May 4, 2008
March 3, 2008
In which proof of the Almighty is just a Calendar Book away
Read more at http://jameth.livejournal.com/3982795.html.... Read more
February 28, 2008
In which I smell a rat
The sight of a rat in the subway fills me with joy, not horror. I have a superstition: a rat augurs well. I especially enjoy the sight of a rat gambolling along the tracks late at night, in the utter silence of a quiet subway station.... Read more
February 17, 2008
In which the spirit of free enterprise rises
Aram's gig is online, or will be, soon. I wonder if he will recreate those beautiful stamped-metal business cards I last saw him handing out on our back porch on Kimbark Street just before it became Allan's bedroom for that summer. Word is that Gordon has a new shop, too. Word!... Read more
February 15, 2008
A few thoughts on elevators
Elevator-simulation software uses concepts from the field of discrete event simulation. I am not familiar with the algorithms used, but have read about systems used for these simulations. One thing I wonder about whenever I ride an elevator: why do the floor-selection buttons not cycle through on and off? Lobby Mezzanine Gallery Penthouse Terrace (compare to: Lobby Mezzanine Gallery Penthouse Terrace ) I know that people find psychological relief from repeatedly punching elevator buttons, expecting that the additive effect of these pushes will make the elevator move faster. The sudden transition from subway and the horizontal motion to the elevator and its vertical movements sometimes jars me, especially on mornings when I take the train directly to the office building, and expect a jarring forward motion to accompany the closing elevator doors.... Read more
February 14, 2008
In The Aeroplane Over The Sea
This week marks the tenth anniversary of the Neutral Milk Hotel album In The Aeroplane Over The Sea. I would not have noticed were it not for coming across a crisp cover of the title song and following links. The Lazy Catfish presents video interpretations of the album this Thursday at nine o'clock; the poster above is the advert for the gig.... Read more
January 3, 2008
In the sculpture garden of the philosophers
"Garden of the Philosophers" is the phrase I should use to describe Socrates Sculpture Park, a City Park, at an attractive corner of Long Island City, Queens. Walking into the park felt akin to a stroll in a junkyard, complete with a Beware of the Dog sign (and actual frothing-at-the-mouth dog, protecting its rusting iron heaps. Was this also art?). The park area had several fresh-looking pieces as part of the Emerging Artists Fund 2007 annual exhibition, but several had begun to age unnervingly from the weather, and others looked too confusing to be outdoors (an oversized Christmas decoration might be kitsch, but art?). I took some photographs, now that I am back in the habit of carrying my pocket camera. The sculpture I enjoyed the most was a series of steel posts about five meters tall, with a rotating arm that swung with the wind and periodically hit a bell with a weight. I have never liked wind chimes, but this shining sculpture captured my attention. The cups on the East River side of the sculpture catch the breeze, turning an axle connected to a short tube with a weight at one end. The weighted side of the apparatus completes its revolution independently of the cups, and the weight itself is on a hinge, so that it only occasionally hits the hollow tube mounted above the stationary triangular fin. The sound is quite lovely. Thanks in part to the proximity of the Museum of the Moving Image, the Garden hosts annual outdoor film screenings. Where does the name "Socrates" come from? The Park Department's web site is strangely quiet on this. The park's web site notes that sculptor Mark di Suvero led its creation in the mid Eighties, around the same time that the City of Pittsburgh was agonizing over the installation of one of his monumental outdoor sculptures on a traffic island downtown.... Read more
December 25, 2007
In which it is snow joke
> Lots of Calvin and Hobbes snow cartoons, hurray! Now, if it weren't for Al Gore's global warming shenanigans, we could get some snow and make our own snowman!... Read more
December 11, 2007
In which the prevalent attitude creeps up again
An Asian-looking fellow gets hauled off to the station while photographing a subway station. He is suing the NYPD: Police sources said officers question people photographing the city’s rail infrastructure on “rare occasions,” citing instances in which law enforcement officials have identified men taking photographs of city bridges and subways as Iranian intelligence agents and suspected Pakistani terrorists who were stopped by police while taking pictures of the Brooklyn and Williamsburg bridges. “I was surprised and upset that I could be handcuffed on the street for taking a photograph,” Wiita said. “What was really disheartening was that I knew this has probably happened before and that it could happen again to anyone.” This sounds all too familiar. I just got a new camera, in fact: time to try it out! (Bye the bye, I have lots of photographs of subways and bridges already.)... Read more
November 29, 2007
November 16, 2007
Il faut réchauffer la colle.
Dreams: on a train, ordering a drink, en route to the awards ceremony for stickiest glue. The recipient, a friend of mine, had been well-known in our circle for having the stickiest glue, and we were all quite proud for the general recognition this would bring him. I was ordering a typical Martini, but my seat-mate reminded me that the French do not have the same notion of cocktails, and so I ended up asking the waiter for a glass of chilled gin. He gave me a quizzical look but I imagine that I ended up with what I expected -- I woke up or went to another dream.... Read more
November 12, 2007
October 10, 2007
Ghost-dog chess
Under a slightly mis-leading name, the Hip-Hop Chess Federation presents such delights as Garry Kasparov versus RZA and Deep Blue against GZA/Genius. Or something.... Read more
September 10, 2007
In which we see Nature in action
&t Central Park's famous red-tailed hawk, Pale Male, was dining about about the town. I pulled over as I was finishing a circuit of the Park, curious about why the throng of photographers was all agog. New Yorkers might identify with this raptor because he, too, had housing struggles. The bird flew a few feet from my face after he swooped to catch a mouse; he alighted on a nearby bough and devoured it, and then neatly cleaned his beak and talons against the bark. correction: A correspondent observed: "Just for the record, that's not Pale Male but the juvenile from the 888 7th Avenue nest." More photographs and narrative at his web site.... Read more
September 4, 2007
In which we go island-hopping
Governors, Coney, and Manhattan Islands with Aram and Mary. We saw the Sideshow by the Seashore (although Insectavora was off that day), replete with fire-eaters, human blockheads, tight-rope walkers, snake charmers, and the mysterious mummified baby — was it really human?); we wandered through the toroids of Richard Serra at MoMA; we drank beers; we drank wine in the park. Anna and I shared a Swingers cabin on the Wonder Wheel, and got an extra trip 'round because we didn't jump off after the second rotation; we were perhaps too busy looking at the piebald cat sitting on the fence surrounding the massive works of the Wheel itself. Just beyond the fence, a massive clearing where the go-kart track was just recently reminded us that the last days of Coney Island are nigh: at least, the last days of Coney Island as dissolute all-New York playground. Some rides are going, going, gone; condos are coming. Anna and I enjoyed a last swing on the Pirate, although Mary's camera had succumbed to the enthusiasm of the day and was out of battery, so the screams and expressions of glee are as fleeting as Astroland itself.... Read more
August 1, 2007
In which we investigate worn-out sayings
Another of the books I have long intended to write: a work on the etymology of phrases. Many of the hackneyed, trite, and worn-out formulae of speech come from a specific event. Some of the more recent, such as "Elvis has left the building" are well-documented catchphrases; others, such as "Getting on like a house on fire" are more obscure, and require much research. Somewhere in the vast boxes of stuff I have several — not many! &mdash index cards with notations on the etymology of phrases; some cards derive from other reference works, some from my encounters with phrases. As more of our printed material becomes available electronically, searching for the first written occurrence of a phrase might be come an exercise in technology; however, many phrases made a subtle transition from oral to written, and identifying the actual origin might be much more difficult.... Read more
July 21, 2007
On a glass of ice
Some years ago, I had the thought to write a book on ice. In addition to a prècis of the chemical and physical properties of ice, I wanted to focus on the social aspects of the thing. Ice separated classes, divides the restaurants of different countries, and made possible the cocktail. Chemical ice makes possible the global distribution of once-local delicacies; ice as a physical force has shaped our neighbourhoods and our continents. Ice has great importance to scientific and political issues: at the Earth's polar caps, it represents a bank of fresh water that might be used to share water with arid countries; in relatively unexplored areas of the world, the ice is a time capsule that contains undisturbed microörganisms from tens of thousands of years. For extraterrestrial explorers, ice holds the promise of past or future life; for terrestrial explorers, ice is a wonderland, full of adventure and excitement from the skating-rink at Rockefeller Center to glaciers in New Zealand. I wanted to examine not these, but the social history of the stuff. In literature and in popular culture, ice has connotations beyond its physical properties. My outline and notes did not amount to much of a book, and I have long since filed the idea next to my Great American Novel (iteration one: the road trip, but not On The Road) and my examination of the language of sacrifice in the Greek dramatic corpus (I got to examples one and two, the second of which I wrote with the title, "The Religious and Poetic Imagery of Wine-Drinking in the Cyclops of Euripides"; the first is yet unfinished; I wandered into a critical examination of The Cyclops itself, and never recovered. I wonder why, to this day, very few critical studies of the sole surviving satyr play exist). I no longer have my notes; they were on a computer that was lost, reformatted, stolen; they were merely a handful of citations, from mid-nineteenth-century travellers' accounts of encountering ice in American hotels, from sea captains who dragged shiploads of the stuff from Canada to points south, and so on. ... The social aspects of ice are evasive, subtle, and would require more diligence to unearth than I have in me. I would be quite happy to travel to Florence and look for the bar where Camillo Negroni adulterated the Americano (Campari, Vermouth rosso, and soda) with gin, to see whether he had his served up, with a famously thin layer of ice atop, or on the rocks, in an elegant tumbler (after dozens of Negronis, I still cannot decide). I could walk the far reaches of Nunavut and see how the ice has shaped the land -- and how that, in turn shapes the people (for that matter, I could walk through San Francisco, or New York, and see ditto. But I have never visited Nunavut.) I could walk through Buenos Aires (which recently had its first snowstorm in almost a century) and talk to wharfers who unloaded ice from ships a few generations ago; I could find the communities in Russia and in Scandinavia and in Manchuria where people need to cope with moving about on ice almost every day of the week. Marco Polo reported on people who skated along the ice, with curved shoes. A few years ago, Mariana Gosnell's book Ice: The Nature, the History, and the Uses of an Astonishing Substance appeared, and I figured the market for books on ice was probably saturated. I started reading this book, but it was both sufficiently different from the book I wanted to write and more meandering; I did not get very far. All of this came to mind as I filled a glass with pieces of ice from the automatic icemaker in the refrigerator (there's another book: On refrigeration. This would be both a social and scientific book, but not as much about the physics or chemistry of refrigeration, but about the public-health aspects.). I enjoy drinking water from an iced glass: as the ice melts, the clear taste of the water refreshes me. This is one of my indulgences: the energy and expense of ice.... Read more
