The Conical Glass

Capers

2010-02-26T16:20:00.000-08:00

Capers, and sun-dried tomatoes, for sale at the Berkeley Bowl.

Unclaimed

2010-02-23T16:44:00.000-08:00

Are you familiar with unclaimed property web sites? There might be a big fat check out there with your name on it. All you have to do is search your state's unclaimed property database -- try entering "unclaimed property" and your state's name into Google -- and voila, you might be rolling in dough. California alone has over $5.7 billion in unclaimed assets.

Unfortunately, I don't have an unexpected windfall coming my way, but I recently found out that somebody I know has a lot of money due, thanks to a few too many changes of address. And when I say a lot, I mean six figures. High six figures.

Of course, this led me to imagine what it would be like to discover that all of a sudden, I was a few hundred thousand dollars richer. Now, bear in mind that I am very fortunate -- unlike a lot of Americans, I never have to worry about where my next meal is coming from. I can do indulgent stuff like eat at Coi and shop at the Berkeley Bowl. But the thought of all that money made me... OK, it made me envious.

This morning, I got an email from Donors Choose, one of my favorite charities. I try not to browse the Donors Choose web site web site too frequently, because I want to fund everything, and sometimes it makes me cry. Last winter, I stumbled upon a project posted by a teacher in Oakland whose portable classroom did not have any source of heat. The kids had to wear coats in class and were often too cold to concentrate on their studies. The teacher wanted to buy some space heaters. I decided to fully fund the project immediately, and a few weeks later, I got a packet in the mail with thank you letters from the students and a bunch of photos of the kids happily posing with the heaters. How you can look at that and not be moved?

Anyway, I made the "mistake" of spending a few minutes on Donors Choose and found this proposal: "Fourth Graders need a North Carolina Shore Adventure." I've never been to the North Carolina shore, but apparently there is a cool light house, the Wright Brothers museum, and sand dunes. Mrs. W. wants to take the kids in her high poverty classroom to see the Bodie Island lighthouse and museum this spring, and she needs $3,273.24 in order to make it happen. Here's the good news -- a bunch of people, including me, have already donated $1,857.74. But as of this writing, they still need $2,134.02.

Maybe you can check out those unclaimed property web sites (I love the fact that Illinois' is named "Cash Dash"!), and if you discover a few bucks, you can make a tax deductible donation to help fund the proposal. If you loved field trips when you were a student -- heaven knows I did -- this would be a great way to give back.

Homework

2010-02-22T17:16:00.000-08:00

When I was in school, I was introduced to the world of Required Reading, where a teacher would assign, say, William Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, and everyone in the class had to read it and then take a test to prove that we had read it. ("What is Brutus’s explanation for killing Caesar?") As a lifelong lover of books, I quickly discovered that I hated Required Reading. The best way to make me not want to read a book was to assign it to me in class. This led to, among other misadventures, learning that renting the movie version of "Dr. Zhivago" is not an adequate substitute for reading Boris Pasternak's novel if you want to get a good grade on the final.

While I was avoiding Cry the Beloved Country, it's not like I was spending all of my free time reading Tiger Beat. Entirely on my own, I read the collected works of J.D. Salinger and F. Scott Fitzgerald, along with pulpier stuff like Jeffrey Archer, John Irving, M.M. Kaye and Colleen McCullough. (I remember choosing Kaye's The Far Pavilions to read on a trip to Sweden because, at nearly 1000 pages, it was the fattest novel I could find at WaldenBooks.)

Then I got to college, and Required Reading took on an even more sinister cast. In my English lit classes, we had to read a book every week; one of the most miserable weeks of my college career was spent plowing through Herman Melville's Omoo. Some of the books were inscrutable (William Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury); others were just plain boring (Henry James' The Portrait of a Lady). Yeah, I know I'm going to hear from people who think a Henry James novel is their idea of a beach read, but I honestly can't think of one single book I read in English lit that I enjoyed.

I was thinking about this because I've been wondering lately if there is some nutritive value, so to speak, in reading books that are "good for you" instead of simply picking up books that appeal to you. Should I be reading Crime and Punishment instead of The Help, even if I don't think Dostoyevsky is "fun"? Was my education somehow inadequate because it resulted in me preferring Anne Tyler to Theodore Dreiser? Would I be a better person if I was reading Faulkner and Woolf? Or, once the degree is hanging on my wall, does it even matter if I never again read anything weightier than Entertainment Weekly?

Perhaps part of it comes down to enthusiasm. In my big college English lit survey classes, I never got the sense that the professors (or T.A.s, for that matter) were genuinely excited about the books they were teaching. Whereas in junior high English, my teacher, Mr. McBee, assigned Dickens' Great Expectations, and when some of the pupils groaned, he exclaimed that this was an amazing book and that once we read it, we would never forget Pip and Mrs. Havisham. And you know what? It was, and I haven't.

If you truly love a certain Great Novel from the canon, let me know in the comments and maybe I'll give it a try.

Bowling

2010-02-19T16:51:00.000-08:00

I used to frequent the Berkeley Bowl supermarket -- when I lived within walking distance of the place. Once I moved and had to drive there, I realized why it had won the nickname "Berkeley Brawl" and decided the parking lot was reason enough to permanently cross the place off my list of favorite stores.

However, in 2009, the always-crowded Bowl opened a new branch, Berkeley Bowl West. It's located about two blocks away from my auto repair shop, Art's Automotive. I am fiercely loyal to Art's. Do you ever worry that your mechanic is trying to make as much money off you as possible by telling you that your car requires unnecessary repairs? Here is how you choose a great auto shop: pick one that's so busy, they want to get you in and out of there as quickly as possible. Art's will never cheat you, because they have too darn many customers. There's a long line of Best of the East Bay award plaques on the wall. Art's is awesome.

Anyway, while I was waiting for an oil change this morning, I wandered over to the new Bowl, and -- my God, the place is astonishing. I used to think the Whole Foods in Oakland was the ne plus ultra of East Bay food stores, but the Bowl makes it look like a 7-11.

Going into supermarkets is a bit of a hobby for me. Whenever I'm in a foreign country, or even just an unfamiliar city, I always make a point of checking out the local grocery store -- perhaps it's something I picked up from my dad, who does the same thing. I just like seeing the local brands and taking a look at the prepared foods and bakery items, even if I don't buy anything. So I've been in a lot of supermarkets. But I'm here to tell you, I have never seen anything like the Berkeley Bowl West. The only place I can think of comparing it to is the mighty Zabar's in New York. (Nothing will ever beat Zabar's, if for no other reason than that the Bowl doesn't carry black and white cookies.)

The Bowl is huge. It's probably as big as my local Safeway, which is pretty massive. But what will really make your eyes pop is the Bowl's produce department. I wandered through it, thinking "Wow, this is big!" and then I realized I'd only seen half of it (it's divided into conventional and organic produce). If you need any kind of obscure root or mushroom, this is the place to find it. (Check out some photos here.)

The Bowl carries at least a dozen different kinds of capers. There is a section of U.K. foods, in case you have a sudden craving for a Yorkie Bar or mincemeat pie filling, and an impressive Asian selection. The bakery has a zillion calories' worth of pretty cakes. In fact, the only thing that the Bowl lacks is a really great prepared foods section -- I'd still have to give Whole Foods Oakland the edge there. (The Berkeley W.F. is too puny.) The Bowl is primarily for the adventurous home cook, the person who really needs to track down a chirimoya in order to make some obscure recipe.

I wasn't intending to buy anything (hah!) -- I thought I'd go hang out in the cafe while I waited, but I never even made it there, since I was too transfixed by the supermarket itself. Naturally, I wound up with a full basket of items, including:

Spicy handmade corn tortillas from Sonoma's Primavera
Organic baby arugula and some pitted Kalamata olives from the olive bar so I can make this recipe
An outrageously delicious morning bun from Semifreddi's
A tub of La Cascada house salsa
A package of Almondina biscotti
Inari-zushi from the sushi bar

Happily, at 10 AM, the Bowl was not at all crowded, and there were many empty parking spaces available. There's no need to brawl -- the new Bowl has room for all.

Interiors

2010-02-14T19:49:00.000-08:00

I don't mean to complain about the weather, seeing as how much of the East Coast is buried under a couple feet of snow, but I'm in St. Petersburg, FL, and it really should be warmer. After five days, I'm not sure the temperature has even hit 60.

You know who is happy about the cold weather? Movie theater owners. Because if you can't walk on the beach, you may as well catch up on those big hits you missed. I saw two of them, "The Blind Side" and "It's Complicated." Even though both of them have been playing for weeks, the showings were packed.

