My Mayor's A Drunk, But My Friend Is A Star

I admit that the title of this post is a cheap shot, but I couldn't resist.

Well, it wouldn't be politics without a scandal, would it? For those of you gentle readers who do not live in San Francisco, please let me fill you in: our mayor has been having a few... issues.... lately. Last week, word got out that he'd had an affair with the wife of one of his top aides about a year and a half ago. Word got out because the aide resigned once he learned of the affair.

Oops.

Were that not enough, yesterday the top manager of our fine city announced that he is seeking outpatient treatment for alcohol use. Rumors had been swirling for weeks, at least, that perhaps the mayor hits the bottle a little too hard. So there you go. I give him credit for getting help.

In significantly more positive news, my friend Assaf is famous! This is his photo; watch for him on a television or movie screen near you. I have written about Assaf on this space before, but allow me, if you will, to refresh your memory. He's an actor friend of mine who moved to L.A. a few years ago, and he has become one of those rarest breeds of humans: a real live working actor. Tonight he was on NCIS. What is NCIS, you ask? Well, I didn't know either, but I learned this evening that it is a television show starring Mark Harmon. I only saw the first few minutes, but I think Assaf played a bad guy.

Actually, I've seen Assaf in a few shows and films I would have never seen otherwise, including Numb3rs, Half and Half and Flight Plan. But he's also been on 24 (he played a bad guy on that show, too, and got shot by Keifer Sutherland) and is going to be on Entourage at some point. Okay, I don't watch those shows, either, but I used to watch 24, and I recognize that the world loves Entourage. If that weren't enough, Assaf is also in a short film that has been nominated for an Academy Award. How cool is all of that?

Assaf is a really good guy, so I'm very happy for him.

Come to think of it, my friends Schleevin and James are also working actors. Schleevin mostly does theatre in New York, but he's been in some films and on television as well. James has been getting a lot of work as a commercial actor in L.A., and I see him on TV all the time. And acting is how all these gentlemen make their livings. No "day jobs," as far as I know.

As for me, I am very excited this evening. I have two days off ahead of me, and I am already in my pajamas. Plus, I received my first issue of The New Yorker in the mail today. While it's true that I have a hard time keeping up with the other magazines that already come to my door, I have been meaning to subscribe to The New Yorker forever. After I'm done here, I'm going to curl up with said first issue.

Tomorrow night I'm going to a wine and chocolate event with Denise and Allie and then to see Paula West with Terry. At least in theory that's what I'm doing. You see... I think I'm getting sick. Shhh, if I don't say it very loudly, it won't be true. I can't really complain. I managed to avoid illness through December and January, even though most of my co-workers have been sick. So it just might be my turn.

To be honest, a couple of days in my pajamas while I recuperate doesn't sound all that bad, either.

One Big Ship

Make no mistake, size does matter.

We Americans love things that are big. Case in point: The Queen Mary 2, which is docked at Pier 27 here in San Francisco today. The world's largest ocean liner arrived yesterday afternoon, passing under the Golden Gate Bridge with a scant 30 feet to spare.

People are going nuts over this thing. Crowds have been swarming in to look at... well, just a really big ship. I have to admit, as Pier 27 is on my running route, I stopped mid-jog this morning to take a gander myself. And yes, it's pretty damn large. When the QM2 arrived, I could hear, from inside my hilltop apartment, the horn exchange between the ship and the Golden Gate Bridge. With that, I knew she was in town.

Since we use female pronouns when referring to ships, I think it's a shame the same reverence is not paid to real women who are big. I'm just saying.

Anyway, the Queen Mary 2 will be gone tonight, and all will return to normal.

How was your weekend? Mine was lovely, if a little bit mellow, due to work. On Friday night, I met Erin, Doug, Neal and some friends of theirs for live music at the Red Devil Lounge. Unfortunately for me, I didn't get off work until 9 p.m. and missed the first band, Justin King, which apparently was the draw of the evening. Oops. But the second act was Shannon Ferry, a friend of Doug's, actually, and she was amazing. As Doug says, "Shannon can crazy sing."

One day I want to sing that well. I wonder how many lessons that will take...

I will say Ms. Ferry did cover a song I despise (the insufferable "Black Velvet" by Alannah Miles-ick), but her original material was great. She's got an alt-country kind of sound; very Neko Case-esque. Good stuff all the way around.

On Saturday, I met my aunt Mary, uncle David and cousins Anna, Ian and Eliane for brunch at Momo's in celebration of Eliane's birthday. We ate, we laughed, all in honor of Eliane. It was very fun, but then it was off to work for me. Yesterday was all errands and work, but my version of the weekend is coming up soon, and it's shaping up to be excellent. How does chocolate, wine and Paula West sound to you? Stay tuned for details.

Music That's Making Me Happy Today, vol 27

Just about an hour ago, I heard "Turn To You" by The Go-Go's in the locker room at the gym. Not necessarily my favorite Go-Go's song, but an enjoyable pop number a little off the beaten path. So it put a smile on my face. I'm always very grateful when I randomly hear music I like, and I'm extra grateful when I catch any Go-Go's tune in public that is not the overplayed, insipid "We Got The Beat" (the original Stiff Records version notwithstanding).

Yes, there's actually a Go-Go's song I don't like that much, and yes it was their biggest hit. Plus, the original version of "We Got the Beat" really is superior to the one that made it up the charts.

So today it's back to work after two glorious days off. Ah, well. Days off, vacations, leaves of absence from work... they all always fly by. Tonight I'm meeting Erin, Doug and various others for live music. I think. I'm not actually in charge of the social plan, but I trust it will be fun.

The Pampering Begins Here

Yay, it's my "weekend"! So what, might you ask, will I do with my mid-week days off?

Well, in about an hour I am taking myself to the spa. On this visit, I'm indulging in a facial instead of a massage, body scrub or healing treatment. Nutty, I know, but my pores will appreciate it. The facial will come after I've worked up a good sweat on the spa cardio equipment, lounged in the sauna and steam room and luxuriated by the pool. I may even be completely decadent and order a poolside lunch. Just because I can.

Do you think it would be okay if I moved into the spa? I wonder what rent there would be like...

After the spa, I'm going to dinner at Street (yum) with Ann Marie, and then I'll be meeting Helen for cocktails. Helen and I have a lot of catching up to do. She just broke up with her boyfriend (again) and wants to share the details.

Tomorrow I have my singing lesson in the afternoon, followed by band rehearsal in the evening. Fake Band is playing a show in just over three weeks, and then we're going on tour. Well, not exactly, but we will be performing in L.A. on March 2nd. We're rather in demand for a fake band. Please come see us if you're in San Francisco or Los Angeles. Or don your bell-bottoms, jump into your VW bus and drive west. We certainly would welcome some Grateful Dead-style groupies.

Then on Friday it's back to work. I love my job, but the idea of a fresh work week seems very boring to me right now.

***EDITED TO ADD***

I have just returned from my luscious spa day, and I must say: I think the facial is my new favorite spa treatment. I'd had a facial before, but it was nothing like this one. First of all, the spa version is not so much a facial, as it is a self esteem boost. My aesthetician kept telling me how wonderful and well-balanced my skin is. I'd never thought of my skin as all that great, but I'll take the compliments. In addition to this ego-building, skin-soothing goodness, I was treated to mini shoulder and hand massages, and I got to wear those weird, electric hand-warming glove thingies. And the products the aesthetician used were beautiful and have left my skin all soft and radiant.

The only rub is that after the facial, they managed to talk me into buying some of the aforementioned products, and they were not exactly cheap. But I am so happy, I don't care. In fact, I think I have happiness bursting from my newly-cleaned pores.

If I were wealthy, I'd go to the spa every week. Maybe every day.

Free Money!

Well, not exactly, but it sure feels like free money.

You know the feeling when you discover a twenty in a coat pocket? Yes, the money was always yours, but because you'd forgotten about it, it's like a free bonus. Well, I have the same experience whenever I visit the dentist. The policy at my dentist's office is that the patient (in this case, me) pays them, and then they bill the insurance company so that the patient may be reimbursed. Invariably, I forget about the expense incurred at the office and am pleasantly surprised when I get my insurance check.

This happens to me every time. You'd think I'd wise up, but I never do.

Well, wouldn't you know it, I had a dental cleaning and x-rays on December 14th. And even though I had to confirm with my insurance company just about a week and a half ago that I have no other dental coverage, I still managed to forget all about the cash I had coming my way. So how nice was it for me to open my mailbox yesterday and find a check! My dentist is a little pricey, and my insurance company sucks, so I only recovered about a third of what I'd spent on the appointment, but still. It's like a gift from the universe. I think I'm going to treat myself to some high end hair products and some final going-away cocktails with Jack tomorrow night.

Remember I told you it was Schleevin's birthday yesterday? Well, all I did was send him a Hallmark e-card and call to wish him well, and this is the little thank you note I got:

Be a better friend. Try it. I defy you. Not possible. Thank you so much, Sassy, for my hilarious card and my super sweet message. You're the best, plain and simple.

How cute is he, gushing over an e-card and a phone message? Maybe all of his other friends forgot about him. Admittedly, the e-card I sent him was pretty funny. It was an animated screaming banshee's birthday party. That sounds dumb, but it had me laughing out loud. And my phone message might have been a little over the top. Instead of just saying "Happy Birthday," I asked if he was aware that yesterday was National We're Thankful Schleevin Was Born Day, and I went on to describe all the celebrations. What can I say? I like birthdays.

I also like old friends. I've probably mentioned before that I've known Schleevin for about 25 years... since the fall of 1981. He's one of several childhood friends with whom I'm still in active contact; the others being Anne, Kristie, Omar and Gabriella. I've said it before on this space, but it bears repeating: there's something so comforting about people who have known you for a long time. It's like having extra siblings, but you got to choose these people. I also have several friends from college I keep in touch with, but with the exceptions of Paul, Denise and Kara, they all live far away, so I tend to talk to them less frequently.

