Endorphin Rush

Is it possible to exercise everyday and still not be in very good shape?

Well, if it is, that is exactly what I have been doing for the last several years. You see, when I moved across town in October, I had to quit my beloved fancy gym. Okay, I didn't have to quit, but I now live further away from the Fancy Gym, while a nearly-as-fancy facility is mere steps away from my front door. So I traded uber-luxury for convenience, and now I only have to walk two blocks when I want to exercise indoors. When I joined the Just About As Fancy Gym, the membership director managed to sell me three personal training sessions at a special rate. It didn't take much coercion; I was so desolate over leaving the Fancy Gym that I just handed her my credit card. She probably could have sold me a car, and I just would have charged it without thinking.

Anyway. I've had a trainer before. Back in 2003, also known as The Year I Was In the Best Shape of My Life, I had a deal through my job that allowed me free personal training at 24 Hour Fitness. Not at all fancy, but did I mention that the personal training was free? I had training sessions 2 to 3 times a week for nine months. I imagine now you understand why I was in the best shape of my life that year.

But that was then and this is now.

I have been very aware over the last couple of years, especially, that I have gained a little weight (not much; I'm still rather slender) and that my workouts and runs are not what they used to be. However, I had no idea just how out of shape I had become. Once I used those personal training sessions at Just About As Fancy Gym, boy, was I surprised. During our workouts, I found myself telling my trainer about how I used to be so strong and so fit while feeling like I am the fattest person in the joint now. Luckily, my trainer has dealt with my type before. She's very supportive and patient, and when I indignantly wondered aloud how someone could exercise everyday, like I do, and still feel out of shape, she suggested I kick my current exercise routine up a notch. Nothing major, just a few adjustments to what I already do and enjoy.

This woman knows what she's talking about.

One thing she has suggested is for me to do intervals when I run outside. That is to say, jog two or three blocks, then sprint one block, jog two or three more blocks, sprint one block, etc. The first time I did it, I thought I might die, but now, I don't know why I spent all those years jogging at one boring pace. I have fallen into the habit of walking the second half of my morning jog, but now during the second half, I walk two or three blocks and then jog one, walk two or three blocks and jog one. You get the picture. That gives me a nice cool down but keeps my heart rate a little higher. I've been doing these interval jogs for about a two weeks now, and I love them. I have more energy afterward, and the endorphin rush is much more intense. Given that I am an endorphin addict, I've become a big fan.

On top of all that, my personal trainer also managed to sell me more sessions once my introductory three were done with a commitment for me to buy even more in the future. Oh, she is brilliant, that trainer of mine. Brilliant.

Sunday, Sunday, Sunday

Remember that catchy but really kind of hideous song written by Prince under the alias "Christopher" and made famous by the Bangles? In one line of that tune, Susannah Hoffs croons that Sunday is her "fun day." I guess as Christopher, Prince was hurting for a rhyme on that one.

Well, bad rhymes from Prince aside, Sunday truly is quite the glorious day. I was supposed to go to a barbecue this afternoon, but the host canceled it yesterday because he feared the weather was going to be bad. A canceled party always is a disappointment, but on what turned out to be a gorgeous sunny day, I have been able to get a lot done. I slept for nine yummy hours before leaving my bed at 10:00 this morning and got all of my housework (or is it apartment work when you're an urban dweller?) out of the way early while Nick Lowe tumbled out of my stereo. Then, after finishing my little newspaper column and watching That Thing You Do! on cable for about the 600th time (I adore that movie), I went for a five-mile run/walk and am still flying on the endorphin rush.

As productive and relaxed as I have been all day, I do need to be at least a little bit social. So in about half an hour, I'm taking off for the Mission to see a friend's band perform. And I suppose my own "Manic Monday" arrives tomorrow. Prince.. er, Christopher... would be proud, I'm sure.

[For the record, the Bangles were an exponentially better band before "Manic Monday" and all their other hit records came out and made them stars. Just so you know.]

No, I'm Not 25 Anymore

So there's good news and bad news to report from my weekend.

The good news is that San Francisco continues to offer countless opportunities for fun. After work on Friday, I met my friend Kurt at a Union Square wine bar in advance of the Paula West show at the Rrazz Room. A cocktail for me and two glasses of wine and a snack for him later, we were on our way to watch Ms. West perform. She was, as always, amazing; singing standard jazz tunes alongside (good) cabaret arrangements of 60's folk/pop songs such as "The Times They Are A-Changin'" and "For No One."

So good.

After Paula, I bid Kurt goodbye and went to the Big Umbrella art studio where another friend, Missy, has become an artist in residence. I took in the art and ran into a guy I recognized from that live Dating Game show I went to back in January. He had been the one and only clever "bachelor" in that game (the others were very scary), and I told him so as we started chatting. Somehow I ended up going to my new favorite bar, Madrone, with said Bachelor and his group of friends. I didn't stay at Madrone long, though. I just passed enough time to have a Chimay and a spin on the dance floor. After that, I was off to put myself to bed.

Now here's the bad news. Even though I was home by 12:30 a.m., the three strong cocktails, two cups of cheap art studio wine and one Chimay I'd imbibed over the course of Friday evening did a complete and total number on me. Back in the day I could have consumed that much alcohol over six hours without issue, but... No, I'm not 25 anymore.

So I spent most of Saturday hungover.

Now, that didn't stop me from meeting Maya and Andrey at the Mint for a little Saturday afternoon karaoke, but I was somewhat the worse for wear. I did manage to take to the stage and belt out "Somewhere Only We Know" and "Kids In America," anyway, though. However, it was an early evening for me. I was home by 8 p.m. and in bed and asleep by 11. On a Saturday night. The twentysomething partier in me was a little horrified, but the nearly 40-year old adult in me was quite content. Especially after that Friday night.

The other bit of bad news this weekend is that I was supposed to sing at an open mic this afternoon, but my guitarist came down with a sinus infection this morning and is in no shape to play. Given that I play no instruments myself and don't have good enough pitch to sing five songs a capella, I stayed home and waded through receipts and did preparation for my upcoming appointment with my tax guy instead. But that's fun, too, right?

I'm making up for the lost open mic by meeting Carla for a Sunday night cocktail in about an hour, but that's not quite the same as singing. My guitarist and I have even worked out some "new" material. Well, it will be coming to an open mic near you (if you're in San Francisco) soon. Soon, my friends.

Flattery Will Get You Everywhere

Today, a former co-worker of mine wrote one of the nicest things anyone has said about me in a long time on my Facebook "wall." Now, this story gets a tad weird in that a few hours later, the flattering comments disappeared, and he was no longer my Facebook "friend." I was confused until I noticed he was no longer connected to any of the friends we had in common, including his wife. So I'm guessing he deactivated his profile.

Regardless, thanks to the beauty of email notifications from social networking websites, I egotistically can share with you of a portion what he wrote. This would make a little more sense if you knew what I do for a living, but... oh, well. This is blog is a specific-job-and-career free zone. Anyway, on to the incredible niceness:

"I've worked 23 years in [this business].... and I think I am a fair judge of talent. You've got it kid. You're smooth, relaxed, and bright. Just remember: Never forget that you were given a great gift. It's a powerful responsibility. Don't take it for granted. You have the opportunity to do some great things. Step out. Be different. Find your voice. This gift isn't free. You are fortunate. This ain't no party. You have to challenge yourself to find a way to inspire. Use your intellect. Honor your gift."

I must say, this note made me feel really, really good. At a time when we're all at least a little afraid of losing our jobs due to the economy (don't deny it; you know you're scared, too), it was lovely to be told that someone admires my talent and ability and wants me to run with it. Thanks, Kevin!!!

Economic Stimulus

I've developed a very bad habit.

For the second year in a row, I've gone to Bloomingdale's to procure a birthday present for my sister Fabulous Patti, and I've ended up buying myself a new dress instead. Not in addition to a gift for FP, instead of one. Last year it was a lavender Rebecca Taylor number I wore both on FP's birthday and to my own birthday celebration in December, and this time, I picked up the Nanette Lepore frock you see pictured here (that is not me modeling it).

Now, I did get Fabulous Patti a gift a couple of days later, and I, once again, was able to wear my new outfit to her birthday dinner and champagne and cupcake party on Saturday. However, I can't exactly afford to buy anything right now. My move last fall kind of knocked the financial wind out of me, and I haven't really recovered yet. If moving costs and buying a bunch of new furniture in September wasn't enough, I seem to find myself constantly facing large expenditures these days, like old dental fillings that need to be replaced and the like. (I have dental insurance, but it's a crappy plan that only covers cleanings, exams and x-rays. Generally, that hasn't been a problem since I take excellent care of my teeth... until my old fillings wore out.)

