I have come up with my own private names for them. There's Mrs. Miles, named after her now-deceased yellow lab; she has a new one now, but I still call her Mrs. Miles, and to me, the new dog (whose name I do know) will always be Miles 2. One of my favorite residents is the Pot Granny. She's a friendly lady in her 60s and is seldom seen in anything other than T-shirts decorated with marijuana leaf graphics; today, she was wearing an eye-popping, colorful shirt that urged the legalization of Maui Wowie. Then there's the Hat Guy, who always has a smile for Hobie and wears a knit cap that's as ubiquitous as the Pot Granny's weed-bedecked T's. However, I found out this morning that the Hat Guy has trained a squirrel to eat nuts out of his hand, so from now on, I'm going to call him the Squirrel Guy.
I have even come up with a name for myself -- the iPod Gal, because I am so frequently plugged into my iPod when I walk around the building. Or maybe people think of me as "the lady with that funny-looking little dog." Perhaps there's only so much room in my brain for real names; a few weeks ago, I got a piece of mail for the Squirrel Guy by mistake, and even though I was excited at the time to finally learn his name, by now it's completely slipped my mind. |
| posted by 125records @ 11:27 PM |
|
|
|
| Saturday, August 18, 2007 |
| Scenes from the class struggle aboard the Pinafore |
One of the many things I've always felt I should get around to doing someday is seeing a Gilbert & Sullivan production by the Lamplighters, a local theatrical troupe that has been acclaimed as one of the best G&S companies in the world -- they've even won big-time competitions in England. To be honest, all I know about the G&S canon is that there's the one with "I Am the Very Model of a Modern Major General," the one with "I'm Called Little Buttercup," and the Japanese one. Pretty lame.
With Joe out of town for the weekend, I decided to head into the city and catch the Lamplighters' performance of the "H.M.S. Pinafore," which, as it turns out, is the "Little Buttercup" one. ("Major General" is from "The Pirates of Penzance," and the Japanese one is "The Mikado.") It turns out there's good reason the Lamplighters have been doing this for 55 years -- "Pinafore" was a first-class production, with splendid actors and singers. I would never call myself a fan of opera, but I found this one to be extremely accessible -- very funny, with a simple plot and lots of clever wordplay in the lyrics. I particularly love the way they use a call and response style in many of the musical numbers:
Captain: Though related to a peer,
I can hand, reef, and steer,
And ship a selvagee;
I am never known to quail
At the fury of a gale,
And I'm never, never sick at sea!
His crew: What, never?
Captain: No, never!
His crew: What, never?
Captain: Hardly ever!
His crew: He's hardly ever sick at sea!
Then give three cheers, and one cheer more,
For the hardy Captain of the Pinafore!
(You can listen to a bit of this song, recorded in 1930, here.)
The storyline involves the aforementioned Captain and his daughter, the lovely Josephine, who is secretly in love with Ralph Rackstraw, a simple tar (sailor) onboard the Pinafore. The Captain has promised his daughter's hand to Sir Joseph Porter, the Ruler of the Queen's Navy, who reached his position by being a savvy political player. Unfortunately for Josephine, her intended is a supercilious drip.
Also onboard the Pinafore is Buttercup, and my ears perked up when she was described as "a poor bumboat woman." Mary Worth fans know the Bum Boat as the hip & happening Santa Royale eatery where Mary and her beau Jeff often go on their chaste "dates." Turns out a "bumboat" is "a small boat used to ferry supplies to ships moored away from the shore," and a "bumboat woman" is a vendor who comes onboard the ship to sell "snuff and tobacky" and other small items to the crew. Buttercup is nurturing her own secret love, for the Captain himself -- equally doomed due to the rigid class system, as he's "related to a peer."
So this is where I have to post a SPOILER ALERT, if it is indeed necessary to do so for a 130-year-old play. When the Captain learns of Ralph's love for Josephine, he has the tar thrown in the brig. Then Buttercup reveals her secret: she was once a wet nurse and mixed up two babies, one "a regular patrician" and the other "of low condition," who were none other than the Captain and Ralph. In other words, Ralph is truly upper crust! The two men immediately accept this tale and switch uniforms, and are now free to pair up with Buttercup and Josephine.
My problem with this ending is primarily that it's icky: Buttercup has been (literally) nursing a crush on the man who used to suckle at her breast! And if Ralph and the Captain were babies at the same time, shouldn't they appear to be closer in age? (Ralph looks like he's a good 30 years younger; granted, this could have been the actor they cast, but who would have believed Josephine falling for a lowly sailor her father's age? Plus, he's described in song as "a youth" and "a lad.") And if she knew about the baby switch, why didn't she do something about it back then? But mainly... ew! The whole nursing thing!!
