Goliath Corporation

Petport

2011-06-14T18:34:00.000-07:00

This is my cat, Diego. After a little internet investigating, I learned that he can move to Europe with us, whenever this happens, with the help of a pet passport. He'll have to take a picture and everything, just like we do. The idea of drugging him for such a long plane ride has left me with a latent feeling of guilt, even though we don't have the jobs or home yet to even warrant buying tickets anytime very soon. But when I think of my plane ride just a couple of weeks ago, I realize that that's how a lot of people make their way over the ocean, drugged and dazed, with one eye half open and the other closed. And many people helped to compound the effects of their "medications" with the free booze on the plane. So if they can do it, I imagine little Diego can too. Under a seat. In a carrier.

When Gilligan and the Skipper Became One

2011-02-13T18:16:00.000-08:00

He was from Spain. The patriarch, quietly avoiding responsibility for anything. His grandbabies were fussy - he looked out at the ocean. His daughters wanted pictures taken of the whole group, or maybe someone to hold the pails and shovels while diapers were changed, sunscreen applied-he was in the water.

They had a killer camera with a lens like they were doing surveillance. Sandwiches galore, almost all ham an cheese. The sisters, they were all gorgeous and loved each other.

It all made me want to be a wealthy Spanish sister for minute.

Break it up

2011-02-05T20:31:00.000-08:00

This was a good day. It was warm. Like the day before it,the day after it, and a whole lot of days more after that, we decided what we wanted to do, and then we did it.

It was today's opposite day.

Doris and Glenn's Greenhouse - FL

2011-01-16T15:52:00.000-08:00

Before heading to Oaxaca, we stopped in Florida for a week to visit Alex's family. Grammy and Grandaddy, also known to the many young folks who showed up as Sir and Ma'm, are a couple who grew old together, front porch and all. World War II separated them for a time before they built their first home together up in Kentucky where both had their roots. The weather there didn't agree with the health of their middle girl, and so they moved to Florida where they built another house. And when the girls were grown and the nest was empty, they moved from the city out to the country where - you guessed it - they up and built another house. It was at this last house we stayed for a pre-Christmas Christmas with all the kids, grandkids and great-grandkids. There was also a cat, Callie, and one dog, Miss Daisy, to round things out. Unlike the television and print ads you might see, Florida is not always warm and sunny, though there were many orange trees, but "not as many as there used to be". Florida, as I experienced it, was cold. Late at night, Grandaddy would head out to make sure the orchids wouldn't freeze over in the greenhouse; heat was turned on as needed.

Christmas Eve 1 (or HS Homecoming)

2011-01-10T10:56:00.000-08:00

"They do Christmas Eve Different here, dad."

That's what I overheard Alex say while we were making our Christmas phone calls home to family in the states. More accustomed to a sit down dinner with your nearest and dearest, a church service before or after, the parade of musicians and nativity themed floats primarily starring children takes the traveler by surprise.

I call the second photo Joseph's beard.

Layover

2011-01-07T10:45:00.000-08:00

My love affair with Oaxaca resumed in December when we got to escape the global-warming-ozone-layer-depletion-fire-the-engines cold of the bay area. Perhaps my memory is glossing over a freeze from last year, but I have no memory of so many 40 degree mornings.

I am starting this series of photos, however, with one of the last I took on our trip. On our way back from the beach, we had a 6 hour layover in Oaxaca City. While I went across the street to look at dresses, Alex guarded our bags on the steps of Santo Domingo. With beach relaxation still in his heart, he laid out in endearing fashion keeping our luggage safe and his feet up.

By the light...

2010-08-30T21:07:00.000-07:00

This is on the way back from Bodega Bay, maybe Petaluma. Just about a full moon starting to show itself. The pictures make me remember the cool air and the smell of dried grass blowing into the car.

The more I pursue this memory, I remember how we were stuck behind the north bay's slowest drivers for forever. Lots of Prius drivers.

Back to Skull

2010-08-26T17:16:00.000-07:00

It's nice not to be at the front of the room anymore. It's Thursday and I am going to meet a friend for a drink in a little bit. Are you a teacher? You probably can't do that. I mean, not unless you meet a colleague in the janitor's closet with a flask, a toothbrush and a box of Altoids.

May Day

2010-05-09T11:39:00.000-07:00

The sand was coarse. It felt good on my feet for awhile, but it didn't take too long before my soles felt sensitive and I started saying "ow" with every few steps. Also noteworthy this day was a blueberry marzipan scone, right out of the oven. I nearly melted when it hit my tongue. I imagine I looked the way a baby does the first time they have something like ice cream or pudding - big eyes, slow smile, leaning forward for more.

2010-04-18T11:48:00.000-07:00

Golden Gate Park. 1017 acres of wild animals, botanical curiosities, art, 2-wheelers, 4-wheelers and socks-in-sandals foot traffic.

"Dude, man! I'm just drinking beers on a bench in San Francisco!"

The sun was out, but so was the wind. That didn't stop people from wearing shorts and flip flops, from having picnics and leaving their sweaters at home. But not me. I hate being cold. I brought a sweater, a jacket and wore them both. I saw the goose bumps on people's arms, not to mention a few aerobic looking moves by the picnicking hipsters to warm up when they were out of PBR and wine in a box.

It was a nice day. The conservatory visit inspired a trip to Hortica in the Castro. 2 new plants came home. Everything else we've gotten from there has lived. And the man who runs the store is very nice. I want him to be my uncle or a really good neighbor-friend. And even though it's on Castro in between Butt Buddies posters and fancy groceries, it's reasonably priced.

Oscar Dengue Bird Pig Fever

2010-03-12T11:23:00.000-08:00

This is the entrance to a market in L.A. There were no photogs, which was a nice break for me. Hardest part of being a teacher? Easily the paparazzi.

Heart

2010-02-19T08:14:00.000-08:00

You can't tell from this photo - or maybe you can - but this guy was really, really tall. I didn't manage to take a picture that effectively captured his beanstalk stature. Instead, in this one, you can see the crumbs on and around his mouth from the Valentine's Day cookies the people at Sweet Adeline's were giving away. He doesn't seem like a V-Day cookie kind of guy to me, but unlike most of us who said a grateful thanks and then put the cookie in our purses and backpacks, this guy ate his up in a few quick bites after he finished his cinnamon roll.

The way each employee came up to your table personally and gave you the cookie, all wrapped up with a pink ribbon, and smiled and said, "Happy Valentine's Day! I thought you might want..." made you feel like the chosen one, like there was something extra special about you that warranted the cookie being given to you. This man came in with 2 library books, pants that will never be long enough and a leather jacket. He looked kind of lonely to me, so I'm glad he got the cookie. And I'm glad he ate it right away.

