The smoke was so thick this morning that THE SUN LOOKED LIKE THE MOON. My room is bright and airy with east-facing windows. Normally the sun shines in like the dickens by about 6 a.m. This morning I got up at 7 to a poor little rectangle of pale orange eking through the blinds and struggling to place itself against the wall. You would think it was from a sunset. Or that it was very, very early. But no. I looked out the window and the sun was well on it's way up the sky and was nothing but a pale, reddish disk in a sea of white. It was very odd. And it got worse. After that, the sun just disappeared completely. But it was still bright.
When I went downtown at 2 p.m. to do my errands, I could see bits of white floating here and there through the atmosphere. Definitely not normal. Probably bits of ash.
The weird thing is, that nothing actually smells like it's burning. At least it doesn't to me. Perhaps my nose is weak. But I definitely sense something. There is an odd kind of thickness and my eyes feel strange. I have a low-level headache. But it's not like standing downwind of a campfire. It's more subtle and bizarre. The smoke floats up above while the ground level stays more or less clear. But it is very, very unsettling.
It makes me think, this is a pretty good time to go to France.
Friday, June 27, 2008
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Clouds of fury
Apparently the cloudcover currently coating the skies is not composed of droplets of water. But rather smoke from nearby fires.
sfgate.com
sfgate.com
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Marathon Training
I went for an hour-long run the other day, and it felt like nothing. I guess that's a good thing, considering I'm supposed to be training for a marathon. Actually, it should have been two hours. And I would have done two hours, except that I got bored and I was running out of places to run. I had expanded, significantly, the circle of my neighborhood, but it is still too small. It's not like running around Golden Gate Park, but even that doesn't take a hugely long time.
At least I gave myself the confidence that an hour-long run really isn't all that long. And if an hour isn't that long, then surely I can do four. And if I am running at my usual pace, that's approximately how long it will take me, plus a little bit more. I'm shooting for 4:18. But I'll be happy with 4:20. Oh, wait, that wasn't supposed to be a joke.
But anyway. It's the old, 90 percent of it is half mental (yogi berra quote) thing. I'm supposed to be training physically, but really what I'm doing even more is mentally working myself up to the mileage. Four years ago, I never would have thought to myself that a marathon would be possible. I would have thought I was crazy. But now, for some reason, it feels like the most manageable thing in the world. Difficult, yes. Absolutely. I'm sure. And I am definitely planning to work at it. But as long as I think I can do it, I know it's possible.
I just looked at the route, and if I break it down into smaller, manageable sections, I know I can do the whole thing. And my goal isn't really to run fast. My main goal is to finish the race. Just to do it. Just to say I could. I'm not trying to impress anybody. I am totally just doing this for myself.
Because it's like life. Maybe sometimes you think you have this big, insurmountable problem. But if you break it down into smaller, manageable sections, whatever you are doing is a lot easier to handle. And the end result is actually the running itself.
At least I gave myself the confidence that an hour-long run really isn't all that long. And if an hour isn't that long, then surely I can do four. And if I am running at my usual pace, that's approximately how long it will take me, plus a little bit more. I'm shooting for 4:18. But I'll be happy with 4:20. Oh, wait, that wasn't supposed to be a joke.
But anyway. It's the old, 90 percent of it is half mental (yogi berra quote) thing. I'm supposed to be training physically, but really what I'm doing even more is mentally working myself up to the mileage. Four years ago, I never would have thought to myself that a marathon would be possible. I would have thought I was crazy. But now, for some reason, it feels like the most manageable thing in the world. Difficult, yes. Absolutely. I'm sure. And I am definitely planning to work at it. But as long as I think I can do it, I know it's possible.
I just looked at the route, and if I break it down into smaller, manageable sections, I know I can do the whole thing. And my goal isn't really to run fast. My main goal is to finish the race. Just to do it. Just to say I could. I'm not trying to impress anybody. I am totally just doing this for myself.
Because it's like life. Maybe sometimes you think you have this big, insurmountable problem. But if you break it down into smaller, manageable sections, whatever you are doing is a lot easier to handle. And the end result is actually the running itself.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Friday, June 20, 2008
Brunette Breakfast
My entire breakfast was brown this morning. As I sat down and looked at my plate, I realized there was not one single other color involved, except for the plate itself, which was this nondescript greyish beige color.
You see, I had pancakes. I made myself pancakes. And they were good pancakes. And for some reason, I didn't want to put maple syrup on them. I love maple syrup, but it was too sweet for my taste buds at the moment, so I was looking for something else. Brown sugar. That was sweet, but not too sweet. So I put some brown sugar on them. But they needed something else. Something savory. I don't know why. I wanted to put lemon juice on them, like my Canadian housemates said they used to do. It was this bizarre thing when they told me that's how they grew up eating pancakes in Saskatchewan. Brown sugar and lemon juice. They said it was the greatest thing. I guess the lemon juice melts the brown sugar and gives a pungent counterpoint to the sweetness. Go figure. I still like maple syrup. But I didn't have any lemons, nor any lemon juice. Still, I wanted that pungent counterpoint. Something was drawing me towards the salad dressing. What's that, you say? Salad dressing on pancakes? That's what I said. But I had to try it. I had this creamy sort of not exactly creamy but thick and saucy balsamic vinaigrette. I sniffed it. I put a little on a plate and tried a piece of pancake on it. Perfect. Why? I cannot say. It seemed utterly bizarre, and yet there it was. I could not deny it. Nor could I argue.
