SOOOO.... you want to know how it's going right? Well, my mouth is a little like the Taj Mahal these days. So old, and yet so clean and sacred. Wonderful. The spirituality of tongue-scraping is the nearest I have been to Nirvana, except when I saw them back in '93. There's still gunk, but at least that gunk is now in the sink and not in my mouth.
To all past lovers and that one guy I kissed on Halloween: sorry that my mouth used to be a festering sespool of germ and funk. I apologize for kissing you with my unclean tongue, and most especially after it had been you-know-where. If you would like to experience that again, only this time with the freshness of a spring morning, give me a call, shoot me and email, text me, find me on facebook, hit my myspace page, ring my doorbell, call my work, post a missed connection, or just hang out at Bean Bag. One way or another you'll find me... you always do.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Dental Hygiene
Hey thanks to the people who are following my blog! You know you are part of an elite group of very special people. Kind of like that old MTVnews bit... "You hear it. First. dunduhduhdunduh." YEAH!
So I got my teeth cleaned which was GREAT, but now I'm supposed to not only brush and floss everyday (which of course I do) but also scrape my tongue (and believe me there was some sludge on that badboy) and also use a "gum stimulator" on a daily basis. Anyone who's ever seen me get ready for bed knows it takes approximately 10 minutes to go through the whole routine. Now it's going to take 15. Jesus H. All this to just to undoubtedly need oral surgery at some future date. But at least my breath will be fresher. And I might even let el dentirino whiten the pearlies. Any advice on that? Good idea, bad idea, horrifying stories to sway me off of chemical bleaching?
ps. note to Jesse Lee: in the last post when I said I "forgot" about you, I only meant in a temporary sense I was distracted. You are my precious moments friend and I enjoyed every minute of watching you attempt to get hit by a car while on my bicycle.
So I got my teeth cleaned which was GREAT, but now I'm supposed to not only brush and floss everyday (which of course I do) but also scrape my tongue (and believe me there was some sludge on that badboy) and also use a "gum stimulator" on a daily basis. Anyone who's ever seen me get ready for bed knows it takes approximately 10 minutes to go through the whole routine. Now it's going to take 15. Jesus H. All this to just to undoubtedly need oral surgery at some future date. But at least my breath will be fresher. And I might even let el dentirino whiten the pearlies. Any advice on that? Good idea, bad idea, horrifying stories to sway me off of chemical bleaching?
ps. note to Jesse Lee: in the last post when I said I "forgot" about you, I only meant in a temporary sense I was distracted. You are my precious moments friend and I enjoyed every minute of watching you attempt to get hit by a car while on my bicycle.
Monday, November 9, 2009
In Italian, piano means soft and slow
Ahhhhhh, the weekend. It was fun, and interesting, and as usual I had a lot of stuff to think about. Last night was Edith's birthday (I love this girl) so we did some karaoke. I am SO glad that no one I know goes to this bar because I can't sing karaoke worth a damn. People would never take me seriously if they met me at a karaoke bar. Not to mention that it requires absolute beligerence.
So I'm standing out front of the bar, 4-drinks-in-2-hours deep, talking to my good buddy Jesse Lee. He's popping wheelies on my bicycle, which is hilarious to me, and we're shooting the shit having a blast. Well, who should come swaggering past but my old teacher, M.Parsons. I forgot Jesse was even there. I still love this guy, in a person-to-person way, where my heart gets all goosebumped just looking at him. Being sauced like I was, I think I hit on him (oops) and then confessed that I can't play the piano without thinking about him and that for awhile I was f-ed up over it. ahhhhh truth serum. It was a sad affair because I was having so much fun but went home feeling kind of sad and lonely.
The question at this point is: why not show people how much you care? It's really hard to do, but if we practiced it more, imagine all the love people could have in their lives. Often times I am honest and tell people the truth. Maybe it's the recession, but I just seem to get poor returns on that investment. That's ok but I find myself wondering... is love too intense? Is feeling a turn off?
Love IS the answer, and I wouldn't change that if I could.
Oh Beatles...
So I'm standing out front of the bar, 4-drinks-in-2-hours deep, talking to my good buddy Jesse Lee. He's popping wheelies on my bicycle, which is hilarious to me, and we're shooting the shit having a blast. Well, who should come swaggering past but my old teacher, M.Parsons. I forgot Jesse was even there. I still love this guy, in a person-to-person way, where my heart gets all goosebumped just looking at him. Being sauced like I was, I think I hit on him (oops) and then confessed that I can't play the piano without thinking about him and that for awhile I was f-ed up over it. ahhhhh truth serum. It was a sad affair because I was having so much fun but went home feeling kind of sad and lonely.
