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Housekeeping and Dream Whip

Dang. It sure is quiet in here…

OK, so everyone’s really sick of reading about my new adventures setting up housekeeping alone. No one cares that I now own my own vacuum cleaner for the first time since 1989. Everyone’s lost interest in my trendy new cookware and my new shower curtain and matching bath towels from Target. And everyone’s really pissed that I seem to have stopped answering email.

Too damned bad. That, and a disturbing amount of work, is about all that’s going on for me right now.

The highlight of my weekend was a shopping excursion with Sarah to the thrift stores and strange closeout warehouses of Redwood City. I bought Drano and forks and bowls. I deviated from the domestic theme by picking up this really great beat-up army jacket. I also found a cool mug which says “no smoking”. I fully intend to use it as an ashtray.

But the real find was the Arabic box of Dream Whip you see above. It’s comforting to know that if I ever find myself in the heat of the Middle East longing for instant non-dairy whipped topping, I’ll probably be able to find it.

Coming tomorrow: my hastily-composed Planet SOMA Third Anniversary Address. Coming the next day: more exciting stories of domestication, including a euphoric essay on my new chair.

Why yes, my life IS a bit tedious this week, thank you…

Furniture and Beer

I’m re-furnishing my house courtesy of Sarah and Brad. So far I’ve added the coolest butterfly chair in the world as well as a drafting table. They’re great…sort of like a surrogate aunt and uncle. Except that they’re both younger than I am. And they have cooler stuff than my aunts and uncles.

Strangely sociable weekend. Went to Jack’s in the Mission Friday night to see Rae and Michael as they visited from Portland, along with Dawson, Paula, Shawn and two other very nice people whose names I now do not remember. There are more pictures. They’re not significantly better than the one above. Dark bars do not photograph well.

On Saturday, I had dinner with the ex-roomie and visited my former sofa. The sofa seems very happy in its new home. It has lots of light and a new blanket and a bigger TV. It also has an adjacent futon with which to pass time during the day. It’s a happy sofa indeed. Dan seems pretty happy too.

At the Track

Sure, the news today had stories about the fact that we now seem to be at war. There was also mention of the fact the Fred Phelps made his semi-annual visit to San Francisco on Friday (he’s done wonders for queers ever since we put him on the payroll as official spokesidiot for bigotry).

But today’s completely unnewsworthy story on horse racing at Golden Gate Fields was the one which caught my eye. You see, I grew up going to the horse races and I know what a wondrous thing it is.

About twice a year, my mom and dad and I (sometimes with my grandmother) would pack up the car bound for a little town called Charles Town, West Virginia and go to the races.

The trip was pretty similar each time. The first day, we’d drive up, check into our motel, hit that night’s races, and have a late snack at the diner downtown. On the second day, we’d drive to wherever there were races in the suburbs of Washington or Baltimore. My dad would watch the horses and my mom and I often hit a mall or whatever. Back to Charles Town that night for a repeat. On the third and final day, we’d either go to Washington (for culture) or one of the big theme parks in Virginia (for fun) and then home.

These were great trips. They weren’t really about gambling (although I did learn how to pick a winner). For me, and I suspect somewhat for my mom and dad as well, they were largely about people-watching. Some of the strangest characters in the world lurk about eastern race tracks: big fat drunk guys in plaid sportcoats, scary kids who looked like modern adaptations of Dickensian orphans, bored and damaged-looking mothers…

The food was great too: no frills pizza and hot dogs and hamburgers. There was lots of beer, too, but my mom and dad didn’t drink. The whole atmosphere was so incredibly seedy. I loved it. It prepared me for the pockmarked urban landscapes I love to this day. It was all about the working class (or maybe not even as well-to-do as that…)

Somehow, I can’t imagine that any track in the increasingly trendy and sanitized Bay Area could match up to Charles Town or Laurel or Timonium. No doubt, the uptight soccer moms of Marin County would be horrified at the idea of a child visiting such a place. It’s just too real for our sophisticated palates. I envision lattes and biscotti and sandwiches on focaccia.