Speaking of Omar, he and his wife Diana had a wedding reception in New York last night. Sadly I couldn't go because I work weekends, and oh yeah, I live here in San Francisco, but I bet it was fun. They actually got married in Colombia back in October, and now they're expecting a son. That's super weird to me because I still think of Omar as my high school classmate and drummer of our band (well, I was only in the band a few weeks).

These people and their grown up lives. Why can't they all be stunted and permanently stuck at 25 like I am? It's fun here, believe me.

Looking For Something Light and Cheery?

Then perhaps you should consider taking yourself to the Marsh Theatre for Dan Hoyle's one-man show about... wait for it... oil and politics in Nigeria.

Oh, yes, this show is a veritable walk in the park. Okay, all joking aside, my friend Emily and I saw Tings Dey Happen last night, and it is very good. Dan Hoyle is clearly a brilliant actor. In fact, the former Fulbright Scholar is probably just plain brilliant. I will say, however, that as far as political one-person plays go, I enjoyed Heather Raffo's Nine Parts of Desire much more. I saw that show last year at Berkeley Rep.

But back to the play at hand. Holye plays so many characters in Tings Dey Happen, I didn't even bother counting them. And the show is held together by the comic relief of a "Stage Manager." Hoyle does rely just the teeniest bit too heavily on accents and voices, though, and as a result, his work occasionally crosses the line between acting and imitation. Case in point: a malaria-inspired dream sequence featuring Graham Greene and Richard Pryor. However, I neither deny the veracity of any of said accents nor the fact that they are necessary in a play based on real people who live on the other side of the globe.

My very favorite part of the show is the self-reflective moment when Hoyle, as the Stage Manager, acknowledges that most western plays and movies about Africa center around Caucasian visitors.

By the end of Ting's two hours, I was worn out. I didn't even have the energy to head to the Knock Out to see Tippy Canoe and the Paddlemen afterward. I had probably missed Tippy, anyway, but nonetheless. All I could do was hop in a cab and return home for a rendezvous with my couch. At risk of sounding like an ignorant American, I will admit that this play did not inspire the joy in me that most theatre does, but I am certainly glad I saw it. Thanks for the ticket, Emily.

And that brings us to the present. Today is a positively grand day: it is Schleevin's 37th birthday. Granted he is not here to celebrate (he lives in New York and Los Angeles), but in his honor I am going to indulge in exercise at the Fancy Gym, take myself shopping for linens and then go to work. That Schleevin certainly knows how to throw a birthday party, doesn't he?

And We Had Dinner At the Mall

I have had the greatest day ever.

It actually started last night when I met Tom at the Rickshaw Stop to see the very talented Bart Davenport. I had never been to the Rickshaw Stop before, and I discovered it to be delightfully random. It's in a completely random area; the door is not marked; and there really are a couple of rickshaws in the place.

Who knew?

Well, probably a lot of people because the Rickshaw Stop is celebrating its third anniversary. So okay, I'm a tiny bit of a Jane Come Lately on this one. In addition to Bart Davenport, a duo called Bramble and Briar performed. I only caught the end of their set, but I really liked what I heard. They were so cute and just emanated happiness. Two other artists played, but I didn't like one of them, and we left before the other took the stage.

Because it's my life, I, of course, ran into people I know at the show. One was the (recently) ex-girlfriend of a musician I'm acquainted with. She's young but a lot of fun, and it was nice to see her. I just hope my musician-friend was/is not too sad about their break-up. I get the feeling he may have been, at least for a little while. I also ran into Phelps, with whom I went to high school in L.A... back in the Stone Age when I was actually in high school. God, I'm old. Anyway, I've run into Phelps at shows before, and his wife, who skipped the occasion last night, even told him beforehand that she knew he'd stumble upon someone he knew. And she specifically mentioned me.

I love that my reputation as a Gal About Town precedes me.

Even after a fabulous Bart Davenport set last night, I got up early enough this morning to make it to the gym before my singing lesson. Yes, I exercise every day, but often I only have time to take a run. Words cannot describe how incredibly nice it was to engage in a proper resistance training/cardio combo for my workout this morning. Not to mention that I positively love my gym. I feel better just walking in there, so I really need to make more time to luxuriate in it.

My workout accomplished, shower taken and lunch ingested, I then made my way to the East Bay for my singing lesson with Best Friend. We spent the first hour chatting, so we only had 30 minutes for actual singing. I think that's the danger of taking voice lessons from a friend, but Best Friend's teaching is worth the risk. After singing, I let BART propel me back to the City where I met my sister, the famous Fabulous Patti, at the Merchant Wine Bar in the Ferry Building. Once we'd had our fill of wine and pastries, we went to the fancy Westfield Shopping Center, home of Bloomingdales in San Francisco.

And that is where I purchased the most fabulous coat in the world.

I've been looking for the perfect coat since October, and tonight I found it! Plus, it was on super-sale. I'm not going to lie; it was still expensive. However I'll take whatever savings I can get, and my perfect coat was almost 50% off. You'll be seeing this coat a lot, believe me. Finding the perfect coat can leave a girl famished, so FP and I hit the food court for dinner.

Yes, we had dinner at the mall.

Lest you think we indulged in Hot Dog On a Stick or something equally nauseating, I will assure you that the Westfield Shopping Center is not your ordinary mall. To that end, we were able to enjoy dinner at the Slanted Door. Inside the mall. If you don't live in San Francisco, this may mean nothing to you. If you do, you know what a coup it is for this restaurant to have a satellite location in a mall. And it was delicious.

How much would you pay for a day like this? Wait, don't answer, because there's more! I then went to Erin's birthday party in Russian Hill. There I got to see not only her, but Helen, Simon, Kenneth, Evan, Liz, Doug and Jack, in one of his last San Francisco appearances. Jack is moving to New York on Wednesday. Yay for him, but oh, well, for the rest of us.

Live music, exercise, singing, cocktailing, eating and shopping. The last 24 hours have featured virtually everything I could ask for. I suppose having sex with my dream man would have made it even better, but no day is absolutely perfect. And I have to have something to work toward, I suppose.

Silver Lining?

Tonight's post begins with a statement of fact: I am not fat. I know it, all my friends know it, even God knows it. I am the size of a real person, so no one is going to solicit my services on a catwalk, but nonetheless I am not fat. To the right is a recent photo of me wearing a size 6 Betsey Johnson dress as a means of illustration. No, I don't wear a size 6 in every style of Betsey Johnson dress, but whatever.

Okay, it's possible I have a bit of a fat ass. And hips. But thanks to the popularity of Beyonce and J.Lo, it has, once again, become acceptable for women to be decently-endowed on the backside. I'm no fan of either Beyonce or J.Lo, but I owe them a debt of gratitude for that.

I'm saying all this so you don't think I have some skewed perception of my body when you read the rest of this post.

As I have written before on this space, I have gained quite a bit of weight over the last year and a half. You see, four years ago, I was the thinnest I had ever been. And I mean "ever." I was an overweight child and teenager, hence my knowledge that I am not currently fat. I lost a big chunk of weight during college and became quite the slender, if curvy, girl. And I would remain that way, give or take a few pound fluctuation, for the next 11 years.

Then, in the fall of 2002, I went through a teeny, tiny post-break-up depression. Not only did I get dumped (for which I now thank God), but in the aftermath, I learned that the guy in question was a complete lunatic. Honestly. We hadn't gone out that long, but we had been friends for a couple of years before the dating shenanigans began. So it was quite a surprise to learn that he was (is) an absolute mental case whom I couldn't even keep as a friend.

Believe me, such a revelation would kill your appetite, too.

I dropped almost 20 pounds during my blue period. Once this became clear to me, I figured I would gain it all back the minute I got my appetite back. However, as luck would have it, I started, through work, a free personal training program at the gym just as my appetite returned. So I lost a few more pounds and found myself the thinnest I had ever been. My friend Schleevin even expressed some concern after seeing a photo taken of me during that time, but I was perfectly healthy. Just really skinny. And I stayed that way through all of 2003 and 2004, rendering virtually all the clothes in my closet useless because they were too big. Not being a Rockefeller, only slowly was I able to replace my wardrobe with a few pieces that actually fit. But throughout the two years, I collected an array of appropriately-sized pants, tops and dresses. However, I was also smart enough not to throw out any of my pre-sadness/personal trainer clothing. I knew the weight could creep back at any time.

I will pause and tell you that, in all seriousness, I learned something very valuable during those two years. Being thinner does not mean being happier. Being a fat teen was no fun, but in my adulthood, I had all the same issues when I was really skinny that I'd had when I was curvier. And more than a few times in 2003 I found myself thinking, "At least I could eat more before..." I also fell into some slightly obsessive thinking about food during those two years. It was nothing really bad, but it wasn't terribly emotionally healthy either.

But back to the tale at hand. Flash forward to the present day, and I find myself with a different job. One that does not engage in any promotions that allow me to have a free personal trainer. I do still exercise a lot but not nearly as efficiently or effectively as when a trainer was cheering me on. Plus, my current job very often features snacks. Delicious snacks like pizza. Yummy. And workplace snacks aside, I just allow myself to eat more these days. A lot more. So between mid-2005 and now, I believe I have gained enough to put me close to my pre-fall of 2002 weight.

I won't lie, it has been a little hard to accept my expanding waistline. Not so hard that I stop eating, but hard nonetheless. But here is where the silver lining comes in. I was getting dressed the other morning, and I pulled out a skirt I had bought in 1998. I bought it from a fairly conservative store, so the skirt is not out of style. I put it on and discovered that it pretty much fits again. I began trying on several skirts I had retired during my super-skinny period and while still a tiny bit too big, they can be worn again.