July 20, 2007
In which we shake and bake
Or wake and quake, to be precise: "It was all pretty minor," said U.S. Geological Survey spokeswoman Leslie Gordon. "It didn't interrupt donut production." Gordon said the quake was centered about two miles northeast of downtown Oakland on the Hayward fault. The actual epicenter was in the Oakland Hills near Joaquin Miller Park and the Mormon Temple, according to an online topographic mapping service that works with the USGS. Aram and I rode past the Mormon Temple plenty the first year that he lived in Oakland: he on the Batavus (!!) and me on either the Ciöcc or the Dutchess. Nice rolling paths along that area, and Joaquin Miller is an awesome little park for exploration on a mountain bike.... Read more
July 18, 2007
In which he has a different sort of revolution
&tThis guy checked out all 171 Starbucks in New York City, beginning by bicycle in Washington Heights and winding up, no doubt with frappucino-coloured stains on his gums and sugary pits in his teeth, 12 hours later traipsing in a car. I won't throw stones: a few weeks ago I did something similar (length, perhaps, not quantity) with doughnut shops and the Bay Area. He made a video, which I didn't. But I did ride a goddam fixed-gear. And I'm into these snacks now (they be a tasty simulacrum of the pieces of my each and every day). And I have long known that cycling is about embracing the philosophical question best put by Eddy Merckx: "Eat to ride. Ride to eat." The New York Times has also put into print its assurance that chubby people can rock the ride as well. (Walking home today, I walked next a woman talking loudly and into a 'phone. She said, quite interested, "Yes, I read the article. I didn't know that cycling can make you fat. Is biking the same as cycling? How does it make you fat?" I can tell her: it does make me fat. I like all the delicious places that cycling takes me.) Yo, Eddy!... Read more
July 3, 2007
In which we pull it off
Seven years later, seven years of a drone from my only closet, seven years.... Read more
June 30, 2007
On parking in San Francisco
I have long wanted to open a bar, and while driving through the Mission this afternoon Aram and Scott pointed out that the Gestalt-Zeitgeist axis is missing one essential item from the stock of German in English: Schadenfreude. Excellent. I'll open a bar, call it Schadenfreude, and make a mint. Happy hour will entail laughing at the misery of others, trying to balance on the pitched, waxed floor (a "slippery slope". Geddit?), and sloshing back perfect Martinis. Anna suggests that I derive a certain nasty pleasure from having cars tagged and towed, especially when they block the sidewalk or a driveway. (She has, however, disabused me of the rambunctious habit of moving bodily over the hood of a car blocking the sidewalk.) Someone else has the counterpart: threatening retaliation if his car is towed.... Read more
June 23, 2007
In which you can get there from here
Or, more specifically, Théré from Héré.... Read more
June 12, 2007
In which I has a hat
While shifting stuff around over the week-end ("packing"), I found my hat. The Brooklyn Cyclones baseball cap that I have worn off and on for the past several years, and which fits comfortably under a cycling helmet. Oh! and I found the grey cap which I mislaid last week: in the wash. Fortunately, the good folks at Walz Caps have done a good job with the wool blend, and my grey cap fits as neatly as ever it did. UPDATE: Coincidence? I think not!... Read more
May 29, 2007
On the usefulness of the two-dollar bill
Metafilter reminded me of a favourite news story: The Man Arrested for Using $2 Bills.... Read more
May 8, 2007
In which I am a millionaire
If I had a nickel for each time I heard the phrase "Your call is important to us" and a dime for "Your call is very important to us", I swear, I would have money pouring out my goddam ears.... Read more
April 23, 2007
In which I have a leaky memory
What was the name of the good-natured fellow who put up messages each day outside the San Francisco Airport Clarion Hotel? The hotel's sign faces Highway 101, and I fondly remember folksy wisdom and friendly messages from the signboard -- but can't remember the name of the man responsible, although he enjoyed some celebrity back in '98 or thereabouts. Those were the days before my carpool gave up the ghost.... Read more
April 16, 2007
April 10, 2007
In which I have a new toy
My new messenger bag is far from a toy: it's quite practical, in fact. But it brings me the same sort of delight, with its details and bright colours. I ordered it through Zugster Bags, a one-man shop in San Francisco, after my Timbuk2 literally fell apart at the seams (Timbuk also declined to repair the bag, from which a compression strap had detached, the stabilty belt ripped off, and the bottom seams separated. This has nothing to do with their new, shabby, not-made-in-SF-or-even-in-the-US, manufacturing process; I had the bag for more than eight years). The Zugster Bag has pride in the gorgeous details: the glow-in-the-dark thread in the shape of a "Z"; the straps that tuck neatly everywhere; the "Double-D" chest strap; the mass of inner pockets, some with velcro, some without; and the front flap design. All the work is custom, and lovingly hand-made by Adam.... Read more
April 9, 2007
On getting from Burrito Bordeaux to the Jersey Docks
I am not a burrito connoisseur, nor even an aficionado, but reports on the Alameda-Weehawken Burrito Tunnel do get the hunger a-panging (Question: can pangs pang? Answer: Yes).... Read more
April 4, 2007
In which people, yr author included, act like jurks
I do things like this, but mostly I sit with a few weeks' worth of junk mail and sort into three piles: items with my name or other identifying information (address, SSID, ...); business-reply envelopes; and other. I discard the first pile, filing it into the cross-cut shredder; I stuff the last pile into the second, and feel good that I am keeping postal-service employees ("the mailman") in business, although they probably don't deserve it. Critical Smash vs. Critical Mass, now replete with "parade rules", in Manhattan. Comments on Leah Garchik's blog about the latest SF Critical Mass tend to the vitriolic.... Read more
March 23, 2007
vir1
Thanks to archive.org, you can see my web site from ten-plus years ago. Roffle.... Read more
February 26, 2007
In which we are free, and open-source
It's hard to go wrong at a conference that has a beer menu. And doubly so when the conference is in Belgium, and the beers all local. Ron Minnich gave a LinuxBIOS talk at FOSDEM. I didn't realise that Google was sponsoring this project: it makes me wonder about the extent of their dependence on BIOS efficiencies. This also makes me realise that the amount of time, energy, and computing cycles conserved on the scale that Google runs almost certainly equates to money. Another way in which this project saves is through its use in the One Laptop Per Child project, which must needs save money on licencing. I chuckled at the number of flash-bulbs popping at the beginning of Andrew Morton's talk on Trends in Linux Kernel Development. He discussed coming features and new instrumentation; changes to the core, including a rewrite of the ptrace support code; and approaches to efficient use of hardware. In fact, he addressed virtualisation and containerisation specifically; the first he called a "hack", and pointed at the latter as the proper way to provide separation between tasks. This is an especially intrguing problem for me, as a systems administrator on a distributed system. Providing clean, efficient separation between tasks sharing CPU and memory is a tricky problem; there be dragons. I like the idea of using XenClusters. Also plenty of Jabber, including a good talk on the direction of libjingle, with outstanding XEPs for session-based features: voice, video, and file transfer. I wanted to listen to more of the gdb and SuSE talks, but so many interesting sessions took place simultaneously ... !... Read more
February 24, 2007
In which we go to the Orangerie
The Orangerie at de Hortus is pretty fantastic. The cheeses come with attribution to the farmer; I ate a "mature cheese by Farmer Verdegaal" on some freshly-baked brown, really brown, bread. Not "whole wheat". Yum. The Hortus Botanicus itself dates back four hundred years, boasts some three-hundred-year-old cycad specimens (the male; the female is a hundred years younger), and a Wollemi pine tree, an Australian conifer until recently known only as a fossil specimen. The Hortus also cultivated the coffee plant, and is thus directly responsible for the shakes I get when I don't have my morning cuppa. Fortunately, the Orangerie makes probably the tastiest coffee drinks in town.... Read more
February 20, 2007
In which the weeks pass like hours
Wow, I received an email invitation to view an online photo album yesterday, and, because I did not recognise the sender, the name of the baby in question, or really anything about the message, I ignored the service's request to sign up. Today I looked at the full envelope of the message, and realised: this is an old, dear friend of mine, and she has married, changed her name, and had a baby (a cute one, at that, and a year old now!).... Read more
February 11, 2007
In which we put a cork in it
Design Within Reach wonder what you might do with a champagne stopper -- cork, foil, metal cap, and wire. I had a bushel of corks (all natural! no synthetics!) saved up from a few years' wine and whiskey; they went to Craigslist and disappeared. I thought of various things to do with them (add a pin and a piece of paper, and you have little boats! stick 'em to a piece of wood and make a bulletin board! throw them around the floor and watch the cat play with 'em!), but figured that someone else could make good use of my bibulous tendencies.... Read more
January 28, 2007
In which the right to peaceably assemble diminishes
The New York Times reports that the city of New York has finally pushed through the requirement that all gatherings of 50 or more people require a permit. This is a piece of legislation designed to restrict events such as Critical Mass, fun-an'-stupid happenings like the Idiotarod, and to squash any spontaneous, grass-roots sort of protest or gathering on city streets.... Read more
January 23, 2007
In which we don the vestments and celebrate the ritual
Today is National Pie Day.... Read more
January 21, 2007
In which I hate on mobile phones
No mobile phone has ever satisfied me, and I think that, as manufacturers add features to phones, the dissatisfaction will increase. My Motorola V635 began exhibiting a bizarre failure mode: when it cannot join a network, it refuses to charge. Frustratingly, my office abuts a large wetlands area-cum-Superfund site, and no antennae sometimes leads to no signal. What I really want is a sort of procmail for the telephone, though: an easy-to-use language that I can use to instruct the software to, say, always ring if my sweetie calls; or defer all non-work calls (based on tags in my phone book, a certain prefix, et c.) during non-work hours; or respect "Quiet Time" at the press of a button. Open-source mobile telephony may have a long way to go from the hardware perspective, but why the software cannot implement something like this -- oh, that's right, all of the networks are closed.... Read more
January 20, 2007
In which we go back to bed (thanks, Banksy!)
