Category: Bay Area
Monday Media Review
I’ve lazily looked around all the usual suspect news sources for something interesting to pontificate about today. No luck. I’ve hit all my favorite blogs, both political and otherwise. Nothing.
Slow news day? Sure. I could blather about the Red Sox victory over the Indians. And the coming World Series with the Rockies. Nah. Old news, really.
So I’m going to borrow an idea from a rather vain blogger I read (who is NOT from NM, in case you are wondering). Today I’ll recount the media that’s currently swirling around in my world. Just cuz I can.
On my bedside table:
Just finished:
How to Hepburn: Lessons on Living from Kate the Great. Always been a big fan of Katharine Hepburn. Huge. This book is sort of biographical, sort of instructional, focusing more on Kate’s struggles with insecurity and being such an oddball in Hollywood. All in all, though, a great read. Especially if you like Hepburn.
Currently reading:
Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ’s Childhood Pal. I stumbled across Moore’s darkly funny A Dirty Job: A Novel (about Death. I mean the hooded one.) this summer and laughed my ass off at his real black humor. Plus he’s a Bay Area guy so I was interested. “Biff” was published back in 2002 so I’m quite behind the curve, but this book is so witty, so laugh out loud, so jealous I-wish-I-could-do-that. He makes it seem effortless. He’s got a biting humor with a heart and that’s hard to do. I’ve read so much dreck lately that this book is like a breath of fresh air and I consider it a reward, like dessert, to be able to sit down and read a chapter or two.
Also on my bedside table for when I finish “Biff” is Straight Man by Richard Russo. This will have to be my next read because it is the subject of the November meeting of my local library’s book discussion. Those are some smart well-read folks in that group, so I have to stay on top of my game. It’s supposed to be funny, but I fear after “Biff” it won’t be…we’ll see.
But the one I’m salivating over is Mary Roach’s Spook: Science Tackles the Afterlife. I love, love, love Mary Roach. I became enamored with her from the book Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers. It was a well-researched yet wryly funny book. Plus she writes a genuinely funny monthly article in Reader’s Digest of all places. And she makes it work. She adds a lot of light and air to that very stalwart old magazine (that yes, I admit I read…or at least used to. My dad used to gift me with a subscription, but sadly when he passed, my mom decided not to continue the gift). So this one is down in the stack but I’ll get to it. Oh yes I will…..
In the DVD player:
The Cute Boy™ and I are huge fans of movies so we have an obscenity of DVD’s sitting by the telly right now, begging to be watched.
My secret bon-bon:
Season Two of Grey’s Anatomy. I usually loathe medical shows. I’ve eschewed “ER” for years. But one of my friends at work talks about this show all the time and says that I am the real life Addison (which, watching these early seasons, I realize is NOT a compliment…despite Kate Walsh being haaaawt). I watched an episode about a year back and decided to give it a try. I liked Season One. Season Two not so much. Oh well. I watch this evening soap when The Cute Boy™ is off doing other things. I promised I wouldn’t subject him to it, despite the fact that he knows one of the actors on the show.
My “where the hell have I been?”:
Glengarry Glen Ross. One of The Cute Boy’s™ favorite films. Now I understand why the first time I took him to New Mexico he snickered whenever anyone referred to Rio Rancho. This dates back to 1992 but is a great film. Well acted, great script. Memorable lines. Plus, I work daily with sales weasels in my job, and this was a stunningly good insight into the mind of a desperate salesman.
My do gooder viewing:
Fast Food Nation. A fictionalized rendition of the hard-hitting book. I read the book and was seriously moved. The film did it no justice.
My surprisingly good:
Little Miss Sunshine. Way better than I thought it would be…added touch of the family coming from New Mexico.
The nod to the legends:
Gotta watch a classic every now and again to see how it’s done. The Lion in Winter fit the bill. Great script, crappy editing, great cast. A VERY young Timothy Dalton is yummy! And Katharine Heburn, well into her sixties, still rocks the screen.
Coming through the speakers:
Been struggling with music lately. It’s my favorite distraction but I find I’m tending to listen to the stuff I already have, occasionally buying a single song or two from iTunes. Nothing is firing me up lately. I’m mostly back in the old stuff. On a Glen Campbell jag lately (would love to catch him live). Mostly my listening is limited to my Sirius radio. Channel 62, The Roadhouse, playing oldies country. (yes, I admit it).
So I’m open to suggestions here. I’ve grabbed a couple of the Song of the Day free downloads from Starbucks, but nothing yet has fired me up.
This sort of depresses me. For me, music is essential to my sanity. The search continues.
On the ‘net:
Just found the blog Confessions of a Pioneer Woman. Again, where the hell have I been? I’m only a couple days in but this is pretty entertaining…the ongoing tales of a city woman who married a country man and moved to the middle of nowhere. She’s smart, witty and surprisingly open. Fun. Her Ethel channeling Britney sound clip is worth the click. Found this blog from the comments section on a jezebel.com article about women prefering cowboys to city boys. I could weigh in on that topic another time….