Anyway, I always have found that in the world of finances, where there is a will, there is a way. I don't believe in carrying credit card debt; so I'm sure I'll find a way to pay for this lovely little gown in full when the bill arrives. Perhaps my savings account can lend a helping hand. Or the income tax refund I anticipate receiving whenever I get around to filing my taxes. The good news is that Bloomingdale's was having a promotion, and I got $75 off my purchase! Of course, these little bits of black and red patterned fabric still cost more money than I have, but the dress is so cute and looks really good on me. Seriously. And besides, we're all supposed be spending money these days, right?

Right. Just call it the Sassy Economic Stimulus Plan.

You Want Something To Do? Sing A Song Or Two...

Gosh, remember when I used to update this little chronicle twice a week without fail? I'm not sure if my life is less interesting now, and as a consequence, I'm not inspired to write, or if perhaps it's more interesting, and I don't have as much time to write.

Actually, I probably can blame Facebook for my lack of blog attention. I am addicted to that silly little website and tend to provide a running record of my activities through status updates and photographs. That, however, is no good excuse for neglecting this sassy space. So this all begs the question: what have I been doing lately? Well.... a bunch of stuff, I suppose. I work, I exercise, I socialize. Last Sunday night I celebrated Carolyn and Dima's birthdays with them and other friends at Doc's Clocks in the Mission. The next night I went to see my musician friend Pat play a mini-set at the 500 Club after I finished work. Last night I saw Souvenir at A.C.T., which was pretty good. Not great, but not bad either.

I've also been singing some songs, myself. I borrowed the title of this post from the band Bette Serveert. The actual lines from their song "Rudder" are: "You want something to do; Make a record or two", but I haven't made any records. A little open mic and karaoke is all I can offer. I've decided, for various reasons, to stop doing the Wednesday night open jam at Blondie's. Believe it or not, the man with no teeth sitting at the bar right in front of the stage the last time I sang there has nothing to do with that decision. For all that I have a history with Blondie's (I deemed it my first favorite bar in the City back in 1997), that open jam isn't the right venue for me. There's still the Black Magic Voodoo Lounge every other Sunday, and I'm on the lookout for more interesting open mic opportunities.

My karaoke habit also continues. On Valentine's Day, I celebrated the day of love with Maya, Ash, Suzanne and Eric at the Mint. We sang a bunch of songs, and I was there for almost six hours. It was jam-packed by the time I left, but I'd gotten to sing four songs by that point, which is damn good for the Mint. There also were some cute (and I believe heterosexual) guys there, but I was so busy choosing songs that I didn't talk to any of them. Have to rectify that next time. A mere four days later, I met Ash at Encore to warble a few more tunes. He's got a great voice, and I suspect he will become a regular karaoke buddy. And Mary Beth and I are talking about doing a little karaoke next week. Yes, karaoke is cheesy, but it's a good way to practice singing, and, frankly, it's fun.

I have a real singing rehearsal with Jackie tomorrow, as we prepare for our return to the Black Magic in a few weeks. Also, tomorrow is, of course, the Academy Awards. I already have snacks stocked and a demi-bottle of Veuve Clicquot chilling for the occasion. I have seen only two nominated films, Slumdog Millionaire and Milk, but I think that gives me plenty to root for.

Just Because...

... I've been such a slacker about keeping this space current, I offer you a quick update. But I must be quick.

I went to see In the Next Room at Berkeley Rep on Wednesday night, and it was nothing like I thought it would be. Not to say that I didn't enjoy it; the script was entertaining, and the acting was first rate. I have seen shows at Berkeley Rep that I've liked more, but this one wasn't bad at all.

My guitarist Jackie and I have been working out some "new" songs to add to our open mic repertoire. I have to put the word new in quotation marks because I don't write music; so none of the songs I sing actually are new. In fact, the tunes we've been working on are anywhere from 25 to 40 years old. Anyway, if you come see us, expect a little Monkees and some Bangles and Go-Go's album tracks. And possibly a Honey Cone song Jackie suggested. I'd never heard that one before, but it could be a lot of fun.

Finally, Teenage Kicks returned to the Attic on Friday, and it was, of course, fabulous. Even without Victor, who decided in December that he didn't want to DJ anymore. I had one too many Chimays, but that didn't ruin the experience... or the music... for me. I merely drank a big bottle of Perrier when I got home, and everything was fine.

Okay, that's the latest from here. I must scoot, as I'm meeting Christine for our bi-weekly cocktail and gossip session. There is a never ending supply of silly boys we must discuss; so I can't be late.

The Dating Game

There is a live action "Dating Game" now playing in San Francisco.

I'm not being ironic or anything like that; I'm being quite literal. A stage version of the old 70's game show happens weekly (or is it monthly?) at a little theatre space South of Market. I happen to think this is a most excellent idea. Their set is not quite as fancy as the set from the TV show, but it's a tough economy right now. We all do what we can. Anyway, the producers of this live action "Dating Game" solicit contestants any way they can, including on Craigslist, and treat the winners of the game to a complimentary round of drinks at the restaurant downstairs from the theatre. No, it's not three days and four nights in Palm Springs, but this is independent theatre and again, the economy.

Kurt and I went to this little show last night after attending an Ivy League alumni mixer (don't ask). We actually met a very nice woman at the mixer who thought the live "Dating Game" sounded fun and came with us. She may have come to regret that decision, however. Not that we did anything, and the producers of the show do a great job, but...

Well, the point of this little journal is most certainly not to disparage or publicly mock anyone, so I'll stick with what I liked about the show. The host was great; he had a ton of energy and was pretty funny. And the bachelor contestant who questioned the panel of bachelorettes in the second half was awesome. His questions were incredibly clever, and he was rather attractive. Actually, I didn't find him particularly attractive until he started asking those well written questions. It's amazing what a little wit can do for a guy. Plus, they sell beer and wine at the box office, so you can drink while you watch. Which may be for the best.

I know I just said that I don't use this space to disparage, but there was one point during the show in which I decided to give up dating, myself. Or sex. Or talking to men. Think what you will about the superficiality of Hollywood, but there is something to be said for the fact that many of the contestants on the original "Dating Game" were aspiring movie stars (like, for example, our current governor). That show was cheesy, but at least those contestants didn't scare you.

Just Another Reason To Love the City

There are a lot of reasons to love living in San Francisco: the culture, the architecture, the landscape, the Mission District, the cute bartenders at every corner. With big city glamour in such a convenient bayside package, it's no wonder Tony Bennett left his heart here.

However, perhaps one of the best things about San Francisco, in my opinion, anyway, is the politics. This city is unabashedly liberal, and I love that. Case in point: in what must have been the wee, wee hours of Inauguration Morning before the sun even rose, someone plastered over every white street sign along the entire four (or so) mile length of Bush Street with the word "Obama." It didn't last long; I believe city crews had the Obama stickers removed by late morning. But I saw most of them at 8:15 a.m., and it was brilliant that my commute to work that morning took me down Obama Street.

Apparently, this is kind of an old joke. Word is that in 1988 the Bush Street signs were plastered with Dukakis stickers. But Dukakis lost that election; so I can't imagine those stickers had quite the same effect. This time it was great, though. A new president and a street temporarily named for him? Good times, my friends.

After the emotion and celebration of President Obama's first hours in office, I headed to Pauline's Pizza for Chris' official birthday dinner. He'd had a bigger birthday party last weekend (see previous post), but Tuesday was the actual anniversary of his birth. I thanked Chris multiple times not only for being born, but for giving us a new president. Pizza was devoured, champagne was imbibed, and when all was said and done, we were quite satisfied, as evidenced by this photo of Nick, myself and Tom. Several of us then took off for an late evening Inauguration party, but I didn't stay long. I was suddenly tired (not to mention very full) and heard my bed calling me in full voice. But I went home happy and awoke the next morning still gleeful that we get say President Obama for the next four years.

Parties, Parties Everywhere

Well, now this has been a bit of a lively weekend.

On Friday night I reconnected with my dear friend Marissa. Marissa and I worked together years ago and had become quite good friends. However, for reasons that I cannot, for the life of me, identify, we drifted apart sometime around mid-2006 and hadn't seen each other since then. Not right at all. So we rectified the situation by meeting for cocktails at Sens and getting caught up. After two rather strong Sens martinis each and some unintended conversation with the genuinely crazy woman who sat down next to us, we went to Tony Nik's for a couple more drinks before calling it a night. Marissa truly is wonderful, and it's great to be back in touch with her.

Then last night I decided to pretend I was back in my twenties when I could easily and handily party hop. And party hop I did. The first affair was for Chris's 34th birthday. A bunch of us gathered at the Orbit Room to celebrate, and that's where this photo of Chris, Valerie and myself was snapped. So much fun. Then Kurt and I took off for his friend Sheila's birthday party. Unfortunately, that soiree was at a very crowded, very scene-y club South of Market, and neither Kurt nor I had very much fun there.