Banksy has a shop from which you -- yes, you! -- can freely download and print images, t-shirts, et c., for personal use. No licence, just an admonition against unfair use. Hurrah! The above is one of several photos of Banksy graf in situ. Hmm. I thought I had more, including some of what turned up in Match Point; I will dig 'em up.... Read more
January 16, 2007
In which we are not proud of Duboce Park
In a local commentary on the Berkeley pet-shop fiasco, in which neighbours along Solano Avenue object to a pet shelter for its barking animals, excessive dog shit, and the smell of piss wafting through the air, the SFist remarks that "their (sic) their being kicked out for being a little too much like Duboce Park". I am not the only one who complains that Duboce Park is a rank patch of dirt unfit for any sort of public or social activity.... Read more
January 15, 2007
In which our neighbourhood has a lot of nice people.
Two young men were shot in the head and killed early Sunday morning in San Francisco's Lower Haight neighborhood. From the Chronicle's write-up on the shooting, we learn, unsurprisingly, that "A reporter who pulled up to the block at 10 a.m. this morning was immediately asked if he wanted to buy drugs as a teenage boy rolled a joint in plain sight on the hood of a car." Apparently some of the neighbours are less observant than others: 'A 36-year-old man who lives in an apartment above where the shooting occurred said the neighborhood was "usually all right. There's the occasional crack-head and what not, but it's a good place to live. There are a lot of nice people."' ... because we have more than the occasional crack-head on that block, and certainly more than a fair share of the number of drug-dealing louts in San Francisco. It's almost comical, how ubiquitous the cheap drugs are on the 400 and 300 blocks of Haight Street. Those blocks are distinctly unpleasant, and despite an impressively vocal Lower Haight community group, the city is acting slowly on the questions of increased police foot patrols.... Read more
January 9, 2007
In which LA gets pwn3d
Los Angeles' transit system was hacked, perhaps by disgruntled workers.... Read more
January 8, 2007
In which we hear a famous scream
I stumbled across the Wilhelm Scream while thumbing through some old movie reviews. The Wilhelm scream is a stock sound effect first used in 1951 for the movie Distant Drums. The scream was most likely vocalized by actor-singer Sheb Wooley, who later had a number one pop hit with the novelty song "Purple People Eater." It has been featured in dozens of movies since. Alongside a certain recording of the cry of the Red-tailed Hawk, the "Universal telephone ring", the "Charlie Brown fall," the Goofy holler and "Castle thunder," it is probably one of the most well-known cinematic sound clichés. A great name for a crappy band, probably.... Read more
January 4, 2007
December 10, 2006
In which I celebrate, or, I am a mean, petty man
Taking delight in the misfortunes of others is one thing, but to celebrate when someone dies -- that is another level of ill-tempered selfishness altogether. I did not let anyone stop me polishing up my dancing shoes when Ronald Wilson Reagan finally kicked over. Seeing the inexplicably long-lived members of his Cabinet also go to meet the dust of the earth that they have despoiled also makes me happy. And I get a little chuckle as I see a tow truck pull a car away from in front of a fire hydrant, out of a handicapped spot, or away from a Baptist double-parking zone -- indeed, my afternoon bus ride takes me past the San Francisco Auto Return, and that offers some vicarious pleasure. That pales, however, because one of the reasons that I never will believe in an Almighty or any sort of Divine justice is that people like Augusto Pinochet lived and fluorished. He brought more than enough evil into the world to compensate for a continent filled with the M K Gandhi and Mother Teresa; with Jimmy Carter and with Bill Gates; with St Isidore and with whoever invented Cheddar cheese. In short: a great but mixed joy comes from reading that Augusto Pinochet has died. Aram said it well last week, when Pinochet was expiring: "Here's to hoping Dante underestimated all that you will suffer, you bastard." For the curious, Dante would place Pinochet (and Hussein, and Kissinger, and the various and sundry dictators this country has propped up over the years) squarely in the Ninth Circle. That is The Ninth Circle, for traitors to their country; for betrayal to one's love; and for those who perpetrate crimes with great historical and societal consequences.... Read more
November 27, 2006
In which I accumulate
After several years of living in the same apartment, I have some ad-hoc collections. Not the sort of collections that will lead to a museum, but the sort that come from a nervous disinclination to throw out items that may someday be useful. Some items accumulate synergistically: the empty whisky tubes fill with wine corks; the plastic tubs (mostly from Tom's Peasant Pies, and those in turn from the time when kozmo ran rampant through San Francisco) fill with twist-ties and other grocer's miscellania. I also found a wax-paper envelope stuffed with colourful transit receipts and passes from various parts of Spain. I long ago abandoned my MUNI transfer journal ("There's a story in every trip on MUNI!"); perhaps I had retained these for some grand scheme of a worldwide transit card journal? In a bundle of more than a dozen large cylinders (tubo, in Castilian, as I learned when scrambling about the Barrí Gotic on the last day of a trip to Barcelona, hoping to protect the majestic city maps I had obtained from the government bookstore. I still have not framed the maps; they remain in their tube, three trips later), I finally uncovered the laminated Tintin posters I bought at Camden Lock Market. I have been thinking about these off and on for the past several years, and have indeed bought new Tintin posters — and have even framed and hung them! An inspiring poster from the otherwise disappointing National Maritime Museum hangs in the stairwell. A couple of smaller prints hang around the apartment. Of this collection of tubes, fewer than half actually contained anything.... Read more
November 22, 2006
In which time flies like an arrow
but fruit flies like a banana. Or, rather, fruit thieves like avocados and almonds. These twain are high-revenue, easily-portable, hard-to-spoil crops. A few years ago, Patricia Leigh Brown had an engaging piece in the New York Times about avocado thieves in Southern California.... Read more
November 16, 2006
In which we have more adventures with the umbrella
I recently realised the origin of the word "umbrella", but had not actually used one of these devices until yesterday evening, when I walked out of the office into a downpour. I went back inside, borrowed an umbrella, and then walked back home. Nifty device, the umbrella (or brolly, or bumbershoot). The umbrella should be an epoynmous device, like Phillips screwdriver or the Harvey wallbanger; I still fancy the idea of a Guglielmo da Umbrella excitedly holding his invention over the pretty head of a Tuscan lady as the summer rain begins to fall, and a scheming fellow-inventor stealing the carelessly-guarded secret mechanism that propels the canopy. Scene: The town square. Rain begins falling. Damsel: Oh! my curls! they are becoming all wet from this rain! Guglielmo: Here, please allow me ... neatly pops open a large cloth device D: But what is this magical machine that you have? G: shrugs modestly It is nothing, I have just invented it for you, my pretty lady ... D: You are so clever! It keeps the rain away! ... and my hair and dress are dry! How marvellous! G: Also, when the sun comes out again, this will keep you quite nicely in the shade, while you eat strawberries and cream! D: ooohs and aaahs, and takes Guglielmo's arm Cut to scene: a caped and jealous Marco, Visconto di Pantalones, steals into Guglielmo's laboratory at the back of his cottage. He casts his eyes around the room Marco Aha! The plans for the device are on the table! I will take them, and soon I will be escorting all the pretty ladies around the town! Throws back head and laughs. Fall curtain. Rain continued through the night, and into the morning; I used the umbrella again on the way back to work today.... Read more
November 8, 2006
In which we count our lucky stars
I stopped at a busy espresso counter (readily identifiable through the Seattle fog thanks to its neon "Caffeine" sign) for the second time in as many days. The long line moved quickly, and the woman at the counter recognised me as I walked up, and asked if I wanted a macchiato -- the drink I had enjoyed the day before. Wow. (Initially, I was going to contrast this experience with another town, another shop, but Seattle gave me a great opportunity for comparison. To wit:) A few hours later, I walked into a fancy restaurant with a sharp-dressed friend, and we asked for a table. As the hostess walked us past the (tuxedo-clad) waiters and the (informally-dressed) patrons, past the neon-lit "Boys Room" (cigars, not pole-dancers), and along the open kitchen, she turned to me and asked pleasantly, "Do you live here in Seattle?" To w. I replied, "No, I am visiting," and my companion ditto*. She said, "Well, it's fortunate that we are an informal town, and we don't have a dress code." She looked snottily (snootily?) at my grubby shirts, stained with the espresso of the day, and put the menus down on the table. Snap. * he actually does live in Seattle. Sort of.... Read more
October 26, 2006
In which I get a tune wedgie