The inspirational weepie and the baby boomer rom-com have one thing in common: sensational real estate. Both Sandra Bullock and Meryl Streep's characters live in gorgeous homes. I'd happily move into either the Tuohys' tastefully decorated mansion (apparently, owning 80 Taco Bells is very lucrative!) or Jane's sunny Santa Barbara estate (apparently, selling chocolate croissants is very lucrative!).

Both films teach important lessons. For instance: don't drive around in your brand new truck jammin' to Young MC's "Bust a Move." Even after all these years, it's so funky fresh, you're liable to crash!

And, if you're Skyping with your new boyfriend, don't leave your computer unattended if your horny ex-husband is sneaking around the bedroom in the buff.

To be honest, both blockbusters are ridiculously entertaining, but I'm going to give "It's Complicated" a slight edge because Meryl Streep is so winsome as Jane -- please, Hollywood, keep giving her starring roles. "The Blind Side" also features some dialogue that made me wince: "You're changing that boy's life," one of Leanne's snobby friends says to her. I knew what she was going to reply even before she said it -- "No, he's changing mine." Also, child actor Jae Head as precocious kid brother S.J. is teeth-grindingly annoying.

All in all, though, I couldn't have asked for better turn-off-your-brain vacation-time fun.

Kyrgyzstan

2010-02-07T23:12:00.001-08:00

How often do you have the chance to have dinner at midnight at an Irish pub in Albuquerque with 15 visitors from the central Asian republic of Kyrgyzstan? I had that experience just last night!

Joe and I happened to fly into New Mexico on the day our friend Neal was promoting a show by Ordo Sakhna -- their first-ever U.S. appearance. It was sort of the luck of the draw and wouldn't necessarily have been my first choice of show, but I have to say that I was completely bowled over by them and would strongly recommend that anyone who has the opportunity to catch them on the rest of their tour (including dates in Berkeley and Sacramento!) do so. It will be an unforgettable experience.

The huge band features a variety of instruments, including a six-foot-long horn that I'm sure was a lot of fun to take on a plane halfway around the world. Three of the musicians were virtuosos on the komuz, a three-stringed lute. The showstopper of the evening was when all three of them played in unison, spinning their instruments around and playing them from different angles, including over their shoulders and upside down. Several of them also played the jigatch, which looks kind of like a little stick with a string coming out of it -- it's related to a jew's harp and is the oldest Kyrgyz instrument. As with the komuz, it's amazing the variety of sounds they coaxed out of what seemed like a fairly primitive device.

The music is kind of hard to describe -- if you've ever heard Tuvan throat singing, some of the sounds were similar, although played on instruments instead of made by the human voice. The evening's repertoire was evenly split between vocal and instrumental selections. One nice triptych of songs was a salute of sorts to horses, a valued part of the Kyrgyz culture, including clip-clop percussion that mimicked the sounds of hooves. The first song was dedicated to Alexander the Great's horse, the third to Genghis Khan's, but the second was a salute to the mustang and had some touches of American Western music thrown in.

In another nod to the land they were visiting, they did an interpretation of the song "Strangers in the Night" which garnered a lot of appreciative applause.

I always admire Neal for booking this type of show, because it's a hard sell. It's not like there's a ready-made fan base of Kyrgyz music the way there is, say, with music from Ireland or Western Africa. But while the crowd wasn't huge, it was incredibly enthusiastic -- there were three standing ovations. The next afternoon, someone approached Neal while we were out to say that she'd heard some ladies in a locker room talking about what a fantastic show it was. The people who did take a chance and went to see Ordo Sakhna were richly rewarded.

The group's rider stated that they were to be provided with a full meal after the concert, which is how we ended up at O'Niell's Pub. Lonely Planet declares that "the Kyrgyz are renowned for their hospitality and guests are often treated to fermented mare’s milk and bowls of fresh yogurt," but the Irish fare on offer consisted of fish & chips, shepherd's pie and chicken kebabs. Despite the fact that most of the musicians spoke no English, their road manager helped get everything sorted out and they seemed to enjoy the food.

While their onstage attire consisted of colorful, beautiful folk costumes, offstage, they wore pretty average-looking clothes by American standards, and several of them had digital cameras, iPhones and iPods. Ah, globalization.

If you're near Berkeley, Ordo Sakhna will be performing at Ashkenaz on Feb. 19.

Reading

2010-02-02T13:40:00.001-08:00

One of the blogs I follow, Foma*, has an annual challenge called National Just Read More Novels Month (it was created as a response to November's National Novel Writing Month). Of course, for me, every month is Just Read More Novels month -- I would estimate that 90% of the books I read are fiction -- but I do try to follow yellojkt's guidelines in January.

I am on hiatus from my book group, so I picked all of the books this time around. None of them were knock-your-socks-off, four-star reads, but they were all fairly solid nonetheless.

1. The Financial Lives of the Poets, Jess Walter: A couple of people whose taste I trust highly recommended this novel, which is, like "Up in the Air," one of those works that is very much of its (recessionary) time. Matt Prior is underwater in his mortgage, unemployed, and he suspects his wife of cheating with an old flame. His problems started when he quit his job as a journalist to found a web site called poetfolio, which blended business reporting with poetry. Not surprisingly, the web site was not successful, and while he managed to get his old job back, he landed in the midst of huge cutbacks in the newspaper biz and soon winds up without a paycheck. One night, Matt discovers a surefire way to get out of debt: become a marijuana dealer. (Shades of Weeds!) The author blends some poems into his narrative, which is not as irritating as one might imagine (Walter is an excellent writer). Perhaps because I survived the dotcom boom myself, I guess I could never be totally sympathetic to Matt's plight because his financial-poetry web site was a really stupid idea -- and it's only one of some very bad decisions he makes in the course of the book.

2. The Christmas Cookie Club, Ann Pearlman: My mom suggested I read this, and while my library copy didn't come in until after Christmas, it's not quite as seasonal a read as you might think. Cookie Club might be classified as "hen lit" -- a variation of chick lit for middle-aged women. The book tells the stories of each of the club's dozen members as they gather for their annual cookie exchange. Pearlman based the novel on her own club, and anyone who reads it will no doubt wish they could join such a group (who wouldn't want to go home with 12 different varieties of sweets?). The most noteworthy thing about the book are the interstitial chapters which examine the histories and culture impact of various ingredients, from sugar to chocolate to ginger. Cookie Club has a surprising amount of substance for a book with such a cutesy title and premise. And, oh yes, there are 12 recipes so you can try the cookies yourself.

3. The Enthusiast, Charlie Haas: This was a Chronicle Notable Book of 2009, and when I read the synopsis, I was immediately smitten: Henry Bay works as a nomadic magazine editor, toiling at a wide variety of "special interest" publications from Cozy, the Magazine of Tea to Spelunk, each headquartered in a different small town. The book captures the feeling of being an outsider in a world of hobbyists as Henry attempts to fit in with the ice climbers or crocheters, while seeming to have no passions of his own. The story meanders a bit as it veers into a plot about a Unabomber-type terrorist and Henry's brilliant scientist brother, but Haas wraps it up very cleverly.

4. The Hidden Man, David Ellis: I'm not a huge fan of legal thrillers, but I met Ellis at a mystery event and he seemed like a cool guy with a great personal story (he was former Illinois Governor Rod Blagojevich's impeachment prosecutor!). Most legal thrillers are, of course, written by lawyers, and they don't tend to be known for their elegant prose stylings. Ellis, an Edgar Award winner for his debut novel Line of Vision, is no exception, but he can spin a good yarn and once I got into the story, I was hooked. The protagonist is Jason Kolarich, a lawyer who quit his prestigious firm after a personal tragedy. He is called upon to defend a childhood friend for the murder of a pedophile who is believed to have killed the friend's sister when he and Jason were kids. The "hidden man" of the title is a mysterious figure named Smith who hires Kolarich to take the case and seems to have shadowy motives. At first, I thought The Hidden Man was guilty of one of my literary pet peeves -- the supervillain with seemingly endless resources who always seems to be one step ahead of the hero -- but Ellis smartly allows Jason to keep probing until he discovers Smith's vulnerabilities and figures out how to exploit them.

