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May 2004

Truncated

If I needed a photographer, I wouldn’t hesitate to choose this guy, just for having the coolest sign in the world…

Had a bit of a diner celebration last night to mark six months of a smoke-free me. I’m also reminded, though, of the fact that in three more months, I will hit age 40. I’m not 100% certain I’m ready to deal with that just yet…

By the way, be very glad that I chopped off the rest of this journal entry and that you were spared it. If you have any doubts, know that the word “refective” was used just a few times too many…

I Don’t Get It

Only in San Francisco: Homeless “advocate” Allison Lum on today’s implementation of “Care Not Cash”:

“This gives homeless people less money to live on and nowhere near enough housing to take them,” she said. “It’s stealing from them, really. It’s an outrage, and the court just made it worse.”

Stealing? STEALING???

Crass Commercialism? Please…

I’m not a fan of baseball, professional or otherwise. For me, it’s right up there on the excitement scale with watching paint dry. But I’m rather amused at the current case of baseball purists being all up in arms about the idea of introducing advertising into the game. Something about “crass commercialism” or such…

Say what?

Apparently, some baseball fans have this fantasy that the professional version of the game has nothing to do with money, and is all about a bunch of really dedicated volunteers playing around in a field near somebody’s barn. Apparently, they remain blissfully unaware of the strikes, the unimaginable salaries of their favorite players, the marketing schemes and broadcast rights, and of the extortionary tactics team owners use against the municipalities which house their stadiums…

Here’s a clue: professional baseball, like all professional sports, is ENTIRELY about money and commercialism. It’s a business, and its primary purpose is to create profit. Hence the term “professional”. And you know what? There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. The only problem is the sentimental fans who constantly whine about how “crass” and “commercial” the sport has become…

Unfortunately, these same fans are the ones who fall hook, line. and sinker for team owners’ pleas for new taxpayer-financed stadiums every five years. Their misguided notion of the game somehow blinds them to the fact that the team is a business which should be self-supporting, not some altruistic endeavor which must be publicly supported…

Randomly Saturday

For the Goth in all of you: Frankenstein and Dracula in spiffy new box sets…

Things I really like today:

  • Carol Burnett marathons on TV Land
  • None of the usual Saturday backup on the Bay Bridge…
  • Leftover Indian food…
  • An internet radio station which actually plays “We Dance” by November Group when I request it…
  • Having my doctor say “you know most people don’t quit smoking and then lose 40 pounds”…

Things I don’t much care for today:

  • Suspecting that 40 pound weight loss may suggest that my thyroid is acting up again…
  • Trying to decipher what part of it is due to my own effort rather than my hormone issues…
  • Sbarro, so why do I always eat there on those rare occasions where I find myself in a mall?
  • No more Burger Road, although I did just hear “nowhere Girl”, even though I wasn’t in the corner sex bar ‘cuz it’s closed now too…

If that last sentence made no sense at all, well, you shoulda follwed the damned link…

Yours, Mine, and Ours

Yours, Mine, and Ours was on TCM this morning. The host made the same mistake so many others make: that the movie was the inspiration for The Brady Bunch. It’s completely untrue; the Brady pilot was written a couple of years prior to the release of the movie (which was a true story). It was the success of the movie, however, which finally paved the way for the actual PRODUCTION of the Bradys in 1969…

I’m sorry. I just expect those generally well-informed hosts on TCM to know little tidbits like this…

12 May 2004

It surprises no one that I’m no fan of Pat Buchanan. He’s about the closest thing to an anti-christ that an agnostic could envision. But I read this surprisingly lucid op-ed piece in the Chron today, and it’s actually worth a look…

BTW, I’ve decided to eat like a maniac for the next few weeks while my metabolism is still hyperactive. Food suggestions welcome. We went to Palomino last night, just because I had a coupon, and still managed to kill off about seventy bucks, so CHEAP food suggestions are especially welcome…

Did I mention that I reworked my pictures page, ending (I think) that brief flirtation with pop-ups?

Giving Up My Thyroid

Tomorrow morning I say farewell to my thyroid gland. It’s a simple procedure; I drink a glass of radioactive iodine and wait a few days (or months) for the results. I’m prepared, I guess, but I’m still a little sad to see it go…

I could say the same thing about Tony Randall too, now that I think about it…

Dead Car

I pop out to my car to drive over to meet Dan and Eugene for dinner and realize that my battery’s dead. This couldn’t happen on a worse weekend, because (a) Mark‘s in Fresno, and (b) he drove this time rather than taking the train, so I can’t even use his car…

Fortunately, Dan has offered to jump me, so I won’t be stuck in San Francisco all weekend. That would be a fate worse than death…

Time for some barbecue

San Jose

Now really, who WOULDN’T want to do his laundry at the Pineapple Laundrette?

I drove down to the city on Saturday, taking pictures and generally poking around. San Jose is nice, and it’s a handy reminder to Bay Area residents that we do in fact live in California. San Francisco has its own charms, but it’s really Californian only by virtue of geography…

San Jose, on the other hand, is more reminiscent of that cliché Southern California “dream” which draws so many people to the west coast. With its cute little single-family houses and neighborhood shopping centers from the 1950s, and with its freeways and low-rise orientation, and its palm trees and semi-trpocal vegetation, San Jose looks more like California is “supposed” to look: informal, sunny, modern, and open.

San Francisco looks stuffy, cold, damp, claustrophobic, and old. Residents are stacked on top of each other, many of them don’t own cars, and the freeways are more likely tobe demolished than repaired or expanded. There are dingy corner stores rather than big (or small) shopping centers, and any palm trees one finds look rather lost. It’s no wonder people are so surprised to find this very east coast city on the tip of a Penisula in California…