San Francisco is funny because of the way the importance of holidays flows. Super Bowl Sunday- ferghettaboutit it's no big deal here, but Oscar Night is one night where there are loads of parties. Halloween is another fave with the San Fran-sissy-ans primarily because of the high percentage of freaks that live here... but that's for another post.
I'm not a Halloween fan, but it is fun for the kids. I volunteer two days a week with a class of sixth graders and today it was fun to see the costumes that showed up to school! The big hit was Michael Jackson (it really was a great costume, and a little eerie) but there was a cute ladybug, 'nerd', scary zombie and a shy little Charlie Chaplin.
There was none of the overt sexiness that Halloween costumes morph into once adults start wearing the costumes. These streetwise, city kids still were enjoying a holiday with their innocence intact.
30 October 2009
15 September 2009
Embarrassment
How can it be that I'm having such a hard time remembering... remembering the adrenal rush of embarrassment as the ~whoosh~ sounds through your head and your brain is rendered frozen as deer eyes looked toward the headlights?
I spent my childhood being embarrassed about almost everything. This is not an overstatement as a deodorant commercial starting up on the TV in mixed company would make me sweat. Any sort of attention would turn my freckled face such a shade of red that my friends in college would refer to me as Cherry Tomato. So why can't I get there; to that monumental embarrassment? When you're constantly cringing, it's just your way of life... although...
The bat hang. I went with my friends to the air force base's officer club specifically to see the fearless fighter pilots hang upside down from the rafters and drink a beer. Really. My good friend was interested in one of these egomaniacs, so there was also the incentive to give support to one of my girls.
We had just arrived and were standing at the bar waiting for our first round of much needed courage to deal with the crowd of strangers. Everyone was seated at long tables and the bar was just off the dance floor, so in a way it looked like an empty stage with a couple of civilians (us) waiting off to the side for their cocktails. All the people of the bar, or the audience, if you will, began catcalling and yelling. Pumping of fists occurred as well, and for the life of me I didn't know what was going on. Sure, they had a head start on this evening of par-taying, but what the hell was going on? It was obvious the Bat Hang had not begun, but why the reaction?
Out of the corner of my eye I spy 'Lt. Gonna Fly My Ass Off and Bomb You', who just happened to be the best friend of my friend's crush. He's crouched down, off to my side, and he's looking up my skirt. We're talking late Eighties, so I was sportin' the mini and there he was, peeking to the maxi.
His insulting act was embarrassing enough, but what really got me shell shocked (and before I was even served my first drink- how rude!) was that the entire bar was witness as I was totally unaware until the worst had already passed. Horror.
I'd like to say I left straight away, but my friend begged me to stay and somehow join the party and just try to let it pass, and I did. I stayed. I took one for the team and joined a table of strangers just until I felt something brush my legs. There was the same asshole on his hands and knees, under the table, and with his face between my knees. A few choice words and I was out of there; f- you, fly boy.
I spent my childhood being embarrassed about almost everything. This is not an overstatement as a deodorant commercial starting up on the TV in mixed company would make me sweat. Any sort of attention would turn my freckled face such a shade of red that my friends in college would refer to me as Cherry Tomato. So why can't I get there; to that monumental embarrassment? When you're constantly cringing, it's just your way of life... although...
The bat hang. I went with my friends to the air force base's officer club specifically to see the fearless fighter pilots hang upside down from the rafters and drink a beer. Really. My good friend was interested in one of these egomaniacs, so there was also the incentive to give support to one of my girls.
We had just arrived and were standing at the bar waiting for our first round of much needed courage to deal with the crowd of strangers. Everyone was seated at long tables and the bar was just off the dance floor, so in a way it looked like an empty stage with a couple of civilians (us) waiting off to the side for their cocktails. All the people of the bar, or the audience, if you will, began catcalling and yelling. Pumping of fists occurred as well, and for the life of me I didn't know what was going on. Sure, they had a head start on this evening of par-taying, but what the hell was going on? It was obvious the Bat Hang had not begun, but why the reaction?
Out of the corner of my eye I spy 'Lt. Gonna Fly My Ass Off and Bomb You', who just happened to be the best friend of my friend's crush. He's crouched down, off to my side, and he's looking up my skirt. We're talking late Eighties, so I was sportin' the mini and there he was, peeking to the maxi.
His insulting act was embarrassing enough, but what really got me shell shocked (and before I was even served my first drink- how rude!) was that the entire bar was witness as I was totally unaware until the worst had already passed. Horror.
I'd like to say I left straight away, but my friend begged me to stay and somehow join the party and just try to let it pass, and I did. I stayed. I took one for the team and joined a table of strangers just until I felt something brush my legs. There was the same asshole on his hands and knees, under the table, and with his face between my knees. A few choice words and I was out of there; f- you, fly boy.