Erik sent me this link, as reward for an amicably naughty game we have been playing for the past ... oh, ten-plus years. I sometimes call him and leave brief messages with catchy song lyrics ("All the old paintings on the wall, ..." or "On a steel horse I ride! And I'm wanted ..."), just enough to get a song caught in his head. And he responds in kind, and gives it the name "tune wedgie". More fun with music: One of my favourite such songs features the line ... rumor around town says you think you might be heading down to the shore.. Have at it.... Read more
September 24, 2006
September 22, 2006
In which I hold a check for 33¢
From bash.org: 1. Save every Free Credit Card Offer you get, Put it in pile A 2. Save every Free Coupon You get, put that in pile B 3. Now open the credit card mail from pile A and find the Business Reply Mail Envelope. 4. Take the coupons from pile B and stuff them in the envelope you hold in your hand. 5. Drop the stuffed to the brim envelopes in your mail and walk away whistling. I have now received two phone calls from the credit card companies telling me that they received a stuffed envelope with coupons rather then my application. They informed me that it they are not pleased that they footed the bill for the crap I sent them. I reply with "It says Business Reply Mail" I'm suggesting coupons to you to ensure that your business is more successful. They promptly hang up on me. Now, I did this for about a month before it got boring, so I got an added idea! I added exactly 33 cents worth of pennies to the envelope so they paid EXTRA due to the weight. I got a call informing me about the money, I said it was a mistake and I demanded my change back. After yelling at the clerk and then to the supervisor they agreed to my demands and cut me a check for the money. I hold in my hand at this very moment a check from GTE Visa for exactly 33 cents. thanks (is that the phrase? Do I mean "no thanks"?) to john for indirectly introducing me to bash.org, a vast time suck of juvenalia.... Read more
September 20, 2006
On divers methods of self-defence with a Walking-stick
Self-defence with a Walking-stick: The Different Methods of Defending Oneself with a Walking-Stick or Umbrella when Attacked under Unequal Conditions (Part2). My favourite bit is No. 6, "How to Overcome the Advantage of an Assailant who Attacks You with a Stout Stick when You are Carrying only a Light Cane." I copied the illustrations from the article.... Read more
September 11, 2006
In which this isn't some kind of metaphor
Aram was also really excited about the Touch & Go Twenty-Fifth Anniversary Show, and I was glad to see Tyson's swell set of pictures from the weekend, including a gem of Heather with Todd (who looks rather frightening close up to a microphone, especially in his Bricklayer Cake persona). Wow. (Goddammit, this is real!) .... Read more
August 25, 2006
In which we party on MUNI (not)
Tonight is a MUNI MUNI Metro Party flash mob dealie. I do not like MUNI. While walking about to the much-changed Magnolia (new chef, new menu, fewer sauces for the frites), one of my companions, a visitor from Seattle remarked on how fortunate San Franciscans are: "You don't know how lucky you are, with these quiet electric buses." I told him about the off-spec diesel monsters that MUNI half-assedly took delivery of to run on the 71L route, the same buses that whine past our corner at 80 dB. I complained about MUNI, about the intermittent service, about how one can't rely on MUNI to get from point A to point B in less time than walking. I do not like MUNI, and the service worsens year to year. MUNI faces continuing budget problems, and still fails to address its core scheduling problems.... Read more
August 3, 2006
In which everybody smokes crack today
If I could coördinate this: a smoke-out day in which everyone smokes crack. I really do not understand the Federal attitudes towards drug use and possession, and the criminalization thereof. WSB had it right, of course, and desperately exhorted officials to address the head of the pyramid -- the distributors -- rather than the ever-spreading base, the consumers. Yet misguided drug policy, in this country and therefore in many others who depend on our aid, continues to aim at the base. If we could distribute crack to everyone in the country, and defy the government to prosecute and incarcerate all of us, we could show 'em. Or we could at least unveil the purveyors and distribution system, and the guv'mint could throw them all into the slammer, and we would have streets free from crack (and the steps to our apartment would be forever free from those irritating small vials). Next: the whole nation tunes in, turns on, and drops out: Acid For All.... Read more
In which I am full of bile
Perhaps it is a side-effect of being in West L.A., but my fellow man has me chafing, irritable, and ready to swing a wooden bat in their general direction. Before I reach that extreme, however, perhaps I should enumerate my grievance, all of which concerns courtesy: holding a door open this is a small piece of consideration: as one passes through a door, one notices another behind you, and at least prevents the door from abruptly closing in that person's face. Not so: many times I have needed to scramble in order to keep the door open. I am taken aback that the oversized shades many people wear are not protection enough, as the sun blinds them to anyone but themself holding a door open, the corollary When I instinctively held the door open, I never received a smile, a thank-you, or a similar acknowledgement that the other person and I existed on the same plane. ... Perhaps that is because we do not. assuming the world is your ashtray (To borrow a phrase.) The number of people who cut in line, at the coffee-shop, at the valet (what is it with the ubiquitous valets?), at the maître-d', all saying, "I'm just getting a [something apparently small], I'll only be a minute, I am more important than you anyway". Driving Descartes ("cogito ergo sum") had it wrong. Ago machinam ergo sum is the Divine Equation of Existence. At one point I found myself feeling sorry for someone driving a dilapidated old Nissan down the streets of Brentwood, and shook myself back to reality. Fuck cars, fuck private transport, and fuck Los Angeles for buggering the street-cars and buses. Repeatedly. Fuck 'em in th' ear. Jogging in the street Hopeful, I think that they might meet some disaster with the boobs who are driving as though they are all alone. Especially the jackasaurus jogging down San Vicente with his baby in a stroller, precariously just within reach and just within the door zone. Theme music for this list: Why You'd Want To Live Here.... Read more
July 17, 2006
In which we might eat outside
One of my long-standing complaints about San Francisco is its paucity of outdoors seating. Few cafés have tables on the sidewalks (and few sidewalks are broad enough to pleasantly accommodate this scheme); few restaurants have outdoor areas with table service. Too often the outdoors seating is like Squat and Gobble on Fillmore street: untidily arranged against a shopfront and facing a loud, stinking avenue. Even Zuni has to contend with derelicts and the odour of the city's failure to keep itself clean. Ross Mirkarimi is introducing legislation to allow more businesses to provide outdoor seating: this could perhaps be one of the few topics on which he and I agree. Ross: now if we could get the "medical" dispensaries to follow some sort of licencing process, and if we could get the better ones to have outdoors seating too, everything* would be peachy. * "everything" does not include everything. We still suffer shootings, stabbings, graffiti, so much graffiti, and the ubiquitous trash and filth. I would rather rid of neighbourhood of those than have swells supping on the sidewalk, but one takes what one can get, I suppose.... Read more
June 23, 2006
In which we go metric but not electric
I took an arduous climb (on a cog-wheel railway, the world's longest and perhaps also steepest) to the summit of Pike's Peak, to the height of 4298 m (or 14,110 ft). This was the highest altitude at which I have stood since taking a similar rail up Jungfrau near Interlaken, in Switzerland. UPDATE: In fact, Jungfraujoch is only 3454m, but to its credit has an all-electric railway. (The Manitou Springs and Pike's Peak Railway is, curiously, diesel despite being of Swiss manufacture.) Pike's Peak may be the highest terrestrial altitude I have attained. More photographs of Pike's Peak.... Read more
June 1, 2006
How to be contrary in conversation
After a sociable cup of coffee (alas, not Chocomel!) outside in the sun-shine, I have a few suggestions on how to improve one's contrariness in conversation. Use a twenty-four hour clock ("military time"): Rather than saying "Why do'n't we meet for coffee at seven o'clock," say, "I will see you at oh-seven-hundred". In email, write 0700 or 07h00; do not write 7.00, which implies a decimal system. Find words that startle the listener. Use alternative pronounciations with vigor: bär-b?ch'?r-?t, h?-l?-s?' n?-j?n. Find words with varying pronounciations (does banal rhyme with canal or anal?) and work them into conversation. Find unusual euphemisms and metaphors. Toss in "we got along like a house on fire" or "This band is really the snail's eye-teeth" for descriptions. Prefer localisation that is not your own. Provide a shifting sense of place. Use non-local affirmatives: "Ayuh" works fine if you are in urban California, while "Dude" should be good in rural Vermont. Do not let the dialogue inch along. Provide directions in metric measure: "Ayuh, the coffeeshop is five hundred metres past the park. See you there at nineteen hundred." Do not, however, attempt Babylonian measurement unless you enjoy watching eavesdroppers' heads asplode. This is about being contrary, not infuriating.... Read more
May 30, 2006
J'ai oublié mon chapeau.