So we bolted and headed to Russian Hill where we joined the aforementioned Marissa, along with Bridget, Shannon and Anne, for fondue in honor of Shannon's birthday. I knew we'd made the right decision as soon as I walked into Bridget's apartment and heard "The Porpoise Song" by the Monkees pouring out of the stereo. They were only playing it because it was on the Vanilla Sky soundtrack, as opposed to spinning an actual Monkees record, but I'll take it. These girls had been partying all day; so Shannon began a little nap almost as soon as Kurt and I arrived. But the rest of us drank wine and bonded in her honor until about 2 a.m. Again, so much fun.

And if the parties this weekend weren't enough, the biggest party in eight years is coming up on Tuesday. Yippee!

The Beauty of Sleep

I, like many of you, I'm sure, am addicted to Facebook. That little social networking phenomenon has reconnected me with college and high school classmates and buddies, old co-workers and even former bosses. Not to mention providing yet another cyber-dimension for me and most of my current friends to play in. So a few days ago, when my Facebook friend and real-life acquaintance Andrew posted on the site that he had learned the value of a good night's sleep, I, of course, had to play along and comment. I not only agreed with him but confessed a bit of jealousy because I spent four days last week getting up at 3:30 a.m. for work.

The first morning I had to rise before the birds came as a surprise to me. You see, my co-worker Susan unexpectedly called in sick Tuesday morning, causing my phone to rudely awaken me at 3:30 and beckon me to my place of employment as soon as I could get there. As it turns out, Susan has fallen rather ill and ended up being out for the rest of the week; meaning every day by the mid-afternoon, I was told that I'd be returning the next morning at 4:00. For the record, I usually arrive at work at 9:45 a.m. That's a little different. Frankly, I don't know how Susan, or any of the early morning staff at work, keeps such a schedule. I couldn't even exercise for most of the week because my body clock was so screwed up.

All of this is to say that 2009 has gotten off to a bit of a slow start, as my temporary early morning work schedule prevented me from doing much. Also, some unexpected stress arose this past week. None of it is that big a deal; many, many people deal with much bigger problems than mine, but stress is stress. I did manage to join a bunch of friends to toast Devon on her last day of bartending at Joey and Eddie's in North Beach Thursday night, but I only stayed until 8:30. Am I a partier or what? On Friday, I met Bill, Kim, Terry and Suzanne for drinks at Tony Nik's, but that ended up being a relatively early evening, as well, even though it began the weekend.

And last night... ah, last night. After a late morning facial, afternoon laundry, grocery shopping, a run/walk and dinner, I had about an hour to lounge before needing to get dressed and head out to my friend Mike's birthday party. Well, that hour of lounging turned into a four hour nap, followed by an actual trip to bed about two and a half hours after that. Good times. I love birthday parties, too, and am sad to have missed the fun, but clearly, I needed the sleep and feel rather fresh this morning. Who wouldn't after a grand total of about eleven hours and a half hours of sleep?

So today I intend to be very productive before meeting Kurt and some of his friends for Sunday evening cocktails. I've become a big fan of the Sunday afternoon/evening cocktails. They're a great way to end the weekend before the grind begins again. Let's just hope I can sleep until my oh, so late, regular weekday waking hour of 6:30 a.m. this week.

Welcome to 2009!

I'm either a total rock star or a total moron.

You see, it's just after noon, and I'm wearing the same clothes and make-up I was wearing last night. Before you make any saucy assumptions, I'll tell you that there were no walks of shame this morning. I had to be at work at 6 a.m., so I slept at said job to accommodate some New Year's Eve celebrating.

Yes, you read that correctly.

When I learned that I'd be working early this morning, it occurred to me that maybe I should just stay in for New Year's. After all, New Year's Eve is always amateur night, anyway. Well, I guess I'm an amateur, too, because out I went... armed with a blanket and toothbrush to stash at work so my sleeping and early waking could be more comfortable. First, I went with Kurt to a house party thrown by a couple of his friends. That was much fun and featured snacks, champagne and a feisty round of Celebrity. But I figured I needed to be close to work as midnight approached; so at about 10:30 I took off for a bar near my place of employment (first dropping off the blanket and toothbrush).

You may be thinking, "Oh, dear lord, a bar on New Year's Eve?", but actually it was okay. I know the owners of this bar, and my friends Helen and Janelle were there, too. So one more glass of champagne and hugs all around helped me ring in twenty-oh-nine. And at 12:20 I was on my way, picking up snacks and caffeinated beverages before heading to work to get a little shut eye.

My co-worker Ted woke me at 6 o'clock this morning, and I was good to go. Again, in the same outfit and make-up I donned last night. But it's a good outfit, so at least I look cute. I'm not sure if I should be proud or embarrassed about my commitment to socializing, but you know, I'll only be sort-of-still-young-and-not-quite-40 once. Right?

Christmas in Los Feliz

I'm becoming either older, wiser or a complete wimp.

I've been spending the holiday weekend in Los Feliz, a little L.A. neighborhood nestled right next to Hollywood, and my partying prowess has not been up to snuff. On one hand, it's no big deal because this weekend has been more about family than nightlife. Plus, I've been getting over a cold that hit the day after my birthday, but still. On Friday night I went to Tiki Ti and was able to finish only one drink before needing to head home. Now, the tropical cocktails at Tiki Ti are very strong, and as I walked out of the bar at...oh, 9:30 or so... I remembered that the friend who introduced me to that place a year and a half ago said a person really should have only two drinks there. And this friend is a boy who can drink a lot more than me. Regardless, it was a poor showing on my part. Then last night I went to the Dresden Room and could finish only two seemingly normal potency cocktails before relinquishing my bar stool. I ended up returning to the Dresden about an hour later, but that was because my brother, sister and I decided that our former professional jazz singer mother absolutely had to see Marty and Elayne. And on my second pass I drank Pellegrino.

I fear that as I age, I becoming an amateur. Although truthfully, that's probably something I should be happy about.

Overall it has been a nice little visit to the Southland. Apparently, it has rained a lot in the City of Angels this month, but not a drop has fallen since my arrival on Christmas evening. I've hit Fred 62, as I always do when I'm here, and as my cold has waned, I've been able to exercise again, taking my famed run/walks down Los Feliz Boulevard.

However, all good things must come to an end, including mini-vacations. I'm heading back to the Bay tonight where a very early morning work schedule for the next four days awaits me, and I fear ants will be parading through my apartment (they've been seeking shelter from San Francisco's own rain). But soon it will be 2009, and the prospect of new projects and adventures, including the most excellent day of January 20th, is very exciting. I'm generally none too thrilled about January, also known as the most painfully boring and depressing month on the calendar, but I'm trying to look ahead. I have noticed during my travels through the Internet that a couple of my friends can't wait for the holidays or December to be over, and I think I agree. Not that I would ever turn my back on Christmas or my birthday month, but much like my friend Terry, I've been experiencing a few too many dramatic ups and downs lately.

So perhaps turning the page on a new year will be good for me, too. I'll just have to figure out a way to temper the January ennui.

Artist: Beatles, Album: White, Disc: Two, Track: One

Oh, yes. I say it's my birthday.

The shortest day and the longest night of the year also happens to be the anniversary of the day I was born deep in the Wisconsin snow. (Okay, I was born in the comfort of a hospital, but December in Green Bay? Surely someone was up to their ears in snow.) However, before I get to rambling about myself, I must apologize to you. I have been a serious slacker when it comes updating this little space, and I have no excuse. I think I've just become a busier person lately, and sadly, the Sassy chronicles have suffered as a consequence. So here's a little summary of what has been going on lately.

Last weekend was jam-packed. I met Carolyn at the Attic for Teenage Kicks on Friday night, and it was spectacular. Unfortunately, it was also Victor's last night as Teenage Kicks co-host. The music will continue, but it won't be the same without Victor's genius. Poop. On Saturday I went wine tasting in Napa with my old friend Bobby and his family. It was cold in Napa that day, but drinking red wine at 10:30 in the morning will take the chill out of the air quite handily.

On Sunday Jackie and I began our open mic holiday tour. All that really means is we wove a couple of Christmas songs into our regular set, but being the huge fan of Christmas music that I am, I was in heaven. I got to do my Darlene Love impersonation (like I could sing anywhere near as well as she does) on "Christmas (Baby, Please Come Home)" and her version of "White Christmas." We also were going to do The Waitresses "Christmas Wrapping," but we couldn't work it out in time. You kind of need bass on that song, anyway, and we haven't found a bass player yet. Andrey joined us at the Black Magic open mic, crooning his way through Elvis' "Blue Christmas" and "Last Christmas" by Wham. Yes, Wham. Live with it.

