Monday, December 31, 2007
Happy New Year
Well, I have been kind of silent about my plans for a little while and what's going on with San Francisco. What is going on with San Francisco, anyway? Well, according to the New York Times, today it is partly to mostly sunny, in the high 50s, with rain expected toward the end of the week. Which is good to know, since that is where I will be. Yes, that's right. I have a plane ticket for Tuesday morning, January 1, 2008. I am going to start my new year off right this year. Happy New Year, everyone!
Saturday, December 8, 2007
Pictures
A Christmas tree next to palm trees in Union Square, near where I stayed.
Looking up Taylor Street toward Nob Hill.
A flowering tree in Union Square. I'm not sure what it is exactly, but it looks very exotic to me. Probably normal as far as SF is concerned, though, I'm sure.
The entrance to Golden Gate park near sunset.
Looking out toward the Pacific.
A shrub outside someone's house. I thought it looked like a muppet monster.
Back to Boston
I really don't think San Francisco wanted me to leave. Or I didn't want to leave it. Or both. First, I forgot to return my room key to the hostel. It was funny how after only a few days, it had begun to feel like home. Maybe holding on to the key was some subconscious desire to stay. I don't know. But the driver of the airport van was nice enough to volunteer to take the key back for me, and the people at the hostel said they would send me my deposit, which is just so very decent of them.
Then, when I got to the airport, I had a massive hold-up at the check-in counter. I thought I would never even make it to the security gate.
I was kind of sad when I did, too. And I was sad when I got on the plane.
Arriving in Boston the next morning I had a momentary feeling of home, and returning from a long journey, which I was. But immediately after that, the anxiety set in. Darn, I was home.
So I went back to my place and made scrambled eggs. I brushed my teeth in the same old bathroom with the same blue-flowered wallpaper, and I thought about the hostel and the cable cars going up and down the hills. And now it's cold here. Blah.
But I've been there. I've seen it. And next time I'm not even going to bother getting a return flight.
Then, when I got to the airport, I had a massive hold-up at the check-in counter. I thought I would never even make it to the security gate.
I was kind of sad when I did, too. And I was sad when I got on the plane.
Arriving in Boston the next morning I had a momentary feeling of home, and returning from a long journey, which I was. But immediately after that, the anxiety set in. Darn, I was home.
So I went back to my place and made scrambled eggs. I brushed my teeth in the same old bathroom with the same blue-flowered wallpaper, and I thought about the hostel and the cable cars going up and down the hills. And now it's cold here. Blah.
But I've been there. I've seen it. And next time I'm not even going to bother getting a return flight.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Chinatown
I walked to Chinatown this morning, thinking I might get some cheap Chinese breakfast of whatever it is they eat for breakfast in Chinatown. Apparently they don't do breakfast. They aren't big morning people in general, by the looks of it. At 8:30 a.m., there was barely anything open. So I just walked up the street and looked in the windows.
Then I turned down toward the water, where there was a lovely view of the Bay Bridge. It wasn't cold, but it wasn't warm, either, and the mist lay on the water like translucent cotton, making silhouettes of the hills and the huge ships in the bay.
So I turned back around to Chinatown and the hostel, thinking maybe now something there would be open. I was getting hungry.
And I passed several Chinese women in a grassy area doing what looked to be Tai Chi. And I thought, how great that they just go out and do that. They are not embarrassed. They are totally focused on what they are doing and they don't care what anyone thinks. I wanted to keep watching them. Actually, I wanted to do Tai Chi.
So I walked up to the older woman and I asked what she was doing. She said, haltingly, that she didn't speak English. But I managed to communicate that I wanted her to show me what she was doing. So she did, and she let me follow her movements. And I knew with each thing we did there was some kind of reason for it. And I guess if I knew Chinese she could have explained to me exactly what we were doing. But at the same time, I figured that just by doing it, it was going to effect me because facial expressions and gestures do effect how you feel.
So I felt like I was clearing the space around me. I felt like I was becoming more centered, like I was gathering something out of the ground and maybe that would make me feel more solid. Some movements didn't need explanation. There was one that was like the American Sign Language sign for "power," holding two fists at your chest, which actually makes you feel powerful when you do it. It's the same way some words make you feel a particular way. And it occurred to me that that is a fundamental part of language, the way a movement or a word makes you feel.
I liked the non-verbal communication this old Chinese lady and I had. I have no idea what she thought of me. She might have thought I was strange, but she didn't show it. And if I hadn't asked her to teach me, I would have always wondered what it was like to do Tai Chi in the morning in San Francisco, and she never would have had the chance to show me.
Then I turned down toward the water, where there was a lovely view of the Bay Bridge. It wasn't cold, but it wasn't warm, either, and the mist lay on the water like translucent cotton, making silhouettes of the hills and the huge ships in the bay.
So I turned back around to Chinatown and the hostel, thinking maybe now something there would be open. I was getting hungry.
And I passed several Chinese women in a grassy area doing what looked to be Tai Chi. And I thought, how great that they just go out and do that. They are not embarrassed. They are totally focused on what they are doing and they don't care what anyone thinks. I wanted to keep watching them. Actually, I wanted to do Tai Chi.
So I walked up to the older woman and I asked what she was doing. She said, haltingly, that she didn't speak English. But I managed to communicate that I wanted her to show me what she was doing. So she did, and she let me follow her movements. And I knew with each thing we did there was some kind of reason for it. And I guess if I knew Chinese she could have explained to me exactly what we were doing. But at the same time, I figured that just by doing it, it was going to effect me because facial expressions and gestures do effect how you feel.