So the silver lining on my weight gain is that I can re-introduce clothing I haven't been able to wear for almost four years. It's like a whole new wardrobe! As for the clothes I bought in 2003 and 2004, virtually all those tops, skirts and dresses still fit. Yes, I have about six pairs of pants that do nothing but laugh when I look at them, but what are you going to do? I now can get re-acquainted with clothes I once loved and restart my affair with them.

Okay, maybe I'm stretching here, but a girl's gotta find some way to look at the bright side of weight gain.

So that's how I am justifying my eating habits this evening. I was supposed to go cocktailing with my friend Katie tonight, but she was felled by an illness very much resembling food poisoning. Needless to say, we both thought it best that she take a raincheck. Tomorrow I have to work, even though it's supposed to be my day off. But then I'm going to dinner with Jack and Wendy before taking in Bart Davenport at the Rickshaw Stop. On Thursday it's Erin's birthday party, and on Friday I'm seeing a play at the Marsh before possibly catching Tippy Canoe and the Paddlemen at the Knock Out.

So it's probably for the best that I'm staying in tonight. I'm 37 and need to sleep like it at least a couple nights a week.

These Boots Are Made For Walking

Not that I necessarily believe the words I write here to be incredibly profound and deep, but I admit this post may be a little bit fluffier and... well, materialistic... than most. January is dragging on at a glacial pace, so I have come up with ways to deal with my winter blues. And yes, for the record, I know the Bay Area has had significantly less rain than normal so far this year, but it's still winter. It's been cold; the days are short; and no lack of rainfall will make up for the fact that January sucks.

Anyway, I've found that one cure for the doldrums is to sing. No matter how good you are or aren't, singing is a guaranteed pick me up. And providing your neighbors with the entertainment, if you'd like to call it that, of your melodious warbling is just an added bonus. I live in an apartment building, and while the walls between units are very well insulated, the doors are not. So I'm certain anyone who may be out in the hall when I free my inner chanteuse is well aware of every note. Plus, I practice with a Walkman, so all anyone else hears is me. The songs I'm working on for the fake band are one thing, but I can only imagine what any unsuspecting neighbor thinks when I'm doing my exercises. Being serenaded by a string of a capella "mee-oh"s, "kee-kay"s and "nee-ah"s must be delightful.

Well, this is urban living; it's almost required that your neighbors think you're a freak.

Looking for another guaranteed way to perk up a boring winter day? Shop. For shoes, specifically. No amount of boredom, seasonal affective disorder or cabin fever can quash the joy to be had when purchasing shoes. Today, I hit the jackpot. I bought myself two pairs of Franco Sarto boots and a pair of pumps for only $200, total. Yes, $200 is $200, but when was the last time you got two pairs of boots and a pair of shoes all for that price? They are all extremely cute and have sturdy heels, which is important for me since I walk everywhere. And two of the three pair have three inch heels, making me super tall when I wear them. I love that.

January-Shmanuary, I have new boots.

In case you were wondering, Chris' birthday poker party yesterday afternoon was quite fun. Unfortunately, I could only stay for a couple of hours before needing to go to work, but perhaps that was for the best, given that I stink at poker. I can't bluff to save my life, and I bet conservatively when I should be aggressive and aggressively when I should show restraint. So needless to say, I always lose. But it was still fun, with excellent company and all the cupcakes we could eat while we played.

We're very lucky Chris was born 33 years ago.

My final musing this Sunday evening is on Favorite Bar... and the fact that it may lose its most favorable status. When I began frequenting Favorite Bar just under four years ago, it was a popular, but not overly-crowded, diamond of a spot with an accessible retro-eclectic vibe. In other words, it was perfect for me. A couple of the bartenders were also musicians and huge music lovers, and they would bring in cd's of actual interesting music to play during their shifts. Well, those dudes haven't worked there for over a year now. No, that's not Favorite Bar's fault, and I believe the former bartenders are happier with their current work lives, but still. To replace them, very nice, but significantly less creative bar-keeps have been hired, and the bar's soundtrack is provided almost exclusively by satellite radio now. I still hear some gems while I'm in there, but it's not the same.

I have remained a loyal FB denizen nonetheless, but there are some more changes in the offing. Specifically, some mention of a flat screen television, Super Bowl parties (okay, that can only happen once a year, but that's more than enough) and new neon for the sign out front to drive in more business. The rather small Favorite Bar is already far more crowded on weekend nights than when I first started going there, and it's in a fairly trendy neighborhood. How many more customers do they need?

Not to sound like an old curmudgeon, but Favorite Bar is evolving into something that can't hold a candle to what the joint was "in my day." So it might be time to promote Favorite Bar 2 to the top slot and limit my Favorite Bar visits to only the most random of weeknights when I can be assured the crowd will be small and the flat screen tv won't completely ruin the atmosphere. If I wanted a sports bar, I'd hang out in the Marina or on Upper Polk Street.

Well, I still have new boots.

The Thin Line Between Love and Haight

My weekends have become a little boring. That's likely because I work Saturday and Sunday nights and generally retain my weekend days for chilling out and getting things done at home. So I miss some obvious evening socializing opportunities and spend a lot of the daytime alone. Not so much today because in a few hours I'll be headed to Chris' afternoon birthday poker party, but usually it's nothing but me-time. Not that I'm complaining. Given that I spend most of my week running around non-stop, I appreciate the down time.

However, Friday nights are a different story. Since I don't have to be at work until 5 p.m. on Saturdays, I can do whatever I want Friday evenings with no fear of being overly tired the next morning. Last night I grabbed dinner in the Haight with Jack, who is moving to New York at the end of the month. All of my friends are funny, but Jack may win the prize for consistently being able to reduce me to tears due to laughter. One time, I actually paid him a dollar for a joke because I was convinced he should make money for being so funny.

That sounds lame, but it's true.

Anyway, we giggled and guffawed over North African food at Massawa for the first part of the evening, after which we wandered over to Favorite Bar 2 for cocktails and live music. The band at Favorite Bar 2 was pretty good, but their mics weren't turned up enough. So it was hard to hear the vocals. They were entertaining just the same. While still at dinner, Jack and I got to talking about what we each had expected when moving to San Francisco. I've already written about my own expectations on this space. As for Jack, he told me that while planning his migration from the East Coast, he seriously had anticipated that he would stumble upon bikini-clad "hot Asian chicks" sunbathing in Golden Gate Park, who would call him over as he jogged by so they could tell him how cute they found him to be.

Seriously.

Now, Jack admitted to me his perception of what San Francisco life would be was, in fact, pathetic, and I generally dismiss anything he says about women. But on more than a few occasions, he has insisted that, when it comes to the opposite sex, all men think just like he does. Really? Do all of you boys believe that "hot Asian chicks" don bikinis to sunbathe in one of the foggier parts of the City just so they can step off the pages of a porno magazine and hit on passing men? If so, I have many more questions.

Obviously, Jack has gotten over his Golden Gate Park fantasy, and he now is genuinely looking forward to meeting a bunch of "sarcastic, hateful" women in New York. Whether that's any more realistic, it's an expectation better suited to his personality. I love Jack to death, but I also wish the women in New York luck.

Theatre That's Making Me Happy Today, vol 13

The Pillowman at Berkeley Repertory Theatre

To avoid repetition that could fast become tiresome, I had specifically intended not to blog about the play I just saw. After all, how boring would it be if all I wrote about on this space was music and theatre. And music and theatre. Oh, and exercise. But then some more music and theatre. Yes, I love music and theatre, but I have other interests, too.

Then I actually saw The Pillowman, and... Oh. My. God. This play is amazing. It's so good; it's so good; it's so good. Did I mention it's really good?

Be warned, The Pillowman is not for the faint of heart. To call it a dark comedy would be a decided understatement. It is more like a back hole of a comedy. But as disturbing the subject matter is, and it is disturbing, this well written, brilliantly acted piece elicits some very sincere laughs. In fact, it elicits quite a few of them. It's also rather long, but it is so engaging, you really don't notice the length. Plus, The Pillowman features an actor whom I recognized from... wait for it... Jersey Girl. Yes, that Kevin Smith movie that no one saw. But I saw it on cable, and it wasn't nearly as bad as the critics claimed. Besides, it's not Kevin Smith's fault Bennifer was grossly over-exposed. Anyway, the actor in question, Matthew Maher, is really good. As are all the Pillowman performers.

A guy sitting right in front of me did have some kind of medical emergency in the middle of the first act (I think it was a mild heart attack), but really, I don't think that was any reflection on the caliber of the play.

My evening of culture actually began about an hour and a half before the curtain when Carolyn and I arrived in Berkeley. As we exited the BART station, we noticed a woman busking near the escalator. Was she singing Joni Mitchell, Bob Dylan or even The Beatles as she played her guitar? Oh, no. This very bold chanteuse was treating us to an eyes-closed, no holds barred version of "Like A Virgin" by Madonna. I'm no Madonna fan, but anyone with the guts to wail "Like A Virgin" anywhere outside the shower certainly deserves a dollar.

After making our donation to the arts, Carolyn and I found ourselves at Jupiter where we indulged in pizza and beer. And Caesar salad. And garlic cheese bread. It was all delicious. Once at the theatre, we proceeded to run into approximately 1000 people we know. I have a feeling that between the two of us, Carolyn and I know everyone in the Bay Area. Or at least everyone who might be at Berkeley Rep for opening night. And I think they all enjoyed the play, too.

Go see The Pillowman. I won't lie, it could give you a nightmare or two, but it will be well worth it.

