Girls Night, Great Idea

About a week ago I was feeling a little melancholy. Instead of wallowing, I decided to rally the troops and summon Suzanne and Zeina for a girls night out.

Given that we're all fabulous and busy women, it took a full seven days for us to get together. I'd shaken off my blues long ago, but a girls night out is a girls night out, right? So last night we began with cocktails and acoustic music at Blondie's and then moved on to Ramblas for snacks. The conversation was brilliant all night (what else would it be?), but it was at Ramblas that we took our brilliance to a new level. For some reason I can't even begin to remember, spin the bottle came up as we indulged in our small plates, and that's when the idea hit Zeina.

She wants to have a spin the bottle party this summer.

The idea itself is fabulous, but it certainly doesn't hurt that Zeina says her male roommates are hot. Is it wrong that I'm really looking forward to this party, whenever it happens? Probably, but if wanting to attend a kitchy party where I get to kiss hot boys is wrong... I don't want to be right.

Okay, off to sing. Carla, Andrey, Berto and I are taking over some karaoke microphones tonight.

Summer In the City

Summer 2008 has arrived and already has brought some good times.

Spring went out like a lion this year with a heat wave that began in the middle of last week. On Friday, the last day of spring and first night of summer, the mercury topped 92 degrees in San Francisco. In case you don't live here, I'll just tell you that the City rarely reaches such temperatures. The rest of the Bay Area was even hotter with fires breaking out all over the region.

My sister Fabulous Patti visited this weekend, and on Friday night, she and I went to the Latin American Club for cool beverages with Terry, Joey and Phil. I'm not sure I've ever been so hot in a bar, but we made the best of things as we sipped margaritas and pear ciders. The stagnant air and continued hot temperatures made the evening a little bit unbearable, but I love hot weather. So I'll take a heat wave anytime.

It was still fairly toasty on Saturday afternoon when Fabulous Patti and I took in Shanghai San Francisco, an interactive theatre piece my friend Valerie is in. Shanghai San Francisco is part walking tour, part play, and it begins at Coit Tower, marking my second visit to the landmark in the eleven and a half years I've lived here. Because San Francisco is the size of a postage stamp, I quickly learned that Valerie is not the only person I know in this show. My downstairs neighbor Jamie is also in it (who even knew she was an actress?), as is Glenn, a guy I took a very intense acting class with just under ten years ago. They say it's a small world, and if you live in San Francisco, you'll definitely believe it.

The sea breeze kicked in late Saturday afternoon, making for a very comfortable night. After swinging by Sebastian's birthday party at the Hi Dive, FP and I made our way to the Napper Tandy to join Valerie, her boyfriend and some friends of theirs for karaoke. Here is what I learned about doing karaoke when you're recovering from bronchitis: don't. However, if, like me, you are intrepid (read: foolish) enough to soldier on with a compromised respiratory system, I recommend picking a very low song.

Honestly, I wasn't planning to sing at all, but it took all of ten minutes for me to want to belly up to the microphone. So I chose "Stay" by Lisa Loeb, thinking I could handle such a simple melody that is free of any really belty notes. Well, not so fast. Normally I sing "Stay" quite well, but given that I currently am operating without an upper register to my voice, things went differently this time. "Stay" isn't even a terribly high song, but what remotely high notes there are just faded into an asthmatic wheeze. Having learned my lesson, I chose for my second number The Pretenders' "Back On the Chain Gang," which is just the teeniest, tiniest bit too low for me. I must say, I've sung that song dozens of times, including with Fake Band, but this was the best I've ever done. One mildly higher note during the key modulation was a little dicey, but otherwise, I pretty much nailed it. So I've learned not only to avoid high or even mid range songs while recovering from an illness but also to avoid imitating Chrissie Hynde unless I've recently had bronchitis.

Life is about learning, right?

The heat wave completely broke and the fog rolled back in just in time for me to attend an outdoor concert in Golden Gate Park today. Brr. I shivered the entire time, but the free snacks and drinks alongside the tunes kept me warm inside. I certainly found myself wishing every Sunday could include free music in the park. But now here I am back at home, where it's warm, and where I will snuggle on the couch in front of Oceans Thirteen before hitting the sack.

If every summer weekend proves to be like this, I'd say it's going to be a mighty fine season.