The question at this point is: why not show people how much you care? It's really hard to do, but if we practiced it more, imagine all the love people could have in their lives. Often times I am honest and tell people the truth. Maybe it's the recession, but I just seem to get poor returns on that investment. That's ok but I find myself wondering... is love too intense? Is feeling a turn off?
Love IS the answer, and I wouldn't change that if I could.
Oh Beatles...
Rulebook
Friday, October 30, 2009
6 weeks and lots of emails signed xoxo...
...means: I don't like you and I never did. When you really need someone to get that through their head, nothing says you're worthless better than "un-friending" the offender on facebook. I should know, it just happened to me. Very mature. And to quote the drunk at the bar last night, "If some guy isn't into you, there must be something wrong with his weiner." Hmmm.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Holy Mother!
The usual no talk rule ("for-crazy-people-only") on the bus was shattered this weekend by none other than my mom (shocking, I know). What started off as an average busride on a Saturday afternoon soon became something I want to remember forever. I spent most the ride doubled over in stitches listening to my mom and some irish guy singing Death Cab for Cutie at the top of their lungs whilst the homeless and bedraggled conversed about whether or not Bob Dylan should ever be allowed outside by himself. Amazing that one woman could bring so many to unity during the span of one short bus ride from Haight Ashbury to Civic Center. Gavin Newsome would be proud!
Other highlights of the weekend included:
*American Idiot at Berkeley Rep theater... best musical I've seen to date (and just when I thought RENT had my heart!)
*Meeting Tony Vincent from the show, only to realize he was the same guy I had been staring at on Bart the previous evening, only to further realize he was the same guy who played Judas when I saw Jesus Christ Superstar in New York in 2000.
*NOT Fellini's in Berkeley, sorry guys.
*Club Deluxe on a Thursday, reconciling for the 2nd time with my old teach, and smoking a j with the boys (and momma)
*having breakfast with my mom in my kitchen... I'm an excellent cook btw
*Magnolia on Haight Street and the famous Jono (thank you for the beer)
*the bus ride
*NOT Ananda Fuara OR A Serious Man (although I kind of liked the movie)
*Meeting Terry and Mariah Carey's husband at random bar in Japantown... really? Yes, really. I have been officially invited into the Westside Cuts family, the barbershop down the street from where I live.
*Millenium! Never imagined I would be a VIP at any restaurant.
*Grove Street farmer's market and watching my mom fight the urge to buy a croissant, only to cave for the croissant mini.
*Discovering a new way to get to Bart from my house.
*The bittersweet ride back home after saying goodbye to my mom!
Other highlights of the weekend included:
*American Idiot at Berkeley Rep theater... best musical I've seen to date (and just when I thought RENT had my heart!)
*Meeting Tony Vincent from the show, only to realize he was the same guy I had been staring at on Bart the previous evening, only to further realize he was the same guy who played Judas when I saw Jesus Christ Superstar in New York in 2000.
*NOT Fellini's in Berkeley, sorry guys.
*Club Deluxe on a Thursday, reconciling for the 2nd time with my old teach, and smoking a j with the boys (and momma)
*having breakfast with my mom in my kitchen... I'm an excellent cook btw
*Magnolia on Haight Street and the famous Jono (thank you for the beer)
*the bus ride
*NOT Ananda Fuara OR A Serious Man (although I kind of liked the movie)
*Meeting Terry and Mariah Carey's husband at random bar in Japantown... really? Yes, really. I have been officially invited into the Westside Cuts family, the barbershop down the street from where I live.
*Millenium! Never imagined I would be a VIP at any restaurant.
*Grove Street farmer's market and watching my mom fight the urge to buy a croissant, only to cave for the croissant mini.
*Discovering a new way to get to Bart from my house.
*The bittersweet ride back home after saying goodbye to my mom!
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Formal Acceptance of My Mistakes and Promise of Repentance
Warning to the reader: The following post may contain material that is depressing, true, and normal.
I've made a lot of people sad and angry this past year, not least of all myself. I am awake at an insanely late or incredibly early hour (depending on what 4am means to you). Something is keeping me from sleep this evening, and I think the only way to feel better is to tell you the story.
For years I've been suffering the consequences of what I hope is not a mental illness, although that has yet to be diagnosed. In the past this did not affect my sleep. Most recently I have noticed that I wake up in the middle of the night filled with a deep anxiety to which there is no answer, save writing, reading, or music. Unfortunately, these are the same activities which occupy my daytime hours, so my life has begun to feel like one continuous cycle of escapism.
