n-judah love song

Mr. Burbujas

things I've learned in San Francisco

Bring a hoodie. It's colder than you think.
Taxi drivers and Chinese food joints miss Web 1.0.
You will be sorry if you finish the whole burrito.
The ocean? Bring a wetsuit. And there ain't no boardwalk.
Real, fresh wasabi makes all the difference.
Everything you want to go to after 9pm is closed. (™- Anil)
You can't swing a dead cat without hitting a DJ.
It was better last year.
You need a car 18% of the time.
Muni: worse than NYC transit, better than DC's.
You can, indeed, make a family out of some of the greatest friends in the world.

I'm out - see yall in Boston!

come to our party!

  come to our party! 
  Originally uploaded by miz_ginevra.

if you're in SF, you should come to our party - old friends and new will be joining together to celebrate the End of An Era. Most specifically, Adam turns old. (Oh, and it's my bon voyage too.)

it's a dog's life

Hello, internet. I've been trying to think of how to say and deal with this, so I'll just come out with it.

I am moving to Boston. Stella is not. Instead, Stella will be living with two of our favorite people, Jay and Jen.

Boston is not much of a dog-friendly town. San Francisco, you can bring your dog into the bar, the record store, the bookstore, hell, there's dog bowls out everywhere you go. Boston basically has a big sign on it that says NO DOGS ALLOWED. Stella has wicked arthritis from her surgery. Boston is cold, in case you haven't been following along. I talked with her vet, and he  spoke plain crazy truth: "you want to take a large, arthritic, barky animal to a city like that?"

Right. She would be miserable. I would be miserable. And yet...

I've spent nearly every day of two years with Stella since I rescued her from Animal Control. I know what face she makes when she's SO HAPPY to be walking, how she carries herself when she's about to explode off to chase another dog. She's my girl, even when she gives me that look of "lady, don't you even try to pet me right now" and saunters off to see what else more interesting could be going on.

There were also times that her behavior has been so bad that I have wanted to give her to the nearest homeless person and run away. When she had her surgery and would simply pee on my bed or wherever she was laying, when she chewed up everything in my room, when she required lifting up and down stairs for three weeks and couldn't run and play for months...well, I tell you, I nigh about cracked.  I felt sorry for myself for having to take care of an injured dog, and then felt even worse that she was the sick one, and what was I doing with this self-pity-party. If it hadn't been for all yall, I don't know what I would have done.

If I look too closely at my motives for not taking Stella with me, I see some demons mirrored back plain as day. I see selfishness for not being able to continue a responsibility to this animal who I promised to take care of for the rest of her life. I see incredible guilt for placing my happiness above her happiness. I see irresponsiblity. I see it all, and I know it's not productive to get down on myself this way, but I do. And yet it doesn't stop me from making the choice that I think is best for both of us.

I see all that and more: she is my best friend, and while my human best friends understand my motives, she doesn't, and she will forget for the most part, like dogs do. I mean, cmon, she forgets that I've left the house for five minutes and greets me like it's been five years. I know her new people are delighted and wonderful and ready to have a dog. I know when I see her napping under Jay's desk that she is happy and will continue to be so. I know I can hang out with her again. We'll all still be at Six Apart. I know all these things.

And still, my heart is still breaking into a zillion pieces, thinking that soon she won't be on the other side of the door, waiting and wagging. My little girl.

Save John Swett

Here's the lowdown - there are thousands less kids in the San Francisco public school system than there used to be. Lucky rich kids go to private schools instead. (I'm a product of public schools, and look at me! I'm successful, I have a....blog!) SFUSD has proposed the closure of 9 schools. Trick is, public schools are often already strapped for ways to engage their kids - send them over a turf line to a new school, and you're encouraging truancy, dropouts, and lots and lots of trouble.

It's a simple case of robbing Peter to pay Paul - you close these schools, you up the costs of JD centers and police, not to mention the moral cost of telling these kids "we just don't think you need this school."

Why John Swett in particular? Well, my friend Andrea works there, for one, but this situation in particular seems avoidable, and within our grasp to change.  In an interesting twist of bureau-crazy, the Board of Supes just approved $660,000 in funds for Swett - but the school board doesn't have to accept it. They decide tonight.

Think the world is nuts and want to affect change? You have to start in your own backyard. Take a quick moment to email our mayor and let him know what you think, or go to the rally tonight at 6 at 555 Franklin Street, and pass the word on that we'll remember this come next election.

street art

  must be an Irish construction team. 
  Originally uploaded by miz_ginevra.