Both The Hidden Man and Financial Lives of the Poets feature heroes who manage to get by on absurdly small amounts of sleep. I run into this a lot in novels, especially mysteries and thrillers, and wonder if any of the authors have actually tried to go, say, three or four days without sleeping. The characters do sometimes comment on how tired they are, but they still manage to drive cars and work despite their lack of sleep. There are studies showing that even going a couple days without sleep can be harmful and lead to symptoms such as memory loss and lack of speech control. As an occasional insomniac, I can attest to the fact that just one lousy night means I'll be flagging by mid-afternoon.

Prince

2010-01-25T17:42:00.000-08:00

I'm not a big fan of the NFL -- to me, Sundays are better spent catching up with the past week's worth of Go Fug Yourself posts and doing the crosswords -- but Joe always enjoys watching the games, so they're always on in our house. Yesterday featured a match-up between the New Orleans Saints and the Minnesota Vikings. The winner would go to the Super Bowl.

Logically, I didn't have a horse in this race; I have no connection to New Orleans, and I've only been to Minnesota once. However, I rooted fiercely for the Saints, for one reason: Prince wrote the world's worst song about the Vikings in honor of their playoff run. If the team won, that means the song would get additional exposure. This would result in the death of music.

In case you missed the song, it is called "Purple and Gold" and the lyrics are written in Prince's trademark, proto-text-messaging style:

all of the odds r in r favor
no prediction 2 bold
we r the truth if the truth can b told
long reign the purple and gold

As for the melody, ESPN's Dan Le Batard called it "dreadful," adding that "if anyone other than Prince wrote this song, they would look at it in the Vikings’ offices, begin braying with laughter, and then throw it away." Tony Kornheiser compared it to "the songs they used to play in the old Soviet Union when the tanks marched by."

Ross Raihala at TwinCities.com bravely called his home team's new anthem "decidedly unfunky," stating it "just lumbers along like that musty old fight song your alma mater drags out at homecoming events."

I think it's what "The Internationale" would sound like if it was arranged for a merry-go-round calliope. It's enough to make me nostalgic for the days of the "Super Bowl Shuffle."

Fortunately, the Vikings lost the game in overtime, and it is hoped that "Purple and Gold" will be relegated to the dustbin of history.

On Saturday, Joe and I went to see "Weird Al" Yankovic at San Francisco's Sketchfest. We usually attend at least a couple of Sketchfest events each year, and always wind up wishing we could go to many more. The event was billed as "Sitting and Talking with 'Weird Al' Yankovic," and indeed, it was not a concert, but a conversation (with comedian Chris Hardwick, a friend and fan of Al) about the musical satirist's life and career. The topic of Prince came up -- he is one of the few musicians who has always refused to give Al permission to parody his songs -- and Yankovic regaled the crowd with a story about the Purple One.

In the mid-80s, Al was nominated for an award -- I think it was the Grammy nod for "Eat It," but I wasn't taking notes and can't recall the exact details. He was thrilled to be attending the ceremony, and learned that he was going to be sitting in the same row as Prince. How exciting it must have been for a young musician to be seated in such close proximity to one of the biggest stars in the world!

Then Al received a telegram -- this was a long time ago, remember -- stating that it was very important that he not make eye contact with Prince. How did Yankovic respond? He sent back a telegram announcing that Prince would not be permitted to look him in the eyes. Check and mate, my friend. Check and mate.

I had always heard stories about celebrities requesting that no one may look them in the eye, but I sort of hoped they were urban legends. Anyway, Al is cooler than Prince will ever be, and if he wrote a song for a football team, I'm sure it would kick butt, and make you laugh.

Cynicism

2010-01-23T22:20:00.000-08:00

I watched Conan O'Brien's farewell show last night -- more about that on The Other Blog, of course -- but the thing that struck me the most was the really beautiful speech he gave near the end of the show. The whole thing is transcribed here. This is the key passage; Conan is addressing the young fans who rallied for him:

All I ask of you is one thing: please don't be cynical. I hate cynicism -- it's my least favorite quality and it doesn't lead anywhere. Nobody in life gets exactly what they thought they were going to get. But if you work really hard and you're kind, amazing things will happen.

I almost teared up when I heard that because I am probably one of the most cynical people you could ever hope to meet. Conan would hate me. After I almost teared up, my mind immediately went to, "Well, it's easy not to be cynical when you just got 40 million dollars." And, "If all of those kids had watched you on the TV instead of on Hulu, you wouldn't be having your dreams crushed by NBC right now."

The "don't be cynical" line is turning into an Internet meme, and it's already on T-shirts. It's pretty to think that today's youth will embrace O'Brien's words of wisdom, but unless you are insulated by fame and money, how can you not be cynical? (Conan's message competed with John Edwards' confession, the culmination of one of the most cynical careers in political history, which was released shortly before O'Brien's final show.) Certainly optimistic kids should avoid hanging around the comments section of any political blog or newspaper column; I was browsing through the reader responses to a Bob Herbert column in the New York Times earlier today, and there are plenty of people there who make me look like Little Mary Sunshine:

"I believe the Democrats simply don't care, and neither does the Republican Party. The only thing the political parties are interested in is enjoying the perks of power."

"Corporate profits count. Corporate spending counts. Corporate ability to wreck depredations abroad counts -- and don't worry -- the American people will never hear of these damages and provocations abroad. U.S. corporate interests won't allow reporting on that."

"The Democrats and Republicans are selling exactly the same product: USA of, by and for the big Corps. They just differ slightly in their respective sales pitches."

"We put politicians with the most money, but not necessarily the best ideas, into office. We do so because we are so lazy that instead of taking an active role in our democracy, we take the soundbites given to us by the best marketing campaigns money can buy."

"There is no one now let alone in the future who is or will be the least bit interested in representing 'the voters'. Our voices are ignored now and will be increasingly dismissed in the future as the money begets power."

And those are just a few from the first page; over 550 comments were posted before some editor said "no mas" and pulled the plug. (Now they can all move over to Maureen Dowd's new column and start leaving remarks there.)

The only saving grace in life is that sometimes amazing things do happen, and while I remain convinced that you can't stick your head in the sand and deny harsh realities, I guess it's important to sometimes focus on the good in the world. For instance, when I was raising money for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society through Team in Training a few years ago, Robert Smigel, creator of Conan mainstay Triumph the Insult Comic Dog, made an extremely generous donation. (No, I don't know him. And I've never been 100% sure how he found my fundraising page, though I have my suspicions.) Every time I hear that one of my friends, or even a friend of a friend, is raising money for a Team in Training activity, I donate. I pay it forward. And I think of Triumph.

Unstuck

2010-01-19T13:39:00.001-08:00

I need to be very clear about one thing. 99% of the time, this is the way my days go by: People send me work, and I do it. Unless I'm swamped, or if it's an especially time-consuming project, if someone sends me something in the morning, I usually finish it before the end of the day. I have a couple of handwritten notes on my desk that clients have sent me in the past couple of weeks: "I'm so impressed -- and pleased -- with all you've done," says one, and the other, from a long-term (over 8 years!) client, says, "It's always a pleasure doing business with you."

However, there's that other 1% of the time, when, for some reason, I just get stuck. Deer-in-headlights stuck. Inertia sets in. I need to act, but for some reason I can't. And here's the worst part: I obsess over these open loops. Some part of my brain is always thinking about them.* It would make perfect sense for me to just deal with them and get it over with and get on with my life, but I find myself going to bed at night without having done anything about them. Sometimes I wake up and think to myself, "I could deal with them today and it would feel great!" and then another day goes by and I don't.

So I've decided to write about them to see what happens. Maybe if I make my failings public, I'll be able to get unstuck.

1. New project: This person contacted me sometime in the middle of 2009, on behalf of herself and a co-author. I wrote back and never heard anything else, something that happens all the time, so I didn't think too much about it. Then towards the end of the year they popped up again, said they wanted to go ahead, and sent me the material. At the time, I was in the middle of about a zillion other things, and said I'd get back to them; I didn't feel too bad about it, since it had taken them several months to get back to me. But now it's been, like, a month and a half. I need to write back and say, "Hey, I'm ready to work on your project!"

2. Old project: One of my most long-term clients wants a total redesign of her web site, which needs it. I've started it, but keep running into the equivalent of designers' block and have put it off for way too long. I need to stop waiting for inspiration to strike and just come up with some ideas. If I can't, I need to do what I have done with other sites and outsource part of it to a graphic artist, which I've done successfully several times. Immediate action: I should email her and say that I'm ready to work on it now.