Most of my sleepless nights have a cause, be it too much drinking, too much food, or too much fun. Tonight it is caused by none of those, in fact I would say it could be the lack thereof that finds me so wide-eyed.
I was doing what I normally do on a thursday night, riding BART home from band practice, when the shit really hit the fan. I've been dating someone I really like, and lo and behold, I have managed to make this person feel so unimportant to me that he called the whole thing off. Apparently I've been absolutely tuned out and I took for granted one of the more interesting things happening in my life. I did this by making light of the other person entirely, and I did it unconsciously to boot.
I realized something tonight. I've been making a lot of jokes about things that aren't funny. I can always get a laugh, but I wonder at what price? It seems I've gone over the line this time, and when I look back over the last few years I wonder: why the insatiable need for the banal? I ended two great relationships to "find myself", only to realize that the person I was looking for is a complete idiot/douchebag/monster/bitch (your pick). In order to mask my fear and loathing of this self-discovery, I have hidden all my real feelings behind a wall of humor and cold, hard calculation. I have become so matter of fact about feelings that sometimes I no longer have any. This safety net only works until I'm alone, however, and then I'm lying awake all night wondering how I can escape myself.
No one said the road to self-discovery was paved with gold, but I was at least hoping to like some of what I found along the way. There's been an awfully weird pattern lately of me thinking I have everything under control, only to find that my reprehensible behavior has driven away another person I was hoping to keep near me.
I have always been an optimist and now is no different. Even when I feel my worst I can see that things will change, something good will happen tomorrow, life ebbs and flows, and for fucks sake, there's always coffee! I think the universe is trying to advise me at this point to practice kindness everyday. No more disrespect to people around me. Move forward with love for all things equally, including myself. They always say "kill them with kindness" but what about "save them with kindness?" If there is a way to be kind in this world, I am going to figure it out.
"If you don't have a point to make/Don't sweat it/You'll make a sharp one being so kind/(And I'd sure appreciate it)" -Fiona Apple
I've made a lot of people sad and angry this past year, not least of all myself. I am awake at an insanely late or incredibly early hour (depending on what 4am means to you). Something is keeping me from sleep this evening, and I think the only way to feel better is to tell you the story.
For years I've been suffering the consequences of what I hope is not a mental illness, although that has yet to be diagnosed. In the past this did not affect my sleep. Most recently I have noticed that I wake up in the middle of the night filled with a deep anxiety to which there is no answer, save writing, reading, or music. Unfortunately, these are the same activities which occupy my daytime hours, so my life has begun to feel like one continuous cycle of escapism.
Most of my sleepless nights have a cause, be it too much drinking, too much food, or too much fun. Tonight it is caused by none of those, in fact I would say it could be the lack thereof that finds me so wide-eyed.
I was doing what I normally do on a thursday night, riding BART home from band practice, when the shit really hit the fan. I've been dating someone I really like, and lo and behold, I have managed to make this person feel so unimportant to me that he called the whole thing off. Apparently I've been absolutely tuned out and I took for granted one of the more interesting things happening in my life. I did this by making light of the other person entirely, and I did it unconsciously to boot.
I realized something tonight. I've been making a lot of jokes about things that aren't funny. I can always get a laugh, but I wonder at what price? It seems I've gone over the line this time, and when I look back over the last few years I wonder: why the insatiable need for the banal? I ended two great relationships to "find myself", only to realize that the person I was looking for is a complete idiot/douchebag/monster/bitch (your pick). In order to mask my fear and loathing of this self-discovery, I have hidden all my real feelings behind a wall of humor and cold, hard calculation. I have become so matter of fact about feelings that sometimes I no longer have any. This safety net only works until I'm alone, however, and then I'm lying awake all night wondering how I can escape myself.
No one said the road to self-discovery was paved with gold, but I was at least hoping to like some of what I found along the way. There's been an awfully weird pattern lately of me thinking I have everything under control, only to find that my reprehensible behavior has driven away another person I was hoping to keep near me.
I have always been an optimist and now is no different. Even when I feel my worst I can see that things will change, something good will happen tomorrow, life ebbs and flows, and for fucks sake, there's always coffee! I think the universe is trying to advise me at this point to practice kindness everyday. No more disrespect to people around me. Move forward with love for all things equally, including myself. They always say "kill them with kindness" but what about "save them with kindness?" If there is a way to be kind in this world, I am going to figure it out.