But maybe I’m wrong. Anybody wanna check it out with me? Casino gambling bores me. Dog racing horrifies me. But I could be in the mood to hang out with the horses this week.

Acceptable Week

All in all, I’d have to say it’s been a pretty acceptable week.

I was a little disturbed by life last week (you’ll thank me for sparing you the details and the whining), but things look a little brighter now. The financial traumas associated with setting up housekeeping alone have eased a bit. The construction across the street has become a little less annoying.

And I found a great new dive with an irresistable name: Big Joe’s Broiler #2. Look for a review soon.

My new part-time boss even scored points today. We were talking about Sunday’s demolition at SF State and about Detroit when he recommended a book I should read. Turns out it’s one of my all-time favorites, The New American Ghetto by Vergara (note the shameless marketing link…twice even…) When someone recommends one of my favorite books, I’m pre-disposed to like him, because (a) my favorite books are very specific types, and (b) my favorite books are really obscure.

I’ve even paid this month’s bills already. Some of them were even on time!

And I’m only four shows short of my complete set of “Streets of San Francisco” episodes on tape. I’ll have them all by Friday. There’s a database involved. Even my hobbies are becoming geeky…

On the other hand, I’m still behind on the email. Really behind. Up to a month in some cases. I seem to have developed this really bad mental block when it comes to email.

Yeah, I’m babbling and writing about nothing, I know. Maybe it’s best that I’m not answering email…

Sick?

Sick day at home. You might think I would have accomplished something. All I accomplished was sleep. Which was a good thing since I didn’t accomplish much of it the night before…

All the same, look for a brand new and radically different Planet SOMA tomorrow. Don’t miss the premiere!

Sunday Nights

I hate Sunday nights.

Since I have to be up on at a reasonable hour on Monday mornings, I have to go to sleep at a reasonable hour on Sunday nights. And, of course, the minute I turn off the lights and try to go to sleep, I find myself wide awake and worrying. Worrying about everything I should have been dealing with during the day. Worrying about everything in my life which bothers me.

And there’s a lot bothering me…

I’m worried that I’m merely coasting along in life, not accomplishing much of anything on a personal or a professional level. I’m worried that I live in a pretty expensive apartment (by the standards of most of the country) in an outrageously expensive city and that I’m just one step ahead of the bills. I’m worried that I don’t seem to be doing much about this situation.

I’m worried that my parents are getting older and that their only son lives three thousand miles away and only sees them once a year or so. I’m worried that my relationship with my mom or my dad could end unexpectedly with one phone call in the middle of the night.

I’m worried that my bad habits may catch up with me soon. I’m worried about becoming a big fat slob. I’m worried that I don’t go out or hang out with friends like I used to, and that lately I can’t even manage the simple task of anwering email messages from people who went to the effort to compliment my site or whatever.

I’m worried that I function just fine on a day-to-day basis, but that the weeks pile up and I realize I haven’t really DONE much of anything. I haven’t found a purpose or a vocation in life. I haven’t bought new furniture for the apartment. I haven’t started than book I’m going to write nor that new program I’m going to learn. I haven’t fixed the sideview mirror of my car nor made those two phone calls to old friends I need to make. Et cetera.

I’ll wake up on Monday morning (in about six hours to be specific) and I’ll feel fine, if a bit sleepy. And the whole cycle will start over. Before I know it, another week will have passed.

And I’ll still hate Sunday nights. Sorry if this was a bit of a downer.

Heatwave

Damn it was hot the past couple of days…

Of course, by San Francisco standards, this means it may have hit 80F (27C). Longtime readers know that I have no great love for overabundant sunshine or hot weather. It’s especially annoying given that it was rainy and windy and pretty damned cold last week. A little compromise might have been nice.