J'ai oublié comment le froid me sent sans chapeau. Sacre bleu! UPDATE: If you have a more pertinent, useful, or practical French profanity, please let me know. My sailor's vocabulary is sadly limited to English, despite years of reading Hergé comics.... Read more
May 20, 2006
On divers methods of coffee procurement
I could get a coffee-filled backpack like this and hose people down at early-morning meetings. Or fill coffee-cups:... Read more
May 13, 2006
quiesce and shard
Some computer-science-industry jargon (different from the more general project-management jargon I encountered earlier): quiesce v.t., To quiesce is to put a computer, a program, a thread, or some other computer resource into a temporarily inactive or inhibited state. A resource that is in a quiesced state can be reactivated more quickly than one that has been completely removed from the system. Typically, any descriptive information about a resource that has been built by the system remains where it is during the quiescence. The reverse of quiesce is usually unquiesce, but reset and other terms are also used. shard (as opposed to 'frag') v.t., to split a single logical dataset into multiple physical stores. Each of the resulting sets is equivalent in size and responsibility to the others sub, the component datasets resulting from sharding a database fig. To split responsibilities for a project or service across several people.... Read more
May 12, 2006
In which I am married to the sea
Married to the Sea is great stuff, I tells you. And drinking, it turns up everywhere. Including on bicycles.... Read more
In which we recall the darling buds of May
I had more than enough time today while waiting (from 1706 until 1718, at 8th and Market), so a sonnet rather than a haiku: Shall I compare thee to a MUNI bus? Thou are more timely and more fleet-of-foot: Rough traffic shakes the snarling Boulevard, And rush-hour's flight hath all too long a wait: Sometime too clean the bus rarely arrives, And often is the ventilation stifl'd; And year by year our tariffs incline, By chance or traffic's changing course untrimm'd; But thy infernal wait shall not fade Nor lose possession of that fare thou owerst; But shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou growest: So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long MUNI shrugs its responsibility. Apologies to the bard. This is doggerel, not a sonnet.... Read more
May 10, 2006
In which we drink the coffee, slowly
Waiting on line at Blue Bottle Coffee always provides vicarious joy and entertainment. Sunday mid-morning, I was behind a lanky, jumpy man who told everyone that his wife had just given birth. "At 3:29 this morning!" He had two espressos, which he said reminded him of his student days in Zagreb: "We would drink five, six espresso and study all night." This morning the talk was about the San Francisco Chroncle write-up on drip coffee, which credits the Slow Food movement with making coffee drinkers aware of the value of a just-made cuppa joe. This type of elixir is not for everyone -- this is no In-N-Out coffee experience. Because most filter-drip purveyors use only four to six filter cones and the beans are usually ground to order, orders can quickly back up. But there are plenty of people who don't mind, as a visit last month to the Ferry Plaza's Blue Bottle showed. Despite the rain and the long line, cup-at-a-time drip coffee fans continued to show up and wait. "The waits are really epic on Saturdays," [James Freeman, owner of Blue Bottle] says. "If you're going to wait 30 minutes for an 8-ounce coffee, it better be really good." Wait or no wait, Blue Bottle does not pretend to be a café: it has the atmosphere of the Caffe Zio I knew as a young 'un, drinking espresso from La Prima Espresso in Pittsburgh. A short counter, precisely-made ristretto shots of espresso, barely a menu. Yet the best coffee, the most personable and straightforward baristas, and the intended result: the joy of coffee. This morning the talk was also about routine: a delivery-van driver came up to the counter, ordered a drink, another drink to take away, and a third drink to take to a coworker unfortunate enough to be leashed to a desk somewhere and unable to visit Blue Bottle in person. The delivery man said that he was recently offered another, easier route in Millbrae, but demurred, thinking "How am I going to get my coffee?"... Read more
In which we drink the nectar of poets
The stalwart Mr Looney suggested an outing to the Rabbit's Food Meadery, and we spent the evening in rare form with glass after glass of mead, sweet mead, cyser, and some devilish trouble that combined a lemonade of mead, lemon juice, and blackcherry cyser. Afterwards in the queue for a double-double I was asked about IPA (silly me, I first thought of Imperial Pale Ale, not the International Phoenetic Alphabet) and the man of a certain age in front of us interrupted with a comment. "You know about prefixes, right?" We nodded amiably. "And suffixes -- at the ends of words?" Again we nodded. "What about infixes?" I nodded and briefly explained, but he interrupted and said: "I looked in Merriam-Webster's New Collegiate Dictionary, and the only example of an infix they provided was fucking: unfuckingbelievable! unfreaking real!" He eventually sat down at the molded-plastic table with us and told us all about the Computer History Museum, where he works.... Read more
May 5, 2006
In which they are made of ... !?
Watching the short film "They are made of meat" th' other evening, I recalled the original story by Terry Bisson. As the end credits rolled, I saw, much to my surprise, the familiar name of Tom Noonan, co-star of a film I saw once at DOC that has puzzled me since.... Read more
April 27, 2006
In which we go underground
In addition to some excellent photographs, New York Underground has a good page of links. I ordered the book from Routledge.... Read more
April 25, 2006
In which a confluence creates awesalaam aleikum
In honour of confluential Aram's birthday, Alberta poured drink after drink with her signature (and, indeed, award-winning) gin-and-cucumber mixes. She also threatened rabble-rousers with a stern speech that pointed out: a drinking straw has enough rigidity that if one holds a thumb over one end and jabs down, it can puncture the xyphoid process or sternum. Aram, where's the video? Alberta's drinks have won her renewed acclaim, most recently from none other than Geo. "Tiger" Shultz: Announcing the winner, former Secretary of State George Shultz determined: "The results are as clear, crisp and unambiguous as an Italian election." not to be confused with Charles Shultz, really, although how can you say "I'm a big fan of your work" to Geo. without thinking of Iran-Contra, (shudder) Jeane Kirkpatrick, or Sandinista! Happy Birthday, Aram. You will have a very good year. -- even if the only present you get is a first-class ticket with "Sixth Circle" stamped on it, in return for coining the "awesalaam aleikum" phrase that made me chortle and Alberta wince.... Read more
April 15, 2006
April 6, 2006
April 1, 2006
In which the police investigate
SF POLICE INVESTIGATING EARLY MORNING HOMICIDE 04/01/06 7:05 PST SAN FRANCISCO (BCN) Police are investigating a murder that occurred early this morning in the Hayes Valley neighborhood of San Francisco. The victim was shot at a bus stop near the intersection of Fillmore and Hermann streets around 4:20 a.m. Investigators were still at the scene two hours later, police said. Police were initially searching for a 1980s Mustang that fled the area, but there are no reports of suspects in custody. If you heard or saw anything that might be related to this incident, please contact S.F.P.D. Inspector Cleary at 415-553-9569... Read more
March 26, 2006
In which the south takes what the north delivers
It is a recursion: the Material Safety Data Sheet for water suggests flushing the eyes with water in case of accidental exposure. "INGESTION: Give several glasses of milk or water. Vomiting may occur spontaneously, but it is not necessary to induce. Never give anything by mouth to an unconscious person."... Read more
March 13, 2006
In which we lose our temper
I think I am going to pull out the old Opinel and disembowel the next person who responds to my "Thank you" with "Uh-huh", "No problem," or "Sure." How nice 'twould be to fit "shiv" into that preceding sentence, somehow, but I suppose that will happen readily enough once I am hauled off to the hoosegow. I am mad that really cool web apps like eyespot do not work with Safari (which apparently lacks certain features necessary for being fully buzzword-compliant). My temperament probably would be worse had I not eaten a superb, nutty sheep-and-goat cheese earlier. What was that mysterious cheese? Frustratingly, the cheese counter (which usually wraps the cut cheeses in plastic, and even when they cut to order always pull a sheet of cling wrap tight across the still-breathing cheese. Horrors!) only marked this as a "tomme", but it looked and smelled so good I had to buy it. And eat it, with a fresh demi-baguette and a pint of ale. UPDATE: the guys from eyespot say that they are working on safari integration. Hats off to them (hat's off to them? I was only wearing one when I read the email ...). How many times has this happened, though: a nifty javascript-based webapp that barfs under Safari's immature or non-standards-compliant engine, api, support, whatever, -- gmail, google maps, usw.... Read more
March 12, 2006
In which the teflon president receives airbrushed tribute
Unexpectedly sighted in the Lower Haight, an 80s A-Team stylee van with an airbrush wheel cover sporting a tribute to the Teflon President. mad props to anna for being the adept wheelman who maneouvered so that I could shoot this from a moving rental car.... Read more
March 10, 2006
In which we have bad luck with cars, Part Two
(Part One is here).... Read more
February 27, 2006
In which we visit the crossroads of the world, and in which some of them wear no pants
At London's Heathrow Airport, I always expect to see someone I know -- and almost never do -- not someone as in the opening montage of Love, Actually, but someone unexpected, someone I have'n't seen in years. While standing in the mind-numbingly long line between Terminals One and Four (Advised transit time, including security re-screening, 75 minutes -- that was longer than my flight!) I did see a guy with a ROIR shirt featuring the Bad Brains logo. I hummed "The Youth Are Getting Restless" for the remainder of my time standing in the queue.... Read more
February 21, 2006
In which we enter the labyrinth