31 August 2009
Let's Hear it for the Bass
I'm old. I grew up in era when AM radio played Top 40 songs and clock radios had to suffice. I would spin the vinyl on our turntable (made by Dad, no less!) but would keep current by listening to the radio. It was music- electronically produced, no doubt, but there were instruments and skill. Musicality.
As I hear the music that's popular in 2009, I have to ask: WHERE'S THE BASS? Now, there is plenty of booming goin' on, it keeps a beat and pulses through your body, but where is the finesse of someone ~playing~ a bass? The damn beat box can go forever, but I want to hear a glide down the long neck of a bass guitar.
Just recently I realized what I was missing when I heard a song from the 70s. I think it was Stevie Wonder, but I really can't remember because I was transfixed by the deep sounds from the bass. It had soul. Really. I'm not prone to hyperbole, but dang... I felt like the bass was taking me for a ride. A gentle ride that swerved and flipped but with the tenderest of movements. It was singing. I wish that most people still appreciated that skill and the emphasis was not on the 'image' of it all. The music executives are clamoring for something that *pops* (groooooaaaan) be it a handsome crooner or a chick who's barely dressed.
Is it just me, but when I fall in love with a song, it's because my hearing has taken over all other senses... I'm not watching a video, I'm not thinking: this is what's new and cool! And that brings us back to the beginning of my post: I am old.
(an old, bass-lover)
As I hear the music that's popular in 2009, I have to ask: WHERE'S THE BASS? Now, there is plenty of booming goin' on, it keeps a beat and pulses through your body, but where is the finesse of someone ~playing~ a bass? The damn beat box can go forever, but I want to hear a glide down the long neck of a bass guitar.
Just recently I realized what I was missing when I heard a song from the 70s. I think it was Stevie Wonder, but I really can't remember because I was transfixed by the deep sounds from the bass. It had soul. Really. I'm not prone to hyperbole, but dang... I felt like the bass was taking me for a ride. A gentle ride that swerved and flipped but with the tenderest of movements. It was singing. I wish that most people still appreciated that skill and the emphasis was not on the 'image' of it all. The music executives are clamoring for something that *pops* (groooooaaaan) be it a handsome crooner or a chick who's barely dressed.
Is it just me, but when I fall in love with a song, it's because my hearing has taken over all other senses... I'm not watching a video, I'm not thinking: this is what's new and cool! And that brings us back to the beginning of my post: I am old.
(an old, bass-lover)
28 August 2009
Not So Fast
I work in a hotel in one of the most diverse cities in the US of A. It's amazing how many different coworkers I've met from across the globe. Know anything about Eritrea? Been to Yemen lately? Talked to anyone who's been in a war? Looked into someone's eyes while they tell you that, in China, there were six people around the table for dinner, and only one bowl of rice--- so she was shipped off to Hong Kong to work as a girl? Now that's diversity.
Right now is a special time for all my friends who are Muslim because they are observing Ramadan. I just spoke with a room service server who was so quiet and withdrawn, I thought he might be sick, but no- I forgot, he's fasting. At this time of year it's basically a 12 hour fast during the day, and when sundown comes along, they break their fast. That's tough.
I have utmost respect for this part of their religious ritual, so that's why it makes me absolutely crazy when I walk into our break room, and what's sitting in the hot food line for the evening is pork chops.... and the day before: pork chops...... and some pork, fried rice for a side dish.....
To celebrate diversity there must be an awareness, and unfortunately I guess the meal planners/preparers don't get the fact that most Muslim people don't eat pork, so yes- that ham sandwich is going to untouched, too.
Right now is a special time for all my friends who are Muslim because they are observing Ramadan. I just spoke with a room service server who was so quiet and withdrawn, I thought he might be sick, but no- I forgot, he's fasting. At this time of year it's basically a 12 hour fast during the day, and when sundown comes along, they break their fast. That's tough.
I have utmost respect for this part of their religious ritual, so that's why it makes me absolutely crazy when I walk into our break room, and what's sitting in the hot food line for the evening is pork chops.... and the day before: pork chops...... and some pork, fried rice for a side dish.....
To celebrate diversity there must be an awareness, and unfortunately I guess the meal planners/preparers don't get the fact that most Muslim people don't eat pork, so yes- that ham sandwich is going to untouched, too.
27 August 2009
Foodie Groupies
I'm a fan- I really began to love Hubert Keller on 'Top Chef Masters' this past installment. I think the adoration began with the very first episode when making his dessert (for the Girl Scouts to taste and judge) he made a little mouse out of whipped cream and used almond slivers to make its ears along with a chocolate swoosh of a tail. What whimsy!!!
