Happy Camper Dep't: 2001
Don't you love it when you find out that two people you think are cool from two different parts of your life turn out to know and like each other? And now you can all hang out having fun together all at the same time? Bonus!
SF Pride 2001
Hangin' out with my dad, enjoying the scene. Beautiful people. Alarming people. Cool parade. I counted almost 500 motorcycles. Saw the requisite bare-breasted amazons and bare-assed leather men. Heard the B-52's perform. Walked and walked and walked. Loved The City and the people who make it magic. Had a happy time watching all the fancy fun things everyone had done for the parade. My favorite sign: one of the Cal Band groupies carried one saying "That's Dr. Fag to you."
False Advertising 2001
Yet again I offer my sincere apologies to visitors who come here from AOL searches for "nipples" and are instead directed to a picture of me with a giant rat. A ska-dancing, booze-swilling rat, at that. I hope that you find something here to make the trip worthwhile anyhow.
And I'm still really really worried about the indexers over at AOL.
The Good Life 2001
Today involved a small amount of work and a larger amount of soaking in a hot tub, browsing in bookstores and eating in a restaurant. So that's a nice start. This evening promises to improve things with a special episode of Packing With Carl and, presumably, a re-run of Ahri Cat Walks On My Butt And Smacks Her Feline Lips. I'll give a detailed report on the SF Pride Parade tomorrow, but you may not get it until Wednesday or so depending on just how much exhausting fun I have. Have a great weekend everybody!
Quote of the day: 2001
The Swedish chef is a fashion lion. Always the newest and the best.
-- Niklas Lindstrom
Fox in Socks 2001
Kevin Fox is making me giggle:
Assembling furniture and cleaning a room is a lot like taking a bath when I was little: you kick and scream against it, but once you're in the thick it's actually pretty great.
Edmond's back! 2001
Yay! He has beautiful pictures and hair all over his head.
Oh it was a long and busy day indeed. 2001
Tiring, despite spending a lot of it sitting. I did ride the exercise bike for a half hour when I got home so that loosened me up a little.
I have a personal ad on one of those mainstream websites. I updated it yesterday or the day before and I've suddenly started getting responses. Unfortunately, they seem more excited about my being a Real Live Girl! than about actually reading my profile.
One says "I don’t have children but I would love to have some one day soon". My profile says I neither have nor want children. (It doesn't mention that I'm spayed. Maybe it should).
One says "I'm 31, english, I move to LA next week. So if you seek someone different to all those american blokes, send me a message and lets get chatting.". My profile says I'm only interested in connecting with people with 25 miles of me; Los Angeles? Are you nuts? What? You think we're going to do a live version of The Graduate here? [This is kind of an inside joke between me & my Mum, who says the main thing she remembers from that movie is Dustin Hoffman driving up and down the state].
Should I spell these things out in smaller words? I just get the impression these guys are sitting at their computers saying "wo-man! wo-man! *grunt*" How they've managed to successfully connect to the internet is a bit of a mystery. The responses from those who read the hipper site where I have my other ad are much more intelligent. They may be freaks, geeks and gender pirates, but at least they can read, write and think.
Yeah, that's Dinah: "What is with these guys who drive Porsches and want to have babies? Eyyewwww! Now, on the other hand, this person has fascinating taste in books and music; the gender is unclear and I'm not sure if that black spiky part is hair, a hat or industrial outcroppings from the building behind, but maybe we could at least have dinner sometime..."
Yes, I'm awake at 1am. 2001
I got back from my day in the wine country and felt a bit dozy (deferred post-meal nappishness), so I went to bed at 7:45pm. And then woke up again a little after 11pm. So I made some website updates, read email and became happily engaged in catching up with bill-paying and entering of receipts in Quicken. Odd how tasks horrid in the evening are perfectly enjoyable in the middle of the night. I should probably go back to bed before long though, because I need to get up at 6am and ready myself for a long and busy day, but right now I'm listening to The Smiths and feeling good.