Posturing

2010-02-18T21:31:00.000-08:00

We were on a field trip to the Museum of Modern Art, on the number 8X bus headed downtown. It was one of those loooooooong buses whose two parts are connected by an accordion looking thing. This girl and her friends were in the back, ditching school, wearing her black hoodie and Old Navy hunting cap for her day out and about tagging city buses. We were in the back too. That's what you do when you get on a crowded bus. We were all standing there while these kids took out their fat markers and started tagging the same thing again and again.

"What?! You wanna take my picture? Get my good side!" The guy with the curly hair and badly bucked brown teeth said that while I openly photographed their exploits through the arms of my students and other city folk riding the Express. Most everyone ignored them or held a disgusted look on their faces while reluctantly taking in the criminal act.

They were rude and young and almost pityingly immature. At least she's not pregnant, I thought. I'd hate to be her kid.

At least she didn't look pregnant.

Once they got off, my kids looked like MLK, Mother Teresa and my cat all rolled into one. They tried to figure out what they could draw on top of the tags to make it look nicer, or what stickers they could come prepared with next time.

Nothing but unicorns could save that mess.

We had a really good docent at the museum. And except for the lost (and now returned) wallet, and the hummingbird who died after flying into the glass wall by the rooftop sculpture garden, it was a really nice trip.

Teef

2010-02-06T19:22:00.000-08:00

Some of us have teeth while others of us have teefs. This woman, an important figure in the world of contemporary art, has the latter. I don't doubt she had the money to fix those things, but when you come into the world like that, live through the childhood teasing, tolerate the quiet, behind-your-back adulthood teasing, I suppose you might build up something of a strange pride around sticking with them for so long. Through thick and thin, out and about.

"Yeah, that's right. I've got teefs. And my picture is in MOMA next to the Matisses. Where you at?"

Los Especiales...an uncerimonious end

2010-01-31T21:55:00.000-08:00

"If you need to sharpen any of the color pencils the sharpener is on my desk. Make sure you use it over the trash bin."

Yes, I say trash bin. But only to my students. It helps to make me even more other to them than I already am. I work with a Scottish guy, so I feel I can blame some kind of weak cultural osmosis to a degree. A very little, tiny, itsy-bitsy degree. So anyway, I said do it over the garbage thing and this one does it on the effing table. Who do you think cleans this stuff up?

"That's the custodians job!"

Did you just say that? Did you think it? For you and for any of my very most special kids, no. That is not the custodian's job. And no, special student X, custodian is not, in fact, an SAT word. It's kind of like janitor, but not exactly the same. Look it up.

"Why you always gotta say that! That's what my mentor always says."

Well God almighty bless that poor fool for sticking by your special side.

Things like that make me wish there was one of those trees you could send a kid out to go and pick a switch from. And that it was 70 years ago. In the South. I just think I could do that in the South. Maybe I'm wrong, but I feel it in my chicken fried soul.

So long, January; hello to the incomplete month of February. Do you say the first "r"? Tell me. I want to know.

Beaking it down, eSPECIALly for you

2010-01-23T10:45:00.000-08:00

That's right, yes he does.

Lazylegs (no joke) showed our students that there are "No Excuses! No Limits!" when he came and gave a motivational talk and dance demo to our lazybrain student body this past fall. He brought his friend Kujo with him to break that shit down for you. Lazylegs has itty bitty legs but very muscular arms that help him break dance for you like it's 1983. Kujo is deaf (pronounced deef) and relies on sound waves bouncing back to him and you feeling the music and clapping along to keep him on rhythm.

You could really have fun with that.

Happy Special New Year

2010-01-09T14:10:00.000-08:00

I've been away. I always had the wrong computer with me. Since we last met, I moved voices, about 100. I effectively structured arguments. I had a failed SI joint. I tried good coffee in bad places and mediocre coffee in nice places. I lost time while wearing a new sweater, Maker's in an espresso cup is what I heard. My resolve to find a new money maker for next year was further solidified. I started dreaming again, remembering them, really, I guess is what it is. I have one new nemesis.

And now I'm back, hookers.

The theme for this month is special-ness. The first picture speaks for itself. The second features a man speaking for his special kid who ruined graduation.

Oeste

2009-10-21T21:57:00.000-07:00

There is a park over where all those cranes are on the waterfront in Oakland. There are a lot of signs along the sand telling you and showing you what is prohibited. Some examples include dogs, alcohol, bikes, cars, and swimming. Many of the garbage receptacles had flyers taped onto them informing citizens not to dispose of anything oily in there. ?????

The view is a beautiful one. I had a Floridian with me. He said you don't get this pink sky over there. It makes the water look sweet, like a candy factory pool. I know, I know - I want to make fun of me too. I'll take a picture of a bullfight or something next, to macho up.

On Tuesday, at our community meeting at school, I was last on the announcement list. I allowed my mild fury at the poor audience behavior to show through my stone cold gaze. The student working the lightboard shone a red light on me. And my audience came back. ("Look! They put her in red like the devil.")

The quarter's over at school. Grades are due. We have to show our grade reports to kids this week and have them assess themselves using these rubrics. They get mad and confused and defiant. They get upset. A few of them are okay. I am going to do this tomorrow.

Artist, Art, Hybrid

2009-10-13T21:32:00.000-07:00

These are from Creativity Explored's Sci-fi opening. I met this one artist who led me around by the hand showing me her pieces and telling me to buy every single one of them because she wants a big check this year. There was a theramin player too, but I'm kind of over the theramin.

Tomorrow

2009-10-04T15:12:00.000-07:00

I had too much wine to drink while grading yesterday so my head feels kind of tight right now. Or maybe it's because my head is so packed with the responsibilities I bear to make this job work that my brain is crying for me, feels dehydrated and that's the tight feeling.

Anyineedanewjobbeforeifallapartandget5150'd, this picture is for Dan. So was my opening confession. Tomorrow Dan's going back to Madrid, where he becomes, once again, a temporary ex-pat, teaching young Spanish people the subtleties of conversational English and trying to make a go of a business venture in the same vein with my summer host, Ana.

In less interesting news, when I took a break from working for a bit yesterday, I got on the private school jobs website and looked everywhere I could think of for a maternity leave position. I need someone at a privileged school to get knocked up or realize she's knocked up, now. That would mean there's a position at the end of spring and maybe into the fall! Or maybe someone will learn they are having multiples and need time off earlier rather than later for bed rest or something. Then I can save the day in January or something.

Please, encourage your private school teacher friends to do it. I'll make the Marvin Gaye cd to get everyone started. I'll make the dinner reservations too.