Now, the Sassy Birthday weekend began with me, Andrey, Mary Beth and my sister Fabulous Patti gathering on Friday night to go caroling. After a couple of cocktails at my neighborhood bar (which, by the way, whips up a fantastic chocolate martini), we took to the streets. Even though it was 9:30 and a tad late for caroling, we were very well received and even got free champagne at one house. That, my friends, is caroling 21st century style! Yesterday was all about my friend Laura. Her birthday actually is on Tuesday, but her husband organized an early surprise pub crawl and dinner for her. It was kind of loud, a little rowdy and a lot of fun.

And that brings us to this morning. The weather is rainy, but that will not dampen my spirits. Late this afternoon my friends and I are meeting in the Mission for the Sassy birthday festivities. Cocktails will be included. At the end of the day, though, all I really want for my birthday is attention.

So thanks for reading.

Good Weekend, Bad Day

I'd say any weekend that ends with cookies is a good weekend.

This is me with the Gourmet Group girls at Molly's cookie party on Sunday afternoon. Yum! Unfortunately for me, I'd had a little too much to drink on Saturday night; so I wasn't very hungry on Sunday. Meaning I only ate a fraction of the cookies I would have otherwise, and I didn't take any home.

Lame.

I drank too much on Saturday night because I went to my very fine musician friend Pat Johnson's birthday party at Cafe Royale. It was as much a concert as a party because Pat and some other musicians he knows did a round robin of performing, treating the rest of us to song after song for a good two hours. It was most excellent. As were the glasses of champagne and Chimay that accompanied me at the show. I didn't drink that much, but I'm old. So it had an effect.

Earlier in the day on Saturday, Jackie, Suzanne and I got together to practice for the next open mic. Nothing is more fun than belting Christmas songs on a Saturday afternoon. Well, some things are more fun, but this is a family blog.

So given all that, you may be wondering what bad day the title of this post refers to. Well, that would be today. It's the 28th anniversary of John Lennon's murder, and I think we all can agree that December 8, 1980, was a very, very bad day.

Sunday Open Mic Delight

The most enthusiastic man in San Francisco is Ray, the guy who hosts the Sunday evening open mic at the Black Magic Voodoo Lounge.

My guitarist Jackie and I made our third appearance at the Black Magic hootenanny last night, and you'd have thought we were the second coming of the Beatles (or at least the Monkees), given the way Ray greeted us and introduced us to the crowd. Apparently, in the eyes of Ray, we're talented, mesmerizing, incredibly engaging and other such flattering adjectives.

Whether we're really that good or not, last night's performance went very well, thank you very much. We got to play seven songs, and the bar was filled with my friends (thank you Irina, Tom, Roland, Suzanne, Denise, Carolyn, Dima and Aisha!). So it was kind of like a mini concert. We ran through tunes by the Beatles, Nick Lowe, Marshall Crenshaw, Blondie, Fairground Attraction, Petula Clark and Darlene Love, and the other musicians at the open mic were very gracious about the fact that we only play covers. One day I'll write a song. Honestly...

Anyway, it was super duper fun. Jackie and I currently are looking for a bassist to join our little project, and Andrey and Suzanne may sing with us on occasion. (Andrey already sang with us once, but it's been hard to pin him down for more performances.) Next up: our Christmas tour. We're working on several Christmas songs, one of which we debuted last night, and we'll be doing a little open mic tour in two weeks. We'll start with the Black Magic and move on to others throughout the week. Yay!

I love singing. It's very therapeutic for me.

As I look to the current week ahead, I mostly will be writing Christmas cards and planning my birthday party, which is fast approaching. Aside from that, I'm meeting Denise at the Fancy Gym tomorrow night for a farewell workout/cocktail evening. I love, love, love the Fancy Gym, but I hardly have gone since I moved across town. So I've joined a facility closer to my new abode and have to bid the Fancy Gym farewell. Sadness. I'll also be celebrating my friend Beth's birthday this weekend and practicing for the open mic Christmas tour.

Ah, 'tis the season for songs, exercise and parties.

Living Large In L.A.

Well, I probably didn't really "live large," but I certainly had a great mini-vacation. The only drawback was that I fell ill Friday morning. I get throat/tonsil infections every three to five years, and one set in late Thursday night. However, I certainly wasn't going to let a colony of tiny microbes stop me; so after a quick trip to urgent care for antibiotics, I was good to go. And on Friday, that meant going to Disneyland. Armed with four free passes, I met Emily, Domenica and Corey at the Magic Kingdom, and we ran the place. Disneyland is all decked out for the holidays right now, and Emily and I couldn't resist snapping the above photo in front of a very thoroughly lit Small World. I imagine Disneyland will have one heck of a PG&E bill this season.

On Friday night, I joined Emily and her friends, along with my sister Fabulous Patti, at Hollywood Park for a concert by Dave Wakeling of the English Beat. Dave lives in Southern California and tours all over the state with studio musicians filling in for the rest of the Beat. Even though I've seen him at least eight times over the last seven years, I never get sick of his music. We all skanked and sang through Dave's hour and a half long set, and it's possible I knew all the words to every song. During a little post-show chat, we got Dave to pose for this photo with us. Needless to say, he was more than willing to allow himself to be flanked by a group of pretty girls.

Saturday was a little more mellow. I spent the afternoon shopping in Silver Lake's Sunset Junction neighborhood. Then Fabulous Patti and I went to the Griffith Observatory before heading to South Pasadena to visit our nephew Mikey Jet (oh, and his parents). On Sunday, I met Bill and Irina for brunch where we were served by a rather hot waiter who was both a pretty good flirt and willing to take this commemorative photo for us. And that pretty much ended my visit. The weather was great all four days I was in town, which is a really good thing since it's raining in L.A. this week.

Now that I've returned to the Bay, I'm looking forward to Thanksgiving, Arabian Nights at Berkeley Rep, boy shopping with Suzanne and another open mic performance. See why I needed a vacation? I had to rest up for all of this.

V-A-C-A-T-I-O-N... In the L.A. Sun!

I've taken today and tomorrow off work and am spending a long weekend in Los Angeles. I have to work through the holidays, so I figured I'd take a mini-vacation before the season kicks into gear next week.

And that brings me to Los Feliz, where I arrived last night. So far today, I've done as little as possible, lest I forget I'm supposed to be relaxing. After taking my usual run down Los Feliz Boulevard, I met my high school friend Alison for brunch at Fred 62. After that I did a small bit of shopping and hit Pinkberry, of course.

I then spent a little chunk of time working out the logistics for my trip to Disneyland tomorrow. I'm going with Emily, who is another high school friend, and Domenica and Corey, Bay Area friends who now live in San Diego. After Disneyland, Emily and I, along with my sister Fabulous Patti and some friends of Emily's, will be seeing Dave Wakeling at Hollywood Park tomorrow night. Saturday and Sunday are looking a little more fluid at this point, but I'm hoping to do some champagne tasting at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel, on my friend Andrey's recommendation.

There was a moment this morning when I was feeling like the infatuation I felt for Los Angeles last fall and this past winter was starting to fade. I grew up here (in Pasadena, to be specific) and always have liked it, but it was like the promised land to me about a year ago. However, as this trip began, I was wondering if my love affair with L.A. had just been a fling. Then, as I was walking along Vermont Avenue this afternoon, I looked up into the hills to see the Hollywood sign and the Griffith Park Observatory, and that euphoric rush of love came back. San Francisco is my home now, but there never can be too much love for the City of Angels.

La Vie Boheme

I have seen the musical Rent seven times: once on Broadway with the original cast, once in Boston, once in Los Angeles and four times in San Francisco. And that's not counting the evening I sat through that god awful film adaptation. I am aware that several members of original Broadway cast, who were also in the film, very much liked the celluloid version and were quite disappointed it wasn't better received. Well, I mean no disrespect to them or to director Chris Columbus, but that movie seee-ucked.

Anyway. While I have seen Rent seven times, until last Thursday night, I had never seen the Puccini opera upon which it is based: La Boheme. However, I rectified that situation by attending the final dress rehearsal of San Francisco Opera's current production of La Boheme. It is wonderful. The singing is, of course, amazing, especially that of the woman who plays Musetta. She is phenomenal. And the sets are beautiful. All in all, it was a very cultured and satisfying evening.

All of that said, I have an evil confession to make. I think I like Rent better. I know, I know. I fully expect Puccini's ghost to smite me anytime now. If one day I suddenly turn into a puff of smoke, you'll know why. It's just that I find myself very impressed with how well Jonathan Larson not only adapted the story but expanded it. He took the slightly dull supporting characters of Colline and Schunard and gave them a very significant story line in the 20th century version.

Plus, it's easier to sing along with rock songs than with opera. And I like that Mimi lives at the end of Rent.

Yep. Smiting to come any day now.

