The Good Things

There are some good things going on this weekend, and I just have to share.

1. Tickets for the Go-Go's show at the Independent are going on sale tomorrow morning. The Go-Go's have been my favorite band since 1982, so you know I'll be going. Denise is going to come, too, and some of my Go-Go's fan friends will also be there. Glenn, Kim and Claire, to be specific. I believe this will be the 12th time I've seen the Go-Go's in concert. That number is no rival for Deadheads, I know, but it's pretty impressive for me. No matter how old I get, I'll never grow tired of the Go-Go's brand of punky new wave power-pop.

2. One month from tomorrow I go back to Hawaii! I am so excited, especially since my travel partner for this trip has secured us free accommodations in Waikiki. How much does that not suck? Diva Mommy (who, you may recall, lives in Honolulu) will be having surgery while I'm there, but she should be fine. Be warned, one of these days I'm going to go to Hawaii and not come back. I threaten that every time I go there, but one day it will be true. I can hardly wait...

3. My sister, Fabulous Patti, is in town this weekend. Even though I can't fathom why she'd want to leave her fabulous Los Feliz neighborhood in L.A., it is, course, nice to see her. Last night I took her to the Latin American Club for drinks and some excellent people watching, and then we hit the Ferry Building this afternoon.

So those are the good things I'm focusing on tonight. Of course, we always want more in life, and to that end, I admit I am in the process of formulating some specific requests to present to the Universe. Those requests will revolve around infusing more creativity into my job; bringing fun, smart, cute boys who are not emotional morons into my orbit; and helping me recognize and revel in all the fabulousness that surrounds me and emanates from me.

I don't think that's too unreasonable, do you?

On a more somber note, a former employee at my place of business died of cancer last night. He had retired three years ago and moved to Oregon, but he was legendary in my industry here in the Bay Area. I didn't know him that well, but I had gotten to know his son rather well, as we worked together a few years ago. Ah, the circle of life, I suppose.

Simpsons Me, Teen Angst Me

While I admit I don't watch "The Simpsons," and I have no intention of seeing The Simpsons Movie, I was pretty tickled when Katie sent me a Simpsons-ized version of myself. It's frightening but in a funny way.

Even though she's a cartoon, the Simpsons me might be a little more interesting than the teenage me. Or at least I doubt she takes herself as seriously as the teenage me did. For reasons I won't bore you with now, I had occasion on Sunday night to dig out old copies of Polygraph, my high school's literary magazine. I was looking for some genuinely good commentary written by one of my former schoolmates, but in the process I stumbled upon some of my own submissions.

Poetry. Written by a teenage me. Good lord.

Needless to say, I had mercifully forgotten some of the deep and meaning-filled verse I had painstaking composed for Polygraph. But lucky me, I was reminded on Sunday night. For example:

I can hear it in the background:
The faint roar
With the deafening whisper.
Now who could ever forget,
The day the world stood still
And watched success.

And:

Defeat.
It didn't matter what kind.
They held their hands high,
Took a deep breath,
And cried.
But in their eyes
All you could see
Was never ending
Pride.

Or:

To me it makes no difference
If no one understands.
The words, they made sense to me.
It was something that they said.

All I can say is: bless my little adolescent heart. I wonder if I'll look at the ramblings on this space years from now and feel the same kind of embarrassed amusement. Well, since this is a chronicle of my real life, I certainly hope not. Speaking of real life, it now calls. I'm meeting Rosa at the Hotel Utah in about 45 minutes; so I have to get going. I'm helping her out with a little... um... project involving a certain gentleman tonight.

But ooooh, guess what?!? The Go-Go's are playing at the Independent in October. I am sooooo there.

All That Jazz... Or Not

The North Beach Jazz Festival was fun last night but unfortunately, not because of the music. The first band I saw was playing at Tony Nik's, and honestly, I wanted to like them. I even forgave them for playing two Beatles covers in a row, as unnecessary and strange as the pseudo-jazz versions of "Dear Prudence" and "In My Life" were. However, when they busted out with renditions of David Bowie and U2 tunes, I had to give up on them.

Regardless, Tony Nik's was a hot bed of fun people, which made up for the less than stellar musicians. Of course, there was Helen. But just by chance, I also ran into Linnea, whom I hadn't seen since my birthday last December. She is super neat, and it was nice to see her. Then Mr. Gowdy showed up. Plus, my friend Wendy was out at the festival, and I caught up with her at a bar (the name of which escapes me) on Grant Avenue.

The band at that bar was better than the one at Tony Nik's, but not much. However, Linnea came with me to the second bar, and by coincidence, Mr. Gowdy met a few of his friends there, too. Add Wendy and a couple of her buddies into the mix, and you had a serious party. Well, you had a serious party until about midnight, when I pretty much turned into a pumpkin. Two glasses of wine and two ciders, and I was done. I swear these days I age three years for every one calendar year that goes by.

Getting home relatively early was a good thing for me, though. I was able to get a decent amount of sleep, save waking up at 6 a.m. due to... um... monthly discomfort. But a few Advil later, I could snooze further, and then I had a lovely singing lesson with Best Friend this afternoon.

Now Laino and I are supposed to go out tonight, but she's been held up at work. Hopefully we'll still make it out, even if just for a little while. I haven't seen Laino in months, and on the 4th of July she got engaged. So needless to say, we have a lot to catch up on.

Blissed Out

Well, I was a little bit decadent today. After the gym this morning, I met Katie at Bliss in the W Hotel for manicures and pedicures. More specifically, we each got a hot cream manicure and a hot milk and almond pedicure. I'm generally just a pedicure girl and very rarely get manicures, but Katie does. So I figured, why not? She and I were able to chat and giggle while our hands and feet were pampered and "Sex and the City" episodes danced on a television screen before us.

On my way to Bliss, I ran into Don, a former co-worker of mine and one of the nicest guys walking the face of the earth. He was hosting an event in Union Square featuring the cast of Jersey Boys. I walked by just as the actors belted out the last notes of "December, 1963," but I caught Don. I hadn't seen him in a years, so that was super fun.

Anyway, I must say the Bliss manicure and pedicure are pretty good. Not so good that I'm going to abandon my regular nail spa, but definitely first rate. This being Bliss, the treatments are also very pricey, but it was worth it for a day of girly bonding with Katie.

After Bliss, I went to Macy's to use the $30 in "Star Rewards" I earned when I spent all that money there last week. The Star Rewards are only good this week, so the pressure was on for me to find something to buy. I looked through the work out clothes. No, they have a better selection at Lombardi Sports. I carefully perused the lingere section, but nothing grabbed me. I made my way through the entire floor of shoes but came up empty (why are so many shoes so ugly these days?). In the end I got new pajamas. Hardly the most exciting purchase but somewhat practical, at least.

Don't I lead just the most exciting life? This must make for some fascinating reading.

Tonight the North Beach Jazz Festival begins, so I'm meeting Helen in that neighborhood this evening. This will probably be the only day to actually enjoy the jazz, as North Beach is likely to be a bridge and tunnel nightmare for the rest of the festival. Yuck. But tonight the jazz will be hot (hopefully), even though, as is typical for July, San Francisco will be cold.

Shopping and Swapping

I would make a really good rich person.

For some reason, I saw fit this week to spend money like it was going out of style. Or like I actually had some to spend. But in the moment, it all seemed so reasonable. Some may even say necessary. It started Wednesday with the purchase of new shower curtains, which I definitely needed. Then on Thursday, I had to get some new towels. After all, I had new shower curtains; how could I not procure new towels? So I headed to Macy's and managed to spend almost $300 in just under 30 minutes. What, you may ask, could I have possibly found to spend $300 on in Macy's? Well, a lot of crap I decided I had to have. There were the towels, the skin cleanser and moisturizer (which I did need), and the really cute swing coat that was 40% off. How could I walk by that? If it had ended there, that would have been enough. But no. On Thursday night, Ann Marie and I went to a vintage jewelry trunk show, and I got myself a silver necklace-bracelet-earring set.

Between my love of spas and my apparent penchant for spending money, I really would be very good at being wealthy. I also enjoy sleeping late and spending hours at the gym in the middle of the day. Plus, I possess superior lunching skills.

It might be time for me to consider marrying rich.

To counteract the effects of all that consumerism, I did something a little different today: I went to a book swap. I love to read, and unfortunately for my cozy little living space, I have a tendency to collect more books than I can comfortably store. To that end, the idea of unloading a few of them really appealed to me. So with the promise to myself to take away fewer books than I brought in, I headed for the swap.

