Simpsons Me, Teen Angst Me

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

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

Poetry. Written by a teenage me. Good lord.

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

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

And:

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

Or:

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

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

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

All That Jazz... Or Not

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

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

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

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

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

Blissed Out

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shopping and Swapping

I would make a really good rich person.

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

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

It might be time for me to consider marrying rich.

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

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

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

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

Bourbon, Beer and Burgers

That title certainly sounds decadent, doesn't it?

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

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

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

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

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

It's good to have Wednesdays off from work.

She Gave Birth To Me?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Keeping Up With... Myself

Sometimes even my own life makes me a little tired.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the Rockets Red Glare...

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

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

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

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

Taxicab Confessions... Or I Should Say Blathering

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Baseball, Beer and Impulse Shopping

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

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

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

But then I wandered into Betsy Johnson.

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

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

The Size of A Cow

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

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

Delicious.

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

Simple Pleasures

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

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

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

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

Love Is All You Need

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

In theory, anyway.

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

All you need is love, my babies.

Confessions of a Former Partier

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Taste of The Ocean State

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

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

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

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

Yum-my.

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

Sassy Jetsetter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Recognizing That Life Is Good

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yummy

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

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

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

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