Okay, evil confession/dirty old woman update: The other day, I ran into the 23-year old I've been semi-crushing on. He is just so pretty. So very pretty. Is it wrong that I really like it when he hugs me? Don't bother responding to that question; I already know the answer. What am I thinking? He is a man-child, not to mention an unavailable man-child (I imagine his girlfriend would be thrilled to read this). I am so wrong.

In The Name of Love

Happy Martin Luther King Day!

There were a plethora of MLK celebrations and commemorations around the Bay Area today. Admittedly, I didn't attend a single one of them, but they were the focus of a good portion of my work day. Yes, I had to work today. Given the industry I have chosen, I always work on MLK Day, as well as virtually every other holiday. The way I look at it, however, the work of Martin Luther King contributed to the freedom I now have to choose whatever I career strikes my fancy. So it's all good.

In fact, if you think about it, it wasn't so long ago that a woman like me... biracial with an Ivy League education and a relatively high profile job... was quite the rarity. So thank you for that, Martin.

All the events today were a far cry from what MLK Day was like when I lived in New England. For the four years I was in college, we were always on break in January, so I was in L.A. (or Scotland, as was the case my junior year) for the holiday. But the four and a half years I lived in Providence after graduation provided me with quite the education. I mean absolutely no disrespect to anyone from New England or anyone who currently lives there, but as I recall, every MLK Day brought with it a lovely and oh-so enlightened debate as to whether the occasion was a valid holiday. I specifically remember said debate gracing the front page of the Providence Journal at least one year. In that article, of course black people were arguing in favor of the holiday, white people against it.

Nice, huh? Very unifying and very much in the spirit of the day, I'd say.

Before you write that tale off to bad, sensationalized journalism, I'll tell you that I knew at least a few people who fell on the side of seeing MLK Day as just a way to placate some politically correct minority. And they weren't afraid to vocalize that opinion. One guy I worked with referred to it with much disgust as a "total non-holiday." Don't be too surprised, this was a man who carried a hard cover copy of Rush Limbaugh's book in his briefcase. Maybe it's because I'd always had the day off from school and never thought to question its validity as a holiday, but for the life of me, I couldn't fathom what was wrong with honoring a man who fought peacefully for equal rights and love among people. Especially if you got a day off from work or school to do so.

In all fairness, this all happened more than a decade ago, so maybe things have changed in Rhode Island since then. But we're talking 1994, not 1954, for crying out loud. While we certainly have more than our fair share of bigots and morons in the Golden State, is it any wonder I fled back to California ten years ago?

I'm also reminded today that I had the opportunity to visit the Martin Luther King Birth House and Museum when I went to Atlanta with Tom and Chris during our trip to the American South a few years ago. And I'd say I left that museum a slightly changed woman. Seriously. Being an intelligent, thinking person, I absolutely hate that we humans so narrowly define each other, especially when it comes to ethnic minorities. People of color aren't really allowed much individuality, so I have spent most of my life on my individuality soap box. No, I don't like rap music; I watched Friends religiously and viewed not one episode of Moesha; and I will defiantly call myself biracial or even mulatto instead of black not only because that's what I am, but because it is, in my opinion, a significantly different experience than being just one race. Any one race.

Anyway, as I was surrounded on that September, 2003, afternoon by the multi-media exhibit which took the civil rights movement off the pages of history books and brought it to life, I was awed. This wasn't just about Martin Luther King; it was about men, women and, most impressively, children who put their comfort and safety on the line to affect change. And for the first time in my life, at age 33, I felt not like an individual, but like a part of something bigger. And, half-white or not, I felt so proudly connected by ethnicity to all those who went through what they went through so that we who followed could have more opportunity and equality. The world is a better place when we relate, as opposed to separate, so if you ask me, we all owe these people a debt of gratitude.

Then I took a look at the museum guest book where visitors, mostly school kids, sign and thank Dr. King for all that he did before he died. And I admit it, I cried. The museum also features images of lynchings and a small exhibit about Emmett Till. Those were both too much for me to take, and if you don't know the story of Emmett Till... well, I'm not sure I'd recommend you look it up because it is pretty horrifying. I would, however, highly recommend you pay a visit to the Martin Luther King Birth House and Museum the next time you're in Atlanta.

All that said, after work today, I indulged in my 15-year MLK Day tradition of playing U2's "Pride" on my stereo and wailing along with Bono. Before you get indignant about the fact that the members of U2 are a bunch of white guys, I'll remind you that the day is about unity. Besides, I think the Irish know a little something about oppression.

Love each other, my friends. Some people die so that we may stop and do so.

Theatre That's Making Me Happy Today, vol 12 (Followed By a Trip Uptown)

Elastic Future's The Greek Play at Root Division

I think Elastic Future may be my new favorite small theatre company. The brilliant minds that brought you the Pixies play last year now take on ancient mythology in The Greek Play. My friend Carolyn, who plays Cassandra in a stand out performance (yes, she's my friend, but she really is very, very good), actually undersold this show to me. She described it as weird, so I didn't think I'd like it. But it is actually a rather enjoyable show, and I wouldn't even call it weird. There is a lot of sex in it, but there was a lot of sex in ancient Greek culture, wasn't there? Besides, sex isn't weird. At least not the sex I'm familiar with. Anyway, one scene plays like ancient Greece meets Studio 54, but that just shows you inspired the piece is.

Plus, there is free wine for the audience. And the play is performed in an art gallery where you can sit on pillows while you watch. I opted for a chair, but that's because I was wearing a skirt and high-heeled boots. The guy who plays Agamemnon has the best part, in my opinion. He just sleeps on a couch while the audience gathers and during the opening scene of the play is stabbed by Clytemnestra. After that, he gets to watch the action until he returns as one of the walking dead later on.

By the way, is it wrong that after seeing this show, I now totally want to be the goddess Athena?

After the play, Carolyn and I took a walk up the street for drinks at the Uptown. I have been to the charmingly divey Uptown several times before, but I have a tendency to forget about it. Probably because it's on a slightly scary block in the Mission. Hey, no place is perfect. Carolyn and I caught up over Trumers in pilsner glasses while the Uptown's excellent juke box serenaded us. That's right, another bar with a great juke box. Once I heard the melodious sounds of "I Must Not Think Bad Thoughts" by X and "Skin Deep" by The Stranglers, I was in love. The Uptown has officially been named one of the best places on earth in the Sassy Travel and Socializing Guide.

Good live theatre, stimulating conversation and an outstanding soundtrack. All in all, I'd call that a successful Friday night.

Today, I am doing virtually nothing. Well, I'm doing this. But after crafting this post, I intend to recline on my couch for a couple of hours before I go running and then head to work tonight. I lead quite the life, don't I? I'd like to share this wonder-life with someone, but do you think I'll be able to find a theatre-appreciating audiophile who will leave me to lounge on my couch when I want to and then busy himself while I work occasionally unusual hours? If you meet that guy, feel free to give him my phone number. Thanks.

January Ennui

Have I mentioned recently that January is the longest and most boring month of the year?

That's kind of a trick question because I know that I have, but man, this particular January is really long. It's only the 10th, and I feel like it's been three months already. Cold temperatures, short days, the rainy season. I mean no disrespect, dear January, but you are dismally tiresome.

So let's focus on something to look forward to. I'm planning to go back to Hawaii to visit Diva Mommy at the end of March. I just have to secure the vacation time and make sure I can afford it, but the planning should begin now. Okay, the thought of Hawaii has perked me up a little bit. I'm also going to see Stella at the SF Sketchfest with Paul, Denise and Ann Marie tomorrow, and I'm thinking of seeing my friend Carolyn's play on Friday. Those events should both be really fun. Okay, maybe January isn't so bad. No, it is... but even boring months have some highlights.

To amuse myself and hopefully you, I'm going to do a little "meme" I borrowed from Terry. A meme is some sort of blogger game, and this one involves music. You put your iPod on shuffle and each song that randomly comes up represents a certain part of the film version of your life. And if you read my last post, you know that the film version of my life will star either Gloria Ruben, Lauren Graham or Sonia Braga in the title role. Or some genetic combination of all three; now that actress really would look like me.

Anyway... here comes the iPod meme to create the Sassy film soundtrack. I'm cutting the number of categories because sometimes these memes can go on forever. Brevity is likely better.

Opening Credits: "Los Angeles" by X. Very appropriate, considering I grew up in Los Angeles. Well, Pasadena, but same difference.

Falling In Love: "We Are Each Other" by The Beautiful South. A song about a couple so close they border on dysfunction. Or perhaps they sprint across that border. I don't think I've had this relationship yet, but that doesn't mean it isn't on the horizon.

Fight Song: "Baby, Oh, No" by Bow Wow Wow. Well, this song is really about a girl's insecurity in the midst of a crush she has, but fights are often fueled by insecurity. So okay. And I have felt this particular brand of insecurity many, many times in my day.

Break Up Song: "Magic" by Olivia Newton John. Well, I think just about any guy would immediately break up with me once he found out that this song is even in my iPod. It's a guilty pleasure, and one of the first 45's I ever bought back in the day. That would be 1980. So please don't hold it against me.

Mental Breakdown: "Only the Lonely" by The Motels. Loneliness could make anyone crazy, so that one fits.

Flashbacks: "Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da" by The Beatles. This song works on a couple of levels. Not only could it bounce happily through a flashback film sequence, but it reminds me of many a childhood glory day singing along with The White Album either at home or at my friend Gabriella's house.

Happy Dance: "The Happening" by The Supremes. Oh, hell yes. This is my favorite kind of song: upbeat music paired with downer lyrics (the song is about getting dumped). That kind of dichotomy actually does inspire a happy dance in me. And on the occasions I have been dumped, it generally has been by some loser guy I shouldn't have wasted my time with in the first place. So that is happy.