3. Interview: This has to do with my Other Blog. A few weeks ago, I requested an email interview with someone and we went back and forth a couple times and then he said to give him a call. That's when I froze, because I have a little bit of phone phobia -- I know that sounds weird, considering that I worked as a journalist for several years, but I actually had to psych myself up before almost every call I made. (I don't have email phobia, fortunately.) I must seem like a huge flake, so I need to either get up the inner strength to call, or email a profuse apology. The interview is still relevant, so I could still do it. I just need to get over my wimpitude.

So that is my confession. Now I need to act.

* From Getting Things Done by David Allen: "You can fool everyone else, but you can't fool your own mind. It knows whether or not you've come to the conclusions you need to, and whether you've put the resulting outcomes and action reminders in a place that can be trusted to resurface appropriately within your conscious mind. If you haven't done those things, it won't quit working overtime... It's a waste of time and energy to keep thinking about something that you make no progress on. And it only adds to your anxieties and what you should be doing and aren't."

Movies09

2010-01-17T21:51:00.000-08:00

I haven't been updating this blog, but that doesn't mean I haven't been blogging -- I have, in fact, posted 23 times this month at my other blog, which has a much larger readership than this one does. Plus, how often does a story like Jaymageddon (or, if you prefer, the Conepocalypse) come along? However, I realized that I never posted a favorite movies list, and even though I saw fewer movies last year (only 20!) than I have in many years, here is at least a token top 5.

1. "Up in the Air": For the way it captured the feeling of the Great Recession, and for failing to follow a predictable story arc. Plus, George Clooney and Vera Farmiga were perfect together. I'd love to see them team up again.

2. "Coraline": Hey, a 3D movie that didn't make me sick! A work of pure imagination and genius.

3. "Up": Mainly for the opening flashback sequence, which was one of the most sublime things I've ever seen.

4. "(500) Days of Summer": Every time a new romantic comedy opens, I hope it won't suck, but then inevitably I see a preview which features the heroine falling into a pit of manure or something like that, and I sigh and realize it's another movie to skip. So I'm grateful for films like this, that put a fresh new spin on old genres.

5. "The Fantastic Mr. Fox": It feels weird to have three animated movies on my list, but I guess that's where a lot of the best work is being done these days. Wes Anderson is back in my good graces.

If I don't keep up with movies, I am definitely out of it when it comes to modern music and What the Kids Today are Listening To, but I have been trying to catch up, thanks largely to indie hipster site Pitchfork.com's best of 2009 lists. Some of it is not to my taste -- who knew there was a genre called "dubstep"? -- but a bunch of it is great and makes me wish I wasn't so old & boring so I could go out and mix it up in the clubs. This song by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, "Zero," is fantastic, and the New York band shot their video in San Francisco! You will want to skip around town at night like Karen O.

Avatar

2010-01-02T17:53:00.001-08:00

When I was in high school, my class went on a field trip to the Detroit Science Center. One of the highlights was seeing an IMAX film about Mount St. Helens in the center's dome theater. At this time, there were only a handful of IMAX theaters in the country, all of them, as far as I know, in museums, so it was most likely everybody's first exposure to the amazing large-scale format. Much of the movie was filmed from a helicopter zooming around the landscape, showing where the volcano had laid waste to homes, roads and bridges. The immersive IMAX technology caused a couple of students to become motion-sick and they had to leave the theater. I was fine, though, and I found the experience exhilarating; I went on to see a bunch more IMAX movies, mostly the "educational" fare like "Mission to Mir," "Everest," and "To Fly!" I also saw James Cameron's "Ghosts of the Abyss," which was a 3D documentary about a scientific voyage to the wreck of the "Titanic."

So when Cameron's "Avatar" opened, of course I had to see it in IMAX 3D. There is only one true IMAX theater in the Bay Area showing the film, the one at the Metreon in San Francisco -- beware fake IMAX! -- and as a result, it's unbelievably popular. After one abortive attempt to see it on Thursday, we bought advance tickets to the Saturday morning (9:45 AM!) show. When we arrived at 9, the line was already around the block, and I noted that this and the next three showings were already sold out.

Unlike most made-for-IMAX documentaries, which tend to run about 45 minutes each, "Avatar" is over two and a half hours long. For those of you who have been living on a spaceship for the past month and haven't heard anything about it, the film is about a quasi-military expedition to a faraway moon called Pandora which contains an incredibly valuable mineral that is worth a fortune on Earth. Jake, a paraplegic ex-Marine, is recruited for the mission to replace his dead twin brother; Jake's DNA profile makes him a suitable candidate to take over his brother's avatar, a replica of the Pandorans that allow Earthlings to survive in the moon's atmosphere and blend in with the natives (physically, at least). You are placed into a metal box and your mind is linked to your avatar. Since human-Jake is unable to walk, he's eager to take his new, mobile body out for a spin.

During his first expedition to Pandora, Jake gets separated from the rest of his group after a run-in with some hostile wildlife, and he is rescued by a native named Neytiri. Despite the fact that Jake is supposed to be gathering intel on the Pandorans, he soon becomes infatuated with Neytiri and her people, the Na'vi. They live in harmony with nature, and after seeing the gorgeous landscape, who wouldn't? Pandora is a mind-blowingly beautiful creation, full of glowing trees, lush vegetation and magical jellyfish-like seeds that float through the air. The Na'vi travel by flying around on winged creatures called direhorses, which they bond with by means of their long braids. On Pandora, your hairstyle is not just a fashion choice, it's what literally connects you with the natural world.

After watching Jake and Neytiri run along vertiginous tree branches and swoop through the air on their direhorses in you-are-there 3D, I started feeling queasy. I looked at my watch -- we were only an hour and 15 minutes into the movie. I tried removing my glasses and closing my eyes, but it didn't work. I had to leave the theater and run to the restroom. While I didn't actually throw up, I came close. My skin literally felt clammy. I ran a damp paper towel over my face and leaned against the wall for about five minutes, wondering if I'd be able to go back in. The only other time I'd had this experience at a movie was a few months earlier at a screening of "D Tour," a documentary about a musician with kidney disease who needs to perform dialysis on himself while on the road with his band. There's a fairly graphic demonstration of how he does this, and it just about did me in. However, after a drink of water and a few minutes outside the theater, I went back and was able to get through the rest of the movie. I figured I'd try again and if I couldn't make it, I'd let Joe know I'd meet him afterward.

I'm not quite sure how I managed, because there is lots of flying in the second half of "Avatar," but I felt OK and got through it. The movie is absolutely spectacular, and I wouldn't want to dissuade anyone from seeing it in IMAX 3D, but if you think you might be at all susceptible to motion sickness, you may want to take your Dramamine first.

Theater09

2009-12-14T16:19:00.000-08:00

I'm officially done with theater for the year -- most local companies have switched into seasonal mode and are presenting "A Christmas Carol" and the like. Over the weekend, we caught Shotgun Players' fierce new production of "The Threepenny Opera," which transplants Brecht & Weill's masterwork to the punk era, and the extremely silly, funny "The 39 Steps" at Best of Broadway. We got special $39 tickets to the latter show through MyBART, which, along with Goldstar, is a must for the bargain-minded theater fan. If you love both Alfred Hitchcock and wacky British comedies like "Noises Off," you'll enjoy this spoof.

Here are the five best plays out of the 40-odd shows I saw in 2009:

1. "Miss Julie" by August Strindberg (Aurora Theater, Berkeley). The prolific and talented writer/director Mark Jackson is such a valuable part of our local theater scene, and he was at his best with this electrifying adaptation of Strindberg's 1888 play. One of the most mesmerizing, absorbing experiences I've ever had in a theater. If I had any pull with the MacArthur "genius grant" committee, I'd nominate Jackson.

2. "King Hedley II" by August Wilson (American Stage Theater, St. Petersburg, FL). I will admit that I was a little snobby about going to see a serious play in sunny Florida, but seeing is believing, and the cast and production were Broadway quality. I'm bummed that I missed their recent production of Wilson's "Fences," which got great reviews and set attendance records.

3. "American Idiot" by Green Day & Michael Mayer (Berkeley Rep, Berkeley). Another pleasant surprise was how much I enjoyed "American Idiot," even though I'm not a particularly big Green Day fan. The show was exciting and entertaining, boasting a terrific young cast and the year's most eye-popping set -- there was so much going on that the show was halfway over before I realized there was a car hanging from the ceiling.

4. "Gypsy" by Laurents/Styne/Sondheim (Altarena Playhouse, Alameda). Proof that even an old warhorse of a musical performed by a community theater group can be a magical experience, thanks largely to Donna Turner, who had audiences leaping to their feet to applaud her amazing performance as Mama Rose.