I live just a block from his SF restaurant, Fleur de Lys, and every so often I'll catch a glimpse of the Master as he's going to and from. The dude is unassuming and seems to be deficient of the hubris in which some of the more famous chefs marinate themselves.
I think things are going to change for Monsieur Hubert because just a couple of days ago, while trotting past Fleur de Lys, I spotted a group of tourists trying to enter through the back door of the restaurant. They had a look of trepidation as they were trying to get an OK to enter, and seemingly take some snaps of Chef. I don't think it's his style to bask in 'celebrity', but I'm sure he met them with his graciousness.... and perhaps a whipped-cream-mouse!
I live just a block from his SF restaurant, Fleur de Lys, and every so often I'll catch a glimpse of the Master as he's going to and from. The dude is unassuming and seems to be deficient of the hubris in which some of the more famous chefs marinate themselves.
I think things are going to change for Monsieur Hubert because just a couple of days ago, while trotting past Fleur de Lys, I spotted a group of tourists trying to enter through the back door of the restaurant. They had a look of trepidation as they were trying to get an OK to enter, and seemingly take some snaps of Chef. I don't think it's his style to bask in 'celebrity', but I'm sure he met them with his graciousness.... and perhaps a whipped-cream-mouse!
16 August 2009
Guilty Pleasure
Ahem, but I love me some cotton candy. It is a magical cloud that melds with my saliva and creates just a little bit of Heaven I can hold in my mouth until it's time to swallow and begin with the next, sugary bite.
The color of this confection? Doesn't exist in Nature. The taste of this spun sugar? Sweet enough to bust your taste buds. Nutritional value? Well, the only 'value' of said treat is perhaps its ability to start a cavity with just a ~whiff. Age appropriate? When other adults see me plucking soft pieces from the pink puff, they just shake their heads. "How can you eat that?" Like they don't want a sticky bite themselves... well, they don't. For some reason it's just not proper for an adult to stain their lips with the happy colors of this candy which is cotton.
It is my guilty pleasure. My teeth are still in my head 'cause it's only available at the ballpark or the county fairground and isn't that just the way it should be?
It is my guilty pleasure. My teeth are still in my head 'cause it's only available at the ballpark or the county fairground and isn't that just the way it should be?
Spreading Aloha
This is the beginning of my blog. I've been a follower/reader of many different blogs written by many different and talented people, although it was The Girl Who (Monica) who finally motivated me to start writing. She has this great idea for a group of bloggers to form a sort of co-op that generates money and shares ideas. Sounds good to me. Monica, you wrote the first blog that I looked forward to every day, and I look forward to this experiment of yours.
My blog's title, Urban Aloha, is kind of my motto. I live in the bustling and sometimes crazy city (I will sometimes refer to it as ci-tay) of San Francisco and I love it. Just because SF peeps are fighting for a space on the sidewalk, or more aptly angrily searching for parking, doesn't mean that we cannot be kind to one another. That is where the ~aloha~ comes in.
Ever been to Hawaii? If you've gotten beyond the trapping of the tourists you may have experienced a local waving to you as they let you merge into traffic. I've been on a surfboard and have been pushed back out to the waves by a huge, smiling local guy who could tell my arms were very nearly spaghetti. After puncturing my foot on a sea urchin, an enormous hotel security agent, named Jr. (!) took care of all my medical costs and delivered a treat to my hotel room the next day to help hurry my recovery.
The attitude in Hawaii is that we're all family, and isn't that a lovely way to live our lives? I'm trying to convey all the aloha I can as I trip trap across the hills of the ci-tay.
My blog's title, Urban Aloha, is kind of my motto. I live in the bustling and sometimes crazy city (I will sometimes refer to it as ci-tay) of San Francisco and I love it. Just because SF peeps are fighting for a space on the sidewalk, or more aptly angrily searching for parking, doesn't mean that we cannot be kind to one another. That is where the ~aloha~ comes in.
Ever been to Hawaii? If you've gotten beyond the trapping of the tourists you may have experienced a local waving to you as they let you merge into traffic. I've been on a surfboard and have been pushed back out to the waves by a huge, smiling local guy who could tell my arms were very nearly spaghetti. After puncturing my foot on a sea urchin, an enormous hotel security agent, named Jr. (!) took care of all my medical costs and delivered a treat to my hotel room the next day to help hurry my recovery.
The attitude in Hawaii is that we're all family, and isn't that a lovely way to live our lives? I'm trying to convey all the aloha I can as I trip trap across the hills of the ci-tay.
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