Well you know his birthday's just around the corner now

2009-09-22T22:25:00.000-07:00

Don't do it! Do noooooot do it. Do not write about the "crisp autumn air" or pumpkin cookies or spiced lattes or scarves and tights. Do not - do you hear me? - do not use the word "cozy" or "snuggle". If I read one more lady blog about your "Fall Favorite Things" I'm going to have to go all hood rat on you.

When I read through blogs today I felt like I was trapped in an acid trip designed by Oprah and Martha Stewart. I could smell the lavender linen spray everywhere. When I finally closed my computer, I got up and fluffed a pillow before arranging my books by the color of their spines. Thank god I snapped out of it before I started laying them down horizontally and placing sea anemone shaped tchotchkes on top.

I know it's fall, but please ladies. We've already got the Home & Garden/Food Network All-Stars shoving fake fall leaves in our faces and on our cupcakes. Let us make it through this fall season without too many trips to Michael's. If I throw up in my mouth anymore today I might remove the remnants of tooth enamel that survived the first 50 little pukes.

You know this means gingerbread lattes and red turtlenecks form the Gap are just around the bend. Oh Easter Bunny, where are you when we need you?

My Mondays are different from your Mondays

2009-09-21T23:20:00.000-07:00

So on my Mondays, I work straight from 9:00 to 3:55 with no break. I teach one 100 minute block followed by a 10 minute break to start my morning off. That break is used to mop up the remains of the last class and set up for the next. If I am lucky, I can manage to shove half of one of those heart shaped oat cake things in my mouth before some kid is standing in front of me asking me something like, "Did you get drunk this weekend?" or, a new favorite of some of your country's future, "What clubs do you go to?"

Then I have "lunch". This is a 30 minute piece of my day that happens like this:
"Alright everyone, pack your bags, push your chairs in and show me your planners on your way out the door!" I am trying to smile more, so while I say this, I look like I have some kind of hidden orthodontics in my mouth that make me make this face that shows my teeth - kind of the way a horse might look when people say it is smiling, but everyone knows it's not, really, because it is a horse and not a person. Then I look up and there are 10 minutes before my advisory period. Then maybe - mmmmmmaybe - I eat a yogurt too fast and my stomach feels funny for awhile. My last class is a poor man's version of the first two because I can't remember what I said to which class. My jokes are getting all mixed up and my horse smile looks weird, a little lopsided, like the horse is very very tired, which I am.

Finally everyone goes away and I am left with lots of work to do. People keep coming in and "need" to talk to me. I really "need" some whiskey and a double IPA. I really "need" you to just let me have 42 seconds to myself on my no food no pee days.

And then, when we were driving away to go see some friends who have normal lives and can go out on week nights without accepting zombie-like lives the morning after, there were goats. This lady who did a tarot reading for me, she gave me a card to take home and it had a a goat on it. She said it was playful and that I should try to have more fun in my life. She also said I should sleep around a bit. I said okay.

So there were goats at the bottom of the hill from work. In the city. Near Candlestick. I think they were working.

Thank you for coming ladies and gentlemen

2009-09-10T21:45:00.000-07:00

He got married. This is the part where the bride and groom go around and say hi to everyone. There was an open bar with whiskey, any way you like it. I like it in a glass in my hand.

I've been working 500 hours a day. More no say can.

It is what it is

2009-08-31T21:40:00.000-07:00

I think I received a negative paycheck. There was so much taken out I wanted to call the President. But no. We're going to call Malu and see if she'll come and explain all of this to us. But I don't think I want to understand it. I want it to stop! Call the President somebody!

Make me pay back student loans while I'm teaching these kids? Call the President! Pay the PG & E bill that goes up and up and up every month? Stop! Call the President! Make me teach a roomful of my Social Security earners on less money a year per pupil than any other state? Call the po-lice!

It'd be great if the mob ran schools. We'd have everything we need and no kid'd ever be out of line.

Eff you, pay me.

(p.s. I don't want to ruin the gangster mood, but the picture is from happy hour last week, before we knew about the money.)

This is the last email I sent today!

2009-08-12T21:50:00.000-07:00

Hi!

Just kidding - Hi.

I am going to a work "retreat" in Marshall near Point Reyes tomorrow. It's an overnight. Today was my first day back. My room was wrecked, but my meeting left me, as the first meeting of the year often does, cautiously optimistic. Some of my things are missing: my electric sharpener (this is not such a bad thing), some books and my iconic black stool. I went into all the classrooms and looked for the stool. Along the way, I picked up a dia de los muertos rubber stamp, some poetry books - for people who like that, 3 x 5 index cards and a brown stool. All of these things are from the classrooms of teachers who left. A couple of new teachers already put stuff in their rooms, so I couldn't see if there was any good "learning space" carrion. I don't know if these actions are reflective of teacher culture and show the implications of crappy budgets, or if it's just me - I'm a vulture.

Saturday night - busy? I have a plan.

(This photo shows a wall in Granada in the southern part of Spain. It was 40 degrees centigrade that day. I think the figures were melting on the wall. That's why they look that way.)

The real thing

2009-08-07T10:15:00.000-07:00

He had just hit his head after falling down - his dad had admonished him for spitting in the fountain. I don't doubt that over the centuries, this was not the first little boy to spit in the beautiful waters of the Alhambra, watching the glob separate and spread out until it rode a ripple to the edge of the small pool. After a smothering hug from his mother and assurances from his father that he was, in fact, just fine, he stood up and saw her.

She saw him at the same time. Naked baby doll in a similar clutch, she stood still and time stood still and they just looked at each other.

The spell was broken when mom and dad started positioning the boys for another photo. He slowly turned to face his father's camera, rubbing his head while he looked up.

This is getting ridiculouser and ridiculouser

2009-08-03T10:03:00.000-07:00

"Welcome to JFK International Airport. When you arrive at gate 23, take the escalator towards baggage claim. We hope you have an enjoyable s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-stay here in New York City. If New York City is not your final destination..."

And it went on. And on, and onandonandon. While we stood, suffocating, on the airless tram to gate number nobody knows (the 23 thing was just the available track), that message played on an unforgiving loop complete with track skipping every single play.

People were crying. People were hungry. Delta did not offer vouchers for anything to eat over this 5 hour saga. We were supposed to board for take 2 at the same gate as a flight to Barcelona. Our people were trying to get on that flight. Barcelona people didn't know what was going on. The flight crew didn't know what was going on. THe gate agents were confused as to why there were so many people asking about a middle state.