Despite what has to be one of the worst twist endings in history -- even worse than "The Village" -- it's really an enjoyable show and now that I'm hooked, I shall certainly check out future Lamplighters productions. |
| posted by 125records @ 6:41 PM |
|
|
|
| Friday, August 17, 2007 |
| Visions of China |
The natural food chain Whole Foods has been receiving a lot of flak for not featuring enough locally grown produce. In case you haven't kept up with the latest foodie trends, the big goal these days is to eat only fruits and vegetables grown within a 100- or 150-mile radius of your home. Web sites like Eat Local and Locavores urge people to take "Eat Local Challenges," and Michael Pollan's influential book The Omnivore's Dilemma took Whole Foods to task for offering food grown by huge regional ag-conglomerates like Earthbound Farm and Grimmway rather than dealing with small, local family farms. Obviously it's much easier to use large producers, but it means that more fuel is spent trucking the food around, and removes an important source of income from small farms.
As everyone shakes their fist at Whole Foods, however, one sacred cow has remained untouched, even here in the hyper-politically-correct Bay Area. I'm talking about Trader Joe's. It's recently announced plans to open new stores in Berkeley and Oakland, and the only complaints have involved its non-unionized workforce and the impact on local traffic. The Chronicle seems content to celebrate its devoted cult of shoppers.
I will admit that I shop at Trader Joe's all the time, although I am constantly frustrated by the long lines and crowded aisles -- in fact, I've determined that the only good time to go to TJ's is first thing in the morning (where there's always a long line of customers waiting for it to open!) or right before they close. However, even though I'm not a locavore by any means, lately, I've been feeling guilty about my TJ's addiction. Looking at the packaging, it's clear that most of the store's products have been shipped in from far, far away.
Frozen vegetables from China and Denmark; fruit from Chile; chocolate from Switzerland; wine from New Zealand; lentil dishes from India -- TJ's is a locavore's nightmare. And yet as far as I can tell, no one's made a peep about the store's far-flung product line.
Because of the recent articles about tainted food from China, I've become painfully aware of how much is imported from that country. I picked up a bottled raspberry iced tea drink at Andronico's and between sips, I happened to notice that it was labeled as a "product of China." I'm not saying that everything from that country is suspect, but after the lead-toy scandal, the poisonous toothpaste, and carcinogenic catfish, it does give me pause.
It's a drag to have to study the country of origin info on the packaging before I buy anything -- also, it means I will be responsible for causing my own bit of congestion in the aisles of TJ's -- but from now on, I'm going to make an effort to make sure my TJ's purchases are made in the good ol' U.S. whenever possible.
|
| posted by 125records @ 9:47 PM |
|
|
|
| Monday, August 13, 2007 |
| Weekend update |
On Saturday, we went to see the Shotgun Players' production of "The Three Musketeers." Their summer play is always presented outdoors, in a North Berkeley park. While the rest of the country sweats through a heat wave, anyone going to see outdoor theater here risks freezing to death unless they take a sweatshirt along. Outdoor plays are ubiquitous in the Bay Area at this time of year as local companies take advantage of our rainless summer months, but personally, I don't quite get the appeal; give me a comfy theater seat and climate-controlled environment any day. After the show, an older gentleman tripped going down the rough stone stairway (the amphitheater is built into the side of a steep, rocky cliff); as Joe and I were walking back to our car, a fire truck and EMT unit were racing toward the park, sirens blaring.
The bulk of my weekend was spent reading William Kent Krueger's Thunder Bay. Kent is a client of mine and a really nice guy, but he's also an amazingly talented writer, as evidenced by the number of awards he's won for his novels. His books are about a sheriff (now an ex-sheriff-turned-P.I.) in rural, northern Minnesota named Cork O'Connor. Cork has an accomplished and beautiful wife and three lovely children, and the most horrible things always happen to them in Kent's series, which makes some members of my book club apoplectic. Thunder Bay is no exception, although at least everything is calm and relatively happy for them at the end of this book. I'm sure that Kent is busy cooking up nightmarish things to put them through in future volumes. Personally, I try to keep in mind that as real as they seem, they are fictional characters, and Kent's just doing his best to ratchet up the suspense and keep raising the stakes. Considering how glued I was to Thunder Bay, whatever he's doing obviously works.
On Sunday night, we tried to go see "Sicko" at the Cerrito. For all the Michael Moore haters reading this (and I know you're out there), at least we waited until it went second run. But there are obviously a lot of cheapskate Moore fans in town, as it was already sold out.
My main beef about our health care system is the way it has historically (since WWII, anyway) tied health insurance to full time employment, which I feel discourages entrepreneurship. As a self-employed person, I'm very, very lucky that I'm able to get health coverage through Joe. I know from people who don't have a spouse's insurance to rely on that it's extremely dicey to get individual coverage, especially if you have any kind of pre-existing condition, and even if you find something reasonably affordable, the insurer can drop you at any moment for any reason. Why make it so hard on folks who, for whatever reason, don't want to work for a large company (small businesses with only a handful of employees have it just as tough)? This country's policies should encourage entrepreneurship, which is one of the things that makes America great.
As for that old guy who tripped and fell in the park? At least he appeared to be old enough for Medicare, so presumably he didn't have to worry about picking up the tab for the emergency services. If it had been a self-employed, uninsured 35-year-old who had been injured, it could have driven him into debt. When Joe broke his ankle, the ambulance alone cost over $1,000. Thank goodness for that full time job. |
| posted by 125records @ 12:41 PM |
|
|
|
| Monday, August 06, 2007 |
| I am furious (yellow) |
"It's true... I'm a rageaholic! I just can't live without rageahol!"