"If you don't have a point to make/Don't sweat it/You'll make a sharp one being so kind/(And I'd sure appreciate it)" -Fiona Apple
Monday, October 19, 2009
"Come on, Mothafuckas"
I quoted this statement because it might as well be a trademarked phrase of The Flaming Lips frontman, Wayne Coyne. Last night I saw TFL play at the Treasure Island Music Festival, and the first time he said it I laughed and asked my friend, "did he just call us motherfuckers?" Then I realized that as the show progressed, he was going to say "come on mothafuckas" everytime he wanted us to sing, cheer, etc. Normally, this would not fly with me and I would find the insistence annoying. However, if you have not seen TFL play a show before, you have yet to understand how addicting it was. He's like a modern day pied piper.
Let me preface by saying that my day consisted of a shuttle ride to the island around 2, followed by ritualistic consumption of alcohol and marijuana with 3 of my best friends, watching Edward Sharpe, Beirut, and the Decemberists rock the house, then sprinkling happy powder into our drinks, then finding ourselves front and center for The Flaming Lips set around 9 pm. Just when I thought my day could not get any better, balloons and confetti were launched over the audience while the music went to ear-splitting decibels and the lights were turned up so bright I had to put my sunglasses on (not making that up either). Then Wayne got in a giant plastic ball and walked over the audience while the rest of the band kept right on singing and dancing. Eventually me and my crew of 3 made our way to the ferris wheel, and were floating above the festival for one of my all time favorite songs, She Don't Use Jelly. I felt like Alice in Wonderland after she drank the potion that made her small enough to fit through the keyhole. Just a tiny person amid a fascinating world of lights, colors, sounds, and sensations.
If you can, go to the Treasure Island Music Festival next year and hang out with me. I'll be there with all kinds of potions and treats that make life more magical. Also, go see the Flaming Lips even if you don't like the music that much. Voluntarily being held captive by a man named Wayne is well worth it.
Come on, mothafuckas!
Let me preface by saying that my day consisted of a shuttle ride to the island around 2, followed by ritualistic consumption of alcohol and marijuana with 3 of my best friends, watching Edward Sharpe, Beirut, and the Decemberists rock the house, then sprinkling happy powder into our drinks, then finding ourselves front and center for The Flaming Lips set around 9 pm. Just when I thought my day could not get any better, balloons and confetti were launched over the audience while the music went to ear-splitting decibels and the lights were turned up so bright I had to put my sunglasses on (not making that up either). Then Wayne got in a giant plastic ball and walked over the audience while the rest of the band kept right on singing and dancing. Eventually me and my crew of 3 made our way to the ferris wheel, and were floating above the festival for one of my all time favorite songs, She Don't Use Jelly. I felt like Alice in Wonderland after she drank the potion that made her small enough to fit through the keyhole. Just a tiny person amid a fascinating world of lights, colors, sounds, and sensations.
If you can, go to the Treasure Island Music Festival next year and hang out with me. I'll be there with all kinds of potions and treats that make life more magical. Also, go see the Flaming Lips even if you don't like the music that much. Voluntarily being held captive by a man named Wayne is well worth it.
Come on, mothafuckas!
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Rulebook
Rule #35: Always try to leave the party/bar/club/mom's house with a minimum of (3)three guys from India. If (4)four appear available you have won the karma lottery, provided you can all still fit in one car.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Weekend Outings
I missed the Art Explosion Open Studios last night. Luckily it is open all weekend! I highly recommend anyone and everyone make an appearance there. Look for work by Stefan Aronsen, and Kerry Wingeier at the 19th and Alabama location. If you go there on Sunday afternoon, you'll probably see me too! It's a great place to find art that is good and affordable, and there's A LOT of it. I usually get all my christmas shopping done here. Praise jesus!
http://www.artexplosionstudios.com/
Sunday, October 4, 2009
It was only a half
This distinction is important: a "half marathon" is NOT the same thing as a "marathon". One is 13.1 miles and the other is 26.2. So if I say I'm running a "marathon", feel free to correct me by saying, "no, that's a half you're running." Because someday I will run a full marathon, and at that point I'll be able to go, "Actually, it's a full marathon this time."
Today, I completed the San Jose Rock n Roll half marathon in 2 hours and 29 seconds. I improved 5 and 1/2 minutes over my first half marathon which I ran in July. Training pays off! Too bad I can't seem to shave that 5 and 1/2 minutes off my commute to work. J Lee would appreciate it if I showed up on time for once, I'm sure.
I'm also considering enrolling at City College to study music with professionals, aka I'll learn music without the bug-infested house of that one lady I tried, the sex-den of that vocal coach, or the "conflicted" personality of my last serious teacher. Throw me a friggin' bone here people! How many times does a girl have to be swindled out of $50.00 before the message gets through? If you want quality, don't shop for a teacher on Craigslist. Also beware extremely attractive teachers... they tend to bite.