5. "The Lieutenant of Inishmore" by Martin McDonagh (Berkeley Rep, Berkeley). Bloody hilarious -- and I do mean bloody.

Coi

2009-12-13T22:48:00.001-08:00

When I go out to eat, I have something of a large portion phobia. At home, I'll often make myself a large bowl of pasta, eat half of it, cover the bowl with plastic wrap, and microwave it the next day. I'm never intimidated by big servings of food because the refrigerator is only a few feet away. But dining out, receiving an enormous helping, having the server ask "Are you still working on that?," getting it wrapped up in a to-go box, toting it on BART if we're using public transit... it's a hassle. I love leftovers, but only if I don't need to interact with them to such a degree.

Nobody will ever take home a leftover from Coi, the outrageously upscale restaurant in San Francisco that is the only establishment in the City to receive two Michelin stars. I had been curious about the place for ages, but understandably intimidated by its rather steep price tag (if you only drink water, you can get out of there for around $150 a person including tax and tip; add wine, and the sky's the limit). As with the downstairs restaurant at Chez Panisse, when you dine at Coi, you don't order off a menu -- everyone eats the same thing. Unlike Chez Panisse, where the aesthetic is one of simple elegance, the food at Coi is fussed over to an almost ridiculous extreme. At the Chez, you might get one perfect peach for dessert, the implication being that some expert forager has looked at hundreds of fruits before selecting the one. Coi, on the other hand, seems more in line with the the avant garde molecular gastronomy techniques beloved by many European chefs. In other words, don't go there if you're craving a big juicy steak or slab of salmon, or even the locally-sourced grilled duck breast you may get at Chez Panisse.

Joe was kind enough to indulge my foodie dreams for our ninth anniversary, and so we went to Coi, which is located in an off the beaten path part of North Beach. (It took two months for us to get a reservation -- they don't need to worry about a walk-in clientele.) The dining room is intimate and Zen-serene; there are only about 30 (very comfy) seats. This isn't mass produced food. When I walked past the kitchen, it was filled with chefs hard at work. The staff-to-customer ratio is probably 1:1.

Our server, Sara, was friendly and helpful; on the odd occasions when I venture into a four-star restaurant, I always have a deep-seated fear that I'll be unmasked as the sort of person whose day-to-day dining habits involve choosing between the red or the green curry. She presented us with a menu listing the 11 (!) tiny dishes we would be receiving that evening. First up was a "frozen mandarin sour," which was sort of like the world's fanciest snow cone made with "satsuma ice, kumquat, and angostura bitters." It was very tart and refreshing and fruity-tasting. Then we were served the dish we were both nervous about, Oysters Under Glass. Neither of us had ever eaten an oyster before. It was actually Oyster (singular) Under Glass. I figured I could eat one oyster. It was OK -- it tasted sort of briny. The presentation was quite beautiful, though. You can see a photo here if you scroll down to 3b.

After that, we received a series of fabulous dishes -- we both picked the same favorite, Monterey Bay Abalone Grilled on the Plancha. These abalone are sustainably farmed, and the grilled flavor was incredible. They were served with a puntarelle shellfish vinaigrette (puntarelle is a variety of chicory -- see how much you can learn by eating at expensive restaurants!). Joe isn't a seafood fan, so the fact that he loved the abalone indicates how good it was. We also loved the smoky-tasting young carrots roasted in hay, which are pictured here, and the sunchoke-buttermilk soup, which had perhaps the most interesting presentation of the night. Two servers came out, and one set down a bowl with a chilled disc in the bottom. Then another server poured a hot soup, containing the exact same ingredients as were in the disc, into the bowl. The mix of flavors, textures and temperatures was exquisite.

There were a couple of desserts, the first more savory than the other: steamed kabocha squash cake with a garam masala ice cream, and then a bitter chocolate tart with a fluffy souffle-like top. We both agreed that the squash cake, which sounded sort of bizarre when we read the description on the menu, was the clear winner. It was soft and spicy-tasting, with bits of apple and pomegranate, a perfect winter dish. At the end of the meal, as if 11 courses weren't enough, we received some tiny homemade "Oreos" with a yummy, grainy cocoa flavor.

The meal is well-paced -- we were there for about two hours and 45 minutes -- and we were both very satisfied with the experience. Coi is not for everyday; it's the ultimate special-occasion restaurant. Now the only question is if we can top it for our 10th anniversary next year. Hmm, I wonder if I can finally score a reservation at the French Laundry...

Graffiti

2009-12-11T10:07:00.000-08:00

Maximizer

2009-12-08T16:06:00.001-08:00

Do you ever come across something that is so insightful that it makes you say yes, that is my life? I've had the good fortune of reading two such things in the past two days. First of all, Nick Hornby's new novel Juliet, Naked is just breathtakingly good -- it's going in the pantheon along with Michael Chabon's Wonder Boys, Roxy Music's album Siren, the movie "Sideways" and the TV show "Slings & Arrows" as one of Sue's Favorite Things Ever. I will warn you, however, that unless you've spent years participating in an Internet chat group devoted to the music of an obscure artist, it may not resonate with you to the degree it did with me, but I can say that I adored every page, every word of this book.

The second thing did not provide the hours of entertainment that Juliet, Naked did -- if there's anything more wonderful than spending two chilly evenings snuggled cozily under flannel sheets with a great book and a warm dog, I don't know what it could be -- but it was one of those things that put so much of my life into perspective. Rob Baedeker is a columnist for SFGate.com, and his latest article was about his feelings about possibly "breaking up" with the Bay Area -- i.e., moving to a more affordable area. Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere. Unlike Baedeker, I have managed to buy a home here. But he interviewed a couple of people who have moved from big cities to small ones, and the comments of Penelope Trunk, who relocated from New York to Madison, WI, really resonated with me.

Trunk talked to Baedeker about a category of people called "maximizers" -- "someone who is always seeking, and frequently attaining, something better... When Trunk talks about maximizers and their opposite, 'satisficers' (those satisfied with choices that 'suffice'), she's referring to a behavioral theory developed by psychologist Herbert Simon. Building on Simon's work, the social scientist Barry Schwartz argued that maximizers, faced with an increasingly vast array of choices, tend to be unhappy."

Baedeker linked to this New Yorker article, Christopher Caldwell's review of Schwartz's book The Paradox of Choice. Maximizers, writes Schwartz, "are prone to misery and depression." You may have heard of the study where "shoppers who were offered free samples of six different jams were more likely to buy one than shoppers who were offered free samples of twenty-four. This result seems irrational—surely you’re more apt to find something you like from a range four times as large—but it can be replicated in a variety of contexts." Writes Caldwell:

A maximizer is someone who “can’t be certain that she has found the best sweater unless she’s looked at all the sweaters,” Schwartz writes. “She can’t know that she is getting the best price until she’s checked out all the prices.” Instead, he says, one should become a satisficer, “content with the merely excellent as opposed to the absolute best.” It’s not obvious that you can simply decide to convert from maximizing to satisficing. But Schwartz, though he distrusts American abundance, has a deeply American faith in our ability to refashion ourselves.

When I read about the maximizer who needs to look at all the sweaters, I realized, that's me. Right there is the source of so much of my unhappiness -- I'm paralyzed by choice. I grew up believing that I could be anything, do anything, and it just made me flail around until I sort of stumbled into my current situation. Today, if you turn me loose in a Hallmark store with 500 birthday cards and ask me to choose one to send to a friend, it'll take me half an hour, because I need to look at all the cards until I find the perfect card. If I decide to buy my mom a sweater for Christmas, I'll walk the aisles of Talbot's or Macy's until I have looked at every single sweater in her size. If I buy one, I'll probably be asking myself, should I have gone to Nordstrom's and looked there, too?

I remember when I was a kid, there was one kind of Colgate toothpaste. Now, there's Colgate Max Fresh, Colgate Total Whitening, Colgate Total Advanced Fresh, Colgate Total Advanced Clean, and a couple dozen more. What's the difference between Colgate Cavity Protection and Colgate Tartar Protection? I don't even want to know! For years, I was devoted to Tom's of Maine Cinnamint with Fluoride, and then the company discontinued it, sending me into a personal hell of facing a drugstore display with seemingly hundreds of different brands, flavors and functions.