Final Battle: "Eleanor Rigby" by The Beatles. Well, maybe not a battle song, per se, but Eleanor does end up dead in the end. Not to mention one of the best Beatles songs ever.

Death Scene: "There She Goes" by the La's. I've heard this song is actually about heroin, but the lines "She calls my name, pulls my train/No one else could heal my pain/And I just can't contain/This feeling that remains" would fit in a death scene.

Final Credits: "Alex Chilton" by The Replacements. Well, this song certainly would be better for the Alex Chilton bio pic, but I'd be okay with the lyrics "Children by the millions scream for Alex Chilton when he comes 'round" playing during the final credits of my film.

Hmmm... that was kind of a fun little game. And some of those random songs are eerily appropriate.

Okay, I'm away to brave the cold air as I make my way to a Brown alumni event. Those are usually pretty dull, but perhaps this one will be interesting. It can't possibly be more boring than the month of January, overall.

Maybe She Could Play Me In A Movie

Last night a cab driver paid me a lovely compliment; he told me I look just like Sonia Braga. This is her to the right.

Personally, I don't think she looks like me at all, but it's always fun to be told you resemble a celebrity. Below is a photo of me, should you wish to compare and contrast. I have been told before that I look Brazilian, so I suppose the comparison to a Brazilian actress isn't out of left field.

Perhaps if they ever make a movie of my life Sonia Braga could take the lead role. I used to say that Gloria Ruben (Jeannie Boulet on ER about ten years ago) would play me in the Sassy bio-pic because we have similar features, and she also has freckles. But her skin is darker than mine. Then I decided that Lauren Graham (Lorelei on Gilmore Girls and another be-freckled actress) could portray the complex and fascinating character that is me. But she is probably too pale.

So maybe Sonia would be the best compromise, even though I would have never thought of her, myself. Now that I think about it, my friend Karyn from college, whom you may have seen on MTV, Vh1, fX and TLC over the years, could type into the role of me. She doesn't really look that much like me, either, but we have the same hair and a similar skin tone.

Of course, any movie about my life would be slightly on the dull side, so whatever actress plays me would have to spice things up just a bit. The film would have a really cool soundtrack, though. Everything from the Beatles and Monkees to the Go-Go's and Bangles to the English Beat and Specials to the Beautiful South and X to Tippy Canoe and Bart Davenport. Okay, now that I've considered the music, I can't wait for this film to be released.

These are some amazing thoughts I'm having this morning, aren't they?

Lessons of the New Year

Not yet a week old, 2007 seems to hold some valuable lessons already. I'll share a couple of nuggets with you.

1. Never underestimate the wisdom of strippers. There is a small clothing store on Grant Avenue in North Beach apparently frequented by the neighborhood strippers. (If you are not a San Franciscan, I'll tell you that the historic North Beach is home not only to charming shops, delicious restaurants and the legacy of the Beat poets, but one of the city's more prominent red light districts.) In fact, I believe strippers even get a discount at this particular boutique. The narrow-minded snob in me would immediately dismiss any store that holds an appeal to strippers as skanky, but much of the clothing offered is actually very cute. It's funky but accessible with a vintage feel. Plus, it's super cheap. Now, you do get what you pay for, so I'm not talking the best made clothes in the world, but the pieces are well worth their prices. Today I bought the cutest black and white polka-dotted dress that looks like something out of the late 40's or early 50's. I'd pay at least $100 for a dress like this at any of the other clothing stores I patronize. My price in North Beach: $41, tax included.

Those strippers really know their stuff.

2. The definition of "compromise" in the male vocabulary. Some of the recent drama endured by my fake band has given me some new insight into the minds of men when it comes to negotiating conflict. I absolutely hate gross generalizations of any kind, so I will say right now that I am not talking about all men here. In fact, I am not even talking about all the men in Fake Band; just one or two. Okay, maybe three. And keep in mind, I am the only woman in Fake Band, and there are six men. We had a recent argument (referenced on this space a few posts ago), and I learned that to some men compromise means this: I won't do what you want, but I will offer you the opportunity to do what I want. That sounds fair, right? And to think they were surprised that I continued to argue with them. I will say that even though I do not believe all men think this way, I have related the fake band fight story to a few of my female friends who are/have been married or in rather lengthy relationships, and suffice it to say that none of them were the least bit surprised by the boys' behavior.

I'm going to remember the fake band fight the next time I'm moping about being single.

One bit of wisdom that I have held for several years now but continues to be true is the knowledge of how much fun can be had at Favorite Bar. Terry and I met there last night for a cocktail or four, and it was, of course, an excellent time. We didn't stay late enough to be annoyed by the Friday night amateur crowd, thank goodness, because I had to scoot to a party at Jack's place across town. Jack is moving to New York at the end of the month, and this party was one of several opportunities to celebrate with him for the "last" time. It was very fun, though, and I got a chance to see my friend Wendy, whom I don't think I've seen since early September.... when Jack had several going-away gatherings before leaving for a two-and-a-half month trip to Asia.

Tonight I would be at my friend Doug's 30th birthday party, but I am instead at work. Ah, what are you gonna do? I have to pay for those new dresses somehow.

Toasting Twenty-Oh-Seven With Talent

Happy New Year!!! I hope you had a wonderful holiday.

I had the best time at Beth and Eli's New Year's Eve party and talent show. I knew it would be fun, but it turned out to be one of the greatest parties I have attended in a long time. Jack, Jason and I escaped the madness of San Francisco and arrived at Beth and Eli's place in Berkeley at about 9:00. There were drinks and a veritable mountain of delicious snacks to tide us over until the talent show began at about 10. Acts in the show ran the gamut of talents. One woman sang; another drew a picture with her foot; and a third told the tale of visiting her father at his trailer park in Arizona while her talent show partner riffed on his guitar. There was also a puppet show, magic, a trio lipsyncing to some Queen song and another guy playing the guitar that came with Beth and Eli's new car. Yes, their car really did come with a guitar, and the guy played it while it was plugged into the car for electricity.

If you're confused by that, I'm afraid I can't help you. You'll have to ask Volkswagen for an explanation.

Don't think for a moment that this writer and her friends just sat on the sidelines while all this was going on; both Jack and I participated in the talent show, as well. What I did was basically just a variation of my job, but it was well received. Jack made a tremendous contribution, though: he danced like a White man. When I told my friend Jane about it this afternoon, she immediately assumed that Jack is not Caucasian. In fact, he is, which is probably why he was able to bring such a level of expertise to his display. Jason took a photo of Jack in action, which I'd post if I had it, but unfortunately, I don't. So you'll have to use your imagination on that one.

The parties and holidays all over, it is now January, the most boring month of the year. But I always feel a little optimistic at the beginning of a new year, and 2007 is no different. I'm even thinking about a couple of resolutions, even though I'm not very good at them. Last year my only resolution was to visit the spa at least once a month, and after January I didn't go back until July. If I can't even keep a commitment to go to the spa, I'm clearly not the resolution type.

Nonetheless, I'm going to give it a whirl.

First, I intend to stop the gluttony. I am hardly fat, and to say I want to lose weight would be really cliche. But I have been overindulging in the food department for... oh, the last year and a half or so. And believe me, while, again, I'm hardly fat, the gluttony definitely shows. I have good exercise habits, and my eating should match them. I will have to start this particular resolution after today, however, because we ordered pizza at work, and I ate two huge pieces, even though I was pretty much full after one.

Huh. We'll see how I do on that one.

Second, after the super fun experience of the fake band, I want to make sure I keep some kind of creative outlet in my life. With all the drama that has surfaced recently, who knows how long the fake band will last, but even if (when?) we implode, I want to keep singing. If you can call it that, anyway. Or perhaps I'll revisit the acting world. I just want to do something creative. The fake band has reminded me that there is much more to life than work and cocktailing.

And finally, I'm going to break some patterns I have that keep me from reaching my full fabulousness potential. That's a bold statement, I know, but I'll bet you I succeed in this one. If nothing else, it will likely be easier than eating less...

And of course, since I didn't do such a good job with my spa resolution last year, I'll have to continue that one. I think that goes without saying.

Spending Time With Hollywood

I love movies, but I am extremely lazy about seeing them in the theatre. In fact, I am also extremely lazy about renting movies. I focus so much of my entertainment time on live theatre, live music and the few television shows I never miss, that movies end up drawing the short straw. So generally, I don't see a movie until it comes on cable. And I'm fine with that.

However, in the last week, I have seen not one, but two new films... in the theatre, no less. That never happens.

Last Sunday afternoon I went to see The Pursuit of Happyness. It was good, although not nearly as good as I thought it would be. The fact that I actually paid theatre prices to see this film is significant because throughout the years I have been very resistant to Will Smith. I think that's mostly because he started as a rap star, and I hate rap. Also, he tends to make mainstream, big budget action movies that don't interest me in the least. But I have to admit, he is a very charming movie star. And while not a great actor, he doesn't humiliate himself, either. I think the best part of The Pursuit of Happyness, though, is that it was filmed here in San Francisco. They actually shot one scene a couple of blocks from my apartment, and it was fun to see my little running route on the big screen. I will say, however, that I take umbrage with the fact that the little kid in the movie is sad in the scene they shot on my street. I think only scenes of joy should be filmed in my neighborhood.

Then last night, Jenny, Fabulous Patti and I saw Dreamgirls. I seriously cannot tell you the last time I was in a movie theatre on a Friday night. I actually ran into someone I know, and he told me I couldn't tell anyone he was there. I guess Dreamgirls isn't a manly enough film for him. Anyway, I was excited to see Dreamgirls because I remember when the musical came out 25 years ago, and I always wanted to see it but never did. Much like The Pursuit of Happyness, Dreamgirls is good but not outstanding. Although much of the singing is pretty fantastic. And it will probably win or at least be nominated for a bunch of Academy Awards because it's that kind of movie. My curiosity about the Supremes has been piqued, however. I always knew there was acrimony in that group, but after seeing this fictional story based on them... now I really want to know what went on there.