And what I found tucked into a little industrial space South of Market was more like a disco with books. My bag of books and $5 got me in, got me a complimentary cocktail and got me the right to take home however many books I wanted. There was also a DJ spinning in the corner, and everybody was very chatty and friendly. When new books arrived, the book swap organizers would swiftly sort and deposit them on shelves open for browsing. If a particularly desirable selection was discovered, this one gentleman would shout to the room, "Has anyone not read Portnoy's Complaint?!" Or "Has anyone not read A Confederacy of Dunces?!" Or "Has anyone not read On the Road?!" And the book in question would go the the quickest hand raised.

There were some pretty impressive offerings: Pride and Prejudice, Brave New World, The Fountainhead, The God of Small Things, Heart of Darkness. I admit that every time I saw a book I had read and really enjoyed (like several I just mentioned), I would be a little offended that someone was giving it away, but to each his own, I suppose. There was also, of course, a whole lot of crap. A lot of Dan Brown, Mary Higgins Clark and the like.

With my already-full bookshelves in mind, I was very selective in my choosing, and in the end, I took only two books. But I had an excellent time while I was there. Today's event was organized by Swap SF, and apparently they do this kind of thing regularly. I'm going to keep that in mind, should that marrying rich plan happen not to work out for me.

Bourbon, Beer and Burgers

That title certainly sounds decadent, doesn't it?

Well, not to disappoint, but my life really isn't so saucy. Margie switched shifts with me at work on Saturday, so that night I was able to attend "Bourbonpalooza," also known as Higgins' birthday party. Now, I don't drink bourbon (because... ick), but how could I miss a party with that kind of name? As it turns out, Bourbonpalooza was, for the most part, quite the staid and adult affair. Higgins loves bourbon, and I believe his past birthday celebrations have been epic, but this Bourbonpalooza was lovely by virtue of its subtlety. A friend of Higgins' got him some super fancy bourbon that they serve at the Kentucky Derby, and I tried a little sip of that. It was quite tasty, even to a non-bourbon fan like me. Mostly, however, I just enjoyed the vodka-cranberries Higgins mixed for me, and made myself at home at the snack table. Higgins lays out a mean party spread, let me tell you.

Last night I met my friend Debbie at The District, a new wine bar South of Market. The crowd was a little annoying, but the wine was delicious, and Debbie and I always have fun together. Plus, the bar played The Birds and Citizen Kane on a huge flat screen television. As some random man on the bar stool next to me said, "Sure beats sports, doesn't it?"

Then today, after an unusual bit of summer rain this morning, Katie and I decided to take in a Chimay lunch at Zeitgeist. The sun had come out by the afternoon, and Zeitgeist's beer patio was warm and inviting.

(I'll pause here to acknowledge that it may appear as though I have abandoned my two-day-a-week-only drinking habit, but in fact, I have not. I just happen to be writing about drinking... and eating.)

A couple of Chimays into the afternoon, I decided I needed some solid lunch, as well; so I indulged in a Zeitgeist cheeseburger. Oh, my god, yummy. Katie's husband was making her dinner at home, so she had to pass on Zeitgeist's grill menu, poor thing. Once suitably sated, Katie and I called it a successful lunch. She and I have started a bit of a Wednesday afternoon bonding tradition. Next week we're going to get mani-pedi's at Bliss and then the following Wednesday brings lunch with Katie's husband Steve, plus Bill, Kim, Gretchen and Isaac.

It's good to have Wednesdays off from work.

She Gave Birth To Me?

I've known since early childhood that my mother used to be a professional singer. Initially that awareness was merely a byproduct of my elementary school knowledge that Diva Mommy knew (and was not particularly fond of, I'll have you know) Nichelle Nichols, who played Lieutenant Uhura on "Star Trek."

Over the years, little nuggets from my mother's younger life would make themselves known in between the private school days, adolescent sleep-overs, "Facts of Life" episodes, crushes on ridiculous boys, Go-Go's, Monkees and English Beat records, lazy summers and Judy Blume books that comprised my suburban existence. For example, when Spike Lee became famous in the '80's, Diva Mommy nonchalantly commented that she had worked with his father, jazz bassist Bill Lee, and a very young Spike had even come over to play with my sisters and oldest brother while the elder Lee and my mother worked on musical arrangements. On another occasion, she casually mentioned that Tony Curtis had hit on her. In fact, if I'm remembering the story correctly, he may have suggested she be his mistress and move to California (my parents and elder siblings still lived in the Midwest at that time), even though she, herself, was also married.

And that's how my knowledge of her career has accumulated over the years. There were no long reminiscences; just the odd anecdote here and there. Starting in the '90's, my mother began mentioning old friendships and work relationships once the people she'd known died. Cases in point: Burgess Meredith (that's right) and James Brown. A few years ago, my dad and I went to see Paula West at the Plush Room, and when Paula offered up her rendition of Oscar Brown, Jr's "The Snake," from Kicks and Co., my dad turned to me and whispered, "That's the show your mother did in New York." That was 2001 and the first I'd heard that my mom did any show in New York. By the way, I think it was during Kicks and Co. that she met Burgess. Anyway, when Oscar Brown, Jr, died a couple of years ago, I called Diva Mommy in Hawaii to tell her, and only then was I regaled with a few tales of how she and Oscar ran around New York during rehearsals for Kicks. And last fall, while I was rehearsing with Fake Band, Diva Mommy sent me some copies of an old newsletter... from a prison where she and Al Jarreau had performed in the '60's.

I've never actually heard Diva Mommy sing, as a throat condition forced her retirement from the microphone before she gave birth to me, the youngest of her six kids, at age 35. Some of my older siblings have vague memories of hanging around nightclubs or even being taken on tour, but I missed all that.

You may wonder why I am bringing all this up right now. Well, my brother Michael has made it his mission to find some recordings of our mother, and he's doing a decent job of searching, at least. He charged his band mate, Dan, with chatting up the aforementioned Bill Lee when Dan met him on a plane. Mr. Lee remembered Diva Mommy but has no recordings. Undaunted, my brother has kept looking, and he discovered that, in fact, an album does exist. It's called "We'll Be Together Again," and it came out sometime in 1959. Or at least she rehearsed for it in 1958. We've gotten this information from one of a few old newspaper articles on my mother that Mike just unearthed last week. Apparently, around the same time, Diva Mommy appeared on a Chicago television show called "Triumph" and was singing at places like that city's Blue Orchid Junior Room, Robert's Show Club and The Blue Angel. My sister, Fabulous Patti, even gets an in utero mention in one of the articles.

You may also wonder why on earth my siblings and I don't just ask Diva Mommy about her career and her album. I suppose we could, and we have on occasion, but I'm telling you, she's pretty mum about the whole thing. Plus, I confess it kind of amuses me that she generally only brings up her singing years when someone dies.

As more details of my mother's chanteuse life sink in, however, the more extraordinary it seems to me that I'm actually related to her. I mean, I have a great education, career and life, really, but compared to this woman, I'm downright ordinary.

The Spa and Live Music: Two Things That Are Making Me Happy Today

Yesterday began like any perfect day would... with a visit to the spa. I found myself in the Lap of Luxury at 11 a.m., and after almost an hour of cardio in the spa gym, the pampering began. Visits to the steam room and sauna were had, as well as a dips in the pool and hot tub. Then I got an orange sugar body scrub thingy that has left my skin super soft and my overall energy incredibly radiant.

I'm generally pretty worn out after a spa day, so it was all I could do to get a little laundry done, play on the computer and lounge on my couch for much of the late afternoon.

Then I met Carolyn in North Beach for a night out. We started our evening at Mario's for snacks and conversation. Frankly, Carolyn and I are so fabulous when we hang out together, we don't understand why we aren't superheroes. Or at least why a "That Girl" style television show based on our lives doesn't exist. Well, despite those great omissions from the universe, Carolyn and I persevere.

At about 9:00, we met my rock star friend Phil at the Bamboo Hut. In all honesty, the Bamboo Hut is a bar I generally avoid, but Tippy Canoe and the Paddlemen and The Barbary Coasters (pictured above in cartoon form) were playing there. Tippy and her Paddlemen were fabulous as always, but I expected that. I'd never seen The Barbary Coasters before, and I now love them. They are twist-inducing pop goodness, and they cover "Steppin' Stone, " a song not only made famous by the Monkees in the '60's and the Untouchables in the '80's, but covered by my own short-lived high school band, The Volatile Molatovs. Okay, it wasn't really my band, as I was in it for only a very brief time, but The Volatile Molatovs really was our name (courtesy of Chris Dowd from Fishbone, thank you very much).