And I’m stupidly addicted to I Can Haz Cheezburger?. I dream one day my cat will do something interesting enough so I can lol cat her heiny. For now, all she does is sit on my desk and look at me disapprovingly.
See?
It’s going away, isn’t it?
My friend. My companion. That comfort at the end of a long day’s work, driving home, watching the sun go down, laughing, cheering, listening. It’s leaving me again, just as the world turns cold. It always leaves me just when the sun starts setting sooner, when the chill rolls in, when the leaves turn. Just when I need it the most, it’s gone.
My old friend and joy, baseball, is leaving me again this weekend.
The San Francisco Giants played their last home game of 2007 last night, made all the more bittersweet as, after fifteen crazy years, it was the last game Barry Bonds will play in a Giants uniform.
It was year of agony and ecstasy.
Ecstasy: The San Jose Giants, the Minor League Single A affiliate, and a group of young ‘uns near and dear to my heart performed a miracle. Coming on strong in the first half and falling off hard in the second half, they still earned their way into the playoffs and prevailed. They are the 2007 California League Champions. They played an amazing post season and just brutalized Lake Elsinore in game 5, the deciding game. I get goose bumps just thinking about it. This was a hard working team of guys who learned how to win, and a tip of the cap to manager Lenn Sakata for taking yet another team to the post season.
Agony: Their big brothers to the North, however, didn’t fare so well. With three games left, they’ve lost 89 games and are a gut-turning 18.5 games out of first place.
This was the season that Bonds broke the all-time homerun record, walloping 756 over the walls and into the history books. But all the media glare, both positive and negative, had an impact on the other 24 guys on the roster. Starting pitching was ok (I won’t “go there” about the pitiful year Barry Zito had…I just…can’t…), the bullpen was ridiculous and hitting was lame. They went up there with sad and tired bats. And our star catcher bitched about it to the press.
It was not a glorious year. It’s the latest in all the depressing seasons we’ve endured after the joys (and pain) of the 2002 World Series.
Ownership says 2008 is a “rebuilding” year. That means some young kids, some no names, and no hope of a post season for at least a couple more years.
But even in the agony of this terrible season, it was there. Baseball was on the radio every night, 162 games a year. The bases were still 90 feet apart and it was still 60 feet, six inches from mound to plate. The Umps still missed calls, players were plunked, miracles were performed and for me, all was all right with the world.
I had a day yesterday for the record books, and as I drove home, looking into the setting sun, sad, mad, exhausted, apathetic, beat down, and depressed as hell, I reached out and touched the “power” button on my radio, and suddenly Jon Miller’s voice boomed out from my radio speakers, “a called strike one!” and I left behind my troubles. My sorrow. My bone wearying exhaustion and I listened to the game. Smiling at strikes, frowning at balls and batting my hand on the steering wheel when the boys in orange and black got a hit and cheering loudly in my car.
I don’t give a rip about any of the teams in the post-season, although I may watch a few games. It’s not the same when it isn’t your team fighting it out.
*sigh* Now what? My baseball friend becomes a hockey fan in the off-season. I like hockey, but not with that fever reserved for baseball.
Guess instead, it’s time to start thinking about what in the hell I’m going to write 50,000 words about for the annual NaNoWriMo.
Heh…three years ago I wrote a baseball book……
Sign of the times?
I am probably the wrong person to make comment on the current state of the economy. I don’t know much, I don’t watch enough TV or read enough newspapers. I know what I have seen in headline news suggests that people can’t pay mortgages on their homes (fall out of some questionable, maybe shady, lending practices and a rise in interest rates) and that rentals are on the rise, people duking it out over the good places (much like back in the dot.com days, I personally put up a good fight to get the first place I rented when I moved).
The Bay Area is an odd place to gauge wealth. I live amongst some of the wealthiest people in the world (hello, Silicon Valley). But given the cost of living around here, there are also a lot of people barely scraping by. From where I’m sitting, it would seem the middle class is evaporating. Seeing as how I’d call myself middle class, I often wonder on which end of the scale I’m going to end up when the water’s dried up and sides have been chosen.
Right now in the economy, I know there are plenty of jobs to be had. I know this because I am having a devil of a time finding candidates for the two jobs I’m personally hiring for. All the good people have good jobs. And the so-so people want too much money because they know the market is hot and they can ask for the outrageous. And usually they get it.
I see a lot of wealth around me. But this weekend gave me pause for thought. What am I missing?
Twice this weekend I was witness to shoplifting. Well, I guess neither could rightly be called shoplifting but maybe a form of, I suppose.
Saturday I saw a woman taking money from a tip jar at the coffee shop. I know the employees of the shop don’t rely solely on tips to make it work, it’s incidental, but at the end of the day, the woman was audaciously reaching in and stealing dollar bills that weren’t hers.
Sunday I saw a woman at the grocery eating food she clearly didn’t intend to pay for.