Stream of Consciousness

Okay, I was wrong. I'm not on the mend and will be heading to the doctor for my precious antibiotics tomorrow. Ah, well.

It's very warm today. I was able to walk to work this morning in my little dress without a sweater or a coat. That may mean nothing to you, but in San Francisco it is quite the coup.

I'm organizing a karaoke party with some of my friends next week, and last night I had a dream about all of us singing. Is that wrong? Don't bother answering that question; I know it is.

This weekend I'm going to "see" some interactive theatre piece taking place on the streets of San Francisco. My friend Valerie is in it, and we get snacks and drinks, too. I'm excited.

My love affair with Nick Lowe continues. I downloaded a few songs from iTunes the other night, and I want to hug him every time I hear him sing. Sigh...

Okay, I think that's all for now. More once I stop coughing.

On The Mend

I seem to have stumbled upon a new cure for an old problem.

I have chronic bronchitis. I'm a lifelong non-smoker, but pediatric asthma and an allergy to cigarette smoke (among other toxins in the air, I'm sure) has rendered my weakened respiratory system susceptible to regular bouts of this ailment. I usually only suffer from episodes every 18 months to two years or so, and I just had one in December. So I was surprised on Monday evening to feel my chest tighten up. In fact, I wasn't so much surprised as in complete denial as to what was going on.

However, by early Wednesday morning, when I awoke at 4 a.m. with a chest that felt like lead, I had to acknowledge what was happening.

Here's how this disease usually progresses. It starts with a virus and over the course of the first week gets worse and worse with me coughing and trying to clear lungs that won't clear. Supposedly it's just a cold at this stage, but there are never any other cold symptoms. Mornings and late evenings are the worst, but I'm pretty much miserable all day every day. After about a week and a half to two weeks, I trot over to the doctor's office for antibiotics to treat the bacteria which, by that time, has settled comfortably into my lungs as well. Once I get my drugs, everything clears up in a few days, and I'm good for another couple of years.

I took Wednesday and Thursday off from work, suspended all exercise (in my opinion, the most painful part of having respiratory disease) and officially set up a sick bay on my couch. It didn't seem to be too bad this time, but that's what I kept telling myself back in December, and that turned out to be one of the worst episodes in a while. However, there were a couple of tiny problems plaguing my recovery. For one thing, after two days on the couch, I was bored out of my mind. For another, the weekend was fast approaching, and I had social engagements to keep. In particular, Teenage Kicks, my very favorite monthly DJ night at the Attic, was happening on Friday. Tom, Carolyn, Andrey and I had already planned to go, and I just couldn't wrap my mind around missing it.

So I went back to work Friday morning and took it all one hour at a time. By Friday night I did have the inclination to just curl up in bed, but nothing was going to keep me from the music. I doubted I was still contagious; so I figured I could be congested at home or be congested while Victor, the host of Teenage Kicks, and Pete, the guest DJ that night, played me some music. I wouldn't drink, and I wouldn't stay out too late.

Ah, famous last words. At 2:30 in the morning, after three Chimays and lots of tunes, I realized that I was feeling better. My lungs were relatively clear, and while I was coughing, I wasn't coughing too much. Yesterday, that guarded feeling of well being continued. I'd lost my voice, but I still felt better. I even went to the gym, and a spell in the steam room there did not produce the coughing fits that would have come if I'd been terribly congested.

Could it be that this little virus is clearing up on its own before becoming bacterial, thus saving me a visit with a physician?

Well, I'm not counting on anything, as I am still a little congesty. And I certainly hope I haven't jinxed my recuperation by writing this. But as I continuously knock wood and hope to avoid a course of Zithromax, I can't help but believe that the music and beer on Friday might have done the trick. I primarily credit the music. Everyone knows that music heals all, no matter what ails you.

Including, perhaps, an issue that has nothing to do with my lungs.

These Are Days

Life is bubbling right along here in Sassyland, and it's all been quite lovely.

My new work schedule is great, although I am still getting used to it. It's amazing how much of an adjustment can be necessary when your days off change and you work when the rest of the world works. But I am loving it.

I made a return to the open jam stage at Blondie's on Wednesday night, and it was... okay. Actually, several of my friends came, which is always really fun for me, and I'm starting to accumulate other fans. Several people who attend this weekly jam seem to think I have a great voice and can really sing. They may be a bit deluded, but I'll take it. At one point during my little performance, the guitar and bass were playing in two different keys, which offered a bit of a challenge. However, as my friend Steve pointed out afterward, I merely had multiple keys to choose from.