So I felt like I was clearing the space around me. I felt like I was becoming more centered, like I was gathering something out of the ground and maybe that would make me feel more solid. Some movements didn't need explanation. There was one that was like the American Sign Language sign for "power," holding two fists at your chest, which actually makes you feel powerful when you do it. It's the same way some words make you feel a particular way. And it occurred to me that that is a fundamental part of language, the way a movement or a word makes you feel.
I liked the non-verbal communication this old Chinese lady and I had. I have no idea what she thought of me. She might have thought I was strange, but she didn't show it. And if I hadn't asked her to teach me, I would have always wondered what it was like to do Tai Chi in the morning in San Francisco, and she never would have had the chance to show me.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Pacific
Maybe now I know why they call it the Pacific.
I had planned to stay in the near vicinity of the hostel where I am staying this afternoon. I was going to go out, find the place where I am going to meet up with someone tomorrow, get some food, pick up toothpaste at Walgreen’s (to replace the Tom’s of Maine toothpaste that security confiscated at the airport), and go back to my room for a quiet evening.
I did, in fact, accomplish those things, in precisely that order, but in between the food and the toothpaste, I had an added, quite unexpected adventure.
It all happened because of this artist photographer here that I was hoping to meet up with. Incidentally, it turns out he is headed out of town, so he didn’t really have time. But just in case, I decided I should check out the Haight-Ashbury area, since that, I believe, is where his studio is located. I also saw on my map the Golden Gate Park was out there, and I thought it might be nice to walk around, maybe even see the Golden Gate Bridge on my first day.
So I got on the 71 bus and headed out that way. When we got into the Haight-Ashbury area, I got off and walked so I could take in the shops better. I didn’t go into any, but I enjoyed looking in the windows. Then, toward the end of Haight Street, I spotted Amoeba records, which a friend of mine had told me about. And there was Golden Gate Park. As I crossed the street, there was a couple headed out that way. The girl made eye contact with me and asked if I wanted to do something. I don’t know what it was. Some kind of slang for some kind of drug, I don’t know what. Anyway, I politely declined. Then it occurred to me that rather than being a nice family-friendly park, maybe this was the kind of park where people came to do drugs. It did kind of appear that way, and I mostly felt out of place. It was so beautiful, though, with big, majestic trees in the haze of the setting sun. There was a playground, however, and an art studio, and several joggers. So it wasn’t all people with bongos and glazed looks.
And that’s when I got the idea that maybe if I just walked through the park, I could catch the sunset over the Golden Gate Bridge. It looked simple enough on the map. And when I got through the corner of the park and looked down the main road, I could see the Pacific right there. All I had to do was walk. I probably didn’t even need to get on the bus.
But that road was a lot longer than it looked. A lot longer. And when the map I had said that this particular area of the city was “not to scale,” what they apparently meant was that for every block they showed, there were at least ten – maybe twelve – in real life. So I did get on a bus. The 16XB or something like that. And that was good. But then it started going up this hill and I didn’t know where we were going. So I got off. And I kept walking toward the water. And walking. And walking. And walking. The street seemed to never end. And then I thought I might head uphill and maybe I could see the bridge from there. No dice. I kept walking west, toward the sunset. And I could see it was getting later. I picked up the pace because I didn’t want to miss it, and I knew the later it got, the darker my ride home.
So then I was on Jonah Street, heading downhill. And still walking. I could swear the ocean was just one giant mirage that kept moving at the same pace that I was going as I went forward, like a rainbow. You could keep chasing and chasing and never catch it. And the sky was getting darker and darker. I was sure the sun was below the horizon now. And the streets were mostly deserted. I wondered if I should feel unsafe. But I just walked confidently on, and the further I got, the more determined I was to reach the ocean. I had come this far. How could I give up now? Sure, I could cut my losses and get home early, but where would be the satisfaction in that? And I thought maybe I should because my knee started to hurt, and I worried, briefly, that it would give out, and I would be stranded in a remote corner of a strange city and who knows what would happen to me. But I pushed that thought aside and adjusted my gait so that my knee didn’t hurt so much on the descent downhill.
I probably walked forty or fifty blocks. I don’t even know. When I saw the train cars turning around I knew that I was nearly there. And I saw cars crossing perpendicular to the road I was on. Yes. This was it. I was approaching the “Golden Gate Recreation Area.” This was a yellow strip on the map. When I crossed the street, I found it was a beach.
And the sunset was still there, an intense swath of vermillion and rose with an aura of green and a crown of purple, veined with purple-orange clouds. And beneath it, there were waves like I have never seen before. And I stopped only to remove my shoes and feel the sand between my toes as I walked straight for the water. I was going to touch it. I was going to stand in it. This morning, I got out of bed at 3:00 a.m. in cold, gray Boston, and tonight, I am standing in the Pacific, surrounded and swallowed by color. This is what I saw.
So as I walked toward the water, as if there were a magnet drawing me, I let the cuffs of my jeans drag in the wet sand. And I didn't care when the lip of the next wave swirled around my legs to mid-calf. I was so enthralled and alive, it didn't matter.
I drank in the sunset for as long as I could, watching the waves until another one sopped my jeans and I decided that was the ocean telling me: enough, it’s time to go home. So with my shoes and socks full of sand and my jeans wet practically to the knee, I headed back with that spectacular sunset indelibly printed on my mind. That, to me, was peace.