And so, as I drizzled balsamic vinaigrette over my pancakes with brown sugar, I imagined I was like one of those New York chefs, experimenting with various dishes. And I figured, if a guy in New York city can mix bits of fois gras with homemade rice krispies and charge a boatload for it, and if I can order savory crepes from the place down the street, it's not so strange, is it, that I put balsamic vinaigrette with brown sugar on my pancakes? Well, anyway, that's what I did.
And that's why my breakfast was brown. Because I had brown pancakes, brown sugar, brown balsamic vinaigrette salad dressing, and my brown and delicious coffee.
You see, I had pancakes. I made myself pancakes. And they were good pancakes. And for some reason, I didn't want to put maple syrup on them. I love maple syrup, but it was too sweet for my taste buds at the moment, so I was looking for something else. Brown sugar. That was sweet, but not too sweet. So I put some brown sugar on them. But they needed something else. Something savory. I don't know why. I wanted to put lemon juice on them, like my Canadian housemates said they used to do. It was this bizarre thing when they told me that's how they grew up eating pancakes in Saskatchewan. Brown sugar and lemon juice. They said it was the greatest thing. I guess the lemon juice melts the brown sugar and gives a pungent counterpoint to the sweetness. Go figure. I still like maple syrup. But I didn't have any lemons, nor any lemon juice. Still, I wanted that pungent counterpoint. Something was drawing me towards the salad dressing. What's that, you say? Salad dressing on pancakes? That's what I said. But I had to try it. I had this creamy sort of not exactly creamy but thick and saucy balsamic vinaigrette. I sniffed it. I put a little on a plate and tried a piece of pancake on it. Perfect. Why? I cannot say. It seemed utterly bizarre, and yet there it was. I could not deny it. Nor could I argue.
And so, as I drizzled balsamic vinaigrette over my pancakes with brown sugar, I imagined I was like one of those New York chefs, experimenting with various dishes. And I figured, if a guy in New York city can mix bits of fois gras with homemade rice krispies and charge a boatload for it, and if I can order savory crepes from the place down the street, it's not so strange, is it, that I put balsamic vinaigrette with brown sugar on my pancakes? Well, anyway, that's what I did.
And that's why my breakfast was brown. Because I had brown pancakes, brown sugar, brown balsamic vinaigrette salad dressing, and my brown and delicious coffee.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Monday, June 16, 2008
Email Therapy
I have a new job. I posted an ad on Craigslist a little over a week ago under the heading "writing tutor." So this girl/woman calls me up and says she needs help writing an email. But actually, it wasn't so much writing as she needed an appropriately witty/snappy/flirty response to a witty/snappy/flirty email a guy had sent her, accepting a dinner invitation.
So here's what we did. She sent me the email and all the previous emails leading up to it. Then I called her the next day and we talked about it and how she knew the guy, etc. She was really grateful for my help. But since I didn't really consider it writing tutoring, I decided I wouldn't charge her. She said it could totally be a new line of work for me, though.
Turns out she is a businesswoman and she is into "commodities." I decided to ask her opinion as to how much I could charge on the market for a "commodity" like email consultation. She said around $25-30 is what she would pay. I figured that would be fair. So I put a new ad on Craigslist.
I think it's really good timing, too. NPR online has had two stories recently about our cultural bombardment with email. There was one recently about "family spam" and just today a story about how people are just inundated with emails to the point of frustration, here. According to their numbers, about 210 billion emails are sent a day, and increasing from there.
Not only that, it's this amorphous type of communication that is both specific and nonspecific. Personal and impersonal. It can convey a lot of information in just a few words, or it can go on forever, saying nothing. A friend of mine just told me about how she had a huge blowup with another good friend of hers over email. She was all upset that she had to cut the friend off and send her out of her life. But when the friend came back from out of the country, they had a chance meeting, and everything was fine. It was all a misunderstanding, and speaking for a few seconds face to face cleared everything up.
I think it's like that all the time. We're victims and email is the perpetrator. That's why it needs to be under control. It's like too much of a good thing if you overdo it. The problem is, it's too easy to overdo it, and so many people do, all the time, because it's so hard to know when you're sitting at a computer screen, exactly how your words are going to be received on the other end, because there is no way to convey tone. But we think there is. So most of the time you think you are saying one thing, but it gets interpreted entirely differently. Then there is a lot of backtracking and it just gets to be a big mess.
That's why I'm happy to be an email therapist. I want to save people from email destruction.