Anyway, a good time was had by all. Carolyn had to go home early, so she missed The Barbary Coasters, but she'll see them another time. If I could spend all my days at the spa and all my nights seeing bands, I'd be a happy woman. Well, I'm already a happy woman, but if all my days were like yesterday, I'd be one very lucky woman.

Keeping Up With... Myself

Sometimes even my own life makes me a little tired.

Things have been going swimmingly since we last spoke at about noon on July 4th. I took my power nap that day and then met the other Margarita Club members at Sadie's on Potrero for popcorn and adult beverages. We were pretty much the only ones there, what with it being a national holiday and all, so we had the run of the place, including the pool table and the jukebox! You know I loved that. After Margarita Club, I went to the Lower Haight, where my friend Wendy was throwing an impromptu 4th of July party.

One drink, lots of snacks and half a Monkees Greatest Hits cd on the stereo later, I was ready to call it a night. I made my way through the renegade fireworks shows on Haight Street and managed to find a cab fairly easily. So I got home in time to watch the last half of San Francisco's official fireworks show from my roof. It's often foggy on July 4th, so being able to see the fireworks above the Bay is a serious bonus.

The next day was so full, it's a good thing I didn't have to work. After laundry and my run, I met Katie and her husband Steve at Zeitgeist for a couple of Chimays. I then caught up with Higgins and Ron for band practice. We rehearsed in this little park downtown, and one of my co-workers happened upon us on his way to the Ferry Building. He had a listen and told me he was very impressed, but honestly, all the credit has to go to Higgins and Ron... as I'm still learning my way through the songs. After that, Sheela and I went to the Latin American Club for the evening. That was, of course, very fun, and we met a nice young gentleman there. He has a girlfriend, so no funny business was involved. He was just nice to talk to; he's a writer, and he's trying to move to Seattle.

It's 48 hours later, and I still feel fatigued just thinking about all I did on Thursday.

Given how much I packed into Wednesday and Thursday, I stayed in last night. I went to bed relatively early (for a Friday night, anyway) and was ready for more fun when I got up this morning. Okay, I work Saturday nights, so I couldn't get crazy, but I did get a lot done this afternoon (exercise, an eyebrow wax and shopping for hair products, exercise clothes and environmentally friendly laundry detergent). I'm taking it easy for the next couple of days and committing only to work, sing and relax, but things get busy again soon. I already have social plans Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Saturday of next week.

I'll have to get a lot of rest now so I have the energy to do it all.

And the Rockets Red Glare...

Happy birthday, America! Your residents are taking a day off from thinking about the mess we've made of your reputation around the world to celebrate the anniversary of your existence. We'll resume thinking about how much we're screwing up your potential tomorrow.

I began my Independence Day very early this morning. 3:30 a.m. to be precise, as I had to be at work at 4:00. Ah, the joys of working in a 24-hour business. However, I am now at home and about to power nap. The power nap is certainly something to celebrate.

I had a lovely day off yesterday leading up to my early morning work shift today. Nothing earth-shattering happened, but for me, enjoyment of the ordinary is an excellent reminder of how lucky I am to lead the life I do. After a trip to the gym yesterday, I met my friend Katie at Sunflower in the Mission for lunch. Once we had officially eaten too much (and by that I mean I ate too much; Katie showed wonderful restraint), we parted ways, and I ran some errands. Simple stuff: the post office, the grocery store. Then I treated myself to a pedicure, followed by a few more errands before I retired to my couch for the evening. I admit I didn't get much sleep before needing to report for duty this morning, but that's okay.

After my power nap this afternoon, I'm going to go running, and then I'll be meeting Tom, Valerie, Kevin, Chris and a host of others for the annual 4th of July Margarita Club tradition. Plus, I have tomorrow off, too! It's like I have a three-day weekend this week with just a little work thrown in this morning. And that is also something most definitely worth celebrating.

Taxicab Confessions... Or I Should Say Blathering

On Friday night my friend Terry and I found ourselves at Club Deluxe in the Haight, where we also met Joe and a friend of his. Not only did we have an enjoyable time chatting over several a Deluxe Spa Collins (I drank three, which necessitated a trip to the pizza joint down the block for some stabilizing carbohydrates), but as luck would have it, we were there on the last Friday of the month... when Deluxe has the Shuckin' and Jivin' Showcase, featuring R&B, jump blues and other stompers from the '40's and 50's all played from 78-rpm records. I admit, I'm uncertain how I feel about the name of this showcase, but the music is great.

I must now stop this narrative and acknowledge that Shellac Shack, another evening of music summoned from the era of the legendary 78, happens five times a month in the Mission and North Beach. I bring this up because I know the DJ who produces that particular listening party, and he introduced me to Shellac Shack long before I stumbled upon Shuckin' and Jivin'.

Okay, back to our story. With an excellent soundtrack in the background, the four of us wiled away a few hours. A gentleman sitting a few barstools away was certain he knew me from somewhere, but I don't believe I've ever seen him before in my life. He was kind of cute and probably very nice, but unfortunately, he had a bit of a creepy thing going on, too. Ah, well. We'd arrived at 8:00 and by 11:30 or so had had enough fun (read: cocktails). Plus, Joey and I both had to work Saturday morning. So the party disbanded, and I hailed a cab home.

And that's where I encountered the Chatty Cab Driver.

In general, I am wary of the Chatty Cab Driver, but I let my guard down for a minute because this guy looked to be about 70 years old and seemed innocuous enough. I believe he was harmless, but he certainly was quick to size me up. Within seconds he took notice of my outfit (a cute Betsy Johnson dress and shoes, along with my saucy H&M trapeze coat), my looks, my demeanor and most likely my diction and asked me what on earth I was doing in the Haight. I told him how much I enjoy the Haight, prompting him to offer that I look more like I belong in the Marina.

If you read this post from a few weeks ago, it will come as no surprise to you that I was slightly horrified.

The Marina? Really? I told my loquacious driver that I much prefer many a neighborhood to the Marina. In response, he informed me that all the rich men are in the Marina... and aren't I looking for a rich man? That's right. When I told him I'd rather have a brilliant man, he concluded out loud that I like them poor but smart. Anyway, we then went on to discuss my ethnic background (I'm Jamaican, Scottish, Native American, Irish, African, French and English, for those of you keeping score at home) and my cabbie's dating habits. He was African American and told me he tends to date Caucasian and Asian women. In fact, he spent time in Asia so he could meet women, in case you were wondering. You weren't? What do you know, neither was I. And may I mention again that he was about 70 years old?

At least he didn't hit on me. Small blessings, I suppose. Believe me when I tell you that I've never been accused of being too nice, but sometimes I simply need not to talk to people at all.

Baseball, Beer and Impulse Shopping

So the Giants lost today. Are you shocked? However, the baseball game was really fun. Paul, Denise and I were settled into our seats by 1 p.m. (a special thanks to Sheela for the tickets), and it was all good times from there. I have been steadfast in my resolve to only drink two days a week, but I might cheat a little this week because I have a lot of social activities to attend. Regardless of whether I cheat or not, I decided to have a beer or two at the ball game this afternoon.

Or three. Anchor Steam, Heineken and Blue Moon. Yummy.

I may have mentioned before that the thing about drinking less is that your tolerance drops significantly. At least mine has. So after three beers today, I was... let's call it very happy. Once the game was done, we stopped in Borders, where I bought two paperbacks (including the novel pictured above) and some Jelly Bellies for me and Paul. Books are a very good thing, so that's all well and fine.

But then I wandered into Betsy Johnson.

Luckily I got out with only a pair of shoes, but they are shoes I don't need and can't exactly afford. Well, I can afford them, but I was doing a very good job of keeping to my self-imposed budget until today. Ah, well. They are cute and very comfortable, so I know I'll wear them. See what happens when I drink during the day?

My impulse shopping done, I'm now in my pajamas and am in for the night. I was going to see John Doe at 12 Galaxies tonight, but Tom needed to flake, and I predict I'll be asleep by about 9 p.m. So John will just have to make do without us this time. I think he'll survive.