I felt precariously clse to white trashdom Thursday night as I sat here in front of the fan, with the TV tuned to “Scared Straight: 20 Years Later”, and wearing nothing but a pair of beat-up gym shorts. I felt the urge to put an old upholstered sofa out on the porch and have a beer.

Of course, I then realized that, while I do have a deck (which is sort of a porch) I still don’t own a sofa right now, upholstered or otherwise.

Tonight’s plan is to hit one of the local taverns and pick up some nice boy with an air-conditioned apartment.

Yeah, I know I’m a weather wimp. I realize that my definition of “hot” may sound a little ridiculous. The lack of a discernible summer is one of the main reasons I moved to San Francisco, and one of the things which may ultimately keep me here. It’s pretty much a given that I’ll never get the urge to move to Florida or Palm Springs.

Things I love today: air-conditioned supermarkets, Frosted Mini-wheats, re-watching my video of US Tour 1997 for the first time in months, not shaving.

Things I hate today: Gap commercials, parking tickets, the moths which have invaded my kitchen, the weather, perpetual construction everyplace I go.

Things I wish I had today: a sofa, a Double-R Bar Burger from Roy Rogers, an air conditioner, the time to take a good road trip.

Happy Birthday, Jeff


1985: Jeff at age 6

My friend Jeff in North Carolina turns 20 today. That’s the age he’s giving. Who am I to argue? I’ve only known him since 1980, so I can’t really say for sure. A big old “happy birthday” anyhow, despite the fact that Jeff opted to pass the milestone in Myrtle Beach rather than San Francisco.

So I’m working my butt off this weekand finding very little time to do much with the site.

For those who are following closely, I have finally moved all the relevant phone lines and moved my office into its new home (thanks to Dan for the assist). Aside from the fact that I can now avoid working by looking out the big bay window, I can also hear it when the trash truck comes.

Ooops.

Having just returned from running my trash downstairs in my bathrobe, I’ll continue babbling about nothing now. OK…maybe I’ll babble about the cute garabage man who let me throw the bag into the truck all by myself. He smiled at me. Awww…

Mistake of the week: frozen chopped collards. Fear them.

Disappointment of the week: no flowers on Secretaries Day.

Frightening sight of the week: the phone tree in my basement as I tried to figure out what line went where.

Meet Irma

OK…I admit it. I sat here and watched the entire “Patty Duke Show” reunion movie. It was silly. It was hokey. It was just plain stupid. And still I watched every damned minute of it.

I need a new hobby.

Apologies again for my lack of wordiness lately. I’ve been working a lot and frankly I haven’t been really excited at the prospect of spending even more time in front of the computer.

And there’s someone new in my life. Someone who will stand by me in times of need without questioning my moods or my decisions. Someone who will wait by the window until I get home. Someone who will offer me not only companionship, but also life-giving oxygen.

Meet Irma:

Look for us to start sharing our exciting and environmentally sensitive adventures together very soon.

30 April 1999

I have a confession to make. I was not completely honest about Irma, the new love in my life, in Wednesday’s journal entry. The truth is, when Irma moved in, she brought her entire family. Please forgive this lack of forthrightness.

See pictures of Irma and the kids.

Should be an interesting weekend when Erik visits my increasingly-crowded apartment. You may remember Erik from such road trips as Minneapolis 1998 and Las Vegas 1998. I hope he won’t be jealous. And I hope he brings me some Count Chocula.


Erik in Pirate Country

In other news, Dan has informed me that Tad’s Steaks on Powell Streets will be closing at the end of June. I’m pretty pissed, because this is one of my favorite dives in the entire city. The rumor is that it will be replaced by yet another trendy pasta joint. Just what San Francisco needs…

Look for a farewell review of Tad’s soon. And look for an epitaph for all remaining reality and grittiness in San Francisco soon afterward. The mochafrappuchinozation of the city continues unabated…

Now I’m off to visit the Smog Check people as I’ve procrastinated my car registration into a minor crisis.