The first woman looked desperate, like she needed every bit she could get. The second lady looked like money wasn’t a problem…but looks can be deceiving, I know.
In neither case did I report on the so-called “victimless crimes”. I didn’t know what to do. I know that stores boost up their prices to pay for the inventory shrink. I know I ultimately pay for the theft out of my own pocketbook.
But both incidents got me to thinking about what heights or what lows would I resort to if I was desperate, hungry, out of work and out of money.
I can’t say that I wouldn’t be the one stealing a dollar from a jar if I got down to it.
But then I can’t say that I would either. I don’t know.
Both incidents made me sad. And made me wonder what is going on in our economy. I mean, it could be a random event. Or could it be a trend?
Guess today is a day about counting my blessings, in all forms.
The more things change
The more they stay the same…or so the saying goes.
Is that really true? It seems anymore that everything just changes. And changes. And changes.
Am I becoming my folks? Lamenting for days gone by. “Better days.” “It didn’t used to be like this.”
Is it an inevitable side effect of passing years?
Somewhere along the way in my tenure here in the Bay Area, just over ten years now, I crossed a line, passed a barrier, ticked off a marker. I had finally lived here long enough that I could pine for “how it used to be.”
Yesterday evening I had occasion to drive The Cute Boy™ to San Francisco. He’s laid up with a bum ankle (don’t ask). So Cute Boy is now Gimpy McGimperson on two crutches. He had some business in our fine City, so I took him there and decided to bide my time and wait for him to be done, más o menos, three hours all in.
So while waiting I decided to visit an old haunt in North Beach, a place I’ve waxed ecstastic about in these very pages. A lovely family owned restaurant called Sodini’s. Owned by the venerable Mark Sodini, when I first moved, a hay-seed-in-my-hair girl from New Mexico, Sodini’s was one of the few places I knew how to get to in that big mean city.
Back in those days I was trying to catch the eye of a local musician (it ended badly, don’t ask) who played at the bar across the street. So I’d go to Sodini’s for dinner and some liquid courage. It’s always a bit weird being a girl going to a restaurant or bar alone, but any trepidation I had quickly dissolved in the kind presence of the good people of Sodini’s. These folks couldn’t have been more cordial, and kind, and they took good care of me, looked out for me, and became my friends.
So it was a melancholy bit of business to sit, once more, by myself on a barstool, drinking a well made drink and tucked into a gorgeous Caprese.
My eyes wandered to the strangely quiet Green street out the windows, and my retinas were burned by a neon sign blaring FAX, COPIES, PHOTOS. I said to Mark, “What’s with the copy place? Didn’t that used to be a frame shop?” He laughed and said “Yeah, but it’s been a copy place for about two years.”
Two years? How do two years slip past without me knowing it?
Then I looked over at the old North Beach Video shop. It’s now an upscale restaurant (I don’t even remember the name) and the video store moved into a much smaller space next door.
I started getting depressed. “My neighborhood is vanishing!” I thought, nervously sipping my drink and spooning in Minestrone for comfort. That sort of demoralized anxiety was setting in, until I really stopped, took a breath, and looked around.
There was Mark at the end of the bar playing liar’s dice with Leo. I met Leo not long after I’d moved, on a night much the same. Leo owns Vesuvio, the bar next door to City Lights. If you are familiar with the Beat Generation writers, then those names mean something to you.
Leo has lived in North Beach for a long time. I can’t quote how many years, but I’m guessing somewheres between forty and sixty. On that night way back then, Leo told me stories of North Beach. Told me how he used to own a coffee bar (in the first popular incarnation of coffee bars in America) and that he once paid Janis Joplin twenty bucks to play all night. I asked him questions about her with wide-eyed wonder, and he remembered her fondly, remembering her as “a little odd”. He told me about Jefferson Airplane. And Grace Slick (who’s long been a hero of mine). Told me they were good kids and he enjoyed them, but they drank too much.
This was amazing to me. A living history book. And last night, there he was again, taking everyone’s dice and beating ’em all, like usual.
As I continued to gaze around the restaurant, I spotted a favorite waitress and the guy who used to work the door at the Grant & Green. And Mark said “You need another, Karen?” and I nodded. And he served it right up because he takes good care of his customers.
And I relaxed. And smiled. And let out a little bit of the whole lotta stress I’ve got working me.
Because everything might change. This world moves too fast. Everything looks different when you turn around and look again. And in this fast pace world, sometimes you just know that certain places will remain enough the same to keep you sane, and that’s good enough for me.
(Don’t even get me started on my fair New Mexico and what the hell has happened to my beautiful Albuquerque. Oy! Guess it’s time to move somewhere new where I don’t remember what it “used to be,” and leave before I cross that same line again. Ah well, I love New Mexico. I love the Bay Area. And most of all, I love The Cute Boy™, and that is something that, good lord willing and the creeks don’t rise, will always be there, growing a little stronger every day)