I don't have a picture of my pink slip because they don't give those out anymore. So I found a photo of a vintage slip because I hate having a post without a picture.
Hey, San Francisco!!! I'm available!
You hiring?
ps.: I can make cappucinos, too.
you feel that way sometimes
The wise man says "No Trespassing."
And as the new moon rose over Chinatown last night, a perfect thin sliver of white, I couldn't help but notice how thinly divided we are in this city.
The building immediately in front, with the fire escapes, is a typical aging Chinatown storefront, selling cheap bric-a-brac, the same stuff sold in every touristy shop up and down Grant Street. The building behind it is the back of the Ritz-Carleton Hotel, one of the most expensive hotels in the city.
Then she says, I'm hungry. That I understand.
The gracious and generous Relyn of Come Sit By My Fire, one of my favorite people and places in the blogosphere to visit, asked me to write a post for her recent series on people and their passions.
So if you haven't visited Relyn before, I hope you'll make her a regular habit. Relyn is one of those people who makes you realize how precious and wonderful life is in a daily, real way. She is a virtual ray of sunshine in my world.
My guest post is here, and I'm so happy to be a part of her world. So pay her (and me) a visit today. We'll be so glad to see you.
xoxo
Happy Saturday!
The Mission is one of those parts of the city that I return to over and over again. It's not the neighborhood I call home, but it's probably the one I spend the most time in when I'm not at home. There's a lot of sensory overload in that part of town, both good and bad, but it's vibrant and colorful and no other place in the city quite like it.
... you sign up to receive Gwyneth Paltrow's weekly newsletter.
***
To be fair, I can't entirely blame the moldy chocolate for why I signed up for GOOP, because if you read my previous post about GOOP, you'd see this was very out of character for me (which actually does make a case for some sort of poisoning, now that I think about it).
(I did accidentally eat a moldy truffle today and so did a co-worker and although we're not really ill, the mental anguish and imaginary visuals we're going through is not pretty. I'll spare you the details of how such a thing happened.)
After downing the unfortunate truffle, in order to distract myself, as though my dinner last night was not enough for producing stomach ache inducing food issues this week, I had to read the Fug Girls' post about their addiction to Gwyneth's weekly newsletter.
This was the paragraph that sold me on GOOP:
"But little by little, GOOP's relentless obliviousness sneaks up on you and becomes oddly charming. Once you realize you're reading it not for the information, but for the peek into how Gwyneth ticks, it becomes hilarious — not annoying — when Gwyneth blithely exalts rare hibiscus-flavored Majorcan salt, or recommends giving someone a $1,400 leather weekend-getaway bag for Christmas. You react with an amused, "Of course" when a pal of the woman who once evangelized macrobiotic living produces a recipe called "Dino Meat," made of unappetizing lumps of obscure meat substitute served with mushy grains arranged in the shape of a cow (the awesome photo of which single-handedly validated our continued membership). Entertainingly, even the tongue baths Gwyneth gives to the celebrity pals she’s roped into contributing feel like she thinks they're cute insider dish. Christy Turlington is an “amazing mother” who recommends Jane Austen... There's something endearing about the image of Gwyneth sitting in a garret somewhere banging out a few paragraphs about the butt exercises she does when her trainer goes on tour with Madonna, or nagging Steven Spielberg to boost our cultural education with a list of his favorite flicks. (That he actually did it is also rather sweet.) Indeed, as vanity projects go, at least Gwyneth's intentions are good, if perhaps condescending — like when she had Deepak Chopra proffer tips on how to be grateful at Thanksgiving, as if we Philistines couldn't figure that out otherwise. On the other hand, obviously Deepak is one of her go-to gurus; we're actually shocked the Dalai Lama has escaped her reach."
I mean, who can resist a PR job like that? And it's free, which means I can save up for my Gwyneth-inspired trips to the Ritz in Paris and my stash of hibiscus-flavored Majorcan salt.
