Tag: observations

Lessons Learned (and Learned, and Learned)

People, please. I do not want to say this again, and I know I need to talk slowly because you’re obviously not the brightest bulb:

Keep your children away from Michael Jackson.

The man breathes out of two holes in the middle of his face, you can see his entire circulatory system through his skin, he dangles his children from balconies, and he’s had his penis described by a thirteen-year-old boy. What needs to happen before you think, “You know, maybe I shouldn’t send Johnny over to play on the merry-go-round.”

Junior League, Here I Come

When you got married, were you afraid that you’d wake up the next morning to find a minivan, a golden retriever, and two kids? Or that suddenly your closet would be bulging with denim pinafores and patterned pastel polo tees?

Bryan says not to worry, we’re more sport-wagon people than minivan people. Which is, you know, a relief.

Of Note

If you’re in San Francisco, find House of Shields on New Montgomery near Market. Walk past the bar to the women’s restroom in the back. Go inside and open the door of the stall in front of you. Look for the earthquake crack running through the tiny mosaic tiles on the floor.

Follow it with your eyes until you come to the wall on your left. There, near your feet, someone has painted a pale blue sprout reaching up for light from the crack in the floor.

Potent Second-Hand Smoke

Walking past a head shop on the Haight, I notice a
Maneki Neko (Chinese lucky cat) in the window. This one is made of plastic and is battery operated, so the raised arm moves up and down. As I pass, the cat’s arm movement is perfectly timed to the music blaring out of the shop’s door. For the moment, Maneki Neko is rocking out.

Habits as They Form

Public pipe smoking has always seemed like a misguided pretension to me, one that’s especially odd in a younger man. A pipe-smoker in his twenties may as well stand on a corner shouting, “Look at me everyone. Observe my young yet thought-worn brow. I thoroughly enjoy Yeats!”

That said, yesterday I saw a guy in his early twenties parking his motorcycle. He removed his helmet, reached into his bag, and pulled out a pipe. Leaning against the bike, he packed and lit the pipe, and took a few puffs. Only then did he finish parking the motorcycle, and head inside with the pipe anchored in his jaw. So I was forced to wonder about his deal for a while. Which, I suppose, was the point.

Good Words

manque–unfulfilled or frustrated in the realization of one’s ambitions or capabilities

somatize–to express psychological conflict through bodily symptoms

R.I.P.

Urban Outfitters is selling a sock-monkey wearing a T-shirt that says “Punk’s Not Dead.” This, of course, put the last nail in the coffin.

And the livin’ is Easy

San Francisco is finally getting its summer. For the next five days or so, we’ll be basking in 80-degree weather and soaking in self-tanning lotion.

Yesterday I wore a miniskirt in celebration. I’d forgotten two things about miniskirts: 1) When you’re taking public transportation, you really want to review your seat for foreign substances before you sit down. Really. 2) The bums won’t leave you alone. This is because warm-weather clothing in SF is a signal that you’re obviously a tourist, and therefore more willing to give them a buck so they’ll stop following you.