Not seeing cultural redemption on the horizon, I decided to move forward with my weekend. On Friday night Tom, Andrey, Olena, Berto, Indie and I hit the Attic for Teenage Kicks, which was quite the blast. And later this afternoon, Jackie and I will be gracing the Black Magic open mic with a few of our fabulous cover tunes. Andrey was supposed to sing with me, but the poor lad has been felled by a sore throat. I'm no opera or Broadway singer, but the cocktails will be flowing today, and it should be a good time.

Kids In America

Although the song isn't lyrically appropriate, overall, especially since I think it actually pokes a little gentle fun at The Colonies and those of us who live here, sometime back in March or April, I decided that a refrain from Kim Wilde's "Kids In America" would be the perfect theme for Barack Obama's presidential campaign:

New York to east California
There's a new wave comin', I warn ya
We're the kids in America
We're the kids in America

In case you haven't heard, last night Barack Obama was elected President of the United States. There are a lot of things I could say about this fact, but I'd be writing all night, and I have a show at Berkeley Rep to get to this evening. So I'll just offer a few tidbits.

First of all, it's not something I spent a lot of time thinking about, but if you'd asked me at any time prior to this year if I thought an African American would be elected president, my answer would have been, "One day, to be certain, but not in my lifetime." I'm 38 years old; born after the bulk of the civil rights movement and raised by a Caucasian father and African American mother in an environment where I never thought there was anything unusual about people of different races loving each other, as opposed to hating each other. But obviously I'm aware of racism because, despite my upbringing, I still never thought I'd see this day.

I've never been happier to be proven wrong. Not only has an African American been elected president, but a brilliant, well educated African American who, by all appearances, has the vision to be an excellent leader. Thank you for that, Mr. President Elect. (Plus, I'll share a little secret: I'm thrilled that Obama is bracial, like me. Yay!)

I went to sleep Monday night feeling like a child on Christmas Eve. I bounded out of bed in the morning and was at my polling place ready to vote at 7:05 a.m. So were the 30 other people in line ahead of me, and the many others who arrived during the hour it took me to complete my civic duty. Throughout the day I became so nervous about the outcome of the election that I felt nauseous. I finally let myself breathe at about 6 p.m. Pacific Time when it was estimated that Obama had won Ohio. Even though we knew what was going to happen by the time the polls closed in California two hours later, it was still an incredible thrill to see the announcement on CNN that Obama had been elected. I was at a party with Denise and Paul at the time, and we all let out a serious cheer and toasted the moment with glasses of Veuve Clicquot.

I called my friend Chris a few minutes later, and he was crying so hard, he couldn't speak.

After the speeches, Paul, Denise and I did a little party hopping and found ourselves in San Francisco's Union Square at about 11:00. The energy was electric, people were jubilant, and it looked like there had been a street party earlier (and by all accounts, I think there had been). It seemed that people of all races and ages were out, revelling in Obama's victory and the pride of being kids in America.

I'm generally cynical about politicians, and it remains to be seen if Obama can keep all the promises he's made on the campaign trail. I tend to doubt he'll be able to, but for now, it feels really wonderful to hope.

Music That's Making Me Happy Today, vol... oh, I don't know

She and Him at Bimbo's 365 Club

I have to admit I've grown bored with numbering the missives on this space in which I gush about music. Sorry. Anyway, last spring an email from All Music tipped me off to a new album by actress Zooey Deschanel and musician M. Ward. The pair had worked together on a film and decided to continue making music under the name She and Him. Deschanel sings, Ward plays guitar, and both write the songs.

Back in the day, if I may grossly oversimplify things, music lovers would hear a song on the radio, and if they liked what they heard, buy a 45-rpm single at their local record store. Often that purchase would lead to something bigger: namely procuring the full length album where the song could be found. Other songs from that album may make it onto the radio airwaves, they may not. It was a good system, and it worked for decades.

Well, this is 2008. I had not in the spring and still have not heard any She and Him songs on the radio. Admittedly, I don't listen to every radio station in San Francisco; I don't even listen to most of them. What I did on that spring day after reading the She and Him album review on the All Music website was head to Amazon. There I could preview every track of Volume One. It's a collection of country-flavored tunes, 60's girl group-esque ditties and a couple of covers.

I chose my favorite numbers, generally leaning toward the girl group sound, and that night hopped onto iTunes where I downloaded "Why Do You let Me Stay Here?", "Sweet Darlin'" and "I Was Made For You." No radio station necessary (scores of people I know will not be at all happy I just wrote those words), no album purchase required. The country-ish songs came off a little too sappy in their 30-second Amazon previews for my taste; so I stayed away from them.

Well, I may only own three songs, but over the last half year I have fallen in love with She and Him. So I jumped at the chance to see the duo perform at Bimbo's 365 Club last night (they've also got a show there tonight). Lavender Diamond, a band I had stumbled upon on MySpace last year, was the opening act. I invited Bill, Kim, Mary Beth and Kurt to come along, and we all gathered at the historic Bimbo's to take in some new music.

The show was phenomenal. The sap I'd heard within She and Him's country tunes was completely absent from the live performance, and every number sparkled. And of course, I was delighted to sing along... loudly... with the songs I already know well and love. Both Kurt and Mary Beth, who were not familiar with She and Him's music before last night, enjoyed the show so much they thanked me for inviting them. She and Him are just so good. They're so good, they're so good, they're so good.

I still haven't heard them on the radio, but after last night, I just may buy that whole album. You should do yourself a favor and do the same.

Hey Look, It's Fall!

Yes, it's been autumn for more than a month, but I'd say we now have some pretty clear signs of the season change. First of all, Halloween is tomorrow. I know in my last missive I expressed my distaste for Halloween, but the party I went to on Saturday night was so much fun that I'm very much looking forward to my second Halloween party tomorrow evening. I'll be wearing the same costume and hanging out with many of the same people, but whatever.

Anyway, here's a photo from the last weekend's festivities that I nicked from Andrey's Flickr page. I like this picture because it's full of so much color. I don't know if that's us, the camera or the skill of the photographer, but I think it looks great. While my go go boots are obscured in this shot, you can see the ultra groovy pattern of my mod mini dress, not to mention the hoop earrings I chose to finish the look. (It should be noted that in the late 80's and early 90's, I wore big hoop earrings like this all the time... just because.) Pictured with me are Anne, Melli, Denise, Charlie (in the far back), Laura, Gigi and two women whose names I don't know.

In addition to Halloween, the season is making itself known in other ways, as well. After our typical Bay Area October warm spell, the temperatures have turned colder, and the days are getting way shorter. It's so dark when I get up to go running in the morning that I'm actually looking forward to the end of Daylight Saving Time this weekend. I'm also starting to get that pre-holiday season excitement, when the glow of an upcoming Thanksgiving, Christmas and the most important holiday, my birthday, fills my heart. This is the fun part of the year, before the gloom of the ever-depressing January and February strikes at the onset of 2009.

Oh, and there's one other tiny event making its mark this season. That would be a little election coming up on Tuesday. I've become so addicted to all the election coverage that I don't know what I'll do come Wednesday when I have no reason to be glued to MSNBC. Well, I think I'll manage, especially if things go the way I hope they will (keep your fingers crossed).

Whichever way you're leaning, I certainly hope you vote!

Halloween A Go Go

Halloween is one of my least favorite holidays.

I loved Halloween when I was a kid, and I still think highly of it as a children's holiday. After all, what's more awesome than trick or treating? But adult Halloween? That seems like just another excuse for people to drink to excess while women are dressed as scantily as possible. Don't believe me? Just try shopping for an adult woman's Halloween costume these days, and listen to the noise outside your window next Friday night. Plus, I never know what to dress up as, and the stress of figuring that out gives me a headache every year.

So usually I just try to avoid it altogether.

However, even though I don't like Halloween, I do like socializing, and I was invited to two Halloween parties this year. So I decided to bite the bullet and embrace Halloween as best I can. After much deliberation, I decided to be a go go dancer. Given my attraction to 60's music, not to mention my favorite 80's band, the Go-Go's, I'm surprised I'd never chosen this costume before. Plus, my penchant for wearing short(-ish) dresses and tall boots already lends somewhat of a go go style to my everyday look. But like I said, usually I try to avoid Halloween.

Anyway, the centerpiece of my costume is gold go go boots, like the ones shown here. I then bought a "mod swirl" mini-dress from one of those Halloween stores and finished the look with chunky costume jewelry purchased from Aldo Accessories. Add a little sparkly eye shadow, and I'm good to go.

The first of my Halloween parties was last night. It was thrown by Melli and her roommates at their apartment in North Beach, and I'd say it was a hit. The signature drink was a vodka punch our hosts called Vampire's Kiss. After two cups, however, I realized that it should have been called Vampires Kick Your Ass. So I stopped drinking and made quick work of the snack table to help avoid a hangover.