Shellshock. Short term PTSD. Delta = nemesis

Picture #1: ethereal looking Minneapolis crying girl and dad
Picture #2: pilot - "Are you piloting the flight to Minneapolis?" "I don't know. I think...I don't know."
Picture #3: "This is getting ridiculouser and ridiculouser!" You took the words right out of my mouth, sister.

Hey there, hot stuff.

2009-07-31T12:36:00.000-07:00

There are just too too many sweet pieces of manliness in these photos from Barcelona. After my first shoe purchase (a pair of Campers I call Lucia), I made my way through the tiny turny streets of old town and ended up about 6 feet from where I started. That spot was in front of some cathedral. After you've seen 9 cathedrals, you've seen them all - the roccocco, baroque and just plain gaudy (hee, hee - gaudi!) all melt into one another and it seems like you're looking at the same cathedral you saw yesterday and last week. Weeping Maria? check. Nekkid angel babies cowering in front of weird Inferno looking creatures? check. Gold nubby accents by the million over the nave? we got that.

But how many cathedrals can boast of having a firemen's bachelor auction right outside their front doors?! Only this one, mis amigos. While I sat on a bench next to another hot piece, I ate my 100th bocadillo of the trip and watched all these people dancing in circles. There was a small band, brass and strings, playing traditional Catalonian music while these people did their slow circle dancing, holding hands the whole time. Just like in the club, all the handbags were in the middle.

This one Japanese kid had been studying the moves for quite awhile before he joined a circle for the song Parc Guell. He looked more like he was doing a Bing Crosby-era style soft shoe, but - I know, I know - props for trying, young man. I just sat there smiling at the whole thing. There was warmness in my heart area. A gang of oldsters smiling and dancing - that's like watching a unicorn take a puppy dog for a walk to the lemonade and candy factory. Too good to be true.

La Alhambra - during, after

2009-07-28T14:38:00.000-07:00

Granada, Spain. Last week. 1,000 degrees centigrade. 800 degrees in the shade and about a cool 15 in the masterfully built, heartbreakingly beautiful palace that me and several hundred of my closest friends went to visit and tour in the midday Spanish (though some would argue Moorish) sun.

Unlike some of the other Euro Disney sights I visited in Spain, the Alhambra only lets in a limited number of people per day, even per section of the day. So sure, there's a crowd, but unlike every last Gaudi site I saw, I found myself with a few moments to myself every now and then to take a more quiet look around.

Yes, it was beautiful. Yes, there were exquisite carvings everywhere. Yup, tile work was lovely. The water, though, the water features were the bomb! The sound of water, the water itself, it followed you everywhere - down the stairs, across the room, into the gardens and across the grounds. If I ever have an estate I figure I should have money to burn, and so then, I will have some of that sweet Alhambra water following me through my privileged day.

At a certain point in your walk through the palace, you decide to sit down. And then maybe you refill your water bottle. And then you think, "Fuck it. I don't care what Generalife is. It's too damn hot. I'm going back to my ho(s)tel." That is what the gentleman in the second photo thought just a few minutes before we sat in quiet regard just a few feet* away from each other, waiting for the air conditioned bus to arrive.

(* .90 meters)

I need a third vacation

2009-07-26T22:11:00.000-07:00

After panic attack inducing travel on an airline whose initials are D.E.L.T.A., I headed a bit north up to the first ever Wanderlust festival. This hippie fest was all about yoga and music all day long. Scary looking stilt people who looked like The Nightmare Before Christmas meets the Victorian era were there. Girls in crocheted bikini tops, dirty feet and scary toes, sweat, dust, frozen bananas, oooooohm.

Most of the extremists were gone by the time Andrew Bird made it onstage for the final evening. He sang a song called Sweet Matter that I think he might have said was for me if we'd had a chance to meet. Even more hula hooping fire breathing hippies left by the time the festival closer, Spoon, played. The music was great every show I saw. And all that yoga kept a lot of the bamboo pant wearing bud light drinking dreaded hippies out of the crowd. So essentially, they sponsored my easy front row placement. It was too easy to move all through the crowd.

Weird hippie magic, I think.

Andrew Bird was wearing Chaco's. It got around to everyone, like bird flu used to do.

I found love in Madrid

2009-07-14T01:55:00.000-07:00

I was waiting in the car with the hazards on. My friend and host was inside Mallorca getting my first ever croquetes. Diosito santo. Es amor. Bechmel sauce with ham, all fried into a crispy little ball. Why didn't anyone ever tell me about these before? They make pants up to size 22 at Old Navy. I could've handled it. It's my life, I can do what I want.

Palate Cleanser

2009-06-06T07:26:00.000-07:00

The transition to summer begins. Nevermind the finals that still need to be written, the term papers ungraded. The last class is over. O-ver. Here are some things, God willing, I won't be saying again until late August:

"Please SIT down in your assigned seat."
"Put that phone away."
"Stop touching her."
"Get down from there."
"A decision has been made."
"Can you hold it?"
"If you really have to go. Otherwise, please wait until the presentation is over."
"Well Jimmy crack corn and I don't care."

Happy finals, everyone.

I went to the prom. It was just okay.

2009-05-31T17:21:00.000-07:00

They all started in new and uncomfortable shoes. Shoes were abandoned altogether or replaced with flipflops, ballet slippers, sandals or socks within an hour of the dance floor opening up. The best part of the night for me was the coffee and tea bar that opened up after dessert. I took a bunch of the tea bags home in my purse. They're the fancy kind in the silk pouches.

With all the bad kids in trouble at home, suspended or recently expelled, it was kind of a slow night. Yaaaaaaaaaaaawn.

You decide what you need this to be

2009-05-30T11:02:00.000-07:00

Years ago, my heart was set to live, oh
But I've been trying hard against unbelievable odds
It gets so hard at times like now to hold on
My guns they're waiting to be stuck by
At my side is God
And there ain't no one gonna turn me 'round
Ain't no one gonna turn me 'round
There's people around who tell you that they know
The places where they send you, and it's easy to go
They'll zip you up and dress you down
Stand you in a row
But you know you don't have to
You can just say no
And there ain't no one gonna turn me 'round
Ain't no one gonna turn me 'round
Ain't no one gonna turn me 'round
Ain't no one gonna turn me 'round
I've been built up and trusted
Broke down and busted
But they'll get theirs and we'll get ours
Just if we can
Just, ah, hold on
Hold on
Hold on
Hold on

I say

2009-05-27T19:40:00.000-07:00

What do you think? Have you considered what you're seeing now? Have you noticed...Dangit. You can't play Questions by yourself. It doesn't work out.

Over Your Heads

2009-05-23T14:48:00.000-07:00

Who knew all this stuff was just over the hills. When I see the names of the cities in this area on maps, I used to think of mini-malls, newly laid black asphalt and cul de sacs in developments that have names meant to sound triumphant. Highland Vistas. Sunrise Gardens. Now I think of mars, gray water, dead ships and yellow-making factories.