The Scott St labyrinth has yet to materialize. The Scott St. Labyrinth was the second phase of the playground project and called for replacing the condemned wooden play structure on Scott St. with a labyrinth. The project was approved at a community meetings in December, 1998 and September, 2003. The plan received initial Rec & Park Commission approval in 1999 and final approval in December, 2004. The playground project was to be done in two phases. While the big playground was shut down during construction, the wooden structure on Scott St. was left standing since it was the only play equipment available in the park during construction. Upon completion in 1999, the wooden structure was to be demolished since it is old and dilapidated, a safety hazard with splintering wood, and contains arsenic that was originally used as a preservative. The site was to be appropriately cleaned to remove any arsenic in the wood, the sand, and the surrounding ground. Rec & Park also agreed to prep the site for our labyrinth at the same time. A landscaped labyrinth seems a whimsical use of space on small corner plot like this. It may not achieve the proportions of a grand labyrinth such as Antoine Duvall's estate, home to El Labyrint d'Horta on the outskirts of Barcelona, but it might bring a little joy to a stinky corner of San Francisco. UPDATE: now with an illustration:... Read more
February 17, 2006
In which the secret is uncovered
The San Francisco Examiner's Tiffany Martini (what a name, considering her beat) sings about "Five hidden gems of San Francisco": widely-known secrets like the Golden Gate Fortune Cookie Company in Chinatown (warm fortune cookies!), and neighbourhood treats like Specs and (my favourite!) Hotel Biron (she also writes up Catalyst Cocktails, but that really is'n't anyone's neighbourhood bar). I remember something Tami of La Moone told me ages ago. Sitting at her bar, I wondered whether to let everyone in on the secret of a great café I had found, lest I ruin it with the unwashed unappreciative masses. She said: If you really like it, the best thing you can do is share it with people. They will come, the place will prosper, and you ensure that it remains alive, at least, for you to enjoy. If you do not share it, then it might wither because it simply hasn't the momentum to make money. So I do'n't worry about Specs being overrun with clean-collared downtown office workers, nor about Biron filling up with bachelorette parties, so long as I can pull up to the counter and have a plate of cheese and a glass of wine.... Read more
February 13, 2006
In which we eat ice-creams
While en route in the famous Mitchell's Ice Cream parlour, I cursed Sunday drivers but stopped short of throwing stones: just a moment before I had pulled a strange half U-turn which resulted in my blocking a crosswalk in a busy residential neighbourhood. And I did so in front of two prowlers! (One drove slowly past and gave me a look so dirty bleach was necessary to remove it -- but, luckily for me, they had bigger fish to fry.) I made the bizarre turn reflexively, perhaps because it was exactly what I would have done were I on a bicycle. But I was not, and I narrowly escaped 2 points and a whatnot from San Francisco's finest, who, thanks to the blossoming Lower Haight neighbourhood group, are patrolling in full effect. Usually the driving path to the outer mission takes one along Guerrero, or Dolores, both of which are beset upon by double-parking Baptists. What gives them licence to occupy a lane of traffic? Why can I not do so of a Friday evening, for example, if I wanted to duck into Tartine for a coffee? But those who live in glass houses, et cetera, so I kept quiet for once and wound up rather enjoying a chocolate-dipped chocolate caramel cruch ice-cream cone.... Read more
February 8, 2006
In which we play at favourites
The Sagan Piechota Architecture building between Fell and Linden, near Gough, is my new favourite -- and not only because it contains the Blue Bottle Coffee counter. The inside looks airy and spacious, minimal and natural; the façade is friendly; and the building across the street has a fascinating garage-elevator: cars drive in to a lift, and then descend to the parking area. Nifty. I shoulda gone out to Maverick's yesterday: the reports are wonderful. The pictures are pretty swell, too. And Greg had his first signal encounter with Raccoons in the 'Hood.... Read more
January 26, 2006
In praise of beer
... but not of pilsener, or of lager. Give me a pint of bitters, of ale, and especially a pint from the cask. Zeitgeist, that place that so perfectly is San Francisco, no longer carries cask ales: they did not sell. The bartendeers at the Toronado look more than usually put out when I ask for a cask ale -- "You know I have to pull that by hand, and it takes a couple minutes, right?" they always inform me. Yes. I am not in a hurry to get the beer: if I were, 40s of the Champagne of Beers are $1.99 ("Out the door!" the sticker on the bottle gleefully reminds me) at any corner shop. Magnolia, in the otherwise-execrable Haight, produce some very tasty, and fresh beers. Hurrah for their Ruby Red!... Read more
January 11, 2006
In which we wish you a happy birthday
Albert Hofmann turns 100 today. Most famous, perhaps, for the colourful bicycle ride he experienced after administering his synthesized hallucinogen to himself, he also fits in well to the words and sentiments of REM's song "Man on the Moon": "Albert Hofmann / on a bicycle ride / yeah yeah yeah yeah / Albert Hofmann is the chemist of shrooms / (etc) / now Albert did you ride along this street (etc) ..." I have a very handsome edition of his memoir, "LSD: My Problem Child", which is readily available online.... Read more
January 8, 2006
In which the sacrificial bonfire must burn
Last night, Aram drove down in his big old ford pickup and we filled it with discarded xmas trees, proceeded to Ocean Beach, and set them all ablaze. Unsuprisingly in the town that inspired Burning Man, a whole festival devoted to incendiary pyrotechnics and bacchanalia, several other folk had the same idea, but I think that we were the only people with smores (and whiskey)! Anna and I had made a last-minute stop at the exquisitely depressing supermarket adjacent the very depressing 70s condo development that faces the beach area (and replaced Playland, the amusement park that occupied the beachfront for most of the twentieth century) and picked up skewers, marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate bars. The harassed cashier looked dejected in the yellow-green hues of the flourescent lamps, and the floor manager kept popping up behind her to ask: "Do we carry mops? Do we carry cleaning solution?" And, overwrought, she answered, "I do'n't know. I do'n't know." We skedaddled over to the OB, where we lit the fire, watched the needles burn and send sparks high into the still evening air, and then handed over the embers to an erstwhile arriving group who had even brought some hardwood to get a real bonfire going.... Read more
December 18, 2005
In which we have a fishy situation
While some people find a sturgeon through the mail-slot amusing, I chuckled at the reporter's use of "yobs" to describe the miscreants who stuffed a live (and, as of the time the article went to press, still living) sturgeon through a Portsmouth-area door. My favourite fish prank remains the anarchist who stuffed a Pittsburgh safe-deposit box with agèd cod as a protest against the bank moving jobs out of the area. Not that a good prank need have some political motive.... Read more
November 30, 2005
In which I wear out the shoe leather
As I found myself at Civic Center at 5.30 this evening, I looked at the surprisingly cloud-free sky and figured that I would walk home, rather than stand in a humid MUNI aisle. And then as I looked down Market and saw nary an outbound bus, I wondered if I might reach home faster than if I were to ride MUNI. If I walk the MUNI route, I could easily see when one of the outbound buses might pass me. The route is pretty straightforward: along Market Street, turn right on Haight, and then bob's yr uncle. I walked all the way to Larkin before two buses, both northbound 19-Polk trolleys, rolled sedately past. An F-Market screeched by as I waited at the infuriating intersection of Market and Van Ness. -- infuriating because of the new crosswalk signals, which beep incessantly. When one pushes them, the beeping changes (and a light comes on); what do the different beeps indicate? How might I, as a blind or deaf pedestrian, know what pushing the button accomplishes? And the only gain is a psychological one, for the light timing has not changed at all -- so pushing the button does not accelerate the pedestrian signal. What the intersection needs is an all-walk cycle, really, but that is tricky considering that Van Ness is really State Highway 101 in disguise. I walked past several moaning derelicts and the new wine bar Cav before reaching the congested intersection of Franklin, Page, and Market: still no 6/66/7/71/71L in sight. Traffic on this stretch of Market gets all buggered up during rush-hour because of the way the freeway exit ramp defers north-bound crosstown traffic onto Market for two blocks before it reaches Franklin. Why Octavia Boulevard does not reach Geary I will never understand -- I swear that is what I thought I voted for all those years back! I started walking up the last stretch towards home, and not without a trace of worry on my brow: well into the rush hour, and not a single bus had passed me. I saw what looked like MUNI tail-lights ahead, on th' other side of Octavia, but nothing behind me. Might I actually overtake MUNI? I chuckled at the thought. I waited on the east side of Octavia. A cyclist was getting a little ahead of himself, skillz-wise, with a limp attempt at a track-stand, and kept lurching into the intersection. (Aside: How do you manage to not 'track' stand when pointing uphill?) Finally a big pickup truck honked at him, and he turned back towards me and said, "Will you look at that. They're mad because they're stuck in traffic, and they take it out on us." I told him, "If I had a horn, I would honk it at you. You are in the intersection against the light, and that's not only disrespectful, but your guardian angel is working overtime." Before I finished, he spluttered, "I can't believe you're on the side of the cars!", issued a few choice epithets, and turned to ride off, only to then realise that he was in the headlights of another oncoming car. I smiled. As the light changed and he finally took off, I saw that he was stupidly riding with a freewheel. I figured that a bus would catch me up for certain as I had to keep in low gear walking up the three blocks towards the Lower Haight, but it was not until I passed the bus stop closest to home before MUNI, and I would'n't have taken the bus -- it was a 71L and did'n't even stop. A 66 Parnassus and I reached the corner of my block at the same time. Twenty-five minutes, during which not a single bus passed me. I beat MUNI home during rush-hour.... Read more
November 28, 2005
In which we are caught between a rock and a just-say-no place