There seems to have been a sudden upswing of interesting street art around SF lately - on Fell, in Hayes Valley, and now on 4th Street.

FYI - this is my walk to work, and often completely flooded as of late. This creepy JFK makes the trudge through a bit better.

best of craigslist.

My dad used to tell me as a kid that San Francisco was a land of weirdos. I always believed him, and I like weirdos, that's why I moved here. A fabulous example is looking for housing on Craigslist.

Offering a room to rent: a Brit punter who says "I'm not kidding, I smoke everywhere. At all times and in all places. There are ashtrays everywhere. Non-smokers who claim they don't mind are kidding themselves."

Maybe you'd like a studio in "in a good part of the Tenderloin. What I mean by that is no homeless, drug dealers, or prostitutes hang around or visiting the building. Most of those types of people walk by the building and continue further down O'Farrell St. towards Jones St."

How about camping in someone's backyard, or living in their closet?

Or the people who don't show up to show their own appointments they make to show the place, or who talk about their exes in their ads, or who have a distinctive personal ad flavor to their posting: "female preferred, low rent, I like outdoor sports and wine by the fire. I'm attentive and witty," and EW. GROSS.

Ugh. Anyone? Anyone? A place for me and a dog? I come with excellent references and mad cooking skillz.

house hunting

I'm once again on the prowl for a new place to live. I hate the ambiguity of not knowing where I'm going to live, but the actual _looking_ is pretty fun. It's interesting to see where people call their home, what kind of neighborhoods are out there, trying to picture what my walk to the park would be like, or a bike ride to work. Change is afoot, and while that's super-scary, I'm going to try to make the best of it, whether it be just knuckling down and getting a place by myself or finding some happenin' roomies.

So if you hear of anyone/ anywhere who would welcome someone sarcastic with a penchant for cooking, as well as a big silly dog, please let me know.

artists for literacy

This Thursday, come on out and support for this little shindig Adam arranged. I'll be your lovely guest bartender along with Dave, so don't try ordering any girlie frou frou crap or we'll smack you twice with a martini glass.

From the invite:
San Franciscians spend most of their money on books and booze.  So we decided to combine the two and raise money for Artists for Literacy, a nonprofit committed to keeping literary reading alive in the 21st century.

Come and join AFL to Drink for Literacy at Butter on Thursday July 28th. This fundraiser is packed with music, raffles and lots of wonderful people to talk with about your favorite books and music. DJ's will be playing great funk and soul, downtempo, breaks and house music and our wonderful guest bartenders will be donating all of their tips to AFL...so be nice and tip well.

shop your heart out

I've been to two of these three "new Mission vintage" stores and always walked away a teensy bit poorer and all the happier.

ladies and gentlemen of the jury.

Yes. I am going to be on jury duty starting Wednesday morning at 9am. As I hugely despise both waiting and authority, I'm not exactly looking forward to it. But being a good citizen, I will not lie about my ability to be a fair juror, nor will I wear fuzzy slippers, scuba gear and a t-shirt that says "fuck tha police" or indulge in any other shenanigans to try to get out of it.

I could wear this, I suppose...

a lovely afternoon in Golden Gate Park

  our new friend feeds Stella. 
  Originally uploaded by miz_ginevra.

this little dude just walked over to hang out with us. he then stole chris' frisbee and ran away with it, and he left us his football. His dad straightened it all out in the end.

he had a british accent, which I find adorable on boys of all ages, but especially those under 5.

the closing of the odeon

Me: "How was the Odeon last night?"
Jason: "I won a shot of Fernet because I asked the question 'why can't dogs laugh?' I don't remember the answer, but I finally got the shot."
Adam: "and there was a rapping jelly donut that was AWESOME."

good morning

As any of my former roommates can tell you, I am not a morning person. Unless, by morning person, you are thinking of someone who desperately desires nothing but coffee and minimal conversation. Now, my mornings usually involve the dog park, which involves some talking, but usually, it's just listening to people chat about their dogs, or their dog's poo, or some combination thereof.

So, in the interest of self-preservation and not offending the holy fuck out of some enthusiastic morning-loving-collie-owner type, I took my book with me this morning, which I have been dying to finish before the San Francisco Public Library hunts me down for late fees on it. I figured this way, I could keep one eye on Stella and one eye on what I'm reading. The universal sign of "I would not like to talk with you" is having your nose in a book. It works on airplanes, yes?

Not so in the dog park.