...as I go... 2001
Neil Gaiman's new site is up and has lots of good stuff like an interview from The Onion with this wonderful kicker:
I just want to make things up, really. All my life, I've felt that I was getting away with something because I was just making things up and writing them down, and that one day there would be a knock, and a man with a clipboard would be standing there and say, "It says here you've just been making things up all these years. Now it's time to go off and work in a bank." Because my grandmother or whoever would always warn me, as they always warn children, "Don't make things up! You know what happens to little boys who make things up!" But they never tell you what happens. As far as I can tell, it involves being able to spend a lot of time at home, plus a bit of international travel, and staying in nice hotels, and lots of very nice people who want you to sign things for them. So.
Attention: Do Not Play That Damn Song 2001
From News of the Weird:
A February report in the Rochester (N.Y.) Democrat and Chronicle described a local patient's remarkable recovery from botulism paralysis at Park Ridge Hospital. The woman recently recalled that, after the toxin struck her in June 2000, she lay in her hospital bed, able to hear everything around her but unable to communicate in any way with anyone, and that someone had erroneously said she was a big fan of singer Celine Dion. After that, the hospital staff, in an effort to aid the woman's recovery, played the singer's music in her room around the clock for weeks. When the paralysis left the woman, one of the first joys she experienced, she said, was stopping the music because she actually never cared for Dion. [Albany Times-Union-AP, 2-10-01]
If I go into a coma, do not, repeat, DO NOT play Celine Dion for me. The following is a list of artists acceptable for coma-ridden bedside DJ-ing:
- They Might Be Giants
- Bruce Cockburn
- Annie Lennox / Eurythmics
- Cirque du Soleil
- k.d. lang
- Thomas Dolby
- J.S. Bach
Good day today. 2001
Beautiful weather. The fine company of my friends Clemens and Friederike. A trip to the wine country. Someone else driving. Lunch at Greystone, the Culinary Institute of America restaurant. Shopping, eating, shopping. New shoes, a vegetable slicer, greens & herbs, garlic chicken breast, a good cocktail, new pants, new shirt, gazing out the window at the lovely scenery daydreaming about kissing, and home again.
Dang. Shoulda gone to San Francisco again tonight. 2001
The down side of living down here in Silicon Suburbia is that when I get feeling mopey on a Saturday night, there's nowhere nearby to go bump into friends or make new ones. I know, that's silly, of course there are places, but I don't know of many places you can go by yourself, have a good time and not feel like you've got a big neon sign over your head saying "ALONE."
Another great hike today: Portola 2001
Portola State Park with Jun. I even got to sit and listen to Tiptoe Falls splashing happily. That brought back memories of school camping trips of long ago! Is it possible it's only Saturday? And tomorrow I'm going to Sonoma for lunch at Greystone? Ah, life is good.
Now approaching a week behind in blogging details, I better catch up. 2001
[last Saturday continued] After we bailed from the peculiar scene at Shrine of Lilith, we went to Kimo's and heard a band which was suprisingly compenent, though not so impressive that I actually noted their name. They sounded kinda Depeche Mode-y and had a nifty violin player. Note: I take this last fact on faith. I couldn't see anyone but the keyboardist and the singer, but I am given to understand that there were two more band members on the sides and all the noises I was hearing were not, in fact, samples triggered by the keyboardist. This venue was more satisfying in two important ways: 1) the music was decent, if not something I'd want to dance to, and 2) there was a good bartender. Wonderful bartender. I said "Do you have red wine?" and he said "Merlot or Cabernet?". I said "I'd like a bloody mary, more flavor than kick please." and he said "Certainly." and put in two olives. He was civil and pleasant. And the drinks were excellent. We sat at the back of the room and Beverly and I discussed how we'd redecorate - unfortunately, the room was done in unfinished drywall, a most ineffective look. After a bit Beverly leaned over and drew my attention to a little tableau at the bar: a girl, let's name her "Tipsy Bobcut", was being approached by two men. Clearly the first man ("Eager Blond") was interested in Tipsy and had brought his friend ("Mr. Goatee") for moral support. Within a few minutes we concluded that E.B.'s chances were slim; despite (or perhaps because of) his standoffish posture with one arm across his body and the other hand stroking the eponymous beard, Tipsy clearly was more attracted to Mr. Goatee. We watched them talk for the next forty-five minutes, Tipsy always touching Goatee's shoulder when the three were laughing though he still had his arms across his body like a shield, and I had begun to think E.B. might win out by virtue of persistence when Goatee must have decided "enough is enough" and rested his arm along the bar behind Tipsy. That was all for it and before long she was leaning against him in the curve of his arm with a shoulder turned to poor E.B. I'm not sure how the story ends because she went to the dance floor leaving the boys at the bar and I got distracted talking to a charming lad (Seth? Sean? James?) about where on earth he found his lovely pair of jodhpurs, but when we left we saw the trio outside together. Tipsy was sitting down smoking and, presumably, waiting for E.B. to get a clue and make himself scarce. Ah, courtship displays are so fascinating! We went to Sparky's and ate delicious food in the middle of the night. We all enjoyed "I love this city!" moments when we had to wait in line for the bathrooms and we actually had nice, funny conversations with the people around us instead of everyone pretending to be invisible. Hooray for the presumption you have something interesting to say!