In closing, there's a reason why people go to school to study something. That's where teachers work. Even if sometimes I miss Charlie, it's high time I went to a learning establishment to learn something, rather than my friend's house.
Today, I completed the San Jose Rock n Roll half marathon in 2 hours and 29 seconds. I improved 5 and 1/2 minutes over my first half marathon which I ran in July. Training pays off! Too bad I can't seem to shave that 5 and 1/2 minutes off my commute to work. J Lee would appreciate it if I showed up on time for once, I'm sure.
I'm also considering enrolling at City College to study music with professionals, aka I'll learn music without the bug-infested house of that one lady I tried, the sex-den of that vocal coach, or the "conflicted" personality of my last serious teacher. Throw me a friggin' bone here people! How many times does a girl have to be swindled out of $50.00 before the message gets through? If you want quality, don't shop for a teacher on Craigslist. Also beware extremely attractive teachers... they tend to bite.
In closing, there's a reason why people go to school to study something. That's where teachers work. Even if sometimes I miss Charlie, it's high time I went to a learning establishment to learn something, rather than my friend's house.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Work Sucks
FYI: Work Sucks. I know I'm stating the obvious here, but I just needed to put it in writing.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
No Pants
No pants is totally the way to go, people. In fact, I'm sitting here right now without pants. You know why? Because it's liberating. Ever been to a no-pants party? I have. It's the only way to go. I don't think I'll ever wear pants at a party again. When I really think about it, legs are one of the most attractive parts of the body. Take Ryan Malone, for example. The man's got LEGS, goddddaaammmm. So why cover that shit when you can let it shine?
Besides Malone, some of the other party highlights included my tongue and teeth belt and pants removal, whereby I took off a naysayer's belt and pants with just my mouth, Gregory in tight blue boxers, Edith cuddling me on the bed, Alice's pink wig, Carl's dancing, NICK, hot JoMarie, suck-and-blow with Kevin (thanks!), and of course Ms. King, the guest of honor and hottest no-pants participant! Not so great were two of my fav people wearing shorts all night and refusing to let me undress them despite my best efforts (aka aggressive force and peer pressure). Oh yeah, and for the record, next time I get in a room with Jesse Lee, I'm ripping his pants off even if I have to cut them with scissors.
Besides Malone, some of the other party highlights included my tongue and teeth belt and pants removal, whereby I took off a naysayer's belt and pants with just my mouth, Gregory in tight blue boxers, Edith cuddling me on the bed, Alice's pink wig, Carl's dancing, NICK, hot JoMarie, suck-and-blow with Kevin (thanks!), and of course Ms. King, the guest of honor and hottest no-pants participant! Not so great were two of my fav people wearing shorts all night and refusing to let me undress them despite my best efforts (aka aggressive force and peer pressure). Oh yeah, and for the record, next time I get in a room with Jesse Lee, I'm ripping his pants off even if I have to cut them with scissors.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Rubdown
It seems that some of you dear readers need more blog. Like a cup of coffee in the morning or a smoke before bedtime, you now count on your daily dose of written orgasm to get you through another day. I am always here to satisfy your needs. To quote Greg Weiss, "It's hard to be clever everyday." Agreed. That doesn't mean I will stop writing. I just might not always have a joke to tell at the expense of someone else.
Yesterday was a great day in my life because I got a massage from my friend, Jack, who is a certified masseuse (what a great word, no?). Now, Jack is a petite man, fair and gentle, but goddamn his hands are magical! He is certified to teach yoga, and making eye contact with him is like looking at the face of baby Jesus. He's really incredible, and NO, I'm not in love with him, I just love what he does to my muscles. I drank a cup of chamomile before the massage and I swear I was floating through strawberry fields for a good hour and a half.
Not that it's all fun and games. Since I'm a runner and waiter, there's a lot of places on my body that were plenty tight and today I can still feel the effects of Jack's technique. My arms are sore like I was lifting weights and my lower back is going, "gee, maybe i should sit up straight more often..." Anyways, no pain no gain. Gotta take care of our bodies, and massage is so powerful and relaxing (and reasonably priced if you know the right people). So don't be a coconut. If you feel like life has beaten your spine into a wrinkled shadow of its former self, see a specialist, or ask me for Jack's number.
Yesterday was a great day in my life because I got a massage from my friend, Jack, who is a certified masseuse (what a great word, no?). Now, Jack is a petite man, fair and gentle, but goddamn his hands are magical! He is certified to teach yoga, and making eye contact with him is like looking at the face of baby Jesus. He's really incredible, and NO, I'm not in love with him, I just love what he does to my muscles. I drank a cup of chamomile before the massage and I swear I was floating through strawberry fields for a good hour and a half.