First off, as you might remember, dogs do not read. However they do

a. have explosive diarrhea at importune moments (thanks, Stella)
b. have the ability to sniff out treats in your pocket and
c. act all cute as hell to try to get you to give said treats to them.

So there I am, with two pit bulls gazing lovingly into my eyes as though I were the only being in the world who could ever provide them with comfort...in the form of processed bacon, of course.

And then, a homeless-ish guy sits down next to me. Hi, homeless-ish guy!

He tells me all about his three birds and his old dog, Sadie, who got hit by a car. He tells me about the community in Terre Haute where he grew up. He tells me about his gig last night playing piano somewhere in North Beach. (Old musicians never die, they just move from bar to bar, right, Dad?) He tells me about how his grandma and he used to both live in the same area of San Francisco, how they would both hit the bricks each morning at six to walk in the park. He tells me about repainting a commune on Valencia that was all tangerine inside. "Eight rooms!"

Sometimes, all you need to do is ask a couple of questions and listen, and no one even cares if you're a morning person or not.

He also asked me out for coffee, which I politely declined.

Mornings, feh.

en fuego

G: I saw a lady on my walk home yesterday
G: burning all her boyfriend's clothes
G: in the middle of the street
E: BWA HA HA awesone
G: burning man, the 6th street version
E: because she hated him - or because she hated his clothes
E: or because he had lice
G: more like "HE AINT CAME HOME FOR THREE DAYS I TOL HIM I WOULD BURN HIS SHIT AND HERE I AM MOTHERF'KER"
E: I would really like to see that on a postcard
E: Greetings from 6th Street

lesson learned

When you dream about crashing your bike and hurting yourself, you should not wake up and proceeed to tempt the universe by then trying to prove yourself tough and riding your bike anyway. I ended up flying over the handlebars on a downhill slope and ended up with bloody knees, elbows and scraped hands.

Happy Monday!

california love

  lovemaster 
  Originally uploaded by miz_ginevra.

hi, SFist!

My review for the Amon Tobin show was published in SFist. Hi, y'all coming here from over there.

and it's pronounced EssEffist to those of you who don't know. Though it sure looks like something else.

rude awakening

I am a bad person, because this made me laugh.

rainy days

uploaded by miz_ginevra.

I walked to work today with the dog through sheeting rain,sun, wind, then more rain. It smelled like clean asphalt (no mean trick for SF) and wet fennel growing wild along the side of the road. Unfortunately, it's out of the shot (rainbows never last long) but Sam Brown's book "Amazing Rain" is right underneath this view of a rainbow, streaming into the Technorati building.

Guess we know where the pot of gold is now.

bright sunshine-y day

some photos from the Clarion Alley Mural Project. This changes, as all street art does, but it's always impressive.

if a jasmine trellis falls in the backyard...

I took these photos yesterday and this morning - seems this weekend's winds did a number on our yard. The jasmine that I love so dearly has become a little top-heavy. In fact, so top-heavy that is is pulling over the post it built itself on, and collapsing our fence. It's a little nerve-wracking to have a metal post hanging over your house with only these old boards kind of supporting it, but the winds have died down now, and the maintenance man is due any minute. I wonder if when I said "uh....our fence is falling down, and I think the laundry line posts might squish us" he really got the full impact (wocka wocka wocka) of the destruction you see below.

anyone want to come to the MoMA with me?

Featuring some 100 objects of architectural, graphic, and industrial design, this survey ranges from well-known classics to works by up-and-coming designers, highlighting areas such as experimental architecture and digital design.

"I can't turn left."

Stupid driving.
Stupid Market Street.
Stupid getting a ticket for driving in the bus lane for two blocks.
Stupid me for not sticking to the rule "NEVER GO ON MARKET STREET FOR ANYTHING EVER."

Oh well, as many illegal traffic manouvers that I have pulled in this city, it was about time for karma to make me its bitch.

SF Cheap Eats

here's the guide to the $10 and under restaurants in the city. I'm pleased to see Pakwan and Zeigeist made it on.

where did you come from?

Our neighborhood isn't one of homeless people sleeping on the street. The neighborhood association doesn't stand for such things, and arrests them instead. However, when Stella and I went out this morning for our morning walk, surprise! There was a man sleeping in our doorway. He was defintitely drunk, sleeping on a dingy sleeping bag and a down comforter. "You can score some pretty sweet throwaways in SF," I said to the dog.

I went back inside.