-Homer Simpson
Do you ever get in one of those moods where everything ticks you off? I frequently do, and unfortunately, sometimes I just stay in that mood for far too long. For instance, why don't people keep their dogs on-leash when they're walking them? Why don't they clean up their dogs' poop? And what about the rude smokers who fling their cigarette butts all over the sidewalk? Then there are the folks who stand right in front of the elevator door, so you have to stare them down and wait for them to move out of the way before you can exit. In case you didn't notice, dimwits, other people may be using the elevator. It's not your private conveyance. And those are just the things that take place in and around my building. I'm not even going to mention, say, Alberto Gonzalez.
One of the interesting things about modern-day newsgathering is that you have the opportunity to be angered by things taking place thousands of miles away from you, that you otherwise would never have heard of. NPR tends to dig up a lot of these stories. You're driving along, and hear a piece about, say, depleted oyster beds along the Atlantic seaboard. It turns out rich people are using oyster shells as "authentic" landscaping decor. Yes, you can now be ticked off at wealthy, environment-despoiling homeowners who live over three thousand miles away!
I know some people believe that anger takes years off your life, but I'm not sure I agree. I mean, look at Don't Sweat the Small Stuff author Richard Carlson. He died of cardiac arrest in his mid-40s. Meanwhile, Lewis Black is almost 60 and still going strong. My grandmother watched nothing but "The O'Reilly Factor" in the last months of her life, and she was just shy of 92 when she passed away -- and that show is guaranteed to make you angry, whether you're a Democrat or a Republican.
If anyone has tips on how to be a calmer, happier person, do let me know. (I suppose I could try spending more time listening to the Polyphonic Spree and less time tuned into NPR.) In the meantime, I have discovered something that always relaxes me: cute animal web sites. I currently subscribe to three of them: The Daily Puppy, Cute Overload and (brand new!) OMGKitty!!!! Seriously, look at this and tell me all the world's cares & woes don't just melt away. (I also have my own cute animal, of course, but like married men who subscribe to Playboy or Maxim, sometimes you just want to see what else is out there.) Perhaps I need to get an iPhone so I can carry puppy web sites with me at all times. |
| posted by 125records @ 10:42 AM |
|
|
|
| Sunday, August 05, 2007 |
| Thirteen is an unlucky number |
It's kind of pointless writing a review of a movie that opened almost 2 months ago, but "Ocean's Thirteen" just hit my neighborhood second run film emporium on Friday. It seemed like the kind of movie that would be goofy, lightweight summer fun. I enjoyed "Ocean's Eleven"; I skipped "Twelve," since it got such poor reviews, but a lot of critics called "Thirteen" a return to form. Personally, I felt it wasn't even worth the $6 ticket price -- in fact, it's the first movie in years where I desperately wanted to walk out. (Had I been alone, I probably would have.) Usually, even if a movie is not very good, I want to keep watching anyway because I am curious about what's going to happen. With "Thirteen," I knew exactly what was going to happen, and I had no interest in watching it.
The lethargic, phoning-it-in performances, the convoluted storyline, the Whatever Technology, the smug in-jokes (George Clooney to Brad Pitt: "Why don't you settle down, have a couple of kids?"), the downright misogynistic plotline involving the attractive but curiously trout-lipped Ellen Barkin -- really, there's not one thing I enjoyed in this entire movie. Well, OK, maybe one thing -- the fabulous CGI addition to the Las Vegas skyline of Al Pacino's new megacasino. It looks completely real. Beautifully done.
If I may quote the great Roger Ebert:
I know full well I'm expected to Suspend My Disbelief. Unfortunately, my disbelief is very heavy, and during "Ocean's Thirteen," the suspension cable snapped. I think that was when they decided to manufacture a fake earthquake to scare all the high-rollers on opening night. How did they plan to do this? Why, by digging under the casino with one of the giant tunnel boring machines used to dig the Chunnel between England and France. Yes, you can buy your own. There were originally 11. One sold on eBay for around $7 million. A boring machine, I find, weighs about 600 tons. How easy do you think it would be for a handful of Vegas slicksters to buy such a machine, transport it to America, move it cross-country, and use it to drill a tunnel under the Strip (which never sleeps), all the while removing untold tons of earth, rock and sand without being noticed? And without causing earthquakes in all the other casinos they bored under? I am reminded of that IMAX documentary about climbing Mt. Everest. All I could think of was, if it's hard for the climbers, think about how hard it is for the guys carrying the big IMAX camera up the mountain. I wanted to see a doc about them. Now if you had a movie about smuggling a 600-ton tunnel boring machine under Vegas, that would be a caper.
|
| posted by 125records @ 11:09 PM |
|
|
|
|
| About Me |
Name: Sue
Home: San Francisco Bay Area, California, United States
About Me:
See my complete profile
|
| Previous Post |
|
| Archives |
|
|
| Links |
|
|
| Powered by |
|
|