Not that it's all fun and games. Since I'm a runner and waiter, there's a lot of places on my body that were plenty tight and today I can still feel the effects of Jack's technique. My arms are sore like I was lifting weights and my lower back is going, "gee, maybe i should sit up straight more often..." Anyways, no pain no gain. Gotta take care of our bodies, and massage is so powerful and relaxing (and reasonably priced if you know the right people). So don't be a coconut. If you feel like life has beaten your spine into a wrinkled shadow of its former self, see a specialist, or ask me for Jack's number.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Karaoke
It may excite some of you readers to know that this blog will only be a fraction as negative as my posts usually are.
I've discovered a wonder cure for boredom, depression, weight gain, and dignity... Yes, I'm talking about Karaoke. The sport we all love to belittle, simply because we don't know how to play. The reason karaoke has sucked hard balls up until now is because the San Francisco karaoke scene spends too much time goofing off and not enough time pretending it's American Idol Live. My friends, that is all about to change. If you have never had the opportunity to drink at the Mel-o-Dee Lounge in El Cerrito, grab your white pants and your red jacket, and get your ass on the train tonight.
I was lucky enough to be experiencing my first nervous breakdown yesterday, which happened to be a Thursday. Instead of band practice, Bob (my spiritual guru) suggested I come to El Cerrito for a drink... "You HAVE to get out of the house, you have to, you cannot sit in your room all by yourself tonight because it will make you suicidal". Good point, Bob.
And with that I found myself at Mel-o-Dee, also known as welcome back to 1970. Whoo!
First of all, this place is in a shopping plaza with a Trader Joes, so you know I'm not expecting what happens next. The bartender, Sandy, looks like a retired Tenille, the walls are red and white embroidered patterns like a disco lounge, the furniture is all leather seats and booths... need I say more? This place stepped right out of Boogie Nights, and in fact I felt a little like Roller Girl when I was pounding back $2 cran/vodkas because it was "ladies night" wink wink.
But I promised this was about Karaoke... by 8:00 the place was jumpin' and by 9:00 I was entered to sing in a "tournament". There was actually a moderator who read us the rules, my favorite one being: "No person may leave the room to hang out at the bar during the tournament. All participants are required to be present for each performance, and must fill out the scorecard." Well, well, well. Karaoke with rules, unbelievable. The performances were incredible, including my version of George Michael's Faith. I believe I opened up the number by adlibbing, "this song isn't talking about God people, it's about Sex", and ended the number wildly gyrating on the ground. Bob, of course, sang Captain and Tenille's Love Will Keep us Together. And the girl who won, Hattie, sang Tina Turner's Proud Mary in a tight tanktop that read Barleycorns. I'd have to say the most noteworthy part of this karaoke scene was variety, all different sizes, ages, races, and hotness levels were getting up there and showing the world what's what. You're not going to get that at Silver Clouds or The Mint. On the other hand, you're also not going get stuck sleeping at the Bart station because you were still crooning the Pina Colada song when the last train left.
I've discovered a wonder cure for boredom, depression, weight gain, and dignity... Yes, I'm talking about Karaoke. The sport we all love to belittle, simply because we don't know how to play. The reason karaoke has sucked hard balls up until now is because the San Francisco karaoke scene spends too much time goofing off and not enough time pretending it's American Idol Live. My friends, that is all about to change. If you have never had the opportunity to drink at the Mel-o-Dee Lounge in El Cerrito, grab your white pants and your red jacket, and get your ass on the train tonight.
I was lucky enough to be experiencing my first nervous breakdown yesterday, which happened to be a Thursday. Instead of band practice, Bob (my spiritual guru) suggested I come to El Cerrito for a drink... "You HAVE to get out of the house, you have to, you cannot sit in your room all by yourself tonight because it will make you suicidal". Good point, Bob.
And with that I found myself at Mel-o-Dee, also known as welcome back to 1970. Whoo!
First of all, this place is in a shopping plaza with a Trader Joes, so you know I'm not expecting what happens next. The bartender, Sandy, looks like a retired Tenille, the walls are red and white embroidered patterns like a disco lounge, the furniture is all leather seats and booths... need I say more? This place stepped right out of Boogie Nights, and in fact I felt a little like Roller Girl when I was pounding back $2 cran/vodkas because it was "ladies night" wink wink.