If, right now, you're thinking I'm a little nuts, you're probably a "satisficer," and you're lucky. The San Francisco area, where every night brings a multitude of choices (do you want to check out "Saint Joan" at the PFA, Jon Lovitz at Cobb's or Beethoven's Fifth at the symphony?), is a potential nightmare for maximizers. I sometimes think back to my simpler teenage years in Grand Rapids, where I'd happily go see whichever semi-famous band rolled through town, because there just weren't that many choices -- any band that was played on top-40 radio was cause for excitement. And I consider the ways I've structured my life to avoid being overwhelmed -- using TiVo Season Pass to record a handful of select shows so I don't need to flip through 150 channels every evening, or joining a book group because it means someone else is deciding what I should read next. As a vegetarian, when I eat out, I scan the menu for the one or two choices that are meat-free. (When I go to a veggie restaurant, like Herbivore or Greens, it blows my mind.)

I'm not sure if I can refashion myself into a "satisficer," but I will strive to remember Voltaire's famous quote: "The perfect is the enemy of the good."

Fantastic

2009-11-29T17:43:00.000-08:00

As the years go by, I get pickier & pickier about which movies I'll go see. I am no longer in Hollywood's target demographic, and the movies that are aimed at me tend to be crappy romances like "Nights in Rodanthe." I am grateful, though, for the handful of quirky filmmakers who have somehow managed to carve out careers despite shunning formula fare like superhero flicks or by-the-numbers romantic comedies -- people like Charlie Kaufman, whose "Synecdoche, New York" may have been a failure, but it was surely one of the most interesting failures of recent years; Alexander Payne ("Sideways," "Election"); Brad Bird (director of two of the most original blockbusters of the decade, "Ratatouille" and "The Incredibles"); and Wes Anderson, whose films frequently manage to be beautiful, maddening, moving and twee all at once.

I get that a lot of people don't care for Anderson's films; he loves creating these elaborate cutaway sets that are almost like giant versions of dollhouses, and his interest in creating memorable characters may seem to take a back seat to deciding which old Kinks song to use in a particular scene. However, there is no denying that when you see an Anderson movie, it's the perfectly realized product of one man's vision. I think the most successful of his films is "The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou," which is pretty much all artifice, from the gorgeous CGI sea creatures to the troubador who shows up to sing David Bowie songs in Portuguese. I am reminded of Mark Twain's foreword to "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn": "Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot." You just have to sit back and go with the flow and enjoy the Wes-ness of it all.

On the other hand, the one Anderson film I actively disliked was "The Darjeeling Limited," which aims to make the viewer care about its three main characters, brothers played by Adrien Brody, Jason Schwartzman and Owen Wilson. I never did, nor could I quite get over the "white guys go on spiritual quest in third world country" premise. The train set, however, was really cool.

I wasn't quite sure what to expect from "Fantastic Mr. Fox," Anderson's latest feature, which is based on a book by Roald Dahl and uses stop-motion animation to tell its story of a fox's epic battle with three farmers. Despite the fact that it's putatively a children's movie, I was pleased to note that all of Anderson's tropes were in full effect, from the cutaway sets to the on-screen titles to the carefully chosen pop songs. I also liked the rather low-tech nature of the stop-motion; at times, the figures move so stiffly that they resemble children's playthings instead of characters in a multi-million-dollar movie. Then there are shots in which the fox fur rustles in the breeze and it looks so real that you could practically reach out and touch it. Still, compared to the high tech computer animation of "Up" or "Monsters vs. Aliens," it's got a decidedly old-fashioned feel.

It would be interesting to know if children actually like this movie, or just find it odd. At one point, Mr. Fox, who has given up his life of chicken-stealing crime in favor of a job in, of all things, journalism, opines, "Why a fox? Why not a horse, or a beetle, or a bald eagle? I'm saying this more as, like, existentialism, you know? Who am I?" Movies like "Shrek" may make pop culture references that go over kids' heads, but not many animated movies have lines of dialogue influenced by Kierkegaard.

People who find Anderson's films too precious by half might still enjoy "Mr. Fox" -- Joe only attended as a favor to me and he liked it well enough. George Clooney was the perfect choice to play the debonair fox, and Meryl Streep is fine in the smaller role of Mrs. Fox (in children's stories like this one, the guys have all the fun, while the women stay behind and tut-tut). Perhaps the auteur has found the ultimate outlet for his dollhouse aesthetic in this carefully created little animated world.

And now, a note about two of the previews that played before the movie: "Tooth Fairy," starring Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson, and "Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Squeaquel." Forget waterboarding -- if these flicks were on infinite loop at Gitmo, it would have to count as some sort of violation of the Geneva Convention. And yet, it wouldn't surprise me if both of them far outgross "Mr. Fox." The John Travolta/Robin Williams comedy "Old Dogs," which got some of the worst reviews of the year, outearned the Anderson film by a factor of two to one. It's a wonder that a little gem like "Mr. Fox" made it into the multiplexes at all.

Donny

2009-11-25T10:07:00.000-08:00

Last night, I confidently predicted to my friend Janet A. that Donny Osmond would win "Dancing with the Stars." I was correct -- and here's why I think he walked away with the mirror ball trophy:

1. Donny is a capital-S Star. I consider myself much more plugged into pop culture than the average person, but every season, when I see the list of "stars" who will appear on the show, there are always several that generate a "Huh?" from me: Louie Vito, Mark Dacascos, Chuck Wicks, Joanna Krupa, etc. However, Donny Osmond is undeniably one of the highest profile people ever to appear on the show, and I suspect a hefty percentage of the TV audience for "DwtS" is made up of women in their 40s and 50s who grew up listening to his records.

2. The freestyle dance. On Monday night, we were told again and again, "The freestyle dance can make you -- or break you!" I always felt that Shawn Johnson beat Gilles Marini in season 8 on the strength of her frenetic freestyle, and Donny and Kym's dance was an elegant delight that put a smile on everybody's face. Mya and Dmitry's performance to the "Hairspray" tune "You Can't Stop the Beat" just wasn't exciting enough to inspire people who weren't already Mya diehards to pick up the phone.

3. Kym Johnson. The Australian sensation is one of the show's most likable pros, and there seemed to be a lot of genuine warmth between her and Donny. He admitted that he battled the flu and fatigue during the season, and Kym was always there to encourage him to fight on. Her choreography played to Donny's strengths, capturing his big personality and his flair for showmanship.

I think one of the reasons Joanna made it as far as she did was because she was partnered with Derek Hough, who is probably the best choreographer on the show. Hough may be a huge egomaniac and an unrepentant camera hog, but he is also incredibly inventive (check out his Futuristic Paso Doble!) and, like Kym, is always savvy about how best to showcase his partner. Dmitry Chaplin, who is only in his second season on "DwtS," didn't serve Mya well. In the immortal words of head judge Len Goodman, there was too much "messin' about" in his routines, particularly their jitterbug, which featured the infamous feather-dusting of the judges' table. And there didn't seem to be that much affection between them, especially compared to the Kym-Donny and Kelly-Louis lovefests.

Donny Osmond -- hard-working, humble, the consummate pro, the family man who immediately ran to his wife's side after he won the trophy -- is a worthy champion. Even people who were rooting for Kelly or Joanna or Mya have to admit that he gave his all to the competition. Heck, he even did a dance dressed like Adam Ant. Everyone who watches "DwtS" knows how inherently ridiculous it is, and yet we want the stars to take it seriously, to Respect the Dance. Donny did that, and he did well.

Drive

2009-11-22T20:16:00.001-08:00

Joe & I returned a few hours ago from a whirlwind weekend trip to Los Angeles. The advantage, for us, of driving is clear -- it was by far the cheapest way to go (we used about fifty bucks' worth of gas in our Prius, which gets around 42 MPG highway mileage), and we had the car at our disposal during our time in the city. The biggest disadvantage is that unless you have a lot of time to meander, you are going to take I-5, which has to be one of the most boring drives in America. (Joe countered that Wyoming is duller, but at least that state has lots of billboards to break up the monotony.) There is nothing -- nothing -- to see along I-5, except dirt, tumbleweeds, cattle, and the occasional orange grove.

It took us exactly six hours each way, including breaks, and we split the driving evenly. Unless you like ranchera music, or have satellite radio, you'd better bring your own audio entertainment. We had loaded up our iPod with our favorite podcasts, like "Wait Wait... Don't Tell Me!" and Adam Carolla, which helped pass the time. Still, this is a drive that I would only be willing to make occasionally; I'm the type of person who will always opt for Trader Joe's (5 minutes away) over making the long, 15-minute trek to Whole Foods. As a result, despite the fact that Joe & I share a single car, the odometer on our 2002 vehicle only recently crossed 60,000 miles.