I also met a very nice zombie... excuse me, a fellow dressed as a zombie... who became my hero when he mentioned he had attended the Masque reunion show at the Echoplex last year. Now, I suppose I could have gone to the Masque reunion show, myself, but I didn't. And that fact that he did made him my hero instantly. I bet this guy never thought that watching a bunch of aging punk rockers perform would be a babe magnet a year later, but then, he'd never met me.

Except for two people, no one seemed to get my costume. In fact, people kept guessing flapper (what?), but that's okay. I actually had fun dressing up, and will break out my inner go go again for the Bradys' party next Friday. And just wait, those gold boots likely may become a mainstay of my everyday wardrobe.

Welcome to 1996

Why hello! I'm writing this little missive courtesy of a dial-up Internet connection. How late 20th century, no?

After an hour on the phone with Earthlink this morning, it was determined that the newly installed DSL at my new apartment is not working. I told the Earthlink technician that at the beginning of the call, but I do appreciate his troubleshooting efforts. Even if those efforts cut into my exercise time. Another technician called me tonight and asked me to do the exact same things I'd done this morning because, apparently, he needed his own confirmation that the line isn't working. I got a bit of an attitude at that point, given all the time I'd already spent testing my motem, but I did what he asked. And then he never called me back, even though he said he would.

I certainly hope this gets resolved sometime soon.

Aside from chatting with the lovely gentlemen at Earthlink, I split my time this weekend between lounging, socializing and running errands. The errands mostly involved buying more things for the new pad. Things like a flashlight, batteries, bug spray (I have a backyard, and sometimes the insects forget that they are outdoor pets), copies of my house keys and a P.O. box, which I am renting to keep the exact location of my new domicile off the Internet.

My lounging time saw me watching lots of MSNBC and DVD's. It also lead me to the mystery of why my new DVD player has decided repeatedly to tell me "Display Connected -non HDCP Compliant," even though it hasn't said that the other times I've used it. I even read the owners manual and still can't figure out how to stop the machine from flashing that reminder.

Then there was the socializing. On Friday I made a quick appearance at Sens for happy hour with Andrey, Carla, Olena, Lorena and several others. Then I met Carolyn at an art show in the Mission, after which we collected Dima and went to the Attic. I drank far too much on Friday night; so I stayed in Saturday night and then met Carla for brunch and, more importantly, mimosas this afternoon. Now it's Sunday evening, which means back to work tomorrow. Too bad weekends aren't five or six days long.

One more thing. Do me a favor and think good thoughts for Father Sassy. My dear old daddy is going through some rough times, and I don't think they are going to get smoother any time soon. Or at all.

And Breathe

After two months of stress and anxiety, I'm beginning to feel like myself again. My move is almost done; I'm just going to swing by my old apartment one last time to collect any mail that may have landed there, and then on Wednesday morning I'm turning in the keys.

At that point, I'll be completely free!

I'm all moved in at my new place, and I love it, love it, love it! The apartment is great, the neighborhood is even better, and so far, my landlords have been awesome. I just need to procure a dining room table and a couple of chairs, and I'll be done furnishing the place. Then the decorating can begin. This move cost me a hefty chunk of cash; so decorating will have to be a slow and measured process. I need to practice frugality for the next several months, but the move sooo has been worth it. I know I've been a little vague, but I'll cough up all the details of why I decided to move once I get the security deposit from my old apartment back.

Evidence that my life is getting back to normal was abundant this weekend, as I seem to be back to my socializing ways. On Friday night, I met Carla at the Attic for Teenage Kicks, which was, of course, awesome. And I learned something new this time around. Did you know that REM did not write the song "Superman?" I sure didn't. It's a cover of a Clique song, which Victor played on Friday. Pretty neato, huh? Well, I think it's neato, but you know that good music, in general, impresses me.

On Saturday I went to a Blue Angels rooftop barbecue after cleaning my old apartment. I missed the Blue Angels airshow but arrived in plenty of time for the snacks and drinks. A few hours later I met Joey for cocktails at the Latin American Club. On Sunday I went to Tony Nik's at about noon for mimosas and North Beach's annual Columbus Day parade. I had never been to that parade, and I must say, it was a sight. It's basically a small town parade that somehow finds itself in San Francisco every year. Too much. And if all that wasn't enough, my weekend ended with Carolyn and I enjoying fancy hamburgers and Burgundy last night in my new 'hood.

So now that life seems to be getting back to normal, I can focus on the important things: singing, boys and worrying about the upcoming election. (Honestly, if McCain and his crazy running mate win, I may have to hide under my bed for four years... or longer.) I also have to figure out what to be for Halloween. Any ideas?

Beer With Their Bickering

If you're going to watch the presidential debates, and I certainly hope you are watching them, I recommend doing so with an adult beverage in hand. Not because Barack Obama and John McCain's polite sparring is necessarily difficult viewing, but simply because politics goes better with a drink.

Last night, Andrey and I went to a small bar in North Beach (the name of which completely escapes me) to take in the second presidential debate, and I must say: it paired nicely with our bottles of Chimay. The bar was not at all crowded, but the few North Beach characters who dotted the barstools provided some fascinating debate commentary. Those pundits on CNN and MSNBC have nothing on these folks.

After the debate, Andrey and I treated ourselves to pizza slices and then went to Tonic in Russian Hill to check out an art show that a friend of Andrey's was having. It was a great way to turn civic awareness into a night out.

In other news, I've moved into my fabulous new apartment! I have to deal with some furniture I've left in the old place, but that will be handled this weekend. I will admit my new pad is darker and somewhat cooler than my former home, which got lots of sunlight and had radiators that always seemed to be on. However, the new place is much bigger; seems not to feature any nuisance neighbors; and is, so far, vermin-free. All of those things trump light and heat any day. I can always buy lamps and turn up the thermostat.

The Little Things

Sometimes it's the little things that make the happiest (or at least pretty darn happy). Cases in point:

1. The season premiere tonight of "Pushing Daisies," a cute, creative show starring my new TV boyfriend, Lee Pace.

2. And speaking of boys, the super hot guy who rode by me on his bicycle this morning and smiled. Attractive men are everywhere; so normally I wouldn't blog about such an ordinary occurrence. However, all the living space and moving stress I've been under lately has made me completely forget about boys. I may have to start remembering them.

3. One of the convenience stores near work deciding once again to stock Perrier after ignoring the vastly superior, in my opinion, bubbly water in favor of Pellegrino and poorly flavored Calistoga. This store will surely have my regular business again.

4. This is the very best one: the kindness of my friends who are helping me move. Specifically, Kurt for taking me to Bed, Bath and Beyond; Bill and Kim for taking me to Ikea; and Rebecca for taking me to Costo as I collect new stuff to fill my new apartment. Plus, Tom, Chris and Andrey for helping me carry the junk I already own over to the new place. I also think Bill and Kim may help me put together my more complicated Ikea purchases. That definitely will make me happy.

Okay, that's all for tonight. Sorry, my life just isn't that exciting right now. I've been invited to two parties this weekend, and I'll tell you about them if I am able to attend. Unfortunately, however, I suspect moving will overtake my weekend, forcing me to give my inner social butterfly a rest.

I promise to be interesting again in a few weeks.

Perfect Day

If you find yourself needing the recipe for a perfect day, search no more. I stumbled upon the ingredients this afternoon.

After a morning run, I took a cab ride across town to the Portola Nail Salon where Carla, Laura, Frances, Olena and I got mani-pedis for Carla's 30th birthday. Yay, Carla! Mani-pedis are relaxing enough, but get your nails done at the Portola Nail Salon on a Sunday afternoon, and you know what you get? Free mimosas! Oh, that's right, my friends. Granted, their mimosas are made with really cheap sparkling wine and Sunny Delight, but for the bargain price of free with your nail service, they are delicious.

I had three.

After our nails dried, we headed over to the Beach Chalet for brunch with Andrey and Berto. That photo above is of us as we're digging in. Yes, Ocean Beach is cold and foggy, but it's wonderful to watch the waves while you dine. Or in my case, chow down. I hadn't eaten all morning; so by the time we sat down to brunch at 2:30, I was a little hungry.

Now, I'm very full.

Regardless, mimosas tossed with mani-pedis and blended with brunch cook up to a golden, bubbly, perfect afternoon. I'm still feeling the stress of moving and the bad living conditions that are driving me to move; so I appreciate any perfect afternoon I get. The good news on that front, however, is that I've started moving stuff into my new apartment! My goal is to be all moved in by October 6th or so. That would give me a week to clean my old place and throw out anything I don't take to my new abode. And then I will be done, done, DONE with my nuisance neighbors, bad apartment managers and the once lovely apartment building that in recent years has become nothing more than an overpriced, dilapidated tenement house.

And speaking of the move, I must scoot and get back to the packing and purging. My crap isn't going to just get up and walk over to the new place. It sure would be nice if it would, though.