Troposphere

2009-05-17T16:17:00.000-07:00

You don't have to keep yelling. I know it's been a long time.

Well, now that we've got that settled, let me tell you. It was so hot here today I had to leave the planet. Aaron there piloted me and that Italian guy all around the bay. You'd be surprised what's "just in your backyard". It was hard to completely escape the heat, though. At one point it was still 80 degrees in the plane even though earth was just a tiny speck, hardly visible.

We had lunch in Half Moon Bay and then came back. Pilot code is cool. Everything's niner -this and lima-that.

Biblical

2009-01-18T13:23:00.000-08:00

This is the last bit we see before turning into that beautiful parking lot where we are greeted with a wave from the security guard who like looking at the ladies' chesticles. This day was especially foggy. I was probably in the last stages of my personal private show I watch in my brain that I like to call 101 Other Things That Would Be Better Than This Right Now. From there I switched to Natural Disaster Day? But then I realized such a thick fog could only symbolize something greater, something more...epic.

"Dude, nothing biblical happens anymore; no seas part or anything."

One of my smartest students was the only to make this incisive observation. But this was the day that would prove him wrong.

Snow Line

2009-01-03T19:18:00.000-08:00

I took this picture just yesterday. Now I am back home, in the coldest apartment in the world. I have been colder here in the last twenty hours than I ever was in the winter wonderland of Canadialand.

Goodbye Beautiful British Columbia. Goodbye English muffin sandwiches, and donuts shaped like rocks. Goodbye mutant starfish and America driven entertainment. So long monopoly money and 20 cents more. Goodbye vacation. I cannot bear to name the things I must once again say hello to. Weep for me, America. Weep for me and then send me things. Please send me things.

My camera works again

2009-01-02T11:21:00.000-08:00

Okay. I'm back. My camera wasn't working for a couple of months. It would tell me the batteries were dying right after a fresh charge and then shut down on me. Just this week, though, my friend's boyfriend held it in his magic hands, pressed all the buttons and everything has been working fine since. So lay your blood offererings or bowls of fruit or whatever you hookers do to Ben during your usual ritual hour.

This picture was taken a couple of days ago from a Volkswagon Jetta on the way up to Mt. Seymour in Beautiful British Columbia. Just a little ways down the hill, not so much snow. Once you start climbing it's like Santa's Village. I went skiing for the first time ever this day. That shit hurts. I got to learn how to manage all the sticks involved in this popular winter sport in a group with about 10 kids between the ages of 9 and 13. I thought those snow hos might know to separate kid and adult classes, but I think I may have been the only grown up on the mountain that day who didn't come out of the womb with a Burton one-piece and goggles on.

Anysore, my instructor assured me I made excellent progress and gave me props for my improvement over those cold two hours. I can't lie. I had fun. Especially when that pissy little 9-year-old, Curtis, fell on his face when he couldn't hold on to the tow rope anymore. He just lied there in the snow while skiers and snowboarders slid past him. He lied there so long. I was wondering where the polar bears and arctic foxes were. That was some sweet fresh meat right there.

Now I wear the badges of my day's efforts where no one can see. My arms and legs cry every hour on the hour. So send me your epsom salts and wives tales cures (say that 10 times fast).

Vote No on Prop 8

2008-11-04T23:16:00.000-08:00

IMP. Integrated math is great. Students have to explain process. The simple matter of a right answer won't get you far.

The gays are everywhere.

Lunch time

2008-11-02T09:31:00.000-08:00

This is from my most recent lunch supervision duty patrol.

There's this group of mentally retarded kids that come out for part of our lunch from the school we share our building with. Some of them, you just look at their faces and you know they are different. Whether it's the heavy eyelids and huge smile of the students with Down's or the unusually clenched hands of other kids, there is usually some kind of indicator that signals, This kid is different from you.

So if you don't have one of the physical markers, and if you're not holding hands with one of the aides, you look like any other kid from the other school who shouldn't be out during our lunch time. The kid I'm thinking about, he strays from the pack. He'll go and try to talk with different cliques of our students who always look a little confused when he leaves them. Once, though, when I first met him, he decided to whistle and say something nasty about how good I looked. I can't remember the firey, furious, speech I gave him. "Who do you think you are" was somewhere in there.

Then some kid told me "He's with those other retarded kids."

Oh (momentary remorse). So? (anger fully intact)

He's done it once more since his initial compliment.

Happy Halloweenie

2008-11-01T15:32:00.000-07:00

No one here was dressed as a pumpkin, sadly.

I hope nothing terrible happened to you.

Fashioning Change

2008-10-18T13:01:00.000-07:00

Fashioning Change was a fashion show fundraiser held last night for the Barack Obama campaign. I've never given money to a political campaign, and I likely wouldn't have given any money to this political campaign if a fashion show hadn't lured me in.

East bay fashion and jewelry designers filled a medium sized space just south of Market and they brought all of their followers with them. This was not a city crowd. As I observed, there was a certain too cool for school vibe absent from the event that reinforced my love of the east bay. Could I turn down a warehouse space in the Dogpatch or Potrero Hill? Not a chance. But I'd move while quietly telling myself it's only temporary and I'll be back in the open spaces and warmer temperatures of Oakland in the future, when I've had my fun.

And don't get me wrong. I love the city too, and I know not everyone there carries that cooler than thou bearing. And I suppose I've outed myself as being someone who goes to places where I experience the throngs in their chunky glasses, grandpa hat and vintage shirt uniform. They go places where there's good food and often fresh fashion and new art to take in. Too bad they can't find their own style.

Viva la lake.

Holy Roller

2008-10-12T08:52:00.000-07:00

Eff the bumper sticker. We're going large.

When I saw this truck, I thought the driver was one of those people who go to those storefront churches in the mission. They go on Sunday mornings, go home for lunch and then come back to keep it going until the evening.

Then there's after school church a few days a week. You go from five until the holiest roller starts to buckle - and that's usually between 9 and 10 o'clock at night. Jesus. Jesus Cristo.

Evangelicals. I have a few in classes. They're something else. They're judged, and they act like it.

Fresh in SF

2008-09-27T12:54:00.000-07:00

I wanted you to see her square gold bamboo earrings, but she wouldn't move her hands.

They call that hair bump so many girls wear now a "hump". I remember first noticing the phenomenon when a lot of celebrities were doing it, most notably Gwen Stefani. This girl took the hump and made it her own. While all teenagers are all styley in their Old Navy, H & M kind of way, this girl is hecka styley. I think it takes a real sense of fashion and some guts to walk out of the house like that when you're in 9th grade, both of which I suffered a deficit of in my high school career. I didn't learn to say "Fuck it" until I was 30.