I had planned to stay in the near vicinity of the hostel where I am staying this afternoon. I was going to go out, find the place where I am going to meet up with someone tomorrow, get some food, pick up toothpaste at Walgreen’s (to replace the Tom’s of Maine toothpaste that security confiscated at the airport), and go back to my room for a quiet evening.
I did, in fact, accomplish those things, in precisely that order, but in between the food and the toothpaste, I had an added, quite unexpected adventure.
It all happened because of this artist photographer here that I was hoping to meet up with. Incidentally, it turns out he is headed out of town, so he didn’t really have time. But just in case, I decided I should check out the Haight-Ashbury area, since that, I believe, is where his studio is located. I also saw on my map the Golden Gate Park was out there, and I thought it might be nice to walk around, maybe even see the Golden Gate Bridge on my first day.
So I got on the 71 bus and headed out that way. When we got into the Haight-Ashbury area, I got off and walked so I could take in the shops better. I didn’t go into any, but I enjoyed looking in the windows. Then, toward the end of Haight Street, I spotted Amoeba records, which a friend of mine had told me about. And there was Golden Gate Park. As I crossed the street, there was a couple headed out that way. The girl made eye contact with me and asked if I wanted to do something. I don’t know what it was. Some kind of slang for some kind of drug, I don’t know what. Anyway, I politely declined. Then it occurred to me that rather than being a nice family-friendly park, maybe this was the kind of park where people came to do drugs. It did kind of appear that way, and I mostly felt out of place. It was so beautiful, though, with big, majestic trees in the haze of the setting sun. There was a playground, however, and an art studio, and several joggers. So it wasn’t all people with bongos and glazed looks.
And that’s when I got the idea that maybe if I just walked through the park, I could catch the sunset over the Golden Gate Bridge. It looked simple enough on the map. And when I got through the corner of the park and looked down the main road, I could see the Pacific right there. All I had to do was walk. I probably didn’t even need to get on the bus.
But that road was a lot longer than it looked. A lot longer. And when the map I had said that this particular area of the city was “not to scale,” what they apparently meant was that for every block they showed, there were at least ten – maybe twelve – in real life. So I did get on a bus. The 16XB or something like that. And that was good. But then it started going up this hill and I didn’t know where we were going. So I got off. And I kept walking toward the water. And walking. And walking. And walking. The street seemed to never end. And then I thought I might head uphill and maybe I could see the bridge from there. No dice. I kept walking west, toward the sunset. And I could see it was getting later. I picked up the pace because I didn’t want to miss it, and I knew the later it got, the darker my ride home.
So then I was on Jonah Street, heading downhill. And still walking. I could swear the ocean was just one giant mirage that kept moving at the same pace that I was going as I went forward, like a rainbow. You could keep chasing and chasing and never catch it. And the sky was getting darker and darker. I was sure the sun was below the horizon now. And the streets were mostly deserted. I wondered if I should feel unsafe. But I just walked confidently on, and the further I got, the more determined I was to reach the ocean. I had come this far. How could I give up now? Sure, I could cut my losses and get home early, but where would be the satisfaction in that? And I thought maybe I should because my knee started to hurt, and I worried, briefly, that it would give out, and I would be stranded in a remote corner of a strange city and who knows what would happen to me. But I pushed that thought aside and adjusted my gait so that my knee didn’t hurt so much on the descent downhill.
I probably walked forty or fifty blocks. I don’t even know. When I saw the train cars turning around I knew that I was nearly there. And I saw cars crossing perpendicular to the road I was on. Yes. This was it. I was approaching the “Golden Gate Recreation Area.” This was a yellow strip on the map. When I crossed the street, I found it was a beach.
And the sunset was still there, an intense swath of vermillion and rose with an aura of green and a crown of purple, veined with purple-orange clouds. And beneath it, there were waves like I have never seen before. And I stopped only to remove my shoes and feel the sand between my toes as I walked straight for the water. I was going to touch it. I was going to stand in it. This morning, I got out of bed at 3:00 a.m. in cold, gray Boston, and tonight, I am standing in the Pacific, surrounded and swallowed by color. This is what I saw.
So as I walked toward the water, as if there were a magnet drawing me, I let the cuffs of my jeans drag in the wet sand. And I didn't care when the lip of the next wave swirled around my legs to mid-calf. I was so enthralled and alive, it didn't matter.
I drank in the sunset for as long as I could, watching the waves until another one sopped my jeans and I decided that was the ocean telling me: enough, it’s time to go home. So with my shoes and socks full of sand and my jeans wet practically to the knee, I headed back with that spectacular sunset indelibly printed on my mind. That, to me, was peace.
Project On
The San Francisco project is officially underway.
I was thinking before I came here that I was going to let the city tell me if I needed to move here.
That is what it seems to be telling me right now, loud and clear, without a doubt and very unmistakably.
It's good. This is very good.
60 degrees and sunny. There are big palm trees right next to the Christmas tree in front of Macy's. The air feels different. It's alive. I am liking this. I am liking it even more than I thought I would - and I've hardly seen any of it yet
We will just have to see how this goes...
I was thinking before I came here that I was going to let the city tell me if I needed to move here.
That is what it seems to be telling me right now, loud and clear, without a doubt and very unmistakably.
It's good. This is very good.
60 degrees and sunny. There are big palm trees right next to the Christmas tree in front of Macy's. The air feels different. It's alive. I am liking this. I am liking it even more than I thought I would - and I've hardly seen any of it yet
We will just have to see how this goes...