That's about all the happenings from here. Last night I took advantage of having my Saturday evenings free once again and went to Solstice for snacks with Suzanne. We then took residence on a couple of bar stools at the Latin American Club and enjoyed many a cocktail with Joey and Phil, who caught up with us later in the evening. Very fun, but I must say I am remembering why I decided last year to cut my drinking to only two days a week. Sassy as I may be, my 38-year old body prefers sparkling water to vodka. Later today a bunch of my coworkers and I are going to a restaurant in Oakland to get together with our former coworker Tihanna, who is in town this weekend after taking a fancy job out of state a few months ago.

On a final note, I've learned something terribly unfortunate about some people I know. It really isn't my business to tell you, and I shouldn't even know, myself. However, for various reasons, this information has reminded me that trusting your instincts is a really good idea. About eight years ago, I did exactly that, and while I didn't regret it even then, I'm even happier about my decision now. I know I'm being cryptic, but that's all I can say.

Trust your instincts, my friends, and don't look back.

Black, White and Parties All Over

As is often the case in my life, all this weekend's parties happened at the same time. Last night my friend Michael threw some kind of (second) primary election primer party, Katya celebrated her birthday at Kell's, and San Francisco society gathered, along with us riff raff, for the Black and White Ball.

With my days of being able to do it all long behind me, I had to skip Michael's party. However, I made it to the other two affairs, beginning with with the Black and White Ball. My friend Tom (pictured above with Angela and me) was my date, and several of my friends from work attended, as well. Dressed to the nines, we sipped cocktails, nibbled snacks, and enjoyed the music. Unfortunately, it was typically cold in San Francisco on this late spring night, and I was positively freezing.

Although it was fun, nothing terribly earth shattering happened at the Ball, and at about 10:30, Tom and I began our search for a cab to whisk us away to Kell's. It took a bit of time, but we arrived soon enough and found Katya's party in full swing. The birthday girl did find time to pose with me for this photo (as well as several others), while playing the perfect hostess. Kell's is hardly my favorite bar in the world, but it was pretty fun to dance and sing along to the cheesy music with Katya, Andrey and the rest of their friends.

Sadly, I was somewhat over-served and at 1 a.m. made a beeline for my apartment. I realize now that I didn't even say goodbye to anyone, but they were all still partying at full steam and likely didn't notice my departure. Once home, I decided that ordering Juno from On Demand would be a good idea. Of course, I fell asleep on it, but since I never sleep well when I've had too much to drink, I woke up after just a few short hours and watched it again.

I would have loved to lay on my couch and simply recover all day today, but instead, I joined Katie at the ballpark to watch the Giants play the Padres. And the game was well worth it. Not only did Katie and I have a chance to catch up after not having seen each other for several weeks, but the Giants actually won the game. In the bottom of the 10th inning, no less. It was very exciting but not too much for my fatigue or hangover.

Tonight I need to practice for my upcoming open mic appearance, but needless to say, I'll be going to bed early. And hopefully, I'll sleep better and longer than I did last night. Um, I mean this morning.

So Wrong, But Oh, So Right

Okay, I might officially be a huge geek.

I have mentioned on this space before that I rarely, if ever, see movies in the theatre. The only film I've seen on the big screen this year is Juno, and that was back in January. And frankly, I can't recall if I set foot in a movie theatre at all last year.

Well, my 2008 tally is about to double because the Sex and the City movie comes out tomorrow, and you bet I'm going to see it. In fact, I am going tomorrow night. And I already have my tickets.

That's right, I purchased tickets in advance. For a movie.

I will, in fact, be spending more than two hours on a Friday night, prime cocktailing time, in a dark theatre.

This isn't like me, but it's Sex and the City, for cryin' out loud. Maybe I'm the cliche of an urban single girl, but wild horses wouldn't keep me away from this film. I was feeling a little embarrassed by my advanced ticket purchase until I learned that my friend Megan is going to see Sex and the City tonight at midnight. Plus my coworkers Christine, Angela and (the other) Christine all have an enthusiasm for the film similar to mine.

So at least cosmo-swilling geekiness loves company.