Someday, I would love to take Amtrak's Coast Starlight, which takes 12 hours from Oakland to L.A., but follows a much more scenic route. Until this weekend, I always figured that without a car in L.A., you were nothing, but here's what I discovered: you can have a perfectly nice time there by using public transportation! They have a fabulous subway system and extensive network of buses! Joe & I happened to be staying in a hotel that was right across the street from the Wilshire-Normandie station, and we took the train to Hollywood Blvd., which is like the Fisherman's Wharf of Los Angeles -- a place you would not be caught dead in unless you are a tourist. We wanted to see the L.A. Amoeba Records, which is an easy walk from the Hollywood & Vine station, and I desperately wanted to have my picture taken with Hollywood Blvd. Chewbacca, but alas, he was nowhere to be found! Maybe he only works on weekdays, or he's earning enough from his "Jimmy Kimmel Show" appearances that he no longer needs to rely on tips.

After getting around the city by subway, we got the car back from the valet parking at our hotel (note to anyone driving to L.A.: bring lots of small bills to tip valets), because we were headed for the historic Gamble House in Pasadena, which is not close to that city's Metro stations, alas. Even on a Saturday afternoon, the traffic was horrible, and it continued to be awful when we left in early evening and tried to make our way from Pasadena to the enormous Los Angeles County Museum of Art complex on Wilshire. LACMA's film series is showing a retrospective of early Hitchcock; we saw "Sabotage" and "Secret Agent," both from 1936.

The clean, pleasant subway network was a lot more enjoyable than sitting in traffic on the 210, and there are zillions of things to do in town along the train and bus routes. Back in the 1980s, the band Missing Persons sang that "nobody walks in L.A.," but lots of people do walk, and ride public transit. If you're visiting the city, you should, too.

Joanna

2009-11-18T06:30:00.000-08:00

My friend Janet is outraged over Joanna Krupa's elimination from "Dancing with the Stars." Yes, Joe and I are still watching "DwtS," and we were both surprised by her ouster.

Unlike last season, when I gave my dialing finger a workout voting for ooh-la-la Frenchman Gilles Marini, I don't have a horse in this race. The only time I've voted this season is two weeks ago, when I felt either reality TV princess Kelly Osbourne or weepy tax dodger Aaron Carter was going to get the boot, and I felt compelled to phone in for Kelly because I so desperately wanted Carter off my screen, pronto.

Krupa, a pouty Polish bikini model, was quite obviously a better dancer than Osbourne or Donny Osmond; I don't think she was as good as the season's frontrunner, pop star Mya. Of course, Mya is something of a ringer, having studied dance for years (just not ballroom dance, which I guess makes her eligible for the competition). She even appeared as one of the "Cell Block Tango" dancers in the 2002 film "Chicago."

So why were the lesser lights, Osbourne and Osmond, spared over the graceful, elegant Krupa? Well, I think part of it is their relatability. Both of them show their emotions openly, making it hard not to root for them. If Osbourne trips up during a dance, the smile instantly disappears from her face; when a judge praises her, she lights up like a 150-watt bulb. Osmond joyfully punches the air when he's nailed a dance, and if he makes a misstep, he is his own harshest critic, encouraging the judges to be tougher on him. (One week, Carrie Ann Inaba mentioned that he had made about four mistakes during a dance, and he immediately piped up that he'd actually made five.)

Also, the two Os have built-in fan bases. I had never heard of Krupa before "DwtS," whereas I practically grew up on the Osmonds (I was a devoted watcher of the Donny & Marie variety show back in the 70s), and Kelly appeared on one of the most popular reality TV series of all time, "The Osbournes." Plus, she has that redemptive arc -- she battled drug addiction and seems to have learned from her youthful mistakes.

I don't think there's ever been a contestant on "DwtS" who has wanted to win more than Kelly -- the woman has obviously worked her butt off, listened to her partner (Dutch-born ballroom champ Louis van Amstel), and she's improved tremendously over the course of the competition. By contrast, there was always something ice-princessy about Krupa. Remember those old TV commercials with the model saying, "Don't hate me because I'm beautiful"? Joanna is the woman we hate because she's beautiful. (Of course, being a bikini model isn't necessarily a ticket to oblivion in this competition, since Brooke Burke won a couple seasons ago. But she was a little older, and a mom, which I suspect helps with a certain segment of the voters.) Krupa's best, most memorable dance was her "Futuristic Paso Doble," which required her to act like a robot.

"DwtS" is not a pure meritocracy -- if it were, there's no way soulful sensation Lil' Kim would have been booted before wooden rodeo champ Ty Murray last season. I think Mya will win next week, but on a show where personality frequently trumps physical ability, I wouldn't count out either of her challengers yet.

Nostalgiarama

2009-11-09T18:35:00.001-08:00

This past weekend, I had a choice of two concerts that would bring back the 1980s in all their glory: the Pixies performing Doolittle in its entirety at the Fox Theater in Oakland, or Devo's two-night stand in San Francisco (Q: Are We Not Men? A: We Are Devo! on Friday, Freedom of Choice on Saturday). I opted for Devo, mainly because I saw the Pixies live about a zillion times during their wonder years, in venues large (opening for U2 at the Spectrum in Philly) and small (opening for Throwing Muses at the old 9:30 Club in D.C.). But I was too young to witness the spuds on their seminal tours, though I did finally manage to see them twice. My dad drove me and my brother to see them in East Lansing in late 1982, and I also caught their 2005 reunion gig at the Paramount in Oakland. That was a kick-ass show, so I knew they still had the chops.

Q: Are We Not Men? is one of my favorite albums -- I think it still holds up brilliantly today, and there's really only one song on it that I don't care for ("Too Much Paranoia," mercifully short). Hearing it live was a dream come true, and the band put on an incredibly high-energy performance from start to finish. Here's a surprisingly decent YouTube video of Devo's Friday performance of "Gut Feeling," which is probably one of my top 10 favorite songs of all time. The guys perform with such intensity that it's hard to believe they're all in their late 50s and early 60s (with the exception of drummer Josh Freese, the only non-original member). It's kind of like watching a bunch of suburban dads rock out. Here's another video worth watching: opening track "Uncontrollable Urge," featuring four of the members jumping in unison. I can't imagine that they had any more energy back in 1978.

There were only two encores, "Smart Patrol/Mr. DNA" and "Gates of Steel," so the show was just about an hour long. I kind of wish they'd played some more songs from Duty Now For the Future, the bridge between Q: Are We Not Men? and Freedom of Choice, but it was a thoroughly satisfying experience nonetheless.

Despite the fact that the album contains the band's biggest hit, "Whip It," I got the feeling (a gut feeling?) that Devo wasn't quite as into playing Freedom of Choice. The disc is much more synth-based, and it's harder to get crazy when you're behind a keyboard. Plus, it's just not as strong an album as their debut; most of side two (yes, even though I now have it on CD, I will always think of it as a vinyl record) is inconsequential. I could have sworn I saw Mothersbaugh reading lyrics (taped to the stage, perhaps?) at one point.

For the Saturday night encore, "Beautiful World," Mothersbaugh broke out his Booji Boy garb as a treat for the fans (the plastic-masked Booji character was a fixture in the band's first few videos). Booji delivered a monologue about meeting Michael Jackson in L.A., and for a moment, you could almost feel the crowd holding its collective breath. Even among aging punk rockers, it seemed inappropriate to joke about Jackson. But the story turned out to be a little sweet, in its own weird way. Moments like that one ensure that I'll always be a proud member of the Devo faithful.

What's Wrong With America

2009-11-07T17:49:00.000-08:00

I have been watching this show on one of our smaller local PBS outlets, KCSM, called "MHz Worldview Presents." I found out about it from a couple people in my book group. Worldview shows international mystery programs on a rotating basis -- French, Italian, German and Scandinavian. They air at 10 PM on Monday nights and are repeated at 1 AM on Wednesdays.

I am primarily interested in the Norwegian "Varg Veum" series, and Sweden's "Wallander." I think the Swedish-made films based on Henning Mankell's "Wallander" books are far superior to the English ones featuring Kenneth Branagh that air on "Masterpiece Mystery," and "Varg" is kind of goofy fun -- it's about a private eye based in Bergen who seems to get beat up about half a dozen times in every episode, but always lives to triumph over evil and charm the ladies with his rugged blond good looks. Since they are murder mysteries, not surprisingly, things can get pretty violent. There are dead bodies, dismembered corpses, children in peril, shoot-outs, blood, guts, and mayhem.