Love Reminder

Do you ever find yourself questioning your love for something? I suppose, in general, love is a pretty irrational emotion. All I'd have to do is line up all the men I've ever loved/crushed on/been hopelessly infatuated with, and you'd see quite clearly just how irrational love is. But this post isn't about men.

In the nearly twelve years that I've lived in San Francisco, I've been pick-pocketed, mugged, had my identity stolen and, most recently, plagued by nuisance neighbors and the vermin they have brought into our shared apartment building. All of this has caused me to ask myself, in all seriousness, why I love the City by the Bay so much. My career has gone really well, but I have the kind of job that is in demand anywhere. So I give San Francisco precious little credit for any success in that realm.

But then last night, I was reminded why I love my little town. After a quick drink and giddy conversation at the Attic, my friend Carolyn and I went to a party for Rodent Records in a warehouse on Minnesota Street (by the way, prior to last night, I had no idea where Minnesota Street was, even though it's mere blocks from Tom and Chris' pad). We were there to see the Kirby Grips play a reunion show, which we caught and loved. But this party was so much more than the Grips' set. There was a whole parade of bands, and the warehouse was an artist space adorned with the artists' work.

As I watched the Kirby Grips blast through power pop number after power pop number while some very strange film was beamed on the wall behind them, my heart swelled, and I remembered why I love San Francisco. Sure, you can go to a cool bar and then see live music in a warehouse in New York, L.A. or Chicago, but there seemed to be something so San Francisco about the evening. And nuisance neighbors, vermin and crime be damned, I was happy to be there last night and to be in the City.

We'll see if that love can survive the stress of moving to a new apartment and the few more weeks I have to live with my idiot neighbors and pest control issues.

In other news, the Emmy Awards are tonight. You may recall me telling you that my brother Michael was nominated for an Emmy this year. He and his band mates were nominated for writing the main title theme to the animated Disney series, Phineas and Ferb. Well, that particular honor was awarded with the other Creative Arts Emmys last weekend, and... my brother and his band mates didn't win. The main theme for some reality show that lasted two episodes before it was canceled won. What's up with that?!? I suspect a fix, frankly. I know it's supposedly an honor just to be nominated, but since I wasn't the one up for the accolade, I don't have to be gracious or have a good attitude. However, all was not lost, Michael and his wife Maki were able to pose for this photo with Steve Buscemi at the ceremony, which I think is pretty cool.

So even though you'll never again hear the title theme that the Academy of Television Arts and Sciences deemed best this year, you can hear the song my brother co-wrote on the Disney Channel on a regular basis.

Thank You, Rhode Island

I grew up in Southern California; the Los Angeles suburb of Pasadena, to be specific. I now live in San Francisco and am writing today from Honolulu, Hawaii, where my mother currently lives.

However, for a few years I was a New Englander. Well, not really. I attended Brown University, which I LOVED, and after graduation, I stayed in Providence, Rhode Island, for about four and a half more years, working in both Providence and Boston. I very much did not love living in Providence as a college graduate. In fact, I hated it. I worked with some rather unfortunate people, and while I had plenty of friends (most of whom also had attended Brown), I never felt connected to New England culture. By late 1996, I could not get back to California fast enough and high-tailed it to San Francisco in November of that year.

I pretty much have never looked back, save several trips back east to visit my friends. While I find New England to be beautiful, and I love to visit the area, there is no love lost between myself and The Colonies. I would never want to live there again, and I generally am not shy about saying so. However, this week, former Republican Senator (and fellow Brown graduate) Lincoln Chafee may well have redeemed the state of Rhode Island, and perhaps all of New England, in my mind. He showed insight, intelligence and frankly, common sense this week, and I, for one, and happy that he did not keep that common sense to himself. I usually keep politics off this space, but.... From the Associated Press via the CBS News website:

Former Rhode Island Senator Lincoln Chafee, who left the GOP after being defeated for re-election in 2006, called Sarah Palin a “cocky wacko,” but admitted to a Washington audience Tuesday that she has revived a “lackluster McCain candidacy,” the AP reports.

Speaking to the New American Foundation, Chafee was asked about Palin by an audience member and he responded by saying that her candidacy has “thrown this firestorm, this tornado, into the whole presidential election.” Chafee, who is supporting Barack Obama, said that her speech to the GOP convention also energized Democrats. “People were coming into my office, phone calls were flooding in, e-mails were coming in, ‘I just sent money to Obama, I couldn’t sleep last night’ – from the left. To see this cocky wacko up there.”

In an interview with the AP Thursday, Chafee said that he “found much of Palin’s convention speech objectionable, particularly her ‘mocking’ assertion that Obama was overly concerned with al-Qaeda terrorists getting” their rights read to them. That “got to the core of everything wrong with the last eight years,” said Chafee. “I consider that wacky, and certainly her tone was very, very cocky,” he added.

Cocky or not, that woman is a wackjob who scares the living daylights out of me. So thanks, Linc, and thank you, Rhode Island. I now am feeling like I didn't appreciate you enough while I was there.

Okay, all of that said, I only have 24 more hours left in Hawaii. So I'm off to the beach.

... All I Ever Wanted

This post has nothing whatsoever to do with the Go-Go's. It's just that I am in dire need of a vacation; so I have been humming that Go's song to myself nonstop. Luckily for me, I am leaving for Hawaii on Saturday afternoon, and let me tell you, this trip is not coming a moment too soon.

Not only am I dealing with the home issues I alluded to in my last missive, but I have had the world's most frustrating day. I had to take a day off work to go to St. Francis Hospital for a medical test that, as it turns out, I didn't need. Let me repeat that: I was in the hospital at 9:00 this morning for a test I didn't need. Now, the responsible doctor at the hospital assessed that I didn't need said test; so he didn't do it. However, I did waste time there and had to get an expensive scan. And as for my primary care physician... the one who insisted on this unnecessary procedure even after I asked if I really needed it... well, he's getting fired. Just by me, but still. I've decided that his services are no longer useful to me.

What is wrong with people?

Forgive me, I usually reserve this space for happy musings, but I am so angry about what happened today. This situation has illustrated for me at least a few of the many problems with our health care system. Not to mention giving me a better understanding of the ridiculous, over-inflated costs. On the bright side, after I left the hospital in the same perfectly healthy condition in which I had arrived, I called work to see if they wanted me to come in after all. They said no; so my friend Chris, who had come to St. Francis to drive me home, and I enjoyed an outdoor mimosa brunch instead. I suppose that's a way to make lemons into lemonade. Or mimosas, anyway.

Another bit of good news is that Gretchie and I went to see a good play last night: Yellowjackets at Berkeley Rep. I will admit, the script could use some editing, but the acting in this show is phenomenal, as is often the case at Berkeley Rep. I even began to develop a teeny audience crush on one of the actors as I watched his work. However, the characters are all teenagers, and I highly doubt, based on his program bio, that the guy I was crushing on is much older than 18. So nevermind. But still, it's a pretty good play.

We'll talk again when I return from Hawaii, or perhaps while I'm there. I'd tell you I'll miss you, but I so need to get away that, in all honesty, I probably won't.

Missing In Action

Sincerest of apologies, gentle readers!

For more than two and a half years, I diligently have updated this space an average of twice a week. Now look at me: I haven't posted in 14 days. Forgive me, I've been a little busy dealing with a few teeny problems in my living space. I love my quintessential San Francisco home, but these are trying times for the Sassy domicile. Between the nuisance neighbors, bad maintenance on the part of my property manager and some uninvited guests, I've started seriously considering other options.

Plus, my doctor is freaking out because apparently I'm a tad anemic. All this has taken all my energy for the past two weeks. I haven't even been exercising lately. You know that's not like me.

I have done hardly anything fun since my friend Emily's wedding in Napa on the 17th. I did go to Joan and Richard's going-away party last weekend, but that's it. Well, until last night, that is. Right after work, my friend Alison and I went to a party for Italian speakers at a fancy apartment building South of Market. No, I don't speak Italian, but Alison carried me.

There were no cute boys at the party, though; so after a few rounds of Italian (Alison) and apologetic English (me), we went back to Alison's place where we tried to make cosmopolitans. I say we tried because Alison had no cranberry juice, but we used fruit instead and created a whole new drink! I think we should call it "The Alison" and market it to bars around the city. We sipped our newly minted creations while watching several Sex and the City episodes on dvd. It was the perfect Friday evening for a Sassy girl who has been under a decidedly un-sassy amount of stress.

At least I'm going back to Hawaii in a week. Yay! That will take my mind off my poor, abused home.

Tainted Knowledge

There comes a time, I believe, in every music fan's life when she realizes that she is stupid.

Okay, maybe "stupid" is too strong a word. Perhaps it's more accurate to say that, armed with limited information, she made an assumption that turned out to be incorrect.