But I promised this was about Karaoke... by 8:00 the place was jumpin' and by 9:00 I was entered to sing in a "tournament". There was actually a moderator who read us the rules, my favorite one being: "No person may leave the room to hang out at the bar during the tournament. All participants are required to be present for each performance, and must fill out the scorecard." Well, well, well. Karaoke with rules, unbelievable. The performances were incredible, including my version of George Michael's Faith. I believe I opened up the number by adlibbing, "this song isn't talking about God people, it's about Sex", and ended the number wildly gyrating on the ground. Bob, of course, sang Captain and Tenille's Love Will Keep us Together. And the girl who won, Hattie, sang Tina Turner's Proud Mary in a tight tanktop that read Barleycorns. I'd have to say the most noteworthy part of this karaoke scene was variety, all different sizes, ages, races, and hotness levels were getting up there and showing the world what's what. You're not going to get that at Silver Clouds or The Mint. On the other hand, you're also not going get stuck sleeping at the Bart station because you were still crooning the Pina Colada song when the last train left.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Goddamn Labor Day
Am I the only loser that has to work every labor day? To add insult to injury, just about everyone agrees that only shitty restaurants stay open for this holiday...
Two days ago, Sunday, which is supposed to be a day for picnics in the park followed by an evening of heavy intoxication, was neither picnicky nor intoxicating for me (unless you count getting verbally shit on as intoxicating). I spent the morning doing chores around the house and practicing music to further my awesome music career, which so far has earned me a total of $40.00. Then I set out with a stinky bag of laundry which I was actually excited to do because I thought I had a friend joining me for the festivities. Instead of that happening, I spent the afternoon alone at the laundromat wondering why I ever bother to leave the house. My laundry date cancelled on me but apparently I'm not even worthy enough of a phone call to say "I'm cancelling on you". Instead, I got to sit all by myself shirking other offers of companionship while waiting for the appropriate 2 hour window to elapse so I could make the official "fuck you" phonecall to said laundry date. After 30 minutes of back and forth insult hurling (thank you AT&T for making this all possible) it was agreed upon by both parties that we would never speak again, nor attempt any further contact. Wonder-fucking-ful. In this lovely state of positivity I prepared for my evening at work, musing all the while why my supposedly fantastic restaurant stays open on such a wonderful holiday meant to be shared with good friends and family. Suddenly, as I piled into my roommate's car with my work uniform in hand, I made a revelation that should have occurred to me long ago. My good friends and family are the people I work with, so our dear lord (that would never forsake a cheery lamb like me) bestowed a blessing in disguise as a curse by making me work both Sunday and Monday night of this year's Labor Day holiday.
I haven't had this much clarity since two Labor Days past when I ate mushrooms with Elliot and Emmanuel, and then roamed through Golden Gate park, only to discover that those little people running through the grass were actually children.
Two days ago, Sunday, which is supposed to be a day for picnics in the park followed by an evening of heavy intoxication, was neither picnicky nor intoxicating for me (unless you count getting verbally shit on as intoxicating). I spent the morning doing chores around the house and practicing music to further my awesome music career, which so far has earned me a total of $40.00. Then I set out with a stinky bag of laundry which I was actually excited to do because I thought I had a friend joining me for the festivities. Instead of that happening, I spent the afternoon alone at the laundromat wondering why I ever bother to leave the house. My laundry date cancelled on me but apparently I'm not even worthy enough of a phone call to say "I'm cancelling on you". Instead, I got to sit all by myself shirking other offers of companionship while waiting for the appropriate 2 hour window to elapse so I could make the official "fuck you" phonecall to said laundry date. After 30 minutes of back and forth insult hurling (thank you AT&T for making this all possible) it was agreed upon by both parties that we would never speak again, nor attempt any further contact. Wonder-fucking-ful. In this lovely state of positivity I prepared for my evening at work, musing all the while why my supposedly fantastic restaurant stays open on such a wonderful holiday meant to be shared with good friends and family. Suddenly, as I piled into my roommate's car with my work uniform in hand, I made a revelation that should have occurred to me long ago. My good friends and family are the people I work with, so our dear lord (that would never forsake a cheery lamb like me) bestowed a blessing in disguise as a curse by making me work both Sunday and Monday night of this year's Labor Day holiday.
I haven't had this much clarity since two Labor Days past when I ate mushrooms with Elliot and Emmanuel, and then roamed through Golden Gate park, only to discover that those little people running through the grass were actually children.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Where has all the bohemia gone?