But hey, the show is on well past any child's bedtime, and anyway, what kid is going to want to watch a subtitled crime drama from Norway? However, whoever is packaging this show for American audiences obviously thinks they need to protect us from that racy European content. I'm not talking about the violence and death, mind you -- I'm talking about the sex.

I swear I'm not making this up: in one broadcast, "Worldview" blurred a statue every time it appeared onscreen, presumably because it depicted a bare-breasted woman. (The image looked something like this one which I whipped up myself, except I think it was even blurrier. Naturally, that particular statue is in Europe, out in public where children can see it.)

In another episode, a woman was briefly shown in her bra and panties as she was getting dressed. Even though she was wearing underwear, she was still blurred. I hope the people who would be horribly offended by the sight of a woman in lingerie never click over to the Jockey.com web site by mistake.

So, in short, the dead body of a young girl stuffed into a barrel = no problem; bare marble breasts = an affront to our morals. Of course, I guess I shouldn't expect anything different in the country where movies like "Saw" and "Hostel" are rated R, while "Henry & June" got a NC-17.

It's Too Early

2009-11-03T12:50:00.000-08:00

I was in a store yesterday and they were playing Christmas music -- something by John Legend, followed by that Josh Groban recording of "I'll Be Home For Christmas" featuring heart-tugging messages by U.S. troops stationed in Iraq. No retail establishment should be allowed to play carols at least until all the discounted bags of Halloween candy have been sold.

Believe it or not, I've got about a third of my Christmas shopping done already -- I've been picking up items here and there -- and am hoping to have it all done by Thanksgiving. I like to support my local merchants, but playing Xmas tunes in early November just makes me want to do everything online, where I can supply my own soundtrack.

Speaking of Halloween, this was the first time Joe and I stayed home that night since moving into our "new" house. We don't have all that many kids in our neighborhood, but I'd read that our town attracts carloads of children from other areas who come here because it's safe and presumably people here give really good candy. I was prepared with bags of Three Musketeers and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. We wound up with just under 50 trick-or-treaters, ranging from precious 4-year-olds dressed like princesses to slightly thuggish teenagers sans costumes who held out their backpacks.

However, some friends of ours who live in the ritzier part of town had 400 kids come to their door, and they told us about a family near the city limits who had -- this is not a typo -- 1,200. Assuming one piece of Halloween candy costs about 15 cents (though you can certainly get it cheaper if you buy off-brand stuff), that's $180 to satisfy kids from all over the East Bay. If I lived in that neighborhood, I think I'd buy four or five bags of candy, hand it out, and when it was gone, turn out the lights.

Anglophilia

2009-10-24T21:11:00.000-07:00

We went to see two movies today, both British imports. I picked the first one, "An Education," which I was desperate to see because it is that rare thing, a decently-reviewed Peter Sarsgaard movie. Lately, he's been in more than few stinkers, like "Orphan" and "The Mysteries of Pittsburgh." Joe picked the second one, "The Damned United," a film about an English football club manager, scripted by the always-reliable Peter Morgan ("The Queen," "Frost/Nixon"). After "An Education" ended, we had 45 minutes to drive to the other end of town to catch "United." Seeing them both back to back like that made me realize that the seemingly dissimilar films did have one common theme -- arrogance. (Warning: mild spoilers ahead...)

Jenny, the young heroine of "An Education," played by the dazzling newcomer Carey Mulligan, is a 16-year-old schoolgirl who has only one thing on her mind -- getting into Oxford -- until David (Sarsgaard) comes along. A sophisticated, wealthy, much-older man, he wines and dines her, showing her a glamorous life she never knew existed. It's certainly a far cry from anything she's ever experienced in her dull, early-60s suburban life. Why should she plod away at Latin and eventually wind up like her dowdy spinster schoolteacher (played by the usually-very-undowdy Olivia Williams) when she can run off with David and enjoy a whirlwind of travel, concerts and beautiful clothes? I don't think it's giving too much away to reveal that Jenny eventually learns that David doesn't quite offer the easy path to a perfect life.

Mulligan, like her American counterpart Ellen Page, can play much younger than her actual age (she was in her early 20s when the film was shot, but is completely convincing as a 16-year-old). It seemed unrealistic to me that Jenny's parents would be so supportive of her relationship with David, but thinking about it later, I realized that a middle-class couple with few means (in one scene, Jenny's father complains about how much he'll have to spend to send her to Oxford) probably would want their daughter to "marry up," as it were. And in that day & age, once you were a married woman, what would be the point of furthering your education?

If I had a daughter around Jenny's age, I'd want her to see this film -- as dated as some aspects are, the message that in the end, a woman must be able to depend on herself and not simply rely on a man is a timeless one.

Jenny thinks she's got life figured out at age 16. Brian Clough (Michael Sheen) didn't have the excuse of youth -- he was an adult man with a family when he became manager of the Leeds United football club in 1974, the most coveted job in U.K. sport. He promptly went in and told the team members that they were doing everything wrong, despite their long record of victories under previous manager Don Revie, and from now on, it would be his way or the highway. In fact, Clough is practically a textbook example of how not to succeed in a new job. He's such a jerk that it's hard not to want him to fail, and fail he does. Most of "The Damned United" takes place in flashback, as we learn how Clough was able to attain the lofty position of Leeds manager in the first place. A big part of his prior success at Derby County was due to his assistant manager, Pete Taylor (Timothy Spall), who had an uncanny knack for being able to pick players who would help lead the team to victory. But when he gets the Leeds job, Clough is convinced he can go it alone -- that he's the genius. He is very wrong.

In the film, the Brian-Pete relationship is -- well, I don't want to use the hated word bromance, but "United" is practically a love story in which the two men are together and then split up and everything goes haywire because they are so obviously meant to be a pair. It's sad to note that while the film shows them reconciling, in real life, they were torn apart a decade later by a disagreement over a player's transfer to a different team. The men remained estranged until Taylor's death in 1990. Clough died five years ago, and his family is reportedly angry at inaccuracies in the film. (It's based on a novel, The Damned Utd. by David Peace, which is a fictionalized account of Clough's tenure at Leeds.) The "goofs" page of the movie's IMDB profile shows that the writers took plenty of liberties, and shows that a lot of football fans want to set the record straight. For instance, "the 3rd round F.A. Cup tie between Leeds and Derby on the 27th of January 1968 depicted in the movie was played in Leeds, not in Derby." Good to know!

Bottom line: if you're a Sarsgaard fan like me, run, don't walk, to see "An Education." It would also appeal to anyone in search of a coming-of-age saga or period piece -- it's certainly a nice alternative to all the horror fare currently clogging theaters. I was a little more lukewarm on "The Damned United," mostly because Clough was such an unlikable and deluded character. On the up side, it's easy to follow even if you know nothing about football, and Sheen gives yet another excellent performance.

One slightly odd note: the dialogue of both films include reference to the "wandering Jew." I had always thought that was the name of a plant, but I now know that it is also a figure from folklore who was cursed to walk the Earth until Jesus' second coming. We live and learn.

Coincidences at the book sale

2009-10-17T12:15:00.001-07:00

Yesterday afternoon I was emailing with my friend Neal about author Sherman Alexie, who had just done a reading in Albuquerque. I mentioned that I had been wanting to read his acclaimed novel The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian.

A couple hours later, I went to my local Friends of the Library book sale, which is one of the largest in the Bay Area. I happened to be walking past a table when someone picked up a book and showed it to her friend. "Oh, this is a wonderful book," she said. I glanced over, and noticed that the book she was holding was none other than The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian. The friend took it, glanced at it, and put it down. I reached over and snapped it up.

I walked over to a table filled with hundreds of romance novels displayed spine-up -- I don't read that genre, but the sheer volume was kind of impressive. A fellow browser mentioned that she had just donated 500 historical romances -- "those were my duplicates!" -- and said she was looking for novels by Liz Carlyle. I had never heard of that particular author, but at that very moment, my eye happened to fall on a particular book and I read the name Liz Carlyle. I handed it to her, and sure enough, it was one of the titles she was searching for. (A further perusal of the romance table shows that a good third of the books there seem to be written by Nora Roberts.)

One of the things I like to do at the sale is try to find the book that seems least likely to sell. At this sale, I think I have to declare a tie between The Complete Y2K Home Preparation Guide and 5/5/2000: Ice: The Ultimate Disaster. From a description of the latter book: "The Antarctic ice mass should be three miles thick by May 5, 2000 -- the date when all the planets will be arrayed in a straight line and some kind of cataclysmic shift of ice to the equator is possible..." Perhaps the 2012 Survival Guide will be turning up at the 2017 Friends of the Library sale.