***Edited on May 30th to add*** What a shame the movie turned out to be such a disappointment. It doesn't do the series justice. However, before the film, I saw one woman slap another... hard... because she thought the second woman had taken her seat in the theatre. Needless to say, the slapper was removed and the police were called. This at an 8:30 p.m. screening of Sex and the City in San Francisco, the city of peace, love and happiness.

Fifteen Pounds of Bacon

Everyone has traditions. Some people take the same vacations every year; some stick to the same holiday rituals. As for me, one of my traditions is to attend Tom, Chris and Nick's annual Memorial Day weekend barbecue. They've had eleven so far, and I've been to every one.

Between the three of them, Tom, Chris and Nick generally invite about 400 people to this party, ensuring it is always a well attended affair. Snacks are plentiful; libations flow; and kids and pets are always a hit. Easily the most popular guest this year was the puppy pictured above with Elena, Dave, Katya and Eric. That dog probably got more love than all us other partiers combined.

The rest of us did have fun, too. And as the afternoon became the evening, several things happened: it got a little chilly (read: downright cold); we continued imbibing with everything from vodka punch to beer to hot toddies available; Roach, Tom and I posed for this photo; and Kevin threw fifteen pounds of bacon on the grill.

Yes, you read that correctly.

Apparently, another guest brought bacon to last year's party (I have no idea); so Kevin took upon himself to make sure this year's soiree was similarly stocked. After finding a $100 bill on the street, he spent 44 of those found dollars on fifteen pounds of bacon purchased from a Mission butcher. Don't worry, he didn't try to cook it all at once. The bacon was grilled in the very civilized manner one would expect of barbecued bacon. I have to admit, it looked kind of gross, but it tasted delicious.

There are occasions when I always seem to eat things I never would otherwise, like hot dogs at baseball games. And barbecued bacon at Tom, Chris and Nick's party.

The Sub Rosas Take the Mission

We came, we saw, we rocked the house.

Okay, not really. Given that the Sub Rosas play music more of the emo/indie and pop genres, there was no rocking involved at all. The closest we came was getting our legions of fans to bop on their barstools and even dance a little to our renditions of "Someday, Someway" and "Different Drum." That's close to rocking the house, isn't it?

Whether we "rocked" or not, the Sub Rosas debuted at the Blondie's Volume One Music Showcase on Monday night. No three-song open mic appearance here; this was a full 40-minute set gig. I have to admit, I was a little disappointed in our performance, but it's possible I'm being overly critical. Especially since Doug, who joined us on bass, hadn't really practiced prior to 24 hours before the show. Given that, we probably did really, really well.

Rosa sang several of her original songs and one cover, while I played the role of a low-rent, indie-type American Idol contestant by singing only cover tunes. It's because I don't write music. Yet. You never know what might happen tomorrow. As I mentioned, Doug played bass, and Jackie generously offered us some lead guitar lines.

Regardless of what I thought of the performance, the audience loved us. Yes, the audience was mostly comprised of our friends, and a few of my friends were drunk, but still. We'll take the love. I will tell you that after our set, I was approached a random guy who wanted to know when our next gig was or if we have a MySpace page. Embarrassed that my answers to those questions were "I have no idea" and "Um... no," respectively, I took the guy's email address and promised to add him to our mailing list.

I guess I have to start a Sub Rosas' mailing list.

Regardless, given that he was a stranger, I'd call that guy our first official fan. Yay! Unfortunately, I'm serious when I say that I don't know when the Sub Rosas will perform again. Or if we'll perform together again.

In the meantime, I'm headed back to the open mic circuit, bolstered by the knowledge that I, as a member of the Sub Rosas, have one fan.

The Best Policy?

Sometimes being honest is quite the challenge.

I should know this already, as my tendency to be honest actually has gotten me into trouble in the past. In fact, it caused a whole bunch of drama about three years ago, but that's another story. (For the record, I stand by my choice to be upfront and honest in that situation.)

Anyway, this particular tale involves money. A major, upscale department store, which shall remain nameless so as not to embarrass anyone, seems to think I have a credit on my charge card bill, when, in fact, I owe them money. It's kind of complicated and not exactly an exciting story, but it boils down to a swim suit I bought for my recent trip to Hawaii. The suit is quite lovely, and I wore it very well in Waikiki. For reasons of pre-sales and gift cards, I ended up getting said swim suit for just $45.26, down from $96. Yay! However, due to a mistake made during the convoluted sequence of pre-sale charging, returning and re-charging to accommodate my gift cards, the store has not only forgiven my actual debt but has credited me $43.28.