The Size of A Cow

Officially, that's the title of a most excellent song by the Wonder Stuff (if you don't know it, get yourself to a record store or iTunes immediately). Unofficially, it is an apt description of me tonight.

Gourmet Group met this evening at The Slanted Door for dinner, and boy did we make the most of this gathering. Imperial rolls, spring rolls, shaking beef, lemongrass tofu, claypot chicken.... those are just some of the dishes we ordered. Frankly, I'm surprised there is any food left in the restaurant. I'll be digesting this dinner for the next three months, and alas, I don't think there's enough exercise in the world to work off all the calories I ate tonight. But let me tell you, it was sooooo worth it.

Delicious.

Tomorrow, providing I'm not still too full to move, I'm going to a Giants game with Denise and Paul. Then Tom and I might see John Doe at 12 Galaxies tomorrow night. On Thursday, I'll be catching up with Bridget and Shannon for happy hour, and on Friday, Terry, Sheela, Ben and I are planning to pay Club Deluxe a visit. All of that will to wait, however, until I feel like I can button my pants again...

Simple Pleasures

Want to have a really top notch afternoon? Well, here's what you do.

First, on the weekday of your choice, take the day off work. Then order up a juicy slice of sunshine. At about noon take a run through all that sunshine; just make sure you successfully dodge all the tourists swarming in Fisherman's Wharf. Then at about 2:30 meet Tom, Valerie and Valerie's friends Peter and Mark at Zeitgeist. Once properly settled on the beer patio, enjoy Chimay and delightful conversation while much of the rest of the world remains stuck in office cubicles. Topics that can be discussed: how Valerie knew the leader of your current band more than a decade ago when he was sporting a different first name; your upcoming 4th of July plans; why the "new" movie Hairspray is destined to suck because the original was brilliant; which bars in the City are open at 6 a.m. and who frequents them at that hour; why the other people in the beer garden aren't at work either.

I did this on Friday, and it was an excellent time. Gotta love the power of a random day off. Thank goodness (and my employer) for comp days.

You can, if you choose, continue your life of leisure in the evening by going out with another friend. This time, give Tosca and Specs a try. After a couple of afternoon Chimays, however, I'd recommend sticking with sparkling water for the night. That's what I did, anyway, and I imagine it made for a much more pleasant morning after....

Love Is All You Need

Happy birthday, Summer of Love. You're 40 this year. You're a little more grey but also a little wiser and a little more settled. You've learned a lot of lessons and are ready to impart your wisdom to a new generation of eager youth.

In theory, anyway.

Given that I wasn't born until late 1969 (and for the record, even that makes me feel old), I obviously missed the Summer of Love and have never attended any sort of Human Be-In. However, I hope that in the terrorism-filled, cynical, ever-growing death toll in Iraq, cyber-connected world of today, we can remember some of the more well-intentioned ideals inspired by the music and philosophies of a peace-loving counter culture four decades ago. For my part, I think I am going to celebrate the anniversary tonight, during the summer solstice. Favorite Bar is having a Summer of Love party, and I think Sheela and I are going to go.

All you need is love, my babies.

Confessions of a Former Partier

On Saturday night I did the unthinkable: I went to a fun bachelorette party.

The last bachelorette party I attended was in 2004, and with all due respect to the bride-to-be at the center of that affair, it was an annoying, embarrassing mess. I recall stopping by one of my favorite bars that night and apologizing to the bartender for being part of the obnoxious gaggle of girls who had invaded the place. Yuck.

So I wasn't expecting much on Saturday evening. However, thanks, I believe, to the charm and verve of Mindi, the bride-to-be in question this time around, I had a lovely time. The evening started with snacks at Picaro. Well, it started for me with snacks at Picaro. The other women began the party while I was still at work with a visit to a "rustic spa" in the Mission. I've never been there, myself, but their descriptions of the place afterward were hysterical. After filling up on tapas, we went to Casanova, one of my usual Mission haunts.

There was no reason to be embarrassed this time. For one thing, Mindi was not wearing a veil (thank goodness), and there was a decided minimum of screeching from the rest of us. We were just like any other group out on a Saturday night. Well, except that we were, in my opinion, significantly more saucy. My friend Wendy caught up with the party at about 10:30, even though she doesn't know Mindi. But Mindi made her feel very welcome.

Here's the sad part, however. At about 11:15, after a total of perhaps two cocktails, I was ready to go home. I say "perhaps two cocktails" because I had one glass of sangria at Picaro and then ordered two cocktails at Casanova. But I finished neither of my two Casanova drinks. In fact, I probably only drank a quarter of my second one. I wasn't drunk; I wasn't sick; I was just done. I was supposed to hit my friends Bridget and Shannon's party that night as well, but that was not meant to be.

I'd blame my lack of stamina on the fact that I work weekends, but that would just be a feeble excuse. For my first four years in San Francisco I worked at 10 a.m. on Saturdays and Sundays, but that did not stop me from going out and staying out until the wee hours of the morning on weekends. These days, I'm just old and must confess that I like going to bed at a reasonable hour so I can get up and go running before work. Even on the weekend.

How did this happen? I don't have kids. I don't live in the suburbs. I rarely have to be at work before 11 a.m. any day. So what's up with all this wanting to go home early? I truly think it's just that I'm old. What a sad realization for a former party girl.

A Taste of The Ocean State

With all due respect to any present or former New Englanders who may be reading, I must admit there are scant few things I miss about my years living in Rhode Island. Of course I miss Brown. If I could live my life as a perpetual undergraduate, believe me, I would. That, however, is another story. I also miss my friends who still live there: Josh, Sarah, Dolby and Pea, as well as Ted in Boston and Wendell in Portland, Maine.

That's pretty much it. My amazing college experience aside, the years I lived in New England were not my best, and I never fully meshed with East Coast culture. I'm much happier here on the Left Coast, thank you very much, and I rarely crave anything from New England.

Except, that is, for Del's Frozen Lemonade.

Produced in Cranston, I believe Del's is only sold in Rhode Island. However, every June, a Cranston native now living in the Bay Area pulls out his Del's cart and sells the soft frozen goodness at San Francisco's annual North Beach Festival. This afternoon, I took advantage of my break at work to walk up Grant Avenue and procure frozen lemonade for myself, Joe and Tihanna. And boy, was it delicious. The North Beach Festival may be famous for other reasons, but for me, the biggest draw is the frozen lemonade.

Yum-my.

After work tonight, I'm going to... wait for it... a bachelorette party. I actually loathe bachelorette parties, but I do very much like Mindi, the bride to be in this instance. So I'm willing to participate in this antiquated, embarrassing and ridiculous ritual to celebrate her. I'm also supposed to go to a party at Bridget and Shannon's, but we'll see if I make it. I'm a little older and now somewhat less able to cram too much fun into one evening.

Sassy Jetsetter

I write to you this afternoon from sunny Southern California, after traveling 341 miles to see Jersey Boys. Now, you may wonder why I don't just see Jersey Boys in San Francisco, since it seems the show will be running at the Curran Theatre until all us mere mortals die. After the apocalypse, expect the cockroaches and the San Francisco production of Jersey Boys to take over the newly vacated planet Earth.

Well, not only is it just far more saucy to jet down to L.A. to see a musical, but I actually had tickets to see Jersey Boys in San Francisco last winter. My sister Fabulous Patti and I were going to go on December 19th. Until, that is, Fake Band was invited to play our company Christmas party... on December 19th (relive that story here). So I sold my theatre tickets; Fabulous Patti and my friend Jack came to the company Christmas party to see me sing; and the rest, as they say, is history. As is my participation in Fake Band, but that's another story. Anyway, Fabulous Patti and I got a little lazy about rescheduling the Boys, and the next thing we knew, she landed a job in Los Angeles. At that time, we thought the San Francisco production of Jersey Boys might close eventually, so we bought tickets for the L.A. show.

And that brings us to the present. Earlier this afternoon I caught a mid-air taxi cab more commonly known as Southwest Airlines, and now here I am in the City of Angels for one day. My first stop was the Los Feliz Pinkberry on Vermont Avenue. Yummy. And in a little while I'm going to meet Fabulous Patti for dinner and the show.

Tomorrow it's back home to the Bay. It's lovely to live like a jetsetter every once in a while.

I Don't Mean To Brag, But....

... Once again, I can call myself a professional, paid actor.