The timing was a little perfect for me to see Dreamgirls because on Thursday night I had rehearsal with the fake band, and it did not exactly go as planned. I ended up having a lengthy.. discussion, let's say... with the other members over some song choices. For crying out loud, we're a fake band doing this just for fun. It's not like we have to make "hard choices" because we're we're trying to make it big.

In the end, I got them (well, most of them) to listen to me and even agree with my point of view. And one of the guys told me he admires how I stood up for myself. The fake band really is a good time, but it's certainly not worth the headache of fighting over stuff. I blame all my friends and family members who are musicians for not warning me what a pain in the ass being in a band, even a fake one, can be.

What's a Nice Girl Like You Doing In a Place Like This?

For me today that place was work. On my day off.

For reasons of illness and vacations, I was needed at work on what should have been the first day of my "weekend." Actually, I didn't mind at all. I got to do my absolute favorite part of my job, and I could use the extra cash. I'm salaried at work, but I make more money for certain tasks, and I was called in to perform one of the more lucrative tasks today. Given my spending this month, I very much welcomed the opportunity to pull in a few more bucks. It will make the heart attack that is my December credit card bill a little less painful when it arrives next week.

And I managed to go running, do laundry and give myself a face mask before joining my employer this afternoon. So it was kind of like a weekend day for me.

You may have heard that Christmas is now over. That always makes me a little sad. I hope you had a cool Yule. Even though I worked through most of the holiday, I did manage to have a delicious Christmas dinner with Jack and Fabulous Patti. And that was in addition to having dinner at work. Combine two dinners with all the other eating and drinking I've been doing this season, and I think I got about seven extra pounds for Christmas this year.

The good thing about virtually missing a holiday, though, is you get to have another one. At least I do. Tomorrow I'm going to visit my aunt, uncle, grandmother and various cousins for Christmas, 2006, Part Two. I can't wait to see my little cousin Anna. Whenever she and I get together, we play and color and do all the fun things that boring grown-ups forget to do. Besides, Santa accidentally dropped off a gift for her at my house, so I must deliver it.

After Christmas, the Sequel, comes New Year's Eve this weekend. New Year's Eve is always both amateur night and a let down, but I think I have a good plan to welcome 2007. I'm going to take Jack and his brother Jason to my friend Beth's party in Berkeley. Beth is a super talented writer and spoken-word artist, and she is married to a musician. The event is billed as a "party/talent show," so I think Jack, Jason and I are in for a treat. And we'll be inside Beth and Eli's home and away from all the drunk idiots in the bars and out on the streets.

And finally... It's official, the fake band is playing another gig with Wonderbread 5 in February. January and February are the most depressing months of the year for me, so I'm happy to have a project to focus on. We'll have fake band rehearsals throughout the next eight weeks, and I'm going to resume my singing lessons from Best Friend (a.k.a. Stephanie). I took a few before our Ashkenaz show, but I need more help. Best Friend has been teaching singing for years and has an amazing voice, herself, so I know I'm in good hands.

If you haven't yet, you might want to try to see us perform. Any day now we could realize that we're not a real band.

I Believe in Santa

This is the best night of the year because it's the night Santa delivers love to all the good boys and girls everywhere! The Santa I believe in also generously gives love to bad boys and girls, too. Well, most of them... he might skip murderers and people like that. I also have a feeling George W. Bush gets coal in his Christmas stocking, but really that's between him and Santa.

As for me, I am spending this Christmas Eve at work. Yes, you read that correctly. Now, understand that I'm not complaining. I have a job I enjoy and that many people would envy. Plus, I signed on for holidays and weekends when I chose to work in a 24-hour business. But still. Given a choice, I'd much rather be in Los Altos with my grandmother, aunt, uncle and little cousin Anna. Or at the dinner party to which Jack invited me tonight. Or down in L.A. where Diva Mommy is visiting my brother Mike, sister-in-law Maki and the fabulous Mikey Jet. If I were there, I also would be able to see my oldest sister Kathy and her kids, as well as my oldest brother Tom.

Well, heck, as long as I'm imagining places I'd rather be, I'd really rather Diva Mommy had stayed in Hawaii for the holiday, and we'd all gone to visit her there. Maybe some year. But for now, I sit with a job to do on Christmas Eve. Just like Santa.

And for all you cynics who would suggest that Santa isn't real, I have but one thing to say. Perhaps... and I stress the word perhaps... there is no rotund gentleman donning a red suit and circling the globe in a sleigh pulled by overworked reindeer right now, but look around tonight and tomorrow at all the love and happiness that has been building for the last month. Look at the smiles on people's faces and the light in their eyes. In fact, look all year at the love that surrounds us all, if and when we choose to see it. Look at all of that and then try to tell me there is no such thing as Santa Claus.

I didn't think you could.

Recipe For Success

Now that I am of an advanced age, I can draw upon my wisdom and experience to offer you sage advice on how to have a birthday that is truly top drawer. So, in no particular order:

1. Spend three hours at the spa. There is no better birthday present.
2. Drink champagne at Favorite Bar with your 91-year old grandmother who's in town from Rochester, New York.
3. Continue drinking champagne until you close down Favorite Bar and end up a little sick at home at about 3 a.m. (okay, maybe that's not such good advice).
4. At the end of the night have rambling, alcohol-infused conversations with several soccer-playing Favorite Bar regulars whom you don't usually hang out with.
5. Get your birthday cake from Stella Pastry. The only drawback is that it will be such a hit, you won't have any left over. And that's a true shame.
6. Enlist Kirk to DJ your party and give him an extensive playlist, thus ensuring you'll celebrate your 37th to the sounds of a bunch of your favorite songs. After all, no birthday is complete without The Jam's "Beat Surrender" and The English Beat's "Best Friend." Proclaiming that you want to marry Kirk every time he plays a song that makes you particularly happy might be going overboard, but he would probably appreciate it and find it a little funny, at least.
7. Order so much food that the next day you find yourself taking a huge meat and cheese tray and about 500 rolls from Palermo Deli to work for the Secret Santa potluck even though you have the day off. But keep the fruit and veggie tray for your own snacking goodness.
8. Make sure it rains cats and dogs, even though it was sunny the day before and the day after your birthday. Then decide that, like weddings, rain on your birthday must be good luck.
9. Feel the love of your friends and family, who braved said rain to celebrate with you. Without them, you'd be nothing but an old lady staring at an ever-increasing number of birthday candles.
10. Hit the gym the next day and top off your work-out with a spell in the steam room to metabolize and sweat out the alcohol.

And finally... promise yourself that you will be more mature next year and refrain from ringing in three-eight by drinking your weight in Perrier Jouet. You're likely to forget that one, but eventually it will sink in. Maybe by 47.

Tonight, instead of joining Helen, Erin and Andrew for dinner in Japantown, I'm going to order pizza, write thank you notes and go to bed at 9:00. I may have the partying prowess of a 25-year old, but I definitely have the hangover resilience of a 37-year old.

p.s. I'd post photos from the epic event, but once again Blogger doesn't want you to see them. So you'll have to use your imagination.

Happy Birthday To Me

I am officially old. 37.

Many people, mostly my co-workers, have spent the last few weeks assuring me that 37 is not old. However, I have mentally been stuck at 25 for the last 12 years, so it's a little disconcerting to realize that I am, in fact, much older than that.

Well, advanced age be damned, I always treat myself well on my birthday. This year's giving from me to me began yesterday with a very fancy "Like Water For Chocolate" pedicure, complete with cocoa milk, cocoa mouse cream and an exfoliating chocolate scrub. Yummy. And my toes look really cute.

Later today I'm going to the spa to luxuriate poolside and indulge in a cranberry-pomegranate body buff. And then tonight about 40 of my closest friends and family will join me for a party at Favorite Bar.

Plus, a special shout-out of love goes to Diva Mommy, who went through labor on what must have been a deathly cold Wisconsin night to give birth to me at 3:43 a.m. on December 21, 1969. Talk about dedication.

Can you tell my birthday is my favorite day of the year?

The Fake Band That Wouldn't Die

Want know how to make your office holiday party more fun? Three months prior, form a fake band with some of your co-workers, learn some songs, and then accept an invitation to play said party. Even if many of the guests are more interested in the buffet line than what you're doing onstage, it will still be a blast.

Especially if the party is at Bimbo's 365 Club.

By all rights, my fake band had no business being on that stage, but hey, it wasn't our idea. Last night, history was made once again, when Fake Band opened up for Wonderbread 5 at our company Christmas party. And the guys in Wonderbread 5 (all real musicians who have been selling out shows for years with their creative cover-band antics) were super nice to us and very supportive. They even invited us onstage to sing with them during their set and treated us like we actually have talent or something. That's some seriously generous Christmas spirit. This photo of us was taken backstage right after we played our set. Look at how happy we are; we're like kids running amok in a candy store.

Running amok is right. For something that started as a lark, our little fake band may be on the verge of getting out of control. For now it's still fun, though, so we're going with it. There's talk of us playing with Wonderbread 5 again in February, which would be scary because we would be in front of a real audience... not just our friends and co-workers.

I'll let you know if that happens. I'm still a little insecure about my singing, so I think I need to get over that if we're going to keep performing. Insecurity has no business invading the life of a pretend rock star. There are also still some ego issues in the band, but hopefully they won't overwhelm the fun and ruin everything.

Today Bimbo's, tomorrow... washed-up fake musicians thinking about a reunion tour.