Now, I imagine many people would just take the credit and run. I believe this because I was tempted to do that, myself. After all, it wasn't my mistake; I got my bill and trusted it to be accurate. However, in the end (or at the beginning, I perhaps should say), I decided that I should be honest and not allow this store to pay me for donning a new swim suit on a Hawaiian beach.

The first thing I did was call the 1-800 number on my bill. I carefully (and charismatically, if I do say so, myself) explained the situation to the agent who answered the phone. She understood where the mistake had been made but didn't know how to fix it. After thanking me for my honesty, she put me on hold so she could ask her supervisor what to do. When she returned to the line, she told me that there was nothing that could be done at billing headquarters since apparently, this was a mistake made at the store. So I'd have to go there and clear everything up in person.

I bet at this point you're hoping I just decided to take the credit. Nope, no such luck.

This afternoon (my last weekday off before my work schedule changes, by the way), I trotted over to the upscale department store to explain the error. It didn't go quite so well this time. A tiny language barrier forced much repetition of my story, and the customer service rep still thought I was trying to tell him I should have a bigger credit. When I finally was able to explain clearly that I actually owe the store money and would like to pay it, he told me not to.

Not yet, anyway.

In this man's opinion, it is "likely" that the error will correct itself. How, I'm not sure, and I don't think he knows, either. Regardless, I am to wait through another billing cycle, and if I still have a credit, I can come back to the store and have it fixed. He did tell me he'd never had a customer come to his desk to correct a billing mistake made in her favor. I guess he'll tell me that again if/when he sees me in 30 days.

Being honest certainly can require of degree of tenacity. And it can give you a headache.

Some Kind of Monday

Have you ever asked for something really good, gotten it and then felt overwhelmed? Almost like you're in shock?

Just wondering.

Romy and Michele Have Nothing On Us

Twenty years ago this June, I put on a beautiful white dress, carried a bouquet of flowers and.... graduated from high school. (Well, what did you expect me to write?) This weekend, members of Polytechnic School's Class of 1988, many of us pictured in this post, gathered at our alma mater in Pasadena to celebrate our 20-year reunion. And it wasn't just about high school. Poly, as we call it, is a private prep school; so many of us, like me, spent most of our secondary education there. I put in 11 years at Poly, from 2nd through 12th grade, and literally grew up with my classmates. There is something really great about connecting with people who have known you since you were seven. Some of these people I still see and talk to regularly; others I haven't seen since the last reunion. Or since they left Poly back in the 80's.

Just to make sure my reunion experience was as authentically high school as possible, my skin decided to break out. Okay, it wasn't that bad, and I'm probably the only one who even noticed my blemishes, but still. How appropriate. Otherwise, I'll risk arrogance and tell you that I looked great, especially compared to my overweight adolescent self. It's so nice that adulthood lasts so much longer than our teen years. Especially if you look better as you get older.

The reunion began with courtyard cocktails and mingling. Actually, there had been a picnic earlier in the day, but I skipped that. As I told many of my classmates, I saw no need to begin my reunion until the liquor started flowing. After cocktails, there were class pictures and then dinner. Officially, the reunion ended after dinner, but do you think we Class of '88 partiers stopped there? Oh, no. Once dinner was done, many of us took off for the bar at the former Huntington Hotel (I'm not sure what they're calling that hotel this week).

It was at the Huntington that our collective composure really loosened up, as you can perhaps tell from the composition of this particular photograph. Champagne and wine flowed, enlightenment was shared and bonds were strengthened. As Saturday night turned into Sunday morning, the crowd thinned, but the party didn't die. Those of us who closed down the reunion (that would be Gabriella, Vince, Ella, Bobby, John and myself) finally wrapped things up at about 3:45 a.m.

That's right, a bunch of near 40-year olds out until almost 4:00 in the morning. Does it get better than that? I think not. The drinking aside, of course, high school itself should be this much fun.

First Stop: Tiki Ti

I mentioned before that I planned to take a little mini-vacation to L.A. this month, right?