"Yen? Yen, there's a guy sleeping on our doorstep."
"Uh...really?"
"Yeah."
"Should I put shoes on?"

It was really too early in the morning for such things.

We went out, and stepped over Drunky McDrunkerson as he made an apologetic sound. I wondered to myself as I walked around Bernal Heights: did he come from the "Open at 6 AM" bars down the street, like Clooney's? What if he had tried to go to meetings, but his wife had kicked him out because of the drinking? What did he look like in his third grade class photo? The view from Bernal Hill makes one ponder - fog-choked city, lined up in neat rows: Folsom, South Van Ness, Mission, Valencia. Houses that match each other for a block are the projects, houses you can't see for the trees surrounding them are ones I will never afford.

We all start out as someone, and some of those ones get lost along the way. If we're lucky, someone sees fit to believe in us, to accept us, to give us a hand up when we're sleeping in a tent in the rain, or five days from payday and hungry. Some of us are lucky enough to have someone catch us. How many people did Drunky burn through? How come he couldn't save himself from this fate? When did he notice he was homeless?

Anyhow, Drunky was still there when we returned from the park, snoozing away. I'd like to think I thought charitable thoughts like the Little Sisters of Infinite Mercy. Instead, I remembered that my father would say "don't give money to that f'ing bum," how everyone else would say I was too nice for not calling the cops. That if you feed them, they're like cats, they'll keep coming back. How my doorstep will probably smell like urine. I don't want him there. He's not my problem.

What would I want if I had no place better to sleep than outside someone's door, next to the recycling bin?

I gathered up a few little things. Hotel soap and shampoo, a bottle of advil - all things I had gotten for free and would likely never use. Last night's leftovers, which weren't really all that great. Half a bottle of OJ. I left these little items, and the guy, in the doorway. Don't get me wrong, I don't want him to stay - that's my doorway. Should I tell him we have rats?

Am I a better person for this? Hell, no. There is no good and bad, no matter how we try to simplify our little worlds. These people live among us on the street. They do awful things sometimes, and don't exactly liven the air with their presence. They are considered a problem populace, but yet they are our neighbors. Would you look at them? No shame, begging for change on the corner. Nothing to show for themselves, those bums. His stuff was still there when I got home. We threw it in the street.

Didn't someone name you, once - like a star, a whirl of infinite possibilities? It does me no harm to ask you your name.

ed note: we found this outside, with the clean empty tupperware from the leftovers, written on an etch-a-sketch:

Greed will be the downfall of the downfall of the white "man" "men" etc...

Mucho amor
(I am you and you are me and we are all together)
some people say I'm a dreamer but I am not the only one and on and on.
Thank You!
-Jon

rats!

We have rats.

We live in an urban neighborhood, close to some great (and not-so great) restaurants that I am so sure empty their trash properly every night. I realize that rats happen in these situations. I used to fend them off in the "park" in DC.

However, they are invading our beautiful garden. I heard them running up and down the back wall, and the dog has been very interested in the corners of the garden.

So I bought two traps.

And caught two rats almost immediately.

Ewwwww!

I made Yen (poor vegetarian boyfriend) dispose of them, because I am like that. Were you listening when I told you what they are? RATS! I do not meddle with plague-bringers. He did come in and relay to me all the gory details with the glee of a twelve-year-old boy. Suffice it to say, one was big, one was small, and both were dead. If you really want to know the rest, I suggest not hearing it while nursing a hangover.

Gross.

The moment I see one in the house, I am moving the fuck out. No rats for me. Not for as much rent as we pay.

opening ceremony or gay circuit party?

At least I feel like I went to all those white parties for a reason. It was my way of celebrating the triumph of the human spirit through sport!

tonight's messages

I got home tonight to a sweet message from my Neighbor Boys. I called them at 5am Wednesday to politely ask them to cool it when I heard them upstairs partying. Mind you - they are usually GREAT neighbors. So wonderful and friendly, and they keep the garden perfect...but 5 am on a Wednesday is not my time to hear Madonna. (Best quote overheard : "I will NOT turn it down, I pay too much rent!")

Note #1, written on the back of a flier for a party at their house tomorrow:

G & I-
Got your message - so so sorry! Spoke to Isaac about it! Party girl on a Wednesday night! Jeez!!! Anyway, hope you can make it tomorrow!
-Joe

Note #2:

Dear Ginevra, Ian and Stella:

I am so sorry to have disturbed your slumber. School starts in a week and I had to get a little crazy. Once again, I apologize.
Isaac

I told you I love them. Our building rules it.