Santa Sleuthing

I think I know who my Secret Santa at work is.

I'm actually a little embarrassed because I gushed about my holiday cocktail present to this person before processing the fact that he or she might be my secret benefactor. Well, if I'm right, at least my Secret Santa knows I was impressed with the first gift.

Whether I accurately have identified my personal Claus or not, I have received another excellent goodie. You see, my Secret Santa seems to know me pretty well. Not only did Santa know how much I would enjoy a fresh cocktail for the Christmas season, but he or she also is aware that I appreciate the occasional trashy magazine. A girl can't live on Vanity Fair and Entertainment Weekly alone, so I devoured the Star (that's right) left for me last night. Santa also left chocolates for me to munch on once I digested the ridiculous Hollywood gossip Star had to offer.

All in all, I'd say that was a pretty fun gift. Thanks, Santa!

This weekend I dove into my Christmas cards, and I am happy to report that I am about 2/3 done! I have written just over 50, and I probably have 25 to 30 more to go. I'm sending slightly fewer this year in part because I've truly fallen out of touch with some people, and in part because I've waited so long that I just don't have time to send as many as I usually do. What can I say; I'm usually much more on the ball with this project.

Tomorrow I brave the line at the post office for stamps. I imagine I have no hope of getting holiday stamps at this point unless I want the super religious ones or the Kwanzaa stamps. I'm thinking not so much on either count, so I'll probably see if the post office has any super hero stamps left (I got some of those in late October, and they're really fun). Otherwise it's plain old American flags on all my Christmas cards.

Believe it or not, my life has not been all about Christmas this weekend. On Friday night I met Tom, Ann Marie, Paul and Elizabeth at the Fillmore for the DeVotchka show. I've written about the brilliance that is DeVotchka on this space before, but I have to admit I was a little disappointed on Friday. My disappointment is due to no fault of the band; it's just that I'd gotten used to seeing them in venues much smaller than the Fillmore. The larger stage seemed to swallow them whole, and they added some weird dancers to the show who did nothing for me. I must admit, I never thought I'd come to think of the Fillmore as too large, but small clubs are just so much better.

And finally, I must thank Terry for admitting her "dirty old woman" tendencies by writing today on her blog about a flirtatious young grocery clerk she knows. Apparently she flirts back with him even though he's only in college. I bring this up because these days I find myself attracted to a 23-year old lad. Now, luckily for me, said boy (and I mean boy) is not available, which is a good thing because every time I think about how young he is I get a little grossed out. I mean, he was in grammar school when I graduated from college. Can you say ick??!!! He is awfully cute, though. Hee, hee....

It looks like I'm a dirty old woman, too.

Rock and Roll Christmas Spirit

While the holiday season is still flying by way too fast for my taste, at least I'm starting to get into the spirit a little. I had the greatest day at work today, and it started with a visit from my Secret Santa. Last night I donned my own Santa cap and went shopping for the co-worker whose name I drew. After stealthily depositing a gift for that person this morning, I saw a goody in my own mail box.

Do you know what it was? Cash!!! $7 to be precise.

That's right, just like our grandmothers used to send us for Christmas when we were, like, 8 years old. But this cash came with instructions. I was informed that it was to be used to purchase myself a holiday cocktail to get my festive mood on. Secret Santa went on to explain that the magic to make a freshly poured cocktail appear in my mailbox at work has yet to be invented because the cocktail would spill. Plus, it is, of course, against the rules.

I have the best Secret Santa ever.

After that, I joined half of my fake bandmates to record a holiday greeting for work. We do that every year. Not the fake band, necessarily, because we have only existed for a few months. But we employees do record holiday greetings every year. Yes, we're geeks, but we know that already. Anyway, my fake band played and sang a version of "Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer" with specifically tailored lyrics written by Doug. In general, I hate that sadistic little song, but Doug's lyrics were very cute. And besides, any day that I get to sing at work is a good day.

Also, my fake band is going to play at our company Christmas party next week. How fun is that?!? It's extra fun because the party will be at Bimbo's. Who thought I'd ever sing on that stage? Certainly not me. There is a little drama in the fake band because one of the members has developed a seriously over-inflated ego. Or he's always had one and is just now letting us see it. Anyway, it's annoying everyone. Well, maybe it's just annoying me. It's not worth being annoyed, though, so I'm just going to try to look at his attitude as great fodder for our Behind the Music episode.

At this point I bet you're wondering if I actually did any work while at work today. Well, in fact, I did. First I had to go look at a really icky car accident in the Mission. Luckily for me all the injured people had been taken away before I got there. Without them, it was actually kind of cool. A mini-van had flipped over and landed in a heap of twisted metal on top of two parked cars.

Okay, it probably wasn't too cool for the people who got hurt in the crash. Nor was it cool for the owners of the innocent parked cars. I'd say they probably had a pretty bad day.

Later, I went to Berkeley to meet a realtor who is posting video tours of the homes she's selling on YouTube. She was nice, plus her workplace is right above a bakery, so I got to pick up snacks for my drive back to the City. Yes, these are the kinds of things I do for work.

Unfortunately, despite my heightened spirit, I still have yet to start my Christmas cards. This is bad. My friends really aren't going to get holiday greetings from me until February.

Speeding Through December

As I've mentioned before on this space, in my opinion, this really is the most the wonderful time of the year. But somehow... I feel like I'm missing it this year.

How can this be happening?

My apartment is decked out in true Christmas glory. I've been singing along with all the finest holiday music. And most importantly, I'm making plans to celebrate my Favorite Day of the Year: my birthday (that's December 21st, in case you were wondering). But somehow I'm not feeling the spirit or the love.

I'm crabby about some things at work, and that doesn't help. It's not important what those things are, and I refuse to give them power by writing about them. I really like my job, too, making these irritations even more frustrating.

But what concerns me most is that it's already mid-December!!! My favorite time of year is passing me by, and I'm not even reveling in it. I'm also terribly behind on my Christmas cards. As in, I haven't even started writing them yet. At this rate, 100 of my closest friends will receive holiday greetings from me in mid-February.

I have to pull myself together. That's all there is to it.

Well, at least we're doing Secret Santa at work, and I'm very excited about that. Last year I was Angela's Secret Santa, and I had the best time getting presents for her. I got her some baby stuff (she was pregnant at the time); I made her a CD featuring holiday songs and excellent local music; and for the final gift, I got her some of those cool latte bowls from Anthropologie. Gee, I hope I pick Angela's name again. She's super fun to shop for.

Okay, my Christmas spirit is starting to pick up a tiny bit. Let's just hope it's in full swing by the 25th...

All We Are Saying...

.... is that Mark David Chapman sucks. Seriously. That dude will not have a good time in the afterlife. I'm just saying.

Admittedly, my favorite Beatle is Paul McCartney, but I can't help but wonder how much future creative genius was lost on this day 26 years ago. And every 8th of December I get a tiny bit sad, but I appreciate all that we got to enjoy.

All because of some freakshow loser who was looking for attention. I hope he never, ever gets out of prison. In my opinion, anyone who murders and stifles music deserves no mercy. There. I've said it, and I'm not taking it back. Perhaps that's not as zen and forgiving as John would have been, but whatever.

Okay, bitterness over. Perhaps I should take a lesson and give peace a chance. To quote Paul, himself: "And if I say, I really loved you and was glad you came along..." Continue to rest in peace, John. Thanks for making so many people so incredibly happy.

Tis the Season: Music That's Making Me Happy Today, vol 26

So apparently there are games in the blogosphere that involve "tagging" other bloggers so they are obligated to write about certain things. Generally, I ignore these silly exercises, but today Terry had one on her blog that is a reindeer game I'll happily play. Because it's about music and Christmas! Tagged bloggers are supposed to list their five favorite Christmas songs, but I can't limit myself to that few. So if you would, please indulge my slightly lengthy list of favorite holiday melodies.

1. Christmas (Baby, Please Come Home). David Letterman calls this the greatest rock and roll Christmas song ever written, and I have to agree. I'll take the original Darlene Love recording or U2's 1987 version; both make me happy. What a shame Phil Spector is now crazy and on trial for murder.

2. You're A Mean One, Mr. Grinch. If you aren't affected by Dr. Seuss's How The Grinch Stole Christmas, then clearly your heart is three sizes too small. And hearing Tony the Tiger croon this song throughout the cartoon special makes my heart about ten sizes bigger.

3. Do You Hear What I Hear. The Bing Crosby version, thank you very much. You may think it's cheesy, but I call this Rat Pack-era Holiday Goodness. Besides, we sang it in my high school chorus, giving it a soft spot in my heart.

4. Christmas Wrapping. Is it wrong that I get a little choked up when the heroine of this song hooks up with the guy she's "been chasing all year" on Christmas Eve? It's enough to remind you just how good 80's new wave really is. Rest in peace, Patty Donahue.

5. Do They Know It's Christmas. As far as I know, there is never snow in Africa at Christmas time... a holiday season the majority of Ethiopians don't even celebrate. However, I give Bob Geldof and Midge Ure credit not only for raising money to help fight starvation there, but for actually writing a decent song to do so. Very much unlike the insufferable "We Are the World."

6. Sleigh Ride. Another one from my high school chorus days. It's a super fun carolling song, and I have learned over the years that people are very impressed when you know all the words.

7. Happy Xmas, War Is Over. All I have to say is: thank you, John and Yoko.

8. Little Drummer Boy/Peace on Earth. Bing makes another appearance on this list, and this time he's paired with David Bowie. I had no interest in "Little Drummer Boy" until I heard this version.

9. 2000 Miles. Another one that has been known to choke me up a little bit. What is it with 80's bands and their holiday songs?

10. Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas. Only as sung by Judy Garland in Meet Me in St. Louis. The version people sing now has lyrics that are just slightly different from the original, but to me, the alteration is completely egregious. The modern lyrics wouldn't even make Margaret O'Brien mist up, let alone cry.

11. Christmas Time Is Here. Talk about choked up. Don't even tell me you don't want to cry when Linus talks about the true meaning of Christmas. With Vince Guaraldi in the background, there's not a dry eye across the country when Charlie Brown's annual television special airs.

I'll probably think of about ten other songs I love as soon as I publish this post. For example, at this moment I am loving "O Holy Night" because of a scene they just did featuring New Orleans musicians on Studio 60. Yes, the scene made me cry. It's true, I'm a complete sap and proud of it.

Cocktails and Cookies

Have you ever eaten so much you just wanted to die to escape the pain?

Well, that was me on Friday night. I went to a holiday cocktail and cookie party featuring both yummy drinks and treats. Jim and Molly hosted the affair in their very grown up apartment, and all the guests brought homemade cookies to share! Okay, everybody brought homemade cookies except me. Unless you consider that bakery on Stockton and Vallejo to be my home. No, I didn't think so.

Anyway, there were so many good cookies, as well as savory snacks, that I couldn't help but overindulge. In every way. After mixing myself a sour apple martini (one of the more festive cocktails, if you ask me), I dove into the hors d'oeuvres. Only after I was sufficiently sated on chicken skewers, crudites and meatballs did I take the plunge and start on the cookies. There was no coming back after that. Don't worry, I talked to people, too. I hadn't seen Denise and Paul, my connection to the party, since the big fake band performance, so it was good to catch up with them, as well as many of their friends I have met only once or twice before. It was also nice to see Jim and Molly, who are a total power couple. Molly runs marathons, Jim does Iron Man competitions, and Jim's iPod provided a fantastic soundtrack for the evening.

You know it's a good night when you have all the sour apple martinis you can drink and all the cookies you can eat while "Not Too Soon" by the Throwing Muses and "I Confess" by the English Beat tumble from the sound system.

We all got to take cookies home, too. I happily filled my bag with goodies, but in an effort to stop the madness, I took my cookies to work yesterday to make sure someone who wasn't me ate them all. I must add that Paul told me his chocolate chip cookies were the best he'd ever made, and while I can't say I'd ever eaten his chocolate chip cookies before, these were pretty darn good. Nestle would be very proud.

After a night like that, one would think I would have eaten nothing but carrot sticks and rice cakes yesterday, but not so much. After work I met Jack at a Vietnamese restaurant in the Mission called Sunflower. We had fresh spring rolls, shaken beef and garlic vegetables, and the portions were far from small. Yummy. Afterward we met Emily and her boyfriend at the 500 Club. Wendy and Camilla were supposed to join us, but they didn't make it. However, on the way there, we ran into my friends Patrick and Mary, who were, coincidentally, headed for the very same bar. So we chatted with them and Kevin and Judy over drinks while the melodious tones of the Clash, the Go-Go's, the Beach Boys, Iggy Pop, Smokey Robinson, the Beatles, the Replacements and X filled the room.

I programmed the jukebox, in case you hadn't guessed.

After a weekend like this, I really do need to eat nothing but carrot sticks and rice cakes, but that probably won't happen. I swear, if I didn't exercise so much, I would probably weigh 400 pounds. It's a good thing I'm so addicted to endorphins.

Theatre That's Making Me Happy Today, vol 11

All Wear Bowlers at Berkeley Rep

If you think you don't like Vaudeville-style comedy, I suggest that you are wrong. And All Wear Bowlers will prove that. Geoff Sobelle and Trey Lyford have created an absolutely genius piece. Yes, the play has its share of typical pratfalls and spit takes, but it also features some brilliant comedic moments brought to life with impressively precise timing. It's a laugh-so-much-your-sides-will-ache experience that even Felix the Cat would enjoy.

The show does drag a little bit during the second half, but given that it's only 75 minutes long, I think that can be forgiven. Word to the wise: you may not want to sit in the front row for this one. That's all I'll say about that, but don't say you weren't warned.

See All Wear Bowlers and then deal with your desire to rent about 1000 silent films and spend all your days watching them. It's well worth it.

In other news, it was Emily's birthday last night, and a bunch of us gathered to celebrate the occasion. We went to a place called John Collins, which, judging by how crowded it was, must be one of the new hip places. See what happens when I just frequent the same four bars over and over again: I have no idea where all the cool kids are going.

In general, I'm okay with that, but I digress.

Anyway, Emily was a little over-served on her birthday, but she was as charming as always. At one point, I broke away from the group and made some new friends. I was hot and needed to sit down, and a lovely couple named Seth and Margaret shared their couch space with me. They were super nice. Later in the evening Seth donned his wingman hat and brought his single friend, Terrence, over to talk to several of us women. Terrence was cute, but as Margaret had warned me beforehand, he had a little bad breath problem. He also didn't seem to have much personality, but he didn't even know us, so that may be an unfair judgment.

Get the guy a little Scope, and he may turn out to be a serious catch.

So that's all from me at the moment. I've got to take my Sassy little behind to work now.

Bring On the Diamonds and Tin

San Francisco and I are celebrating our anniversary! We've been together for ten years and are still going strong.

On November 30, 1996, my sister Fabulous Patti and I drove up to the City after spending Thanksgiving with Diva Mommy in Pasadena, and my new life began. I had been living in New England since graduating from Brown in 1992, and, by and large, I hated it there. Fabulous Patti, who had graduated from Berkeley in 1981 and lived in the East Bay for several years before heading to medical school and then to get a masters in public health, had moved back to the Bay Area that July and offered to let me live with her in the City rent-free while I got settled.

How cool is that??!!!

Actually it's even cooler than you think because Fabulous Patti ended up letting me live with her without paying a dime of rent for a year and a half. That's one super sibling.

Anyway, I remember how much promise the City by the Bay held for me. Even though I had only visited three times before, and the first two times had been before I was seven years old, I knew I would fit right in. I would have a tremendous career married to a delicately Bohemian lifestyle. I would meet the man of my dreams. I would be an active member of the West Coast intelligentsia.

Well, the man of my dreams hasn't exactly materialized, even though I have dated some characters. Most of the dreams my paramours have ended up in have seemed more like nightmares, but for the most part, the gentlemen have been lovely fellows. Sort of, anyway.

I'm not really the Bohemian type either. I had seen Rent on Broadway about five months before I moved here, and I was on a struggling artist kick. I did spend several years as an actor, though, and did a lot of crappy plays in small theatre spaces in the Tenderloin, North Beach and the Mission. That kind of counts as Bohemian, right? And now I'm in my fake band, and it really doesn't get much more struggling than us.

My career, however, has gone swimmingly. If I were a more aggressive person I probably could have taken it to even greater heights by now, but in a lot of ways, my work life has surpassed all my expectations. Even when I was unemployed in 2004, I did some cool things, like work in the District Attorney's Office. Not bad, considering I'm not a lawyer. I actually began working for my current bosses a mere two weeks after my arrival, but at that time I held a different position than I do now. I subsequently worked for four other employers and had that little unemployment thing before coming back to the people who first welcomed me professionally. I guess things really do come full circle.

But probably the best part of my life in San Francisco has been the friends I've made. Yes, the live music is great, the theatre is awesome and the bars and restaurants have amazing treats to offer, but I have met some tremendous people. I even met some of them on the first full day I lived here, and we are still friends.

Now, no relationship is perfect, and San Francisco and I have had some rocky times. I've been robbed several times, and some creepy guy with a decidedly menacing attitude followed me through Golden Gate Park one afternoon in 1999. Plus, the cost of living here can occasionally cause tension. But we've been good at working through our problems.

Overall, I really don't think it gets much better than this (well, maybe if I lived in Hawaii, but that's another story). No offense, New England, but after ten years, I can definitively say that San Francisco kicks your ass. Okay, I've been saying that since my first week here, but now I have a decade of evidence to back me up.

A Finger Food, Jazz-Soaked Good Time

With the long holiday weekend rolling toward its end, Ann Marie and I decided to hit the town last night. After all, what else would two sassy, single girls do on a Saturday night? Okay, technically we're only talking one single girl, but Ann Marie's boyfriend is out of town, so she was an honorary single girl for the evening.

We began our good time by indulging in East African cuisine at Massawa on Haight Street. Once we had eaten our weight in sambusas, beef, chick peas, mushrooms and injera, we pulled ourselves away from the restaurant and headed to Favorite Bar 2 to digest over a cocktail. Since Favorite Bar 2 is primarily a live music spot, a really good jazz band was playing. Unfortunately, they were a little loud, so after a couple of songs Ann Marie and I beat it out of there.

Call us old, but sometimes we like to to able to hear ourselves think.

Not quite ready to call it a night, however, we swung by the original Favorite Bar to giggle over one more drink. After I cleverly (okay, meanly) observed that some Neanderthal-type guy was chewing his gum like a moron, we dissolved into junior high school hysterics.

Sometimes immaturity is so very satisfying.

And I do believe that guy was oblivious to what I had said about him. At least I hope so. If not, he certainly has permission to say any mean thing he would like about decidedly not-perfect me. What's good for the goose, after all. Apparently we were not the only ones enjoying a night out, though, because Favorite Bar soon became far too crowded for our taste, and we left. No wonder I prefer going out during the week.

Tonight after work I intend to clean my apartment and bust out the holiday decorations. I'm also going to start on the Sassy holiday card list. Every year I send out about 100 or so bits of happiness via the U.S. postal service. It's a habit that has gotten me scolded by one friend for wasting paper and called obnoxious by San Francisco's District Attorney in 2004 when she learned that I had written and mailed all 100 holiday cards by December 5th that year.

That's right. I am that big a geek.