So you may think her hair is crazy, crazy, crazy. But you know you dig that hump.

From the Vault - Ski Week End

2008-09-22T19:26:00.000-07:00

And the credits were rolling. We were on our way home to enjoy the next half of our winter's end break, not skiing, not snowboarding, not sledding.

About the first picture: there must've been some friend of a friend of a friend breach, because somehow Elef made it to my Facebook photos.

Elef Neso (Orange County, CA) wrote at 3:50pm on March 15th, 2008 How do you do that? Make shite look beauty?
Delete

I don't know, Elef, I don't know. I just do it.

I also don't know who on earth you are.

Thanks, man.

From the Vault - Ski Week 2008, Point Reyes

2008-09-20T21:48:00.000-07:00

I've been feeling nostalgic for the days of good pictures and good company, so here are some from the vaults. This is ski week, 2008. Grahme, Nate and I joined Chris at his mom's in Point Reyes. We planned to go camping somewhere off of Sky trail (see He went thataway, 3/19), but the weather kept us in, drinking beer and whiskey, playing games for 3 days.

Grahme's pack, unlike the rest of ours, did not hold headlamps and camp stoves. Grahme's pack had liar's poker, Slamwich, Boggle, Set and a bunch of other games I can't remember. So after a day's hike to where we wouldn't be camping, we got some food to make dinner, had dinner and then dug in.

I was a pro at Liar's Poker. Nate's Texas sized hands made him a Slamwich savant. Grahme and Chris also had good showings. We were all winners. Just like in children's league soccer. My 3-inch tall trophy is sitting on the mantle as I write these words. I also got the take away of a little insight into the world of men. Being the only girl in Boystown was fun. I don't know if they were trying to make me feel comfortable, but we talked about relationships a whole lot in between glasses of Jack and bottles of beer.

Today, today!

2008-09-20T19:27:00.000-07:00

Thank goodness for red lights. He looked away when he saw me with the camera.

There's more of that red stuff over to the left, but you can't see it. Go to 6th between Folsom and Mission to take in the whole mural. It's so cool. You've got all that geometry happening to the left and right, and then an explosion of grafitti in the middle. It's all grafitti, I know, but the style in the middle of the piece is more traditional.

I hope no one does anything to it. Our stupid kids who call themselves taggers who only scribble on notebook paper and the back windows of MUNI if they're brave enough like to show how down they are by writing "Toy" across pieces that they deem inferior - not art, not grafitti, not good. Silly little teenaged minds. Lots of fronts. Who they really are, no one knows yet. I hope they don't destroy this piece.

Good day in the city today. I saw a bunch of Miro pieces I'd never seen before in a place I'd never been when, really, I was only in town to look for boots. The ceiling was made of gross old squares of who knows what; some were stained. I felt sorry for the paintings. But I was happy to see the work. Alex called while I was at the gallery. He has a backyard now.

It was warm and hardly windy, even downtown. Thank you sweet jeebus.

I'm a VIP - California Academy of Sciences

2008-09-14T21:47:00.000-07:00

My friend Grahme used to be my co-worker. Then he got this kick ass job at the new California Academy of Sciences. So even though the mention of his name yields shouts of, "Grahme who?!" or "He's dead to us!" I enjoy the perks. And I never shout those things. I'm afraid he'll hear them in his heart and then I won't get to do cool stuff like go to pre-openings of "the country's premier science museum," the first of its kind west of the Mississippi.

There were so many aquariums. And all of them had things in them that looked like rock-dinosaur-monster mixes. Really interesting sushi possibilities. The guys of Slanted Door are going to have a cafe there, so if you want $46 spring rolls made with dinosaur monster fish, go there. Best in town.

Opening day is September 27th. It'll be free and you can expect to see political celebrities like Gavin Newsom and Arnold Schwarzeneger. I'm not even going to check the spelling on that. After opening day, expect to pay $25 for your entry. For a little perspective, that is 50 Cliff's Z-Bars at Trader Joe's.

p.s. Sujata took picture #2.
p.p.s. I don't know why we're smiling like that. We weren't that happy. My shoes were kind of hurting.

Better Half, take 2

2008-09-09T06:50:00.000-07:00

I don't look twice at message tees. This guy brought his to attention after I moved off of his stoop so he could pass on by. Hello, here's my tee shirt. You know he almost got into it with some guy down on the Embarcadero over it. Walking along, "minding my own business with a friend of mine", he was approached by some other guy who asks him what he means by that shirt. Shirt guy says nothing. He doesn't mean a damn thing by it. It's just a shirt. But what do you mean by it? Are you trying to insult me? The man doing the asking was black and referring to the ugly and archaic insult relating black people to monkeys. Shirt guy's friend stepped in and cooled the situation down and everyone went on their own way.

Shirt guy was still frustrated and even a little bit angry about the whole mess, though.
"My wife is darker than that man was. I married an African-American woman ten years ago. Best thing to ever happen to me. Best thing. Too bad I didn't meet her sooner, when I was twenty."
"Maybe you wouldn't have been ready for her when you were twenty."
"I was in Vietnam when I was twenty. But you don't know what that was like."
"I'm glad I don't know what that was like."
"It's better you don't know what that was like."

We said those last two things at almost the same time.

The bottom of his mustache was yellow, from the smoking I'm guessing. I thought that was kind of cool. Not the smoking, just the record of it. Dandruff all over the shoulders of his brown beautiful monkey tee shirt. He kept telling me I'd break my camera taking a picture of him. Then we said goodbye and me and my friend got called in for a table for brunch and I forgot to order the beignets which is the only reason I wanted to go there in the first place.

I'm saaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiling!

2008-09-08T21:40:00.000-07:00

That's right. I'm one of those people. You're driving across the bridge on a nice sunny day. You're going to meet your friend for brunch. Inside. Where it's just okay. And then you see all those sailboats. "Who are those people?" you wonder. "How can people effing afford boats for fuck's sake?" And I am on that boat. That's right. That one right there. And I'll tell you how to afford it. Be friends with people who have boats or sailing club memberships because your cheap ass will never take the class or pay the dues because then you won't have money to buy milk for your babies.

That's not my (friends who sail's) boat. I'm in another boat that's really great and nice.

Stay sharp

2008-09-07T10:51:00.000-07:00

I walked by this shop who knows how many times without ever stopping in. A new friend who may now be an old friend brought me in for the first time last month. There are signs everywhere telling you that no photos are allowed so I won't put the name of the place down here so that I can remain safe and at large.