Actually, the real reason I signed up is that it might give me more opportunities to hone my Dorothy Parker skills, and/or use GOOP as fodder for future posts (sorry, but it's true). I should give the gal some props though, because in looking through the past issues of GOOP, it's apparent that she must write the thing herself.
And for all of us busy busy bloggers, we know it's a hard thing to come up with something new to say even without the demands of stardom. I have a hard time coming up with ideas and I just have a regular office job. I'm not even close to being friends with Madonna.
So despite the fact that I may or may not have ergot poisoning means that you are the possible beneficiaries of some GOOP wisdom in the relatively near future.
Because good things should be shared, I think.
And snarky things are even better to share. Bring it on, Gwyneth. I need to know more about "nourishing the inner aspect" because I am quite sure that I am not be doing that part correctly. And god knows I could probably do with some butt exercises.
In a serious attempt to avoid throwing up-- People, please. I'm asking you a huge favor... if you ever hear me say that I'm going to have popcorn again for dinner, STOP me. I don't know how you'll do that, but I know in my heart that you want the best for me and you will try to keep me from making bad food choices... like having popcorn for dinner, which leads to the inevitable tummyache and we are OUT of Pepto-Bismol and yes, it's my own damn fault. So just promise, okay?--
Anyway, to keep my mind distracted, I decided to re-read an email I got from my sister today, regarding my niece, Little Curly Girl (you all remember her...):
"Wish us luck--we're potty training. She got married this morning in my black spiky heeled boots and black cocktail dress. She peed in the dress and into the boots... But she was a beautiful bride. Pictures to follow..."
I think the gist of the email is clear but what you don't know is that my sister and LCG had their honeymoon in Fiji, before the peeing incident. I think that is so romantic. I wonder what the pictures will be like.
(I guess the potty training train derailed a few months back when Princess Chubness was born-- who has been renamed The Forgotten Child because being the second, totally chill and happy baby that she is, no one is taking any photos of her-- anyway, having that kind of distraction kept LCG's Potty Training Train from leaving the station. So my sister thought to tell LCG that brides know how to use the toilet [that's a ruse, certainly] but unfortunately the idea of being a bride and then going on a romantic honeymoon with her mother to Fiji was not enough.)
See, just in writing this and laughing, I almost am forgetting about my poor tummy and what I've done tonight. Perhaps I've cured you of some small ill, too.
How it happens that one meets a person, in any number of circumstances, and the lingering impression that one is left with, like a trace of perfume or a memory of a warm smile... aren't those the things that make us wonder more about a person? You pass by them, but are touched by something else much deeper that remains with you.
I took this photo one year ago today. March 23, 2008.
From yesterday.
I am wandering around in yesterday's images. I've had one of those yucky migraines from when I woke up this morning, so this day has been a total shambles: just cat naps, drawn shades and Excedrin.
But in the in-between moments, when I can stand a little light, I come back to my computer, to the images of yesterday (was it only yesterday?) and they make me feel better.
“You have to have a dream so you can get up in the morning.” ~ Billy Wilder
I did go to the Stem Cell lecture last night hosted by the California Institute for Regenerative Medicine and will tell you all about it soon but right now have to finish a bunch of work stuff I didn't do before and am trying to stay out of trouble.
But it was a very interesting series of presentations and I'm glad I went.
And then I went home and got right to bed because I was too tired to eat.
Net gain: science + knowledge + no caloric intake = smarter tangobaby who is hopefully a tad thinner.
After a long hard day of pretending to be an Office Employee because playing Rock Star Photographer really messed you up the night before, after work would you:
A. Get some takeout food of assorted nationalities for dinner, perhaps not even finishing it all before falling asleep on the sofa like a lump; OR
B. Go to a lecture about stem cell technology.
I tell ya, the Science Dweeb in me is one tough cookie.
The probability of your getting a pimple on your cheek is also quite high.
Thrice.
Boots and whiskey.
Renee.
Slingerland.
The Lady of the Lights. At the controls.
Before the show.
I finally get to say this for reals... I'm with the band.
Meet Kathryn.