Epilogue: After the man accepted her dinner offer and made flirtatious comments, the woman sent a fairly innocuous email (after my consultation with her), suggesting a date. She missed the text message the guy sent her in the mean time. He said he had a girlfriend and didn't want to send the wrong message by "being alone" with her. I thought that was creepy. I said she should keep her distance. No more flirting.
But was he flirting or wasn't he? Maybe he didn't think so. But he was sending the wrong message to her, in my view. I advised her to keep it simple.
So that's my story. Seriously. Call me before you send that email.
Oh, and text messaging. That's a mine field worse than email. And that's a whole other story. That will be my next line of work.
So here's what we did. She sent me the email and all the previous emails leading up to it. Then I called her the next day and we talked about it and how she knew the guy, etc. She was really grateful for my help. But since I didn't really consider it writing tutoring, I decided I wouldn't charge her. She said it could totally be a new line of work for me, though.
Turns out she is a businesswoman and she is into "commodities." I decided to ask her opinion as to how much I could charge on the market for a "commodity" like email consultation. She said around $25-30 is what she would pay. I figured that would be fair. So I put a new ad on Craigslist.
I think it's really good timing, too. NPR online has had two stories recently about our cultural bombardment with email. There was one recently about "family spam" and just today a story about how people are just inundated with emails to the point of frustration, here. According to their numbers, about 210 billion emails are sent a day, and increasing from there.
Not only that, it's this amorphous type of communication that is both specific and nonspecific. Personal and impersonal. It can convey a lot of information in just a few words, or it can go on forever, saying nothing. A friend of mine just told me about how she had a huge blowup with another good friend of hers over email. She was all upset that she had to cut the friend off and send her out of her life. But when the friend came back from out of the country, they had a chance meeting, and everything was fine. It was all a misunderstanding, and speaking for a few seconds face to face cleared everything up.
I think it's like that all the time. We're victims and email is the perpetrator. That's why it needs to be under control. It's like too much of a good thing if you overdo it. The problem is, it's too easy to overdo it, and so many people do, all the time, because it's so hard to know when you're sitting at a computer screen, exactly how your words are going to be received on the other end, because there is no way to convey tone. But we think there is. So most of the time you think you are saying one thing, but it gets interpreted entirely differently. Then there is a lot of backtracking and it just gets to be a big mess.
That's why I'm happy to be an email therapist. I want to save people from email destruction.
Epilogue: After the man accepted her dinner offer and made flirtatious comments, the woman sent a fairly innocuous email (after my consultation with her), suggesting a date. She missed the text message the guy sent her in the mean time. He said he had a girlfriend and didn't want to send the wrong message by "being alone" with her. I thought that was creepy. I said she should keep her distance. No more flirting.
But was he flirting or wasn't he? Maybe he didn't think so. But he was sending the wrong message to her, in my view. I advised her to keep it simple.
So that's my story. Seriously. Call me before you send that email.
Oh, and text messaging. That's a mine field worse than email. And that's a whole other story. That will be my next line of work.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
du beurre et de beouf
Wow. I just had French food. Amazing. A nice Jewish boy took me out to dinner last night at the perfect restaurant. We got to sit on the fourth floor. We took a red elevator to our table. There was no scenic view. But that was fine. The whole place was lovely. And the food and wine were excellent. I was happy that we decided snails are not meat, and are therefore kosher when cooked in butter. So we ordered escargots for our appetizer. Oh, and it was so worth it. If there is one aphrodisiac food on this planet, it is escargots. Why? How sexy is it to have this gorgeous, round shell that curls in on itself in a voluptuous spiral, forming a hole where you get to enter that eternity and extract a juicy, succulent, secret part of life? Yeah, you didn't think of it that way before did you? It's sexy. Try one. You'll see what I mean.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Selling Myself
I sold some paintings! So I guess that makes it official. I am (get ready), an Artist. My work is going to be sold through a flower and gift shop in the Inner Sunset. It's really a small thing - not exactly a six-figure commission. But it's nice. It feels like what's supposed to happen. I think we'll do it again some time.
If I had a hammer - which I do
I just bought the best tool set ever.
Yes, my floral printed hammer is very pretty. But better than that, it comes with a screwdriver set into the handle that you can remove as needed. And not just one screwdriver, but there are in fact, FOUR screwdrivers, all set into each other like little nesting dolls. But they're screwdrivers! Can you handle it? I'm fairly having orgasms over this little piece of wonder. The tiny screwdriver! It's so cute! Ah. It's the little things that make life great, is it no?
Cosmology 101
My friend the Cosmological Physics PhD student at Stanford told me recently that he and his colleagues ran into some trouble doing some calculations because they hadn't quite allowed for the fact that the sun was in fact "very big and very hot." So he says.
My Sweet New Digs
The San Francisco project has moved to Berkeley! Does that make it the Berkeley project now? You might ask. No way! We're still in the Bay Area. Plus, it doesn't sound quite as good.
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