Now I buy things like this. I'm one of those people. I'd never categorized "people who buy cactuses and succulents" before. I didn't know it was so widespread. Now I'm part of this group. I use them to decorate my classroom. So far, two rotten young people have been injured as a result. I have also started bringing them into my private home. They look nice. One has tiny flowering vines and the other looks like a cross between a heart and a brain.

I know the shop has, as a matter of fact, some brains. I don't know about hearts, though. Next week.

Better Half, take 1

2008-08-24T19:28:00.000-07:00

Don't let the look fool you.

Yes, I took that picture too.

2008-08-17T20:09:00.000-07:00

I know, girl. We've all taken this picture. But just like you, I like mine best. There are a number of reasons to support mine being the best, most of which involve commentary on the phone lines. I know you know I'm right. I can tell by the way you rolled your eyes like you didn't care, but you really did. I can read you like a large print book.

I've been unlucky getting good shots lately. Do a dance from your favorite religion for me so things start looking up. Light candles for me. Put things out there to the universe. Watch Dr. Phil.

I will wait right here.

She's in town.

2008-08-05T13:13:00.000-07:00

My camera hasn't left my side, but I haven't been inspired lately. Not much turning my head. An existential funk? Post-travel blues?

Frida Kahlo was just one of the million stencils all over the streets of San Cristobal de las Casas. Her work is on display at MOMA. I've seen her work in a lot of exhibits - surrealist painters, women artists...here and in Los Angeles. Her biography and her work was part of every Spanish class I ever took in high school.

She's Fridatastic, I know, but I don't know if I'm ready for another look just yet. I think we need to take a break.

Ice Cream Guy

2008-07-23T09:26:00.000-07:00

I needed a break from the Mexico pictures. I post this photo of Ice Cream Guy from my first day of summer break, back when the sun was still coming out and it was warm.

ICG is eating (having a good time with?) a cone of organic ice cream. These two girls with a cooler were coming around to people asking them if they wanted to try some of the girls' fresh organic ice cream in all these different organic flavors. Girl, I heard you. You said it was organic. I mean organic. But why should anyone believe them? I only believe things are organic when the person telling me that is wearing clay colored wool socks with no elastic and some weird kind of sandals that are probably really bad for your feet but were made by sheep in Central America or something. You know that shit's organic.

Zinacantan

2008-07-22T11:03:00.000-07:00

I generally stay away from tours. As much as is possible, I take a bus to the place I want to visit and take my time. Chances are that I'll likely have done some reading about the place beforehand to get at least a minimal grounding in what I'm looking at, sitting on, walking through. I've had some pretty boring or just plain bad tours in the past where all I really want to do is go at my own pace. I don't want to hear the guide repeatedly reassure the group that the citizens of Cusco are not gay despite their city's rainbow flag. I don't want to hear Ferris Beuller's history teacher read me the fast fact boxes for three grueling hours. So I go on my own when I can.

But there are no buses to Zinacantan. I signed up for a tour in what was the most visually appealing office with people who smiled and answered my questions patiently. What was so cool about this tour was that the visit to the town involved going to a family's home and sitting in their packed dirt floor kitchen on little chairs (think pre-school size) and eating tortillas and beans and cheese and salsa before topping it all off with some of the regional home brew liquor while our guide told us about the place and family.

This is a kitchen shot. The tortilla production continued while we were there. I effing love tortillas.

Tulum

2008-07-20T09:43:00.000-07:00

It's way hotter than it looks.

Tulum was praised by friends and colleagues who'd made the town and its ruins part of their travels, or pardon me, their vacations, in the past. "Don't forget to try..." or "You should stay at..." Don't do it. As Mark, a 20-something young man I met on my bus escape out of Tulum put it, "This area is made up of a bunch of scuzzy little towns, like this one."

Before the attack begins, I want to clarify that statement as far as I am concerned. It resonated for me for sure and put words to the confusion I was feeling at not having the time of my life in Tulum. Can't speak for Mark. Nothing can touch the powdery white sands and Caribbean blue of the warm ocean water. The uncared for cabanas, the little tour information palapas and the few beach clubs (read: a few chairs or beach beds that a hotel owns) of the northern beaches, the many families and European tourists on holiday - all those things help to create a beach environment not unlike those of my experiences here in the states. That coupled with the economic necessity of staying at a hotel in the seemingly uncared for little town equals a great big "What's the big deal?"

There was a bar on the main street, Tulum Avenue, that has a big screen over it playing music videos on a loop. I don't remember how many times I heard the same Britney Spears song blaring as I tried to sleep in my palapa roofed room at L'Hotelito. Ear plugs only help so much. I guess when I say scuzzy, I am thinking of a lot of the restaurants and other tourist-centered businesses that seemed to think, as far as I could tell, that by virtue of their demographic, they didn't have to try that hard. The tourists would come no matter what. And they did. To the sad and dim little hotel rooms with bathrooms that could've benefited from every chemical cleaning product the planet has to offer, to the bike rental shops with rusted bikes to the Mexican-Chinese restaurant (no Chinese people in sight). People came. The proprietors, the employees, didn't have to try to hard to bring in the lost visitors just looking for a place to have their morning coffee or spaghetti dinners.

But how about the ruins? The ruins, I thought, would have to be the saving grace of this leg of my travels. Every spot along the way I was determined to find at least one thing I liked. (This was a goal that I articulated only when things weren't so immediately hopeful.) I was mistaken. The ruins at Tulum themselves are not the disappointment. Rather, it is the environment that is constructed to show these reminders of the Mayans that once ran the show around there. The site can only be described as an archaeological Disneyland, with the appropriate ropes, lines, guides and water attractions. And don't forget to spend your American dollars in the "library" on your way out.

The feria artesania on the way to the parking lot was a let down too. Magnets, sombreros...And no shortage of customers. Why do people travel far from home to places like this? And enjoy it? My time in Tulum, my expectations and the reality of the visit, got me thinking about these questions. So I did get something out of it.

And for what it's worth, I never rented the rusty bike to check out the southern public beaches past the more expensive beachfront hotels. It was too damn hot for me to make that kind of ride without keeling over along the way. My guidebook gave the impression that I'd have found nothing but beach, and maybe my own little stretch of it.

Devotion, San Cristobal

2008-07-18T09:12:00.000-07:00

There were a few of these in the Templo Santo Domingo. I've grown used to small towns in Mexico, like this one - small despite it's big reputation, having what seems to be one church for every 10 people. Grown used to it, expect it, and really, I love it.