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Going to town
I. Am going to San Francisco! Um....tomorrow? Yes! Not moving there quite yet. Just a little trip. My flight leaves at 6:00 a.m., which means I need to call the cab at what? 3:30? Maybe four. Things are slower at the airport in the morning. But on the other hand, I'm a little nervous, because I don't think I've been on a plane since I got back from Ireland. Except when I went to Florida for my cousin's wedding somewhere in there. But that was a family trip. I am so looking forward to this...
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Caveat
I have to add a caveat to Project Moving to San Francisco, kind of like some people don't say they are going to go anywhere or doing anything without qualifying it with “God willing.” Or if you are writing an obituary, you can’t print, “Memorial services will be at” such-and-such a time and place, because what if a hurricane blows in and knocks down the church? You say services are “scheduled for…”
So I just have to acknowledge that there is always the possibility that I won’t go to San Francisco. Like John Lennon said, Life is what happens while you are making other plans. Maybe that's me. I don’t plan to stay in Boston, but here I am, and maybe I will end up going to some other city. Who knows?
I guess what this project is about is discovering where I am going to go. I have San Francisco in mind, and maybe that’s the place. Maybe I will discover that it’s not. In either event, I think it’s the process that will prove to be most useful. And anyway, the process is the part you live.
So I just have to acknowledge that there is always the possibility that I won’t go to San Francisco. Like John Lennon said, Life is what happens while you are making other plans. Maybe that's me. I don’t plan to stay in Boston, but here I am, and maybe I will end up going to some other city. Who knows?
I guess what this project is about is discovering where I am going to go. I have San Francisco in mind, and maybe that’s the place. Maybe I will discover that it’s not. In either event, I think it’s the process that will prove to be most useful. And anyway, the process is the part you live.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Time
So I was able to speak with the artist who was looking for a manager, and we had a pretty good conversation. But when it came down to it, I decided I should really be looking for something full time, rather than dividing myself between multiple small jobs. That's my usual MO, and recently it sort of backfired and turned into a scheduling nightmare.
Right now, I think the theme of my life is focus, and right up there with it would be stress minimization. I'll probably be working on that for the rest of my life. But anyway.
And along the lines of stress minimization, I think I have decided to take my moving plans as slow as they need to go. I don't want to force it, and I don't want to rush it, because moving myself across country is going to be stressful, no matter what. Throw into that mix that I am still recovering from little head trauma, which means I get stressed out that much more easily. So it is just a matter of not overdoing things.
And speaking of overdoing things, living with my family is pretty stressful. I mean, I love my grandparents, and they love me, but it's their house and not mine. Meanwhile, I feel like I need some personal space, which is frustrating, and they probably feel like I'm intruding on theirs. I think it's cramping both our styles. I tell myself I'm doing this for the greater good - saving on rent so I can move. Hopefully that is true. And anyway, they leave for Florida soon, so then I will be staying there on my own, which I've done a couple of times in the past. Still, I think I would be more comfortable in my own space. In the interests of Thanksgiving, I'll have to say that at least I'm grateful that I have such a supportive family. Or at least I try to be grateful. Mostly I just feel lazy. Sigh.
Getting through it. We're getting through it.
Right now, I think the theme of my life is focus, and right up there with it would be stress minimization. I'll probably be working on that for the rest of my life. But anyway.
And along the lines of stress minimization, I think I have decided to take my moving plans as slow as they need to go. I don't want to force it, and I don't want to rush it, because moving myself across country is going to be stressful, no matter what. Throw into that mix that I am still recovering from little head trauma, which means I get stressed out that much more easily. So it is just a matter of not overdoing things.
And speaking of overdoing things, living with my family is pretty stressful. I mean, I love my grandparents, and they love me, but it's their house and not mine. Meanwhile, I feel like I need some personal space, which is frustrating, and they probably feel like I'm intruding on theirs. I think it's cramping both our styles. I tell myself I'm doing this for the greater good - saving on rent so I can move. Hopefully that is true. And anyway, they leave for Florida soon, so then I will be staying there on my own, which I've done a couple of times in the past. Still, I think I would be more comfortable in my own space. In the interests of Thanksgiving, I'll have to say that at least I'm grateful that I have such a supportive family. Or at least I try to be grateful. Mostly I just feel lazy. Sigh.
Getting through it. We're getting through it.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Update
There is something new for San Francisco! I have found out that I can freelance my transcription job from there, if I get myself a foot pedal. AND, I actually got a call tonight from a job I applied for to help manage an artist’s studio. I haven’t talked to him yet, but from the description, I think it would be really a good job for me.
Boutiquerie
So what’s new with San Francisco? Not much, I guess.
I mean, it’s doing stuff. I’m doing stuff. I am still here. I think I’m quitting my job at the boutique soon, to make my life simpler and so I can focus on making my next move. It's been an interesting experience, but right now I think the costs of doing it are outweighing the benefits. Yeah. I'm good with certain kinds of stress, like the pressure of a deadline, but in general, I am trying to reduce stress in my life, not increase it.
I mean, it’s doing stuff. I’m doing stuff. I am still here. I think I’m quitting my job at the boutique soon, to make my life simpler and so I can focus on making my next move. It's been an interesting experience, but right now I think the costs of doing it are outweighing the benefits. Yeah. I'm good with certain kinds of stress, like the pressure of a deadline, but in general, I am trying to reduce stress in my life, not increase it.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Finagling Bagels
Yesterday, I was standing in line to get soup at Finagle a Bagel, and this guy standing right behind me says, out of nowhere, “Do you think Boston is a rude city?” I turned around and looked up at the tallish man, probably in his sixties, with balding white hair and a large, beaky, sort of nose. He was very white, with some weathered-looking spots, and his brown tweed jacket made him look like he could have well been a Harvard professor, slightly out of place in Downtown Crossing. I didn’t ask. I wasn’t sure quite how to respond. I wanted to jump up and down – yes! But, well, you know, it’s not as if everyone is actually rude. And maybe rude isn’t really the word for it. It’s just that people are not particularly warm, in general, which is to say nothing of many individual people who are quite lovely. I just don’t think it’s the atmosphere Boston has, and whether it’s good or bad depends on your preference.