I ca'n't stop laughing at the idea of paying a tax on marijuana. From the Tennessee State Revenue documentation on the topic: If I purchase stamps, will I then be in legal possession of the drugs? No, purchasing stamps only fulfills your civil tax obligation. You will still be subject to the criminal statutes of Tennessee for possessing the drugs. This is how the IRS nabbed Capone, is'n't it?... Read more
November 27, 2005
In which I revel in being contrary; Or, Turk and Hyde
I appreciate the bustle of the (big) city as much as the next condo-dweller, but I especially like the quiet moments when the city sleeps. I revel in seeing which other lights are on, who is walking down the streets (insomniac joggers and groggy dog-owners, mostly, of a Sunday morning). In the interrgenum between the time that bars shut down and greasy-spoons open, the newspapers noisily arrive, thumping on stoops whacking against iron gates. Between last call and day-break, city crews patrol the streets, picking up trash from the night before. Between four and five this morning, a pile of old clothes and a cracked coffee maker appeared and disappeared from the corner. I even caught sight of a MUNI Owl bus service, ponderously making its way west'ards. What shops are open in the early hours? Nothing, in this neighbourhood: the grates drawn across the windows belie the bright neon signs and wheezing air conditioners of the bodega across the street. A few blocks and a few hours away, the café-owner, clad in a beret and crisp blue shirt, shakes his head and says, "I never thought that anyone will be here first thing on a week-end, but you always are!". The croissants are still warm from the bakery, and the espresso machine is yet warming up. I have never seen the corner of Turk and Hyde as cheery as in this photograph of Felipe Dulzaides's "incidental vista", part of the Double Take installation art project.... Read more
November 24, 2005
In which we do the hump-free dance
What do you call a camel with two humps? Bactrian. What do you call a camel with one hump? Dromedary. What do you call a camel with no humps? Humphrey. Or, in this case, Rodney: Camels are one of the more difficult animals to anesthetize,” Cranfield said. They were lucky Rodney reacts well to low volumes of drugs, he said. “The other problem with large animals like Rodney is you don’t want to have them down too long because they get cramps in their legs,” Cranfield said. Aside from those challenges, Rodney is moody. “He’s not the easiest creature to work on. He’s a little grumpy. Well, he’s a lot grumpy,” Sallaway said.... Read more
November 18, 2005
In which it is hard to stick to principles
After yesterday's debacle, during which I consumed approx. one-half bottle, Advil, between the hours of 7 ack emma and 7 pip emma, only to belatedly realise that I had not had *any* coffee, I grimly broke my one-cuppa rule and had back-to-back double espressos at the counter of Blue Bottle Coffee in Hayes Valley. For the second cup Mr Travis Crawford joined me, and told the amusing story of how he had once ordered a cup of coffee, wandered over to the nearby expressway Hayes Green, and then realised, "Wait! I didn't pay for this" because he is so accustomed to procuring fine espresso drinks at our office, where they flow plentifully and without denting the wallet. The Blue Bottle Coffee Blog is quite amusing, and well-illustrated with yummuy photos of coffee, crema, and all things foodish. Today the barista, raffish as ever, was grinding beans from five days ago, well outside their proudly-stated goal of only using 48-hour old beans at oldest, but, hell. Yesterday evening I used beans that have been sitting in our 'fridge for nigh upon a fortnight.... Read more
November 6, 2005
In which the youth are getting restless.
There's not enough rioting in this country. After Rodney King, L.A. burned: but why have we not seen large-scale riots (well, in San Francisco last week a handful of protestors were arrested) because of the Bush regime's continuing violation of international law, domestic due process, and civil rights. We have not see violent outrage at the state's theft of money from the public schools, nor at the undermining of unions. But France gets it: the youth are getting restless, burning cars and staying out all night. Some of them wear no pants.... Read more
November 3, 2005
In which I day-dream about automobiles
Cars I once thought I would like to own: 1971 Mercedes 280SEC 1956 Nash Metropolitan(and it probably would have its hood up most of the time!) 1984 Toyota LandCruiser FJ60 Volvo 122 waggon (I did have a 1984 Volvo 240GL waggon, which is also quite splendid) I did (briefly) drive a burgundy-and-black Mercedes, aka Blinky, which "smelled like money" according to one of my neighbours: now all I have left is the three-cone pininfarina air horn and a single fog lamp (the other flew off somewhere on the road between Breezewood and DC); the Volvo, known during its brief life as Moby; and Winnie the Poopmobile, a handsome brown FJ60 which spent more time on the back of a tow-truck than actually off road anywhere.... Read more
October 31, 2005
In which raccoons appear, again
More raccoons, courtesy ritchey, who is in a different part of the Golden State entirely . Last night Anna and Matt saw the little ring-tailed beggars scampering across the street, looking about as tidy as the other Lower Haight denizens wandering about in their amazon costumes.... Read more
October 21, 2005
In which we are not quite east of the ryan
Or, In which we party like it's 1996 At last night's Daniel Tortois show at the Independent, the two records to which I listened the most in 1996, "Millions Now Living Will Never Die" by Tortoise and "Wrecking Ball" by Emmylou Harris, came together. I never imagined that I would hear Johnny Machine and Doug McCombs performing a heartbreaking song by Emmylou! The Tortoise hour of the set was surprisingly good: these musicians show so much enthusiasm for their instruments (all of them, as each player switches amongst vibes, drums, electronics, guitars, and melodica with each song). They had nice visuals, too, courtesy a 12" Powerbook -- Greg, who who has big news, described them as "organic". They had a nice Rorschach effect, in much the same way that clouds do: I could imagine at one moment a crowd of people in Tokyo, at the next a quiet morning in Washington Square Park. Aram came back from the merch booth and said, "The guy who made these posters says he drove across country with you." And lo and behold, Lil Tuffy himself was selling the hand-screened gig posters. Indeed, Lil Tuffy and I spent three weeks rolling cross the great US of A, with the Sterns' "Roadfood" as our guide. We saw armadillos on the road in West Texas, stayed up three days straight in New Orleans, and played pool in just about every bar we could find on our lugubrioius route from Pittsburgh to San Francisco. Daniel Lanois noted that one composition was an homage to Samuel Barber, but without strings. After five or six minutes of quiet noodling, Tortoise launched into a tight lock-groove and Lanois rocked out on the guitar. Lanois ended with a brief encore, in which he played a waltz on the pedal steel. This was the second night running that I had the a particularly catchy song stuck in my head, both times prompted by drinking in the company of an Australian. The walk home did not clear it, either, so I would up listening to "A Digest Compendium of the Tortoise's World until the wee hours.... Read more
October 20, 2005
In which violent crime receives a reward
An Associated Press story relates how a basketball-obsessed would-be murderer received a numerologically-significant sentence just by asking. OKLAHOMA CITY -- A man got a prison term longer than prosecutors and defense attorneys had agreed to because of Larry Bird. The lawyers reached a plea agreement Tuesday for a 30-year term for a man accused of shooting with an intent to kill and robbery. But Eric James Torpy wanted his prison term to match Bird's jersey number 33. "He said if he was going to go down, he was going to go down in Larry Bird's jersey," Oklahoma County District Judge Ray Elliott said Wednesday. "We accommodated his request and he was just as happy as he could be. "I've never seen anything like this in 26 years in the courthouse. But, I know the DA is happy about it." The approximate annual, amortised cost of housing a prisoner amounts to about $35,000, which means that this filip of judicial imagination will cost the ratepayers another hundred large. Usually sentencing guidelines mean that murderers behind the wheel of an automobile receive light or no jail time for wilfully navigating into a cyclist or pedestrian.... Read more
October 15, 2005
In which he has no-one, no-one but himself to blame
While walking from the Civic Center, mine eyes caught three F-Market trains lined up at Gough and Market. Flashing lights in the distance signalled an accident of some sort, and I walked over to take a look. A single man was being tucked into a paddy waggon, and one of the toothless junkies reeling against the building at the corner told me that the driver had come a cropper eastbound down Market St., hitting the MUNI platform and then careening the remainder of the block until he and the k-car finished up against a tree. Lucky bastard that he was'n't being taken away in an ambulance! I walked up towards Octavia, a woman from the neighbourhood association told me that a few weeks ago, a car speeding off the new Octavia Boulevard exit ramp crashed full-tilt into a F-Market train. When I reached Octavia, one of SFPD's finest asked if I had seen the accident, and I said no; he pointed to the debris scattered across that intersection, and said that the same driver had hit the kerb or centre divider there as well, and continued on his rambunctious path down Market St. The accident did a fair job of snarfling Friday evening rush-hour traffic coming off the freeway, as the police cordoned off the blocks of Market St eastbound between Octavia and Gough. I proceeded to The Orbit and had a cool glass of gin.... Read more
October 7, 2005
In which it is a walrus when it rains
I uncovered some good ol' snaps of our friend down at the Surf St Aquarium. More photos are at my website, but (warning!) they load slowly.... Read more
October 2, 2005
In which jimg and dawn get hitched
jim and dawn got married. Hotcha. ... and I should not let the event pass without noting that the delicious foods provided the opportunity to drink bacon (actually, serrano ham. Yum!). More photos here.... Read more
September 30, 2005
In which it has guitars and pills and windowsills