Well, that's where I now am. I arrived yesterday afternoon and will be in the Southland until Sunday morning. What has brought me to the City of Angels this time around is my 20-year(!) high school reunion in Pasadena. There are several reunion activities scheduled, but I likely will only attend the cocktail and dinner parties on Saturday night. I should probably go to everything, given that I'm on the reunion committee, but there's only so much high school I can take. I liked high school and all, and it will be nice to see my old classmates, but really, now.

One thing I already have done is pay a mandatory visit to Tiki Ti. Tiki Ti is a teeny, tiny tropical drinks bar on Sunset that I was introduced to a year ago by a Bay Area acquaintance. These days it doesn't exactly look like it did in this 1961 photo, but it's still in the same location and still offers dozens upon dozens of different tropical drinks. But no beer or wine, so don't bother asking. My sister Fabulous Patti and I went last night and enjoyed Lemonhead cocktails, as well as the excellent Tiki Ti atmosphere. I love it there.

Tonight I'm going to see the Morning Benders at the Echo. The Morning Benders are a Bay Area band I really like, but I haven't managed to see them up north. So I've traveled 350 miles to finally check them out. A friend of mine (and by "friend," I mean a guy I met at the Good Luck Bar the last time I was in L.A.) who works at the Echo put me on the guest list for tonight's show. So I get the pleasure of music for free. Yay!

Other than the Morning Benders and my reunion, I suspect it's going to be a pretty mellow visit. Several of the friends I usually see when I come to town are otherwise engaged this weekend, and I kind of feel like laying low, anyway. My sister and I want to check out the 4100 Bar, also on Sunset, but we'll see if we get there. I intend to go shopping this afternoon for a reunion outfit, but I feel a nap coming on.

Once I get back to the City by the Bay, it will be all about rehearsals. The big Sub Rosas show is coming up on 19th, and we have to make sure we're ready.

Seriously, Why Isn't Life a Beach?

So here I am, home safely after eight glorious days in Honolulu. And my question for you is: why? The lovely photo to the left is Waikiki Beach in the late afternoon. I snapped a whole bunch of shots like this one because the reflection of the setting sun on the water is just so beautiful. How could any sane person leave that?

Well, I have no idea because I did leave, but I certainly had a blast while I was there. I think my vacation can best be summarized using the following categories: exercise, beach, food and singing.

Exercise. I know I've mentioned this before, but it bears repeating... there is nothing more lovely than a morning run on a tropical island. Every day of my vacation began with a jog or visit to the hotel gym. The outdoor runs were a little more satisfying than the gym, given that it is always warm by 7 a.m. in Hawaii. Living in San Francisco, I'm not accustomed to running in 75-degree temperatures or higher before noon. But I certainly enjoyed it.

Beach. Every time I go to Hawaii I threaten to move there. What stops me is the idea that if I lived there, I likely would have to get a job and have a life that didn't necessarily revolve around laying on a beach and playing in the ocean all day long. There are never enough hours in a day for the beach. After my morning endorphin rush, I'd wash up, slather on the sunscreen and head for the waves. And most early evenings found me walking along the water as the sun set. Should I ever write a personal ad, I could say that I enjoy walks along the beach and actually mean it.

Food. There was a lot of food, and I ate it all. Yum.

Singing. So I mentioned in the previous post that my mother found some Waikiki karaoke. It's every night at the Shore Bird, in case you're wondering. However, in addition to that, my friend Emily and I stumbled upon a karaoke room nestled inside a bar in the basement of our hotel. The bar itself was pretty horrifying, but the karaoke room was great. Singing set us back $1 per song, but it was so worth it. On Monday night we stuffed the machine with $30 and sang our hearts out. After a more traditional karaoke experience at the Shore Bird on Tuesday, we were back in the basement karaoke room on Wednesday night, our last night. We didn't sing as many songs on Wednesday, at least I didn't, but we still gave our inner rock stars a work out. Emily has told me several times since our Monday marathon that she doesn't think she knows anyone else who would have been game to sing for so long with her. Good thing she recently started doing karaoke with me.

I suppose there could be other categories to describe my vacation activities, like boys. They were everywhere, but none were really that interesting to me. Emily had a field day (or days), but I wasn't really into any of the boys we met. Another indication that when I go to Hawaii, it's all about the beach. Also, while San Francisco may have cold, bitter beaches, the boy selection here is rather lovely.