I don’t think he really cared what I thought. Obviously this man thought it was very bad and annoying. “Do you live here?” I asked.
“I’ve lived here for forty-two years,” he lamented.
“Well, why didn’t you move?”
“If I had moved twenty years ago, I’d be so much happier.”
“Hm.” Well, I couldn’t exactly help him there.
“I just think people here are so rude, don’t you?”
“I guess so, yes.” It was like he was watching my every move and facial twitch. Was he trying to incriminate me? Get me to be rude to him to prove his point? How nice could I be and still be considered a Rude Bostonian no matter what I did, no matter how polite? Because then it was my turn in line and I had to excuse myself.
I ordered my mushroom barley soup, plain raisin bagel and got my juice. As I was waiting for the order, the man stood leaning against the counter, staring blandly into somewhere in the air in front of him. He didn’t seem to acknowledge my existence anymore. But since I didn’t want to be a Rude Bostonian, you know, because I am pretty much not a Rude Bostonian, I said to him, It’s not too late. If you don’t like it, move now.
“If I had moved twenty years ago…”
And that was pretty much the end of it. The conversation wasn’t going anywhere, because it really wasn’t a conversation. I didn’t even bother to mention that I planned to leave as soon as is physically possible for me anyway. But I guess it gave me a little boost to remind me that, yes, I really do want to leave Boston. Otherwise I’ll suddenly be forty, and I’ll be that old man, staring into space and accosting random people in the bagel line, growling about how “rude” a city Boston is. Not that he was really improving the image any.
I don’t think he really cared what I thought. Obviously this man thought it was very bad and annoying. “Do you live here?” I asked.
“I’ve lived here for forty-two years,” he lamented.
“Well, why didn’t you move?”
“If I had moved twenty years ago, I’d be so much happier.”
“Hm.” Well, I couldn’t exactly help him there.
“I just think people here are so rude, don’t you?”
“I guess so, yes.” It was like he was watching my every move and facial twitch. Was he trying to incriminate me? Get me to be rude to him to prove his point? How nice could I be and still be considered a Rude Bostonian no matter what I did, no matter how polite? Because then it was my turn in line and I had to excuse myself.
I ordered my mushroom barley soup, plain raisin bagel and got my juice. As I was waiting for the order, the man stood leaning against the counter, staring blandly into somewhere in the air in front of him. He didn’t seem to acknowledge my existence anymore. But since I didn’t want to be a Rude Bostonian, you know, because I am pretty much not a Rude Bostonian, I said to him, It’s not too late. If you don’t like it, move now.
“If I had moved twenty years ago…”
And that was pretty much the end of it. The conversation wasn’t going anywhere, because it really wasn’t a conversation. I didn’t even bother to mention that I planned to leave as soon as is physically possible for me anyway. But I guess it gave me a little boost to remind me that, yes, I really do want to leave Boston. Otherwise I’ll suddenly be forty, and I’ll be that old man, staring into space and accosting random people in the bagel line, growling about how “rude” a city Boston is. Not that he was really improving the image any.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
The Day of the Race!
Hi everyone.
Well, I’ve been so busy, what with a new (second) job, and with training for this race, that I’ve hardly found time to post. Well, not had time at all, I guess.
But I did the Samaritans 5K today, and it was great. The weather was beautiful, and I ran as hard as I could. I only wish I could have run harder. Not because I wanted to win. I just wanted to do it for my sister, because she deserves it.
Anyway, my family came out to see me. It was a very emotional day, but a good one, too. It was both saddening and inspiring to be among so many people whose lives have been touched by suicide. I think I will definitely do the race again next year, and my family is thinking of joining me as well.
Thanks to everyone who supported my run. Together, we raised just over $1,500 for the Samaritans, and that means a lot of people win because a lot of people are going to be helped by what the organization does.
Of course, next year, I’ll have to travel back from San Francisco, but I’ll do it!
Well, I’ve been so busy, what with a new (second) job, and with training for this race, that I’ve hardly found time to post. Well, not had time at all, I guess.
But I did the Samaritans 5K today, and it was great. The weather was beautiful, and I ran as hard as I could. I only wish I could have run harder. Not because I wanted to win. I just wanted to do it for my sister, because she deserves it.
Anyway, my family came out to see me. It was a very emotional day, but a good one, too. It was both saddening and inspiring to be among so many people whose lives have been touched by suicide. I think I will definitely do the race again next year, and my family is thinking of joining me as well.
Thanks to everyone who supported my run. Together, we raised just over $1,500 for the Samaritans, and that means a lot of people win because a lot of people are going to be helped by what the organization does.
Of course, next year, I’ll have to travel back from San Francisco, but I’ll do it!
Friday, September 21, 2007
Road Runner
As many of you may know, I am getting ready for a 5K, which I will be running on September 29th. This will be my first real race. And I am doing it in memory of my sister, and to raise money for The Samaritans of Boston (www.samaritansofboston.org), which is a charitable organization dedicated to suicide prevention, education and survivor support.