As mentioned previously on this space, I did a little film project last month for some Academy of Art student directors. Well, yesterday I received my compensation: $150. No, it's not much, but given how many non-paid actors walk among us, I consider 150 bucks to be pretty good.

Don't worry, I won't quit my day job. It's just nice to be paid for the occasional acting work I do. No matter how small the amount, I always appreciate a financial acknowledgement that acting is, in fact, work. Too many actors work for free because directors take advantage of their hunger for opportunity.

In other creative news from the land of Sassy, I have been very tenacious in practicing my Daydrinker songs over the last few days. I have the first two down, but the third one Higgins taught me on Tuesday has proven a little tougher. To that end, I have been practicing my part for at least a few minutes everyday. And practice I will continue; this band has one committed back-up singer, let me tell you.

Finally, I leave you tonight with perhaps a less than positive anecdote. When I first moved to San Francisco, the one thing I hated about the City was the rampant neighborhood snobbery and superficial judgement. A lot of people I met were creative, Mission-types (whether they actually lived in the Mission or not), and I heard incessant disparaging of the Marina and Pacific Heights. More accurately, I heard incessant disparaging of the people who populate those neighborhoods. And there was much yuppie-bashing, even though most of my friends were, by all accounts, yuppies, themselves. Maybe some (and only some) of them worked in the non-profit sector or bounced from temp job to temp job to support their acting habit, but whatever his or her profession, a young, urban professional from a privileged background is still a yuppie. I was stunned. Here were adults behaving in a clique-ish manner more appropriate to junior high school. Whereas my attitude has always been that there are both jerks and nice people in every group... or neighborhood.

Well, after ten years, it appears that I have adopted at least a similarly judgmental attitude.

On Thursday night I went to a bar South of Market with Sheela and Biraj, and the experience was flat out depressing. Everyone in the place seemed like a vacuous yuppie with nothing more to offer than a passion for making and spending money. They all even looked the same, despite differing heights, weights and ethnicities. And honestly, they all looked like they'd call the Marina or Pacific Heights home. There was not one person in that bar I wanted to be around, let alone talk to. Now, I wasn't there to meet anyone; I was there to hang out with Sheela and Biraj, but still. Just being surrounded by those people was too much.

Given that I talked to all of maybe three members of the yuppie crowd, I know I am being very superficial. And I imagine the same type of judgment befalls me when I stroll into any one of the Mission bars I frequent wearing Ann Taylor sundresses, Franco Sarto boots and sometimes pearls. I generally leave the pearls at home when I go to the Mission, but not always. I'm hardly rich, but I do make a decent living and enjoy some luxuries. However, I know I'm a creative, intelligent, interesting woman who detests gross materialism (relatively speaking, that is; I'd say most of us who live in the United States, including me, indulge in some type of gross materialism). Not everyone who sees me perched on a bar stool in Casanova or The Make Out Room likely looking like I don't fit in knows that, however.

So you'd think I'd know not to judge a book by it's cover and be a little more open-minded when surrounded by alleged uber-yuppies. Well, apparently not. And frankly, I'm okay with that...

Recognizing That Life Is Good

Yesterday was as a close to a perfect day as I believe I can expect in my world right now.

Well, I ate way too much, but that's why the day was close to perfect, as opposed to simply perfect.

It all began with a visit to the spa. After an hour of cardio in the spa gym followed by a delicious steam, I took a dip in the pool and hot tub, then lounged poolside. That's actually where the overeating began. I ordered lunch, which I often do at the spa. However, instead of choosing my usual smoothie and salad, I selected a cheeseburger and fries. I didn't eat everything because the portions were huge, but still. Perhaps I should continue eating light while visiting the spa. I'm just saying. My belly full (very full), I then indulged in an 80-minute facial, along with an eyebrow wax.

Now, I would consider any day that includes a spa sojourn to be a good day, but yesterday just kept getting better. I later met Higgins to sing with him and learn more Daydrinker songs. And guess what? I had considered my rehearsals with Higgins to be auditions, of sorts, but he says I am a member of the band. Consider me an official Daydrinker! And Higgins is a real musician with tons of experience. So there's nothing fake about this band.

I've always, and I mean always, wanted to be in a band. So I'm going to make sure I practice a ton and keep up my voice lessons, lest I let the boys in Daydrinker down.

After band practice (did I mention that, apparently, I'm in the band?), Higgins, Jayn and I met my friend Emily at Kezar in Cole Valley for drinks. Emily and I have been trying to get together for weeks, and it was very nice to see her. Over lots of wine, the four of us discussed all things pop culture, as well as other important topics. Emily and I then parted ways with Jayn and Higgins and indulged in Thai food on Haight Street (thus continuing the overeating). It was quite yummy.

All of that and I got home at a reasonable hour. The next time I'm feeling glum, I'll have to remember this day and remind myself how good my life really is.

Yummy

I was in the worst mood when I got up this morning, and even my daily run didn't help. It was shaping up to be a plain old surly day, but as the hours went by, my disposition improved. You see, my co-worker and live music show buddy, Tom, has returned from six weeks in England!

Now, I actually saw Tom at work yesterday and welcomed him home then, but he also made today better. Perhaps it's because he's so easy to work with. Perhaps it's because we're going to resume our live music schedule and see Pat Johnson and Penelope Houston at the Make Out Room on Wednesday.

Or most likely, it's because he brought a whole bunch of Cadbury chocolate back from England and shared it with all of us at work. Eat 325 pieces of fine chocolate over 8 hours, and your mood will improve, too.

By the end of the day, I was very happy.

What's New, Pussycat?

It's possible I might be a horrible person.

That said, I want to state for the record that I had the best of intentions. You see, this is not my cat... despite the fact that she (or he; I didn't actually check) is pictured here lounging on my couch and below sitting on my floor. I was minding my own business this morning when I went downstairs to the laundry room to see if our building washing machine was free. On my way there, I happened upon a defenseless little kitty sitting on the stairs in the hallway.

I thought it a bit odd that a cat was hanging out on the stairs by herself (I'm just going with my assumption that this cat is female), but I believed she must belong to someone in one of the three apartments on the basement floor. However, no doors were open, and it certainly would be irresponsible for someone to let their cat roam the hallway. I noticed my new feline friend had an ID tag with a telephone number. The number began with area code 916, but I figured it to be a cell phone number and decided to call whichever neighbor of mine owned this cell phone and inform them their cat was in the hallway.

I instructed Miss Kitty to stay on the stairs while I fetched my own cell phone. She did, and when I returned we dialed her owner. No answer. Well, no human answer, but the mechanical device that took my phone message was clearly an answering machine, as opposed to cell phone voice mail. So I had probably called a landline in Sacramento. This gave me pause, but then I decided that maybe the cat's owner has parents who live in Sacramento or something.

So I spent the next ten or fifteen minutes looking for whomever in the building had misplaced their cat. Occupants of two of the three basement floor apartments emerged from their dwellings, but they denied knowledge of this cat. One guy said he believed he'd seen the cat in the building before, but he thought the owners had moved away six months ago. He didn't seem overly concerned about that fact; prompting me to handily judge him as cruel and unfeeling for this poor little kitty's welfare. After wandering all four floors of my building and consulting many a neighbor (several of whom I'd never seen before), I gave up my hallway foot search. Keep in mind, I was doing this in my pajamas.

I didn't want to leave her alone because people in my building are notorious for leaving street doors open, but I did have a life to lead. So I took Miss Kitty into my apartment where she would be safe while I got on with my day. If I didn't hear back from her Sacramento owners, I'd just call back in a couple of hours. As much as I love cats, I have nothing in my apartment that would pass for cat food or a litter box, but still, I figured she'd be okay for a little while. And she was.

I tried to give her water and a little milk, but she showed no interest in either. She did explore a bit and was very affectionate. It wasn't long before her penchant for scratching her back triggered a concern in me about fleas, however, so I had to forbid her from playing on my couch or my bed. After about two hours, she started to seem a little anxious, making me think she was hungry or, worse, needed the kitty loo. If you've ever lived with a cat, you know the horror that is cat urine and understand that I needed to prevent any deposit of it in my apartment. I tried the number on her tag again. Still no answer.

My upstairs neighbor, whom I met for the first time today, had offered to take over cat sitting duties when she got back from the gym, and she said she would only be gone for a couple of hours. It had been more than two hours at this point, so I decided to take Miss Kitty into the hall with me while I retrieved my laundry, should she have a bladder accident. Then I would change into my running clothes, leave Miss Kitty with my upstairs neighbor and go on my daily jog. I had to leave Miss Kitty in the hallway because you go outside to get to the laundry room, and when I came back with my clothes five minutes later... She was gone.