When I was twelve years old, drinking in all I could from my local radio station KROQ, I heard a little synth-pop tune by Soft Cell called "Tainted Love." It enjoyed a fairly heavy rotation on KROQ, alongside The Go-Go's, Missing Persons, Toni Basil and other stars of the day. I liked the song, quite a bit actually, as did many of my fellow sixth graders. I especially liked the occasions when KROQ would play the 12" version, where "Tainted Love" was married to Soft Cell's cover of the Supremes' "Where Did Our Love Go."

The song made Soft Cell the perfect little one hit wonder band.

I am fairly sick of good old "Tainted Love" now, given that somehow it managed to endure and take a seemingly permanent position on just about every adult contemporary radio station out there these days. I hate that I am the target demographic of radio stations that also play Celine Dion.

Anyway, I was perfectly happy living with "Tainted Love" in the background of my musical tapestry until it was thrust front and center this morning... when I learned that Soft Cell did not write it, Ed Cobb did. Soft Cell's version is an out and out cover of the song, which was first released in 1964 by R&B singer Gloria Jones, pictured above. Of course, the Gloria Jones version kicks Soft Cell's collective ass, but that's really not the point.

How could I have thought for 26 years that Soft Cell wrote that song? Or at least that they sang it first? I don't claim to know everything about music, but I know a few things. I know "Twist and Shout" was a hit for the Isley Brothers before the Beatles covered it. I was very familiar with the La's version of "There She Goes" before Sixpence None the Richer turned it into a U-S hit. "A Message to You, Rudy," by the Specials? Cover. And all that said, I'm certain there are scores of cover songs out there that I don't recognize as such. But to walk around for a quarter century identifying "Tainted Love" solely as a Soft Cell song? That's just wrong.

My friend Wendell pointed out that nothing else in the Soft Cell catalog is nearly so good as "Tainted Love"; so that fact, along with the pairing of "Tainted Love" with "Where Did Our Love Go" could have, decades ago, given me a clue that it is a cover. He makes a good point. "It's A Mug's Game," for example, while a somewhat cute new wave nugget, doesn't even compare. However, Wendell also noted that perhaps I shouldn't beat myself up for not knowing the Gloria Jones version.

Okay, I won't beat myself up, but I now vow to pay better attention. The next thing you know, I'll learn that the Monkees didn't write the vast majority of their songs. Oh, wait...

(P.S. For the record, I know the Supremes didn't write "Where Did Our Love Go," even though I refer to it in this rant as a Supremes' song.)

Welcome Back!

(Feel free to hum the theme to "Welcome Back, Kotter" as you read this.)

My co-worker Rebecca has returned to work.

The lovely and charming Miss Re broke her leg back in mid-May and has been out just a few days short of three full months. Now, there are many people at work who have known Rebecca longer or are personally closer to her than me, but she and I are going to be working very closely together from now on. So I am just as thrilled as anyone that she is back. Maybe even more thrilled.

To celebrate her return to work and our plan to take over the world (oh, yes, we have that plan), Re made me a warm blanket with music notes on it, should I get cold in our place of employment. I am not the one who broke my leg, but I'm not going to look a gift blanket in the mouth. And it was very sweet of her to sew it for me by her very own hand.

I marked the beginning of our world take-over by procuring a sacripantina cake from Stella Pastry in Miss Re's honor. I had heard carrot cake is her favorite, but this occasion deserved the sacripantina, which is known in some circles (i.e. mine) as the greatest cake in the world. Re jokingly asked me if I baked it myself, only because about an hour earlier I'd told her that the contents of my single girl refrigerator currently are limited to pickles, champagne, filtered water, butter and about a cup of most likely sour milk.

Anyway, the cake was delicious, and it is wonderful to have Rebecca back. If you notice a world takeover anytime soon, don't worry. It's just us, and we're very benevolent.

Butterfly

There are hundreds of types of butterflies in the world, and over the course of the last week, I did my best imitation of the social variety.

It began Monday night. After a full and moderately exhausting weekend, I still couldn't stay in. After work, I met the boys at the Knockout for Monday night karaoke. When Andrey, Eric, Berto, Tom, Chris and I had not had our fill by the time the Knockout microphones shut down at 9:00, we piled into Tom and Berto's respective cars and headed across town to keep the warbling going at Encore. I think a lot of regulars were at Encore that night because several really good singers took the stage. We held our own, though.

May I just take this opportunity to make a general plea? I'm sure people are very tired of hearing me belt out "Downtown" over and over again, not to mention "Different Drum," but can we all agree to ban "All That Jazz" from the musical Chicago from any and all karaoke performances? Everyone I've ever heard take on that tune sang it very well, but the song itself is just sooooo boring. If it was a short number, I might be able to deal with it, but it drags for and incredibly repetitious four... or eight... or what seems like thirty insufferable minutes. Good lord.

Okay, back to our story. I stayed in Tuesday night and got about nine and a half hours of well needed sleep. Then on Wednesday I met Kurt and a friend of his at Tony Nik's for champagne and Shellac Shack, a 78-rpm record listening party. And on Thursday it was happy hour at 21st Amendment with Carla, Berto, Olena and Jack.

Friday was my favorite night of the week because I was joined by Sheela, Tom and Andrey at the Attic for Teenage Kicks. I've gushed on this space too many times already about Teenage Kicks, but it is just so much fun. If you're not yet convinced, let me just tell you that Victor began the night by playing Nick Lowe, and one of the last songs he laid on the turntables before I left at about 1 a.m. was "Since Yesterday" by Strawberry Switchblade. Could any music party be better? Survey says: no. Teenage Kicks was a little bittersweet this time around, however, because Friday was my last night to see Sheela before she moves to London next week. Sadness. She'll be back every summer, and she may be here for a visit as soon as December, but it won't be the same.

It's sad when your friends move away. Especially a friend as fun as Sheela. Poop.

Last night was Kevin's 40th birthday party in Potrero Hill, featuring drinks, pizza, cake, dancing and Kevin's parents, who were in town from Pennsylvania. That was super fun. I left a little bit early, though, and hit Javier and Daniel's wedding celebration at their fancy, grown up apartment in Noe Valley. Javier is incredibly excited that he and Daniel now legally can be married. I'm happy about that, too, but mostly, I was just thrilled to see Javier. He is wonderful, and I don't think I've seen him in more than three years.

Today I took a lengthy walk to the west side of Chrissy Field for Heidi and her husband Adam's going away party. I know Heidi through Gourmet Group, and it was nice to bid her farewell. (What's going on? Is everyone fleeing the Bay Area?) After all these parties and nights out, you'd think I'd take some time off from socializing, but no. A more mellow week does face me, but I'll still be out and about beginning with more singing tomorrow night.

Perhaps they should rename the social butterfly the sassy butterfly.

By Popular Demand

Okay, first of all, how did it get to be August already? I know everyone constantly marvels at how fast time flies, but seriously... August 2008? Wasn't it just 1985? I think it was.

Anyway. You may or may not recall that back in April I went to see the brilliant Nick Lowe at the Fillmore. The show was phenomenal, but the most incredible part was that the audience basically bullied dear Nick into doing a third encore. I had never seen such a thing before, but apparently it's not so unusual.

On Friday night I was back at the Fillmore to see the Alarm and the English Beat (also known as English Beat lead singer Dave Wakeling and the musicians he has hired to tour with him). The Alarm sucked because... well, it was the Alarm. I mean no disrespect to any Alarm fans, but that band stinks. Not to mention that the lead singer kept trying to coerce the audience into singing for him. Even when the band was playing a song that wasn't a hit. C'mon buddy, we paid to see you sing (unfortunately); don't try to get us to do your job.

The Beat was, of course, great, but they didn't play for very long. Perhaps I have been spoiled because Dave and the boys play in San Francisco all the time, and they usually play for at least two hours at every show. However, on Friday night, the set was only about an hour long. Sure, they played 60 minutes of great music, but there was no "Best Friend," no "Doors of Your Heart," no "Ackee 123." Drat. But after the second encore, when all was supposedly said and done, the audience wouldn't stop cheering. The lights came up, the roadies started disconnecting the microphones, and I, for one, figured we were done.

Then the band came back.

I don't know if it was the crowd or the fact that the band realized they hadn't yet played "I Confess," but they treated us to two more songs. After the roadies reconnected everything, that is. Another third encore on demand. Good stuff, my friends.

In other news from my weekend, I began my Saturday with brunch with Britney, Denise, Molly and Molly's brand new daughter Riley. Then it was off to my singing lesson, and last night Kurt, his friend Alana and I went to see our friend Beth Lisick in her latest show, Getting in on the Ground Floor and Staying There.

This afternoon I wiled away several hours drinking beer and enjoying snacks at Jupiter in Berkeley with Angela, Diana and Tihanna. Tomorrow it's back to work, but before that I intend to turn on my radio where it will be 1997 again. What's old is new, as always.