My personal donation page is www.firstgiving.com/laurensrun if you are inspired.
Thank you to everyone who has supported already! I am looking forward to a great run.
My personal donation page is www.firstgiving.com/laurensrun if you are inspired.
Thank you to everyone who has supported already! I am looking forward to a great run.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Weekend Review
So New York was excellent, and Agent 66 was so fantastically cool as to both join me for the Academy of Art University runway show on Saturday and to let me stay at her house as well.
The show was a blast, with a lot of great designs that were really inspiring. It took a lot less time to watch than it did to wait around, but that’s all part of the experience, I guess.
Other highlights of my short weekend trip were walking miles and miles in my quasi-pointy-toed high heels until I thought my toes were about to all squish together into the tips and stay that way for life. (Walking down ramps to the subway at that point was not fun. But I guess if I wanted to be comfortable, I would have brought flip-flops.)
Part of the reason I walked so much was that I wanted to save on Metro fare, and also, being from the small city that Boston is, I’m not accustomed to vast lengths of street. I looked at the map, and I could see that a north-south block is pretty short, and so I figure it’s a straight shot up 5th from 42nd street to 82nd. Why pay for a ride when I can walk to the Met? My feet were comfortable enough then, but I think that’s what did me in later. Several days later, my toes are still smarting, but at least I didn’t get any actual blisters. And it was worth it, because it was the Met. Even if I only had time to see the Medieval art and a glimpse at the Oceanic bits, it was still great. Now I can say that I’ve been to the Met, which I figured at this point it was sort of a travesty that I hadn’t.
The other highlight of my weekend was the air mattress at the abode of Agent 66. “Air bed” is really more accurate, only when she said that on the phone, I didn’t take her seriously. I expected some little rolled up vinyl pad that I could just casually crash on, but this turned out to be a highly involved affair. First of all, it looked like a piece of furniture already when it was all zipped up, and could potentially double as a coffee table. Then, when we finally figured out the zippers, we weren’t quite sure what to do with the neatly folded collection of metal brackets under a blue mass of plastic. Searching around, we found the electric cord, and 66 called her roommate to ask her what we should do. And then it was very simple. We plugged it in, turned the knob to “inflate,” and listened and watched as the motor churned and the blue lump of plastic slowly expanded, pushing the metal supports outward and sideways. It looked like an uncurling monster spider with 26 legs. But I also thought of secret spy devices and bat-cave-like machines as I watched the smooth efficiency of the mattress unfolding and building itself without our having to move our little fingers. Not only that, it was very comfortable. I was prepared to be sleeping on blankets.
So that was my New York weekend. And it was great, but I can’t say it makes me feel like I need to move to New York City. No, because I’m moving to San Francisco! And I mean, why shouldn’t I move to a city named after the patron saint of animals? As another friend pointed out, that’s perfect for me, since I love animals – and what with my small menagerie and all.
But anyway, as I come back to Boston and sort of relax into what I’m doing here, it almost feels comfortable. And I realize November is not that far away at all, especially now that September is half over. So much to do! But I hope I can get it all done soon.
And luckily, my family still knows nothing of my plans…
The show was a blast, with a lot of great designs that were really inspiring. It took a lot less time to watch than it did to wait around, but that’s all part of the experience, I guess.
Other highlights of my short weekend trip were walking miles and miles in my quasi-pointy-toed high heels until I thought my toes were about to all squish together into the tips and stay that way for life. (Walking down ramps to the subway at that point was not fun. But I guess if I wanted to be comfortable, I would have brought flip-flops.)
Part of the reason I walked so much was that I wanted to save on Metro fare, and also, being from the small city that Boston is, I’m not accustomed to vast lengths of street. I looked at the map, and I could see that a north-south block is pretty short, and so I figure it’s a straight shot up 5th from 42nd street to 82nd. Why pay for a ride when I can walk to the Met? My feet were comfortable enough then, but I think that’s what did me in later. Several days later, my toes are still smarting, but at least I didn’t get any actual blisters. And it was worth it, because it was the Met. Even if I only had time to see the Medieval art and a glimpse at the Oceanic bits, it was still great. Now I can say that I’ve been to the Met, which I figured at this point it was sort of a travesty that I hadn’t.
The other highlight of my weekend was the air mattress at the abode of Agent 66. “Air bed” is really more accurate, only when she said that on the phone, I didn’t take her seriously. I expected some little rolled up vinyl pad that I could just casually crash on, but this turned out to be a highly involved affair. First of all, it looked like a piece of furniture already when it was all zipped up, and could potentially double as a coffee table. Then, when we finally figured out the zippers, we weren’t quite sure what to do with the neatly folded collection of metal brackets under a blue mass of plastic. Searching around, we found the electric cord, and 66 called her roommate to ask her what we should do. And then it was very simple. We plugged it in, turned the knob to “inflate,” and listened and watched as the motor churned and the blue lump of plastic slowly expanded, pushing the metal supports outward and sideways. It looked like an uncurling monster spider with 26 legs. But I also thought of secret spy devices and bat-cave-like machines as I watched the smooth efficiency of the mattress unfolding and building itself without our having to move our little fingers. Not only that, it was very comfortable. I was prepared to be sleeping on blankets.
So that was my New York weekend. And it was great, but I can’t say it makes me feel like I need to move to New York City. No, because I’m moving to San Francisco! And I mean, why shouldn’t I move to a city named after the patron saint of animals? As another friend pointed out, that’s perfect for me, since I love animals – and what with my small menagerie and all.