I slept over at B.J. and Beverly's place on an exceedingly comfortable airbed. In the morning around 9:30, the 3rd roommate, Ahri the cat, walked up my butt, across my back and stood there smacking her lips. I'm not sure what this meant, but I held very still and she went away. After I got up, my first stop on this stunningly beautiful Sunday morning was the Slow Club, where I obtained 15 of their excellent biscuits. I then went to Golden Gate Park where I found a parking space across the street (this is, you realize, a miracle) and strolled over to the Conservatory to join a group of excellent women for a picnic brunch. It was simply delightful! The company, the flowers, the sunshine, the sangria, the cookies, the grapes, the brie, the hummus, the olives, the jazz band playing softly in the distance, the winsome little terrier, Jasmine. Perfection! I lingered a bit longer than intended, but enjoyed every minute. Reluctantly, I picked up the remaining biscuit from the box of 8 I'd brought into the park and headed off for brunch number two. This brunch was at the house of people whom I'd never met in person in a neighborhood I'd never been to, so I was, I fear, later still than expected and entirely missed the eating part of that brunch. I did get to hang about on the deck with fun folks, get a tour of some of Josh's great photos and spill orange juice pulp on the counter whilst trying to use it as a sauce on a leftover piece of french toast (delicious, despite having to clean up a wee mess). Once sufficient damage control had been conducted in the kitchen, Josh and I went for an enjoyable walk in Glen Canyon by way of a secret and special street: Ohlone Way. You'll want a native guide to properly enjoy this hidden flower-covered dirt road near Conrad Street. After the ramble in the canyon, I headed up to Clement Street and puttered around in Green Apple Books for a bit until it became clear that, through mutual vague communication, my dinner companion wasn't going to be anywhere near where I was for an hour, so we postponed, I returned to my car, ate a couple biscuits and drove home down 280 with the light of golden time shining on the hills.
Identify this moment for me please: 2001
Man examining woman's face, describing her features. She says "Tell me again." He says "Your mouth, yes, your mouth is just a little too wide..."
Movie? Book? Both?
Blog Etiquette 2001
"Is it uncouth to ask how many hits a site gets?" asks Kevin Smokler, man about town. I say "No." I have about 12 unique visitors per hour and that just blows me away.
Ok, ok, it's Friday. 2001
If I'm gonna tell you what I did last weekend, I better do it now or just forget it. So, Saturday night B.J. and Beverly and I went in search of goth fun in San Francisco. There ain't much there.