Sadly, all good things must come to an end, including vacations, and yesterday saw my return to the Bay. Before bidding Oahu farewell, I took a run/walk and strolled along the beach one last time. That's where I posed for this self portrait. I wasn't as sad to leave as I usually am, but I think that's because I'm going back to Hawaii in just four and a half short months. Yay! Also, now that my vacation is over, I can move on to my mini-vacation next week. That's right, next Wednesday I head to L.A. for jogs along Los Feliz Boulevard, live music in Echo Park and my 20-year(!) high school reunion in Pasadena.

And after that, we have the Sub Rosas show! Then, Tom and Chris' annual Memorial Day barbecue, as well as the Black and White Ball. Lots of good things happening in May, and when they're all done, I'll be that much closer to my next Hawaii get-away.

Notes From A Beach

I haven't even been in Hawaii for 24 full hours, but already I have tidbits to share.

1. It took less than three hours from the time my plane touched down for some man twice my age to hit on me. At 38, I'm no spring chicken, myself, but I have to wonder what a man who looks 70 thinks he's going to get out of chatting me up. Seriously. He was polite and nice enough, but really, now.

2. The first thing Diva Mommy and I did upon my arrival was hit the patio at Duke's Canoe Club. I landed at 3:15, and we were seated at Duke's with lava flows in hand by 4:45. Plus, our very favorite Waikiki live musician was playing. Yay! He played "Beyond the Sea" for me, even though he doesn't really know it. It sounded good to me; so I was happy.

3. Later in the evening, the Diva and I found ourselves at another beachfront bar/restaurant, and the musicians there treated us to a rendition of Joe Jackson's "Is She Really Going Out With Him" between Lynyrd Skynyrd and Neil Diamond covers. I didn't know whether to be happy or horrified at the inclusion of Joe Jackson, but I sang along. (Besides, "Is She Really Going Out With Him" is being used in the commercials for a really terrible-looking Patrick Dempsey movie. So if I'm going to be horrified, I should probably start there.)

4. Diva Mommy has found me some Waikiki karaoke! Oh, little does the sweet Diva, who was a professional singer in her day, know. It was getting kind of late by the time the karaoke began, but not too late for me to warble through "Different Drum" and make a whole bunch of friends in the mere three minutes it took for me to sing it. Don't think I won't be back there for a few hundred more tunes.

Okay, that's all for now. I have my new bathing suit on, and the beach awaits....

The Countdown Begins

Less than 24 hours from now, I will be here, basking in some serious Aloha spirit.

Do you need anything from Waikiki? A lava flow from Duke's Canoe Club, perhaps? How about if I take a dip in the warm Pacific and soak up some sunshine for you? I'll be sure to tell Diva Mommy you say hello, and when Emily arrives on Sunday night, we'll party in your honor.

Or you could come along. Think about it...

Dance Party USA

Little did Chris, Tom, Andrey, Angela, Joey, Phil, Terry and I know when we gathered at the Attic last night, we soon would find ourselves in the middle of an out and out dance party. I'm not talking a few folks bopping to the music over their cocktails. I mean clothing layers thrown aside, beers ignored and abandon embraced as people shook their groove things and got waaay down.

Even though I have proclaimed the Attic to be one of my favorite bars these days, I am still a newbie there. It's my understanding that they have DJ's every night of the week, and I am learning just how varied the music styles spun by these mad turntable scientists can be. When my friends and I began to trickle in at about 8:00, the man providing the music was playing indie rock tunes seeming to befit a semi-dive bar in the Mission. It was the perfect soundtrack for our imbibing and chatting.

However, a couple of hours later, after several of us went on a much-needed burrito run, the beat had changed, and what there is of a makeshift dance floor had come alive. The music was a mix of cool classic soul played alongside awful top 40 and techno/disco. It was all just so oddly schizophrenic: I'd be enjoying one song only to have my buzz killed by the next. However, the hipster version of American Bandstand taking over the place didn't care in the least. The crowd was loving every note and eating it all up. Even if I didn't dance, myself, or particularly like the music, the energy of the place was pretty great.

So a few cheesy songs hasn't dampened my Attic love, and it's good to know that a relatively small, dark bar can turn into a buzzing discotheque at a moment's notice.