But anyway, as I come back to Boston and sort of relax into what I’m doing here, it almost feels comfortable. And I realize November is not that far away at all, especially now that September is half over. So much to do! But I hope I can get it all done soon.
And luckily, my family still knows nothing of my plans…
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
NYC Fashion Week watch out!
Okay, I have to go to kickboxing class soon, and my mom is chopping vegetables in the next room, but exciting things are happening!
I called the Academy of Art University of San Francisco today.
Background: several years ago, in college, and afterward, I had considered pursuing a graduate degree in Fashion Design at the AAU. For whatever reason, however, I didn’t. I think I basically convinced myself that I didn’t have a good or complete enough portfolio or enough experience or whatever kind of BS I was telling myself.
Fast forward a few years: I’m studying journalism at BU, and my sister, having no knowledge whatsoever of my ever having been interested in the AAU, applies and is accepted to their Film Studies program. I’m thrilled, because I think directing films would suit her perfectly, and it would give her the chance to get out of our parents’ house. I still never mentioned to her that I ever had notions of going there.
But my little sister will not be a film director. She died last February.
So now that I’m pretty much done with J-school, and am working on this San Francisco thing, I am also considering taking up some more study of fashion design. Do I want to be a fashion designer? Maybe I do. I mean, I still want to write, of course – that’s why I went to grad school for it. But I think I just have to face up to the fact that I’ve always been a little obsessed with clothes. I studied art and fashion in college. I did costumes for theatre. It all somehow made sense. What if I am missing my true calling?? Oh, it’s so dramatic. Anyway, I just want to check it out and see what it’s like. Who knows what will happen.
So over the weekend, my family had a barbecue, and my mom mentioned in passing that the Admissions guy at AAU that my sister had dealt with was very sympathetic and had asked my mother if there was anything he could do for the family. Well, I kind of thought of something….
So I called him. I explained how I had wanted to go to the AAU before, although my sister didn't know it, and how I am planning right now to move to SF. I also told him about my background and experience with art and fashion, and he seemed pretty pleased, and said he’d email me with some ideas right away. Then he pulled some strings and got me tickets to the sold-out AAU runway show in NYC for Saturday. Okay, stay calm. You are very cool. Cool as a cucumber, yes... Ahh!
Okay, fine, I am not cool. I was literally jumping up and down in my room after I got off the phone. New York Fashion week! And I’m going to San Francisco!
Okay, I have to go to kickboxing now and use up some of this good energy. Whee!
I called the Academy of Art University of San Francisco today.
Background: several years ago, in college, and afterward, I had considered pursuing a graduate degree in Fashion Design at the AAU. For whatever reason, however, I didn’t. I think I basically convinced myself that I didn’t have a good or complete enough portfolio or enough experience or whatever kind of BS I was telling myself.
Fast forward a few years: I’m studying journalism at BU, and my sister, having no knowledge whatsoever of my ever having been interested in the AAU, applies and is accepted to their Film Studies program. I’m thrilled, because I think directing films would suit her perfectly, and it would give her the chance to get out of our parents’ house. I still never mentioned to her that I ever had notions of going there.
But my little sister will not be a film director. She died last February.
So now that I’m pretty much done with J-school, and am working on this San Francisco thing, I am also considering taking up some more study of fashion design. Do I want to be a fashion designer? Maybe I do. I mean, I still want to write, of course – that’s why I went to grad school for it. But I think I just have to face up to the fact that I’ve always been a little obsessed with clothes. I studied art and fashion in college. I did costumes for theatre. It all somehow made sense. What if I am missing my true calling?? Oh, it’s so dramatic. Anyway, I just want to check it out and see what it’s like. Who knows what will happen.
So over the weekend, my family had a barbecue, and my mom mentioned in passing that the Admissions guy at AAU that my sister had dealt with was very sympathetic and had asked my mother if there was anything he could do for the family. Well, I kind of thought of something….
So I called him. I explained how I had wanted to go to the AAU before, although my sister didn't know it, and how I am planning right now to move to SF. I also told him about my background and experience with art and fashion, and he seemed pretty pleased, and said he’d email me with some ideas right away. Then he pulled some strings and got me tickets to the sold-out AAU runway show in NYC for Saturday. Okay, stay calm. You are very cool. Cool as a cucumber, yes... Ahh!
Okay, fine, I am not cool. I was literally jumping up and down in my room after I got off the phone. New York Fashion week! And I’m going to San Francisco!
Okay, I have to go to kickboxing now and use up some of this good energy. Whee!
Sunday, September 2, 2007
Frankie Bird
In the interests of full disclosure, I'll just share the fact that, while I usually just call her Frankie, my parakeet's full name is, in fact, San Francisco. This may or may not be a coincidence, but at the time I named her, I for one thing thought she was male, but also I had never even thought of living in San Francisco.
Frankie began her life with me as part of my senior art project for college, six years ago. I was studying imagery and symbolism in Renaissance paintings of the Annunciation (as in the Virgin Mary), which involved a series of clothing pieces, performance, and finally a copper wire bird cage in the shape of a pregnant woman. Strictly speaking, I probably should have gotten a dove to go in the cage, but the pet store in Elyria, Ohio was fresh out. They did, however, have a big open-top plexiglass cage with probably about two hundred parakeets fluttering around inside, unable to fly out because their wings had all been clipped. They were mostly blue, purple, green and yellow - not exactly sacred colors for a bird that was supposed to represent the Spirit of the Eternal Creator. And then there was Frankie. Almost completely white, except for a little cerulean on his breast and between his wings, she sat calmly on a branch by herself, like the kid on the playground who would rather think philosophical thoughts than play around with the other kids. This was definitely my bird.