That's right. I misplaced the wayward cat.

Again I found myself scouring the halls in my building, but I could not find her. I can only hope her owner collected her from the hall while I was in the laundry room. At least I'm sticking with that belief. For the record, the people who live at that Sacramento number I dialed have yet to return my call. Apparently, they're really concerned.

Would a better person have left the cat to possibly saturate their apartment with kitty waste? Maybe. Or maybe I could have gone out and gotten a litter box, or at minimum some cat food, to make Miss Kitty more comfortable while she lived with me. I did neither. It's probably the lack of food that caused her to ditch me once my back was turned. Well, I hope she's okay.

On a side note, I had a little conversation with my upstairs neighbor about noise in our building. We all have hardwood floors, and she was concerned I could hear her walking around over my head. I told her I haven't heard anything, really. In the five years I have lived in my building, I have heard voices, music or other noise emanating from various apartments while I'm in the hallway, but the units are very well insulated. I never hear what my neighbors are doing inside their apartments while I'm inside mine. My upstairs neighbor agreed, for the most part, but she told me she hears me singing.

I've often wondered if people can hear me practice my vocal styling, especially when I do exercises. Well, now I know the answer to that question is yes. Singing is one thing, though. While my upstairs neighbor may grow bored with my singing exercises and repeated renditions of whatever song I happen to be working on any given week, I'm far more concerned with what else she may be able to hear. My voice probably carries a little better when I sing, but still, I'll have to keep this in mind.

Especially the next time I have... um... company.

Sly Stone Would Be Proud

Because it was a sassy family affair at lunchtime today.

My uncle Kevin is in town from Rochester; so I met him and my Aunt Mary and Uncle David (they live here) for an early lunch at the Ferry Building this morning. As we were waiting for The Slanted Door to open, we decided to pose in front of the Bay. That's me with Mary and Kevin. Then, at about 11:04, the host unlocked the door, and we poured, alongside about eight other people who had been waiting with their faces pressed against the glass, into The Slanted Door for snacks.

Can you say yum? We had Shaking Beef, Lemongrass Tofu and Five-Spice Grilled Chicken. Mary, David and Kevin also shared a bottle of Cab Franc, but I had to work, so I had lemonade. If you've been to The Slanted Door, you know how delicious it was. I still miss The Slanted Door's old location in The Mission, but I'm okay with enjoying a bay view while I savor my beef and tofu.

I spend a lot more time with my friends, and in a lot of ways I'm a very independent person, but there is something wonderful about family. Nothing compares to the often dysfunctional bonds created by insane people thrown together at the whim of the universe. Family also serves as a little glimpse of the past and a nice reminder of the factors that made me... well, me.

That can either be comforting or scary, and I choose to see it as comforting.

Happy(?) Memorial Day

We Americans will use any excuse to party.

One would think a holiday intended to honor the country's war dead would be solemn in tone. Perhaps emotional. Even understated. Well, it is all of those things, but over the years, Memorial Day weekend has also become the unofficial start of summer. Which means parties.

Being the patriotic girl that I am, every year at this time I go to Tom, Nick and Chris' annual Memorial Day weekend barbecue. In fact, I believe myself to be the only guest that has attended all ten of these yearly affairs. Tom is the only one of the hosts to have attended all ten, as well. So of course, he and I had to snap this photo at last night's festivities.

Back in 1998, Tom and his then-roommates Valerie and Wendy had a small barbecue on Memorial Day for their theatre crowd friends, of which I was one. Through the years, the roommates residing with Tom in his Potrero Hill flat have changed, but the party has remained a constant. The only change was the move of party date from Memorial Day to the day before Memorial Day. Oh, there was one other change. In 2002 they actually had the party in June because of holiday weekend conflicts among the hosts, but that didn't go over very well. It worked out for me because I had been at my ten-year reunion at Brown during Memorial Day weekend that year, but overall, 2002 did not yield the most successful Memorial Day party.

Flash forward to 2007, and the party has grown exponentially. I would guess about 15 people attended the first gathering in 1998, but this year, Tom, Nick and Chris invited about 400 people. Obviously not everyone could attend, but Tom, Nick and Chris managed to corral a rather healthy crowd into their backyard. The guests come from all walks of life these days, too, as opposed to just the theatre community.

The party is about 12 hours long, and this year I took in the evening portion of the affair because I had to work during the day yesterday. Once safely nestled into the celebration, I indulged in delicious snacks and got to hang out with not only my hosts but also with Valerie, Kevin, Adam, Eric, Andrey, Irina and tons of others. Plus, as is the case every year, I met some fun, creative new people, too. The backyard featured all the snacks and drinks we could want, as well as a DJ (a first for the Memorial Day party); while guests were treated to extra warmth, portable karaoke and Nintendo Wii inside.

I made it through about five hours of the 12-hour extravaganza, but it was a good five hours. I look forward to the party for Memorial Day weekend 2008.

It Was 15 Years Ago Today...

No one taught the band to play, but I did walk out the Van Wickle Gates and officially graduate from Brown University.

Something about me you should (and likely already do) know: college had a sizable effect on my life. I loved Brown and never regretted my decision to go there instead of hoity toity Harvard. Not that Brown isn't also very prestigious, but even at eighteen years old, I knew I wanted my college years to be about the experience, as opposed to the name on my diploma. Don't get me wrong, Harvard is obviously an incredible school. However, my point is that I wanted to go to Brown, and no acceptance letter from any other university or bigger bragging rights based on the fame of any potential alma mater would stop me.

My primary extra curricular activity at Brown inspired me to go into my chosen profession. My confidence in my intelligence was solidified in college. Some work I did for one of my literature professors can be found today on the Internet. I believe at least part of my conviction that class and money are totally unrelated to be a result of my educational experience (both high school and college). I took a semester abroad and got to study in Glasgow, Scotland, in 1991. Yes, I could have done that while a student at any university, but I give Brown credit. Plus, I met some incredibly brilliant people. Okay, that also could and would have happened at any university, but you get the picture.

Now, at this point you might be wondering if there is a reunion to commemorate this 15th anniversary of my graduation. Well, in fact there is. It's going on right now, and I am not there. I decided in March that I would save the vacation days I would need to make a trip to Rhode Island and use them instead for another Hawaiian vacation in September.

So I am here in San Francisco this weekend instead of at Brown. I was even on the reunion committee, too.

I am a terrible alumna? Well, I still love Brown.

Music That's Making Me Happy Today, vol 31

The Three O'Clock and The Bees

Sometimes I am reminded of excellent music taste from my past. Perhaps because I was in my hometown two weeks ago, I have found myself thinking a lot lately about The Three O'Clock. I have been a fan of these prominent members of L.A.'s Paisley Underground for decades. Driven by this recollection, I hopped onto You Tube last weekend and found The Three O'Clock's 1983 performance on MV3, a Los Angeles music show which aired on terrestrial television (a very good thing for us Los Angelenos who were not yet wired for cable and, as a consequence, couldn't have our MTV).

Ah, The Three O'Clock. "Sorry," "The Girl with the Guitar" (which is quoted on my high school senior yearbook page, thank you very much), "Jet Fighter," "With a Cantaloupe Girlfriend." All excellent ditties.

Despite my love of The Three O'Clock, however, I don't actually own any of their albums. Or more accurately, I should say I didn't own any until now. I assumed all their records to be out of print at this point, but how wrong I was. So now, grossly incorrect assumption behind me, I am in possession of four Three O'Clock albums on two compact discs. It's like loving the '60's in the '80's all over again.

While sometimes I am reminded of excellent music taste from my past, other times I am simply a Jane Come Lately. And that is the case when it comes to The Bees (known here in the states as A Band of Bees).

The Bees quietly slipped into my orbit Tuesday afternoon by way of a simple email from All Music. How I had not previously been aware of this indie/psychedelia outfit, I cannot explain. I'm starting small with The Bees; I have purchased three songs from iTunes, my favorite of which may be "Chicken Payback." Of course the other two numbers, "These Are Ghosts" and "One Glass of Water," are pretty darn good, too. So maybe it's unfair to pick just one favorite.

I look forward to many a rendezvous with The Bees.