Last night was first Thursday in my neighborhood, meaning that the local businesses display artwork made by local artists, while selling booze and food at discounted prices. This is really cool if you are a local artist, or a local resident looking to cash in on some fun. Now, I went down the block with my date to the cafe on the corner that I frequent during the week. The place was JUMPIN. The was a line out the door (mind you this place sells pints of beer for $1.75). Everyone standing in the line was gorgeous in the "I-didn't-wash-today-because-I-have-such-a-delicious-natural-scent" kind of way. Artists were painting outside on giant canvasses, leaving the intoxicating smell of spray paint all around. A few feet away, between my fav cafe and the other one on the block was an acoustic blues band! Does it get anymore bohemian than young folks doing their thing and making a ruckus on a Thursday night?
So I thought.
Turns out no matter how hard this city tries, it just cannot unclench the sphincter long enough to have a truly good time. I'm not going to say I didn't have any fun because for being nearly sober I thought the scene was pretty cool. I just got a little perturbed when one of the members of the band (the tenor clarinet player from Cafe International) asked someone not to dance in front of the band. WHAT? It was an immense buzzkill for me, and trust me, I earned that natural high. Then a few minutes later, some random guy faked like he was going to tip the band and instead stole 2 dollars out of the case! My friend who witnessed this wasn't manning up to stop the guy so he made a clean steal. But seriously? That is karmic death.
I'm willing to say that the artists and cafes are pretty awesome for starting up a first Thursday that far exceeds the scene on Geary Street by the same name. But next month I refuse to bring my manners to an event that is clearly a nod to the bohemia of 19th century France, or even 1960's San Francisco. Besides, if I have to hear one more person talk about how many thousands of dollars their "fine art" is worth, you can bet the fighter in me is coming out.
Here's some advice San Francisco: put down the weed, get a job, and quit complaining that you can't collect unemployment because you don't pay taxes. Ughhhh.
Trixie
So I thought.
Turns out no matter how hard this city tries, it just cannot unclench the sphincter long enough to have a truly good time. I'm not going to say I didn't have any fun because for being nearly sober I thought the scene was pretty cool. I just got a little perturbed when one of the members of the band (the tenor clarinet player from Cafe International) asked someone not to dance in front of the band. WHAT? It was an immense buzzkill for me, and trust me, I earned that natural high. Then a few minutes later, some random guy faked like he was going to tip the band and instead stole 2 dollars out of the case! My friend who witnessed this wasn't manning up to stop the guy so he made a clean steal. But seriously? That is karmic death.
I'm willing to say that the artists and cafes are pretty awesome for starting up a first Thursday that far exceeds the scene on Geary Street by the same name. But next month I refuse to bring my manners to an event that is clearly a nod to the bohemia of 19th century France, or even 1960's San Francisco. Besides, if I have to hear one more person talk about how many thousands of dollars their "fine art" is worth, you can bet the fighter in me is coming out.
Here's some advice San Francisco: put down the weed, get a job, and quit complaining that you can't collect unemployment because you don't pay taxes. Ughhhh.
Trixie
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Cell Phone Insurance?
For fucks sake, people. Come on. Cell phone insurance? Really? (Feel free to pause here and shout that with all the rancor and disgust it deserves.) Not only did it cost you $250.00 to buy the damn piece of plastic, but now you're supposed to pay the fuckers five extra dollars a month just so if you lose it at a club (or god forbid a taxi) you will now only have to give att or verizon or whatever other douchebag company you have $50.00 for a new phone as opposed to the original $250.00. I kid you not, these people told me the cheapest deductible is $50.00. REALLY? It's a fucking phone people! We used to buy landline phones for twenty bucks a pop, or those of us really crafty would just get an old clunker from the goodwill!
Honestly, I get why some people (johnny) need the insurance because they can't stop losing shit and these phones are motherfuckin' expensive. It seems worth it if you consider that being without a cellphone is akin to being without oxygen. You can live that way for about 5 illuminatory minutes before you suffocate and die, realizing that this whole time the joke was on you. So there's that option, there's the insurance option, or there's the don't lose your shit option, retard. All I'm saying is that the more of you assholes who give into this scheme, the more power you give to the other assholes that want to charge $250.00 for something that a small child was only paid 2 cents to make. Think about it... that's all I'll ever ask of you.
Thanks for tuning in to my first blog ever.
Honestly, I get why some people (johnny) need the insurance because they can't stop losing shit and these phones are motherfuckin' expensive. It seems worth it if you consider that being without a cellphone is akin to being without oxygen. You can live that way for about 5 illuminatory minutes before you suffocate and die, realizing that this whole time the joke was on you. So there's that option, there's the insurance option, or there's the don't lose your shit option, retard. All I'm saying is that the more of you assholes who give into this scheme, the more power you give to the other assholes that want to charge $250.00 for something that a small child was only paid 2 cents to make. Think about it... that's all I'll ever ask of you.
Thanks for tuning in to my first blog ever.
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