So in she went to my ten-dollar flea market bird cage, which the pet store attended told me absolutely not to wash with soap because the soap would kill her. She had her name before I even left the store. I can't say exactly what it was. I just looked at her and the name San Francisco just popped into my mind and it seemed to fit. It was like I asked and she told me. There was really no other name I could give her.
It wasn't until about a year later that I started thinking about going to San Francisco. Was it because of my bird's name? Or was it just because of all the things I kept hearing about the city that made it seem somehow attractive? Was it perhaps just because I've never been to the West Coast, despite having spent a decent amount of time in various European countries? I'm not sure, but it was probably all of these things. So Frankie/San Francisco just kind of reminds me that that's where I want to go.
Will it be odd to have a bird named after the city you live in? (or near.) Maybe a bit. I could change her name to Boston. But I don't think I will. Frankie will always be Frankie, her ornery Frankie self.
Frankie began her life with me as part of my senior art project for college, six years ago. I was studying imagery and symbolism in Renaissance paintings of the Annunciation (as in the Virgin Mary), which involved a series of clothing pieces, performance, and finally a copper wire bird cage in the shape of a pregnant woman. Strictly speaking, I probably should have gotten a dove to go in the cage, but the pet store in Elyria, Ohio was fresh out. They did, however, have a big open-top plexiglass cage with probably about two hundred parakeets fluttering around inside, unable to fly out because their wings had all been clipped. They were mostly blue, purple, green and yellow - not exactly sacred colors for a bird that was supposed to represent the Spirit of the Eternal Creator. And then there was Frankie. Almost completely white, except for a little cerulean on his breast and between his wings, she sat calmly on a branch by herself, like the kid on the playground who would rather think philosophical thoughts than play around with the other kids. This was definitely my bird.
So in she went to my ten-dollar flea market bird cage, which the pet store attended told me absolutely not to wash with soap because the soap would kill her. She had her name before I even left the store. I can't say exactly what it was. I just looked at her and the name San Francisco just popped into my mind and it seemed to fit. It was like I asked and she told me. There was really no other name I could give her.
It wasn't until about a year later that I started thinking about going to San Francisco. Was it because of my bird's name? Or was it just because of all the things I kept hearing about the city that made it seem somehow attractive? Was it perhaps just because I've never been to the West Coast, despite having spent a decent amount of time in various European countries? I'm not sure, but it was probably all of these things. So Frankie/San Francisco just kind of reminds me that that's where I want to go.
Will it be odd to have a bird named after the city you live in? (or near.) Maybe a bit. I could change her name to Boston. But I don't think I will. Frankie will always be Frankie, her ornery Frankie self.
Saturday, September 1, 2007
Geography
I'm generally pretty good at reading maps, but one thing I have trouble with sometimes is distances. I mean, you look at a map, and sometimes distances between things are greater than you think, and sometimes much less.
I'm sort of eyeing a job in Vallejo, but it's really hard to me to tell just how far that is from Oakland, if I were to perhaps be living in Oakland. Or maybe I could just move to Vallejo, although that is clearly pretty far from the city. I just don't have a car right now, and probably won't be buying one right away, so that makes things a little more complicated. Does anyone who's been there have an idea of what the distances are like?
I might go visit out there some time myself. It might be a good idea, but it depends on interviews in part, and other things. We'll see.
I'm sort of eyeing a job in Vallejo, but it's really hard to me to tell just how far that is from Oakland, if I were to perhaps be living in Oakland. Or maybe I could just move to Vallejo, although that is clearly pretty far from the city. I just don't have a car right now, and probably won't be buying one right away, so that makes things a little more complicated. Does anyone who's been there have an idea of what the distances are like?
I might go visit out there some time myself. It might be a good idea, but it depends on interviews in part, and other things. We'll see.
Friday, August 31, 2007
The Time Has Come
Well, friends. I have been saying, and more often thinking, for several years that I wanted to move to San Francisco.
So now that grad school is done, my protracted, overly-dramatic break-up is long over, and I've recovered from my lovely car accident, I think I'm ready to get out of town.
This blog is going to be my way of keeping in touch and keeping you all up on my plans and progress.
Oh, and I should mention - my family knows nothing about this. If I were to tell them, they'd almost certainly tell me I'm not ready and I can't do it because of my car accident - which took place over 8 months ago. They're a little paranoid and overprotective. Basically, I can't tell them anything until I have an actual job out there and I'm ready to go. I just don't want to worry them overly much, but I'll give them fair warning.
Anyway, I'm looking at either the end of October, or some time in November. November is probably more realistic, but we'll see.
So, any thoughts, comments, tips about the city, and suggestions are welcome, welcome, welcome!
So now that grad school is done, my protracted, overly-dramatic break-up is long over, and I've recovered from my lovely car accident, I think I'm ready to get out of town.
This blog is going to be my way of keeping in touch and keeping you all up on my plans and progress.
Oh, and I should mention - my family knows nothing about this. If I were to tell them, they'd almost certainly tell me I'm not ready and I can't do it because of my car accident - which took place over 8 months ago. They're a little paranoid and overprotective. Basically, I can't tell them anything until I have an actual job out there and I'm ready to go. I just don't want to worry them overly much, but I'll give them fair warning.
Anyway, I'm looking at either the end of October, or some time in November. November is probably more realistic, but we'll see.
So, any thoughts, comments, tips about the city, and suggestions are welcome, welcome, welcome!
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