So that's what I've been listening to this week. Here's what I've been doing. After work on Tuesday I scooted to Brainwash to see Daydrinker. I actually was supposed to get together with them tonight to kind of audition to sing with them. However, Higgins had to cancel, so we're rescheduling for next week. I hope I'm good enough to become a musical Daydrinker. After all, I'm already well versed in the non-musical practice of afternoon imbibing.

I worked an extra day on Wednesday, after which I met the girls in Gourmet Group for a delicious dinner. I made my famous chicken salad, which means Gourmet Group has now been treated to two of the four dishes I know how to make. If I continue to be an active Gourmet Group member, I'm going to need to learn some new recipes. This afternoon I went to the East Bay for my weekly singing lesson with Best Friend, and tonight I'm meeting my friend Kate at the Latin American Club. I haven't seen Kate in more than a year, so we have a lot of catching up to do.

Then it's back to work tomorrow (weekends are awfully short when they're only one day long), but on Sunday I'm going to Tom and Chris' annual Memorial Day party. This is the tenth such gathering, and I have attended every one. Tom, Chris and their third roommate, Nick, have invited about 400 people. So it's bound to be a good time.

Now bad for a backyard get together, I'd say.

Theatre That's Making Me Happy Today, vol 14

Charles Dickens' Oliver Twist at Berkeley Rep

Back in the '60's, a young Davy Jones played the Artful Dodger in the musical Oliver!. Jones would later find international fame as a member of The Monkees, and Oliver! would become a popular film that left audiences humming tunes like "Consider Yourself" and "Food, Glorious Food" for decades to come.

Well, the current production of Charles Dickens' Oliver Twist at Berkeley Rep is nothing like that.

For one thing, it's not a musical, even though some pitch perfect a capella vocals do punctuate the action at varying points in the show. It's also much darker than Oliver! could ever dream of being. I have to admit, I have never read Oliver Twist, even though I count myself among Dickens fans. However, according to the young actor who plays Oliver (as well as many others, I imagine), the Oliver Twist running in Berkeley is much more similar in tone to the novel.

But above all else, it is really, really good.

If you think an adaptation of a nearly 200-year old book can't be provoking or relevant in 2007, think again. Plus, in what I have come to recognize as grand Berkeley Rep tradition, the show features some incredible acting. Sometimes bringing a classic to life in the 21st century is just the kind of theatre we need to make us happy.

And In Time, We All Were Stars

My friend Biraj is in town from New York this week, so tonight (well, technically last night, as it is early Thursday morning) we got together at Julie's Supper Club with our friend Sheela and a bunch of Biraj's other buddies. Biraj is another friend from my days as an actor. He and I met at a playreading mere weeks after I moved to San Francisco, and then we did a couple of plays together in 1999 and 2000. And it was Biraj who introduced me to Sheela after he met her at a commercial audition in 1999. We commemorated our night together with this photo.

Anyway, I've written about this before, but it bears repeating. On Wednesday nights, Julie's Supper Club transforms from a sophisticated, hipster watering hole to a paradise of the greatest of all art forms: karaoke.

You may wonder if we sang. Oh, hell yes, we sang. Here I am letting my inner chanteuse break free. If you look closely and know the words of the song, you will be able to ascertain that I am, in fact, singing Dolly Parton. I also, with varying degrees of success, warbled my way through tunes by the Pretenders, Belinda Carlisle and Olivia Newton John. Now, before all you music snobs recoil in horror at the mere mention of Olivia and Belinda, please be reminded that one is supposed to select cheesy songs for karaoke. If you're going to waste time worrying about being cool, why are you there?

That said, Biraj actually kicked my ass in performing category. Not that he can sing at all. In fact, he's tone deaf. However, what he lacks in talent, he makes up for in charisma, which is, of course, the entire point of karaoke. He and his friend Woody sang tandem on a couple of songs, including "Peaches" by the Presidents of the United States of America, which I believe is what they're belting out in this photo.

Sheela also bellied up to the microphone, selecting songs by Meredith Brooks, Avril Lavigne (whom her daughter loves) and REO Speedwagon. Talk about an entertaining evening. We had cocktails, but with all that expert singing, we didn't even need liquor.

Ah, yes. I have my singing lesson this afternoon, which is probably a very good thing.

Cue Peaches & Herb Song Here

On Saturday evening I found myself in beautiful Pasadena, where I engaged in the final act of my mini-vacation by attending the all-alumni reunion for my high school's 100th birthday. "All alumni?" you ask. Yes. The honorable Polytechnic School is private, so inviting all living alumni to an event is not a terribly daunting task. And of course, not everyone showed up.

But a couple of friends of mine and I did. Since all three of us are single, my friends Kristie, Gabriella and I (pictured above) went to the event as each other's "dates."

There were plenty of other alums there, as well, including several from our class of 1988. (Yes, we're that old.) Based on these photos, it may look like the only students at Poly were girls. Worry not, plenty of boys went there, and many even attended the reunion. These are just the best pictures.

I get very nostalgic every time I go back to my high school, which, technically, is also my junior high and grammar school. I went to dear Poly for 11 years... from 2nd grade through high school graduation. It wasn't perfect, if for no other reason than we all have to experience our secondary educations while we are adolescents. However, much like my beloved Brown University, Poly played a really large part in creating the person I am today. At risk of sounding egotistical, I'm going to tell you that the person I am today is pretty neato. I believe myself to be fairly well-grounded. Plus, I have really good values and never-ending confidence in my intelligence. I do bring along my own special brand of dysfunction, but overall, I qualify as neato.

For all of that, I am truly grateful. Of course, my family has something to do with the person I have become, but still... Thank you, Poly. And happy 100th birthday! You still look young and vivacious to me.

Now, aside from the reunion, plenty of other fun times shaped the second half of my Los Angeles sojourn. As I mentioned in an edit to my last post, I ventured into Hollywood twice on Friday. That afternoon, I met my friend Assaf for lunch, where we posed for this lovely photograph. Assaf and I met ten years ago, when we were both actors in San Francisco. Five years and a Rutgers graduate degree in theatre later, Assaf moved to Southern California to become a big time tv and movie star, and by and large, he's done it. You regularly can find him on your television screen or at your local cineplex.

That night, Mr. Gowdy, another San Francisco transplant (okay, he's originally from New England, but I don't hold that against him), and I went out for cocktails. First, he directed Fabulous Patti and me to Tiki Ti, a teeny, tiny tiki bar on Sunset. I should have snapped a photo in that place, because it was hysterical. The size of a closet with drinks that pack a wallop, Tiki Ti may become a regular stop for me when I pay the City of Angels a visit. Once Mr. Gowdy arrived, Tiki Ti was packed. So Fabulous Patti bid us farewell, and Mr G. and I took off for the Cat and Fiddle, one of the only bars in Hollywood I've actually been to before. Once settled on the Cat and Fiddle's patio, we sipped beer (Chimay for me, Guinness for him) and talked about everything. And I mean everything.

To give you an idea of the caliber of fun that was had on Friday, here are a couple of quotes:
"I didn't see anything fly out of your butt."--Fabulous Patti.
"Are you sure your hair isn't going to catch on fire?"--Mr. Gowdy.
In context those lines aren't quite as random, but they still paint a picture, don't they?

My mini-vacation was so much fun, I didn't want to come home. However, I did and am settling back into my San Francisco routine. Including work. My job is great, but wouldn't it be wonderful if life consisted simply of getting together with old friends, cocktailing and generally just playing? I wonder how I get that life.

Hooray For Hollywood

Okay, so I haven't been to Hollywood on this trip, but "Hooray for Los Feliz" doesn't sound quite as glamorous. Nor does "Hooray for Anaheim," to say the least. Anyway, here's a little recap of how I have spent the first 32 hours or so of my mini-vacation.

1. Patronized the Los Feliz Pinkberry twice already. What is Pinkberry, you may ask? Well, it's a new low calorie, nonfat frozen dessert that is apparently, according to its website, only available in New York and Los Angeles. They call it frozen yogurt, but it tastes more like, quoting Fabulous Patti here, "a creamier version of sherbet." I've had it with strawberries, kiwi and bananas on top, as well as Cocoa Pebbles. Yummy.

2. Gone running through Los Feliz while being careful not to run too far up Hollywood Boulevard. Because who knows where that will lead me.

3. On Phil's recommendation, had dinner last night at the Rustic Canyon, a wine bar in Santa Monica. The wine was delicious, and as for the dining experience... I have four words for you: rocky road bread pudding. Do you really need to know anything else?