This afternoon I went to Berkeley to rehearse with Rosa and Jackie for the upcoming Sub Rosas show. Things are coming along, but suffice it to say, I'm quite glad the show isn't happening for a few weeks.

This is why we practice.

Working On Material

One of the great things about living in San Francisco is that occasionally you can, if you're quick enough to get tickets before they're scooped up by others, see Robin Williams live, as he tests out new material at Bimbo's 365 Club.

Well, I was fast enough this time, and that's what Denise, Paul, Carolyn and I did tonight. Robin was, of course, hysterical, and the historic, intimate Bimbo's was the perfect venue. So much fun.

The show tonight was an excellent end to a lovely day that saw me take a nearly six mile run/walk (I ran four miles, walked just under two), get a much-needed haircut, and day drink in the sunshine at Zeitgeist with Bill, Katie and Steve. What's better than Wednesday afternoon Chimay and hard cider on Zeitgeist's beer patio? Nothing.

Well, maybe seeing Robin Williams live later in the evening is a tiny bit better.

(Psst., guess what? Just one week until Hawaii! Emily and I are going to rule Waikiki. Yay!)

Music That's Making Me Happy Today, vol 36

Nick Lowe at the Fillmore

I've always liked and respected Nick Lowe, but over the years our relationship has been of the casual variety. "Cruel To Be Kind" enjoys a strong rotation on my iPod, but I only own one album (Jesus of Cool). However, after seeing him this weekend, I am officially in love. And certainly ready to make a serious commitment.

Imagine a brilliant songwriter, a guitar and you, safely nestled with a few other fans at a legendary San Francisco rock club. Now, imagine yourself surrounded for about 90 minutes by a sea of perfectly crafted three-minute pop songs. My new music boyfriend, Nick, is touring with Robyn Hitchcock, but I have to admit, I can take Robyn or leave him. He's a good songwriter, too, I suppose, but nothing to write home about (sorry, Robyn).

Nick serenaded me, Bill, Kim and Katie, along with the rest of the crowd, for over an hour, and when he ended with "What's So Funny 'Bout Peace, Love and Understanding," (yes, made famous by Elvis Costello but written by Nick), I was so happy, I was near tears. For an encore, Nick brought Robyn back and they treated the audience to several cover tunes, including the Beatles' "If I Fell." Then sadly, the lights started to come up, and the house music began to play.

Not so fast.

Forget about little, lovesick me, Nick quickly learned that he couldn't just just walk out on the dozens of stoned Baby Boomers and their Gen X friends who populated the Fillmore that night. About five minutes of continuous cheering and clapping later, we had all succeeded in bullying Nick Lowe back onstage for two more songs. I don't think I've ever seen a second encore begin after the house lights and music had come up.

He may be almost 60, but nonetheless I repeat, Nick Lowe is my new music boyfriend.

Another new boyfriend of mine is DJ El Guapo, the man in charge of Teenage Kicks at the Attic. Tom and I took residence on a couple of barstools there on Friday night, and it was a delicious experience. Once the music started, poor Tom had to deal with me repeatedly stopping the conversation mid-sentence to bop my head to the beat and proclaim how happy I was. I didn't even know most of the songs Mr. Guapo (okay, his real name is Victor) played, but I loved them all just the same. The songs I did know were choice, too, including the Records' "Starry Eyes," which you never hear anywhere these days. I probably scared Victor a little bit because I had to gush over his song choices more than once, but everyone likes having a fan, right?

I think Teenage Kicks happens the second Friday of every month. Well, whenever it is, I intend to be there for it.

The Best Laid Plans

Remember when I said this afternoon that I was going to go running... in the opposite direction of the Olympic Torch. (You don't? Scroll down; it's at the end of my previous post.) Well, I did just that. Or so I thought.

About 15 minutes into said run, I encountered a closed street. Why was the street closed you ask? That's right: the Torch. Officials aborted their original route plan and took the Torch directly across my running route. The bad news is that the spectacle delayed my run by about 15 minutes or so, and I never regained my momentum. As a consequence, I ended up going on a shorter "run" than planned and walked most of it.

The good news is that I did see the Torch in person. Without all the mayhem. I will say, however, that had I gone down to the Embarcadero, as originally planned, and waited for hours to see a Torch that never showed up, I'd have been highly irate. Just like I bet a lot of people were.