Stop number one:
The last Shrine of Lilith held at Maritime Hall was odd. Very odd. The venue was fine, though a bit dark for a crowd that spends as much time preening before going out as the goth/industrial crowd does. The bar was pathetic: no wine, no bloody marys, out of tonic, no campari or flavoured vodkas suitable for making an apertif and a rude bartender [Note: the correct answer after you've had to say you can't make the first 5 things someone asks for and they're hemming & hawing about what else they might want is "Think about it a moment, I'll be right back." not "I've got people waiting; what do you want?] Actually, I should say that more precisely: the selection at the bar sucked, the venue itself was very pleasant; I particularly liked the mural behind the bar. Despite these oddities, we would have been ok, except that they weren't actually playing goth or industrial dance music. It was kinda techno-y. And not many people were dancing. We sat a while expecting it to improve and did enjoy watching a girl spinning glowsticks on strings (practically the only thing that could be distinguished in the dark room). Finally, B.J. said "Somehow I feel like I'm in a Saturday Night Live sketch." I said, "It's because of the person dancing in front of us, isn't it?" and he said "Yep. I think that's it." The dancer in front of us was, at first blush, normal enough for a goth club. A man in a dress, probably in the midst of a male-to-female gender change. It was not quite the right dress for a man of his stature; if you're over 6 feet tall and built like a longshoreman, a short little flouncy girly dress with puffy short sleeves will not accentuate your femininity. He was wearing 4 inch platform shoes and performing a dance suggestive of almost falling and then catching yourself from falling. It was not graceful. Up to this point we've seen nothing unique. The surreal part was that he (I probably should say she, but his body was so blatantly male I can't seem to get it to come naturally) was also wearing a neck brace of the "chin stop in front" variety. I could not help but wonder if the brace was the result of a fall, perhaps from a short height, like, for example, 4 inches. I imagined the doctor who prescribed the brace sitting beside me sobbing softly into his hands as he watched his patient teetering drunkenly around on 4" heels on an uneven surface in a dark room containing people lurching around spasmodically to a pounding beat.
The music got worse. We left.
XML is not better than sliced bread 2001
Three Myths of XML
This is a nice little article succinctly deflating some of the magical hype around XML and focusing discussion firmly back on the actual functionality of it. It's not a technical paper - it's more like an intriguing consumer affairs bulletin. [found via Camworld, home of linky goodness]
Mmmm, information design. 2001
Edward Tufte will be giving a one-day course on Presenting Data and Information. The course is offered in Palo Alto and in San Francisco at the end of this month. It's $320, but you get all 3 of his delicious books on information design. If you want more info call 800-822-2454 between 6am - 3pm PST.
I'm seriously thinking of going. Anyone want to join me? If we can get 10 people together it's 25% off...
And I'm still busy. 2001
But here's Saturday in a nutshell:
- Slept late.
- Went to San Jose Pride and hung out with my library pals at the Bookmobile. I liked the fact that the Leather Man booth was next to the kids play area. I know if any little kid fell down and scraped a knee, 10 guys in black leather chaps would rush over immediately in a cloud of band-aids, hugs and lollipops. They don't call 'em daddies for nothin'...
- Exhausted by sun, wind and watching drag queens lip sync, I took a nap when I got home. Mmm, naps.
- Edmond called in the evening. He was somewhere in Death Valley in his funky old car - yes, that funky old car with literally enough miles to have reached the moon - and it was, unsurprisingly, hot, but both he & the car were doing fine. He's really enjoying backpacking and I'm looking forward to hearing his stories & seeing great pictures when he gets back.
- After talking to to Edmond, I called B.J. and Beverly to see about fun and, sure enough, they were preparing for a night on the town. I dolled myself up in leather pants & a gentleman's dinner jacket and drove to San Francisco.
[more about the feeble goth scene in our next exciting installment!]
I haven't blogged all weekend. Sorry, gang! I was sooo busy. Me and my social whirlwind. Friday night I cooked up a fine dinner and Eric and I watched Serial Mom. After Eric left, I watched The Celluloid Closet in honor of Pride Month. My favorite quote was Susan Sarandon telling how the director of The Hunger suggested she play a certain scene drunk and she responded "You don't need to be drunk to want to kiss Catherine Denueuve." A good documentary. Film history as social history is fascinating.
[and then more things happened on Saturday & Sunday but I need to do other stuff, so I'll tell ya later]
Packing vs. sleeping 2001
Though I had more fun last night helping Carl pack boxes than I've had at many parties (my own excepted of course) and though I am sure he would be happy to have my assistance again, given the lack of instantaneous transportation to and from San Francisco, I think it's a good night to stay home and get to bed at a reasonable hour.
Good Stuff 2001
Damn. He's good.