4. Had dinner tonight at the Dresden Room Restaurant while Marty and Elaine serenaded the crowd on the other side of the wall in the lounge. It was so very old-school Hollywood, I expected William Holden and Lana Turner to walk in at any moment. For the record, if you don't know who Marty and Elaine are, stop reading this blog and see Swingers immediately.

5. Taken the Los Angeles Metro. That may not seem like a big deal to you, but to a girl who grew up in the Driving Capital of the Universe, accessible public transit in this town is momentous. And the Metro here is very clean and polite. Probably because it's relatively new.

6. Worshipped at the home of the Mouse: Disneyland. My friend Gabriella and I spent this afternoon in the Magic Kingdom, and it was wonderful. For one thing, there were no lines, whatsoever. We never had to wait more than maybe ten minutes for a ride, and on some rides, like the Indiana Jones one, we basically walked right on. Add some cotton candy, which we did, and you have a perfect theme park day. By the way, if you're thinking, "Hey, they've made a couple of very successful movies based on Pirates of the Caribbean. I wonder if they've altered the ride to reflect that," the answer would be yes. A Johnny Depp replica pirate is now featured in the famous attraction, immortalizing the actor for generations to come. Who'd have thought that when 21 Jump Street premiered 20 years ago?

So far, it's been such a lovely mini-vacation, I'm already planning my next Los Angeles sojourn. However, this one isn't over yet. I'm going to hang out with my tv/movie star friend Assaf tomorrow, and then there's the all-alumni reunion at my high school on Saturday. I'll definitely keep you posted as to how that goes...

********EDITED ON SATURDAY, MAY 12th TO ADD********
So as it turns out, I did go to Hollywood on Friday. Twice, in fact. Thus making the title of this post accurate. Although Hollywood is a pretty scummy place; at least parts of it are. And it's way too touristy. But what are you gonna do? I'm the girl who jogs through Fisherman's Wharf five days a week.

Out of The Frying Pan And Into the Fire

So today was a mildly stressful day at work. To begin with, I was doing my least favorite part of my job. The fact that it was incredibly busy was just an added bonus. It was just a treat, let me tell you. I like my job very much, but days like today really test that affection.

So it's a really good thing I'm going on my mini-vacation, right?

Well, except that Los Angeles seems to be on fire. Specifically, the part of Los Angeles where I will be staying. My sister, Fabulous Patti, lives in Los Feliz, just a cozy distance from Griffith Park, where a lovely brush fire continues to burn. When I talked to Fabulous Patti tonight, she actually was packing some things, should she be forced to evacuate. As this evening wore on, however, FP became more and more convinced that she would not have to evacuate. Let's hope that holds.

I certainly would hate for my sister's apartment to be reduced to just a single ash.

Assuming the city is not all burned up when I get there, I have a fun few days planned. I intend to go to the Dresden Room and a wine bar in Santa Monica that my friend Phil recommended. I'm going to try to see my friend Assaf, whom I missed the last time I was in L.A. And of course, I have the event at my high school on Saturday night. It should be nothing short of delightful to get all dressed up and have a little visit with my past.

Perhaps the best part of my vacation, however, will be the little trip my friend Gabriella and I are taking to Disneyland on Thursday! I've known Gabriella for 30 (!) years, but she and I haven't been to Disneyland together since 5th grade. It is definitely time to call on the Magic Kingdom again.

Can you tell I'm looking forward to getting away?

Take Me Out To The Ballgame

Today I attended my first Giants game of the season. Actually, I believe this is the first game I've attended since 2005, which is pretty lame, considering I can walk to the ball park from my apartment.

Regardless, my San Francisco Giants faced the Philadelphia Phillies this afternoon, and I was there courtesy of the big boss at work. He had an extra ticket, so I joined him, his lady friend and his son in the sunshine-drenched seats on the third base line. Because this is my life, I, of course, ran into someone else I know there. On my way to the ball park, I happened to randomly call my friend Tom, only to learn he would be watching the game three sections over from us. I paid Tom a visit during the bottom of the 7th inning, and we had our would-have-been phone conversation in person.

It was also a perfect afternoon to be outside. Because of the weather here, baseball games in San Francisco usually mean blankets and warm jackets, but it was sunny and about 75 degrees today. Plus, the Giants won! I think it was very kind of them to play so well while we were watching.

I admit I was late to the game because I got off to a bit of a slow start this morning. For one thing, I still have the tail end of my cold from earlier this week, and let me tell you, this thing is not going quietly. It's decided that for a grand finale, it will settle in my chest for a while. Always a party. That made my morning run a bit more of a challenge than usual. So much so, in fact, that half of it became my morning walk. Plus, I was a little tired after a night out with Paul and Denise. We went to the Latin American Club last night, and while I only had three cocktails, that may have been one too many. But we had fun, and neither Paul nor Denise seemed to mind my tipsy rambling at the end of the night.

But after cocktails last night and baseball this afternoon, I find myself at work this evening. Well, all play and no work would make me a dull girl, right? Or something like that, I suppose.

Ready For My Close Up

How come, during all those years I did theatre, none of my fellow actors told me how much fun there is to be had doing films?

I wrapped up my little acting project today, and it was quite the good time. As I mentioned before, I did a couple of scenes from the movie Full Frontal for some student directors at the Academy of Art University, and here's what I learned about acting for film. You shoot your scene over and over again from a bunch of different angles, so it doesn't matter if you mess up a line here and there. You also have many opportunities to get the right read on your lines, respond to your scene partner and nail a moment. And since you do it so many times, you end up with a lot of different, but equally good moments and reads, and the director can choose the best ones.

All of that said, I am aware that shooting two very short scenes is probably nothing like acting in a full-length film. I have heard that true film work is very technical and often quite tedious. Nonetheless, today was still really fun. Plus, I got paid for this project, and it demanded very little of my time. I just rehearsed each scene a couple of times, did the shoot and collected my check (well, not really; they're mailing it to me) before moving on with my life.

Not bad, if I do say so myself. This experience may inspire me to become a hobbyist actor on a regular basis again. I do have about 300 headshots left from my first acting go 'round, and it might be nice to put them to use. Especially since my family and friends seem to have no interest in receiving autographed photos of me for Christmas and their birthdays.

In other news, I am handily getting over my cold, but I have been felled by some other weird ailment. I have some kind of soreness in my stomach/diaphragm area that has prevented me from going running today. It hurts significantly more when I move fast, so I got about ten steps into my run before I had to give up. I am not happy about that, but I will not be beaten by some little pain. Tomorrow I'm going to get up early so I can go to the gym and use the exercise bike, which is much easier on the abs. Don't worry, if the pain doesn't go away, I'll investigate the cause so I may seek the appropriate treatment, if necessary.

But for now, I'll just exercise around it. Ha!

Want a Little Cheese With That Whine?

I admit there are times when I am a serious baby. And one of those times is when I am sick.

In other words, now.

I live in serious denial anytime I become ill, but there is no denying it today. Nor was there any denying it yesterday. Or late Sunday night. I just have to make it through a few more hours at work this evening, and then it will be my weekend. So I'll be able to rest and recuperate for two whole days, right? No such luck. On Thursday morning I'll be filming my scenes for the acting project I'm involved in, and I have no fewer than three rehearsals tomorrow. I also had a short one this morning before work. So no rest for the weary.

I know, poor me.

I will say that if I must be felled by illness, I'm glad it happened now. You see, next week, I'm taking a mini vacation. I'm going to L.A. for an event at my high school/junior high/elementary school, which is celebrating its 100th anniversary. I went to the same little private school from second grade through high school graduation, and I have seriously fond memories. Now, I've realized recently that I may have been kind of loser in high school, but that doesn't keep me from staying connected. Don't get me wrong, I had plenty of friends, and my love of music made me one of the "cool" kids, at least in the eyes of some. I also did very well academically, and I was brave enough to sing in all the talent shows. But sometimes I look back at how I dressed and carried myself, not to mention the fact that I was overweight, and... well, let's just say I wonder how interesting I really was.

(FYI, by no means do I intend to imply that all overweight kids are losers. I am merely talking about myself... or the me that I was back then.)

That was 20 years ago, however, and I am certainly not a loser now. So back to school I go. I'm also planning a bunch of other fun activities for my trip down south, but I'll tell you more about those when they happen. Until then, I'll just continue with the sniffling and wheezing....