You know he's got your back when Jim Kunstler dings Harry Shearer and gas consumption: Harry Shearer with his attitude of moral superiority reminds me of my neighbor here in Saratoga Springs, the lady with the "War Is NOT the Answer" bumper sticker on her Ford Expedition. For people who want to keep on enjoying an easy motoring utopia, war is the answer. This, of course, is the predicament of the Democrats, my own party. They have no interest in modifying the nation's suicidal suburban sprawl lifestyle either, only in the easy pretenses of political correctness. Instead of twanging on WMDs and the depravity of the war in Iraq, I'd like to hear someone like Harry Shearer (or John Kerry, or Nancy Pelosi, or Harry Reid) stand up and pitch for restoring the US passenger rail system. I'd like to hear some of these assholes propose some meaningful changes that Americans can make in behavior so we won't be so desperate to engage in military contests over the oil we need to drive for sushi in Los Angeles.... Read more
September 19, 2005
In which we have 23 minutes
At Spitalfields Market in the up-and-coming area off Liverpool Street, I saw a small coffee-coloured cart with the legend "He's so frothy" gaily painted on the side. A smiling young man was pulling espresso and frothing milk from a machine neatly installed in the back of the van. He made the best cappucino I have tasted in months: delicious, creamy milk-turned-into-foam, and just a touch of sugar and a sprinkle of chocolate. He laughed and chatted with customers as they came up, and when Anar and I had made the rounds of the market (including the purchase of a volume of obituaries from Wisden, and the tasting of some delicious olives), we returned to the coffee-cart. He laughed and chatted some more, told us that he was, alas!, out of pastries -- his regular customers claim them early every morning! -- and he made us another coffee. His compact setup, regular clientele, and bustling cheer reminded me of the coffee-shops that ring the Grand Marché in Casablanca, quite possibly the tastiest and most sublime coffee-drinking I have enjoyed. The men who run those stalls are delightfully personable, genuinely nice, and very, very good at making coffee. And although I vowed to limit my coffee intake to one, at most two cups each day, I yielded to temptation. I had already enjoyed an espresso at the Caffe Nero outside the Liverpool St Station, and then had a ristretto from the cart -- but after smelling Anar's cappucino, I had to have one for myself.... Read more
September 11, 2005
In which an illegally-parked vehicle is immobilised
The officer in this tidy little truck was in fact attaching a clamp to an L-car parked on the kerb near a pedestrian zone.... Read more
September 8, 2005
In which Aram gets a good one
Aram takes the concept of a 'straw man' to a whole new level. Man, I wish we worked at the same place: I do'n't have enough of a sense of humour around the office. ... not that I am there a whole lot. Today I stuck around the house to handle the usual assortment of inept, illiterate, under-informed, tardy, or totally incompetent contractors, sub-contractors, and workmen. The exception was, of course, the cheery carpenter who did not actually finish anything today but managed to put off what he needed to do ("Your parts are on order. We'll 'ave 'em in a few weeks."). I spent hours on the telephone: with customer service; with technical support; with billing; with product support; with premiere technical service; with billing; with customer service; with account activation services; et cetera. For confirmation, may I please have the last four digits of your Social? your mother's maiden name? your street address? your account number? Please press 1 for English. Do you mind if I put you on hold for a minute? How do people ever get anything accomplished? I do not trust any of these workers, these distant customer-service people, or these account specialists to actually effect what they claim they are. On the other hand, I have a better approach to telemarketers now.... Read more
August 22, 2005
In which junk food is evidence
Now I discover the truth about the "Twinkie Defense": The expression derives from the 1979 trial of Dan White, a San Francisco, California (U.S.) City Supervisor who shot to death Mayor George Moscone and fellow City Supervisor Harvey Milk on November 27, 1978. During the trial, a noted psychiatrist, Martin Blinder, testified that White had been depressed at the time of the crime, successfully arguing for a ruling of diminished responsibility. As part of this testimony, Dr. Blinder cited White's uncharacteristic eating of Twinkies and drinking of Coca-Cola as evidence of this depression — briefly mentioning that this may also have worsened the depression. The unpopularity of the eventual manslaughter verdict (a lighter sentence which set off the White Night riots) gave rise to the interpretation that White's lawyers had used depression caused by Twinkies as his primary defense. Contrary to popular belief, however, White's defense in fact argued that this consumption was unusual for him and reflected already existing mental instability.... Read more
July 20, 2005
In which I commodify my dissent
This one's for Aram: The Chronicle reports that the widow of Huey Newton, Al Green, et al. seek to market their very special brand of hot sauce, named "Burn baby burn". "It was a catchy phrase, and I thought it would be reminiscent of the '60s," Fredrika Newton said Tuesday. "I sure didn't want it to be a call to burn anything other than our taste buds." Green said: "We have a number of different kinds, and some of it is really hot -- I mean, incredibly hot." The phrase is associated with the race riots in the Watts section of Los Angeles in 1965. Onlookers started chanting it after police arrested a young man for drunken driving. The confrontation triggered six days of rioting, resulting in more than 30 deaths, 1,000 injuries and devastating fire damage to the neighborhood. Each bottle of Burn Baby Burn Revolutionary Hot Sauce will come with a tag noting milestones in the history of the Black Panther Party for Self- Defense, which was formed in 1966 by Huey Newton and his college classmate Bobby Seale. Newton was fatally shot by a drug dealer in Oakland in 1989. The tags will highlight the group's social legacy, Fredrika Newton said. "I guess I want to celebrate the history and to let people know the actual facts of the Black Panther Party and how some of these programs are woven in today, like free breakfast programs and the call for free health care, " she said. ... but really, read the whole article. It is sort of post-ironic, in a post-modern sort of way. You know, swinging on the flippity-flop and all that.... Read more
July 18, 2005
In which I tune in an Experimental Station
Our old adventurer-about-town Lauren is building a brick oven at the site of the ol' Blackstone Bicycle Co-op.... Read more
July 3, 2005
In which a vague ethnic slur is made
Living in a city which does not feature an abundance of taxi-cabs, I often call a dispatch when I require a hackie to take me from point to point. The conversation goes something like this: Me: Yes, good morning, I need a cab at such-and-such number on Scott St. Dispatcher: What is your phone number? Me: (provides ditto) (At this point the Dispatcher usually says, "Fifteen to twenty minutes" and rings off.) Dispatcher: Ah, that's near Haight St.! Me: Yes. Dispatcher: You're around the corner from that crazy Indian guy? Me: I do'n't know, I just want the cab. Dispatcher: Oh, you just want the cab? You do'n't know the guy? Me: (click) Has a descendant of Crazy Horse settled in the Lower Haight? Are a lot of silly Sikhs in residence on Haight Street? Or worse: am I the crazy Indian guy? and what does any of this have to do with my getting a cab? Barely had I rung off when the door-bell rang and a stereotype with ruddy cheeks and a soft hat appeared at the door.... Read more
June 28, 2005
In which we creatively interpret the use of land
The houses of David H. Souter, Ruth Bader Ginsburg, Stephen G. Breyer, Anthony Kennedy and John Paul Stevens have been demolished to create the Institute for Creative Land Use Interpretation. ... I was working on something witty, but Aram (and probably others) have beat me to it.... Read more
In which Mr Bolsinga throws a 'wild party'
I love police-blotter writing, especially in very local 'papers: Bay to Breakers Melee, 1900 block Fell Sunday, May 15, 12:29 p.m. A Bay to Breakers party got out of hand when some uninvited partygoers joined the party and started to spray the real guests with beer. A verbal argument quickly escalated into a violent melee with the host getting hit with a beer bottle on top of his head causing a severe laceration, which required sutures and hospitalization. The good quests chased away the villains who attempted to out run our very busy day watch Officers. The Officers caught the assault suspects in the panhandle and several eyewitnesses made the old positive eyeball identification. The suspects went to jail for felony assault, conspiracy, malicious mischief, and violation of their felony probation. Now that's what you call a wild party. This refers, of course, to the misadventure of Greg after Bay to Breakers '05. The miscreants pleaded guilty, and the primary assailant received six months in pokey, while the abettor is on probation. Greg was happy, and we were all duly impressed with the workings of the great wheels of justice.... Read more
June 27, 2005
In which I pick a fight with a five-year-old
At a café this afternoon (free wireless, my arse. That's the last time I get a crappy 32-oz Turbo Coffee) I was sitting quietly minding my own bizness when a warm, wet something thwacked most unpleasantly against the back of my neck. I turned to see two five-year-olds laughing hysterically at the moist banana peel that formed a collar at my nape. Worse, I saw their parents-or-guardians holding their collective sides and laughing. I maturely resisted the impulse to upturn the remnants of the massive iced coffee onto the stupidly laughing father, and instead turned th' other cheek. Mis-guided, for I imagine that some day these children will be seated before the big red button that leads to disaster, and will moronically push it. I cannot believe I walked away, but, really, what's the point of having an argument or a fight? Stupid parents beget stupider children, unto the seventh generation.... Read more
June 23, 2005
In which I wonder about the loquaciousness of cabbies
Each of the various cabbies has been tethered to a mobile 'phone, and, with the brief exception of nodding when we announced our destination (and, in one case, asking "Which way do you want to take?" in our quest to get from late-night SoHo to Midtown East), prattled endlessly in a tongue I could not identify. Occasionally I caught words of English, or French, but always wrapped into another tongue which was at one point subject to the expanding empire of one European country or another. My amazement continued: only one trip featured a native English-speaking, traditional-looking cabby (who would no doubt prefer to be called a hacki