A guy I met on the red eye I took down to Mexico City asked me if I am religious. If you just scrunched up your nose and said, "Huh?" out loud, well, that's quite an appropriate response. Strangers on a plane and such a personal question. Who but political pundits and clergy talk about religion in personal conversation these days? But the question came during the course of a long on-off conversation where this guy asked me questions and I answered them. At first I tried to assert myself by initiating some of the talk myself, but then I decided to stop. I was curious about what he'd ask next, because there was definitely going to be a next. An there wasn't necessarily a connection between the last question and the next. "Dolphins or manatees? Are you religious?"

So, after a short pause to think about whether I wanted to answer this question to a 99.9% stranger, I did. So I'll tell you too. It's easier to start with what I'm not. I'm not religious in the sense that I identify with an organized religion. I appreciate and even long for the ritual these groups bring, but I cannot reconcile myself with the political choices so many of these groups have sustained for so long. I don't feel open, spiritual or compassionate in a setting that promotes judgment as part of its theology. But here's what I am (and I usually shy away from using this word out loud): spiritual. I believe I'm not alone. I feel a connection to the world at large, to my fellow human beings - even the rotten seeming ones. I believe that love and compassion are very powerful. It's this small handful of things I am able to articulate that help me travel alone to a place I've never been, where my grasp of the language is not so solid and be okay, even have a great time.

Traveling alone is a mixed bag. What's great is that you wake up every day, you decide what you're going to do, and then you do it. That feels great. You meet all kinds of new people. Now granted, a lot of those are one time conversations - this isn't necessarily an effort to make a bunch of forever friends. Those one time, or one town, conversations, are often very rich and certainly memorable. This meeting people part, though, isn't always easy. You can't force it.

There are bound to be certain parts of your trip where you feel kind of lonely. That's when you start noticing all the groups of friends and couples around you. And they're likely not in it to meet new people. They've got their people. You might, as a solo traveler, go a whole day where the only talking you do is the ordering of your lunch or asking how much a bus ticket is. And while some of those days can feel pretty nice and relaxing, when their the lonely sort, it's the worst. But I've got some good medicine for that: I find one of those old colonial churches, step inside and reflect. I think about what's going on for me - why I'm feeling the way I do, what I need, what I'm trying to get out of my trip...all kinds of stuff. And then ten minutes, half an hour, an hour later - enough time to see a few streams of the devoted and tourists wander through, I feel pretty alright and I leave.

And then, I have a good rest of my day. I've just simplified the whole process a whole lot, but that's the gist of it. Airplane guy was on his way to Colombia for two weeks and he was not a Spanish speaker. When we got off of the plane in D.F. and were on our way to immigration, he said, "I'm sure missing home right now." That reminded me of when my friend Abby picked me up to take me to the BART station so I could get to the airport. I said, "I don't want to go anymore." I don't think I've ever said anything like that when I've traveled with others. So I wanted to tell plane guy about my church thing - if he felt lonely, to just find a church, go in. But I didn't. There wasn't enough time to explain my thinking around this sure cure. And it felt too private to share with the 99.5% stranger (we made some progress over the course of the flight).

On the street - Chiapas

2008-07-16T22:17:00.000-07:00

When Rodrigo, a friend I made in San Cristobal, saw the series of photos I took of the top image he said with a hint of exasperation, "You Americans always take a picture of that." He also said at one point, "We Mexicans love our colors," and ain't that the truth.

Every street has at least a small pocket bursting with color. And it fits, because it's not just that one house or two on that one street or two. It's everywhere. Unimpressed with another photo I took, Rodrigo said, "Oh. A blue house." But he just doesn't get it. The house wasn't just blue, it was a striking bright blue that could serve as a landmark for commercial jets to know exactly where they were. Crayola, Jelly Belly, M & M's - they could never replicate the color. Maybe Kool Aid, though.

There are homes here and there in my neighborhood that do something interesting with their exterior paint choices, but it is certainly not a cultural norm, much less an expectation. In fact, those are the houses that neighbors whisper about, roll their eyes about, worry about, "They're driving down our property value!" But maybe I'm wrong. I do live in the bay area. We've got some freaky deakies 'round here who do all kinds of stuff that scare people from the suburbs and Midwest. But I suppose the question is, is can they do their freaky business with style?

Dolores Park

2008-06-14T20:17:00.000-07:00

Girl Party (a.k.a. After Closing)

2008-06-09T20:20:00.000-07:00

seabears, the greatest, the saddest story ever told

2008-05-31T21:23:00.000-07:00

auberge

2008-05-25T13:59:00.000-07:00

Masquerade

2008-05-19T06:42:00.000-07:00

Chaperone Gathering

2008-05-18T19:23:00.001-07:00

I've given my heart to music and art! O Millaud, o Maillol.

2008-05-02T09:42:00.000-07:00

I don't know

2008-04-26T19:59:00.000-07:00

I went out for milk.

2008-04-19T20:51:00.000-07:00

Saturday afternoon in front of the bakery.

What the pony?

2008-04-17T21:43:00.000-07:00

So I says to Madge, I says...

2008-04-12T11:26:00.001-07:00

Shakeitdon'tbreakit.

2008-04-10T22:18:00.000-07:00

Queue up

2008-04-06T09:59:00.000-07:00

Port of Oakland: At-At Walkers, Sunday stroll.

Hello!

2008-04-05T10:56:00.001-07:00

odd, curious, peculiar, funny, bizarre, weird, uncanny, queer, unexpected, unfamiliar, atypical, anomalous, out of the ordinary, extraordinary

2008-03-27T10:45:00.001-07:00

a perfect marriage of form and function
curly orchids - they smell like jasmine and they're freaky looking

Conservatory of Flowers - Butterfly Zone!

2008-03-26T11:41:00.000-07:00

Up, up and away.
Grow!
From the Orchid room.

Rush hour not so fast

2008-03-25T10:39:00.000-07:00

Battery, north of Market, doing the recycle.
Up, up, up!

Exploring employment opportunities

2008-03-22T13:31:00.000-07:00

I could do it.

He went thataway!

2008-03-19T22:56:00.000-07:00

Sky Trail, from Battery Street

Maggie and Millie and Molly and May

2008-03-17T21:38:00.000-07:00

Almost there, Oregon Sand Dunes - secret entrance, Zicatela, Los tres capitanes.

Commute

2008-03-16T18:50:00.001-07:00

In traffic, going east. Casual carpool.

Holidays

2008-03-16T11:57:00.000-07:00

The #49, 10/31. North Beach - a non-violent gathering. Happy Halloweenie.

Good place

2008-03-16T11:12:00.000-07:00

I was headed north.

Racing

2008-03-15T21:52:00.000-07:00

Baker & McAllister - a day at the races. Pt. Reyes Station - Sir Francis Drake, Retired.