Category: Bay Area

Continuation of a theme

Get ready, the lament that started here continues.

Friday night, was sitting on the red couch, as usual. I was huddled up reading the last and latest installment of Harry Potter (yes, I am perhaps the LAST person on earth to finally get around to reading this exhausting bit of work) when I realized….my bare feet were cold. Being a girl from the desert, shoes fly off my feet at the earliest convenience so barefooted is the norm. And barefooted in the summer is a truly grand treasure for me. My feet, browned by the sun, flip flop tan lines can attest.

But as I sat there, the sun warming the horizon to the west, but my feet were cold. And my bare legs. And suddenly I was seeking out a blanket.

A blanket! In August!

This is not fair. This is still summer! Summer I tell you! It cannot be over! Fall cannot be pushing at the edges! I command the leaves not to change! I demand the sun stay high in the sky until almost 9:00 at night! I require shorts and no shoes!

My beautiful partner keeps reminding me, that old Bay Area lament, “you know the weather here is always the best in October”. Yes, tis true….but I can only enjoy the nice days until, oh, about 6:00 or so because the SUN SETS TOO DANG EARLY in October. It’s not the same. I am a child of summer. I crave the sun. Fall brings darkness, dankness and wet. Soon the rains will come, bringing bone chilling damp cold.

We already started discussing which family we’ll spend the holidays with. The **holidays**!! IN AUGUST!!

It is to weep.

And then, just as I’m lamenting along, trying to cheer myself up I read Petroglyph Paradox today and my friend Natalie tells me that football is on the telly…already. Football!

I can’t take it.

I’m going to may hay while the sun (literally) shines. I’m taking my new bike for a spin….and I’ll hold my legs straight out like a kid and I’ll sweat profusely because today, August 19, 2007 is STILL SUMMER!

When having to be a grown up blows….

I had such a great weekend. I really did. I was in NM last weekend, so Saturday was about running errands, taking a nap and reconnecting with that cute boy I share a home with. Sunday we loaded up and headed for the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art.

I love having artsy days. I don’t do them enough, honestly, and I always come out inspired.

I grew up in a sort of small town as the child of VERY small minded and small town parents. Albuquerque in the 70’s wasn’t exactly brimming with wide ranging cultural opportunities. It’s improved, some, but even today it’s tough. So I’m somewhat ashamed to admit that growing up, I never went to an art museum.

The first art museum I ever went to was the National Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C. I was 29. Sad huh?

I still remember it vividly. They were having a Monet and Manet exhibit, juxtaposing the two artists who painted in the same era. I was literally *blown away* to stand in front of an actual Monet painting. I mean, it blew the hayseeds right out of my New Mexico girl hair…..

After the Monet exhibit, I went to the next floor. There held an exhibit of Matisse works. It was mostly his torn and cut paper work, and while I was not all that crazy about his torn paper years, I did see some amazing stuff. And again, I was *blown away* that I was standing in front of Matisse’s original work, including the well known “Jazz”. The actual original piece of art.

I was also turned on to some of his paintings. Back then I’d never even known he did anything OTHER than the torn paper work (little did I know torn and cut paper was late in his life).

It was truly a profound experience.

My next profound art excursion was last year at the New York Museum of Modern Art. Did you know that Van Gogh’s “Starry Starry Night” lives there (or at least it did in the summer of 2006)? I didn’t. That painting has meaning for me. An English teacher changed my life by teaching a poetry segment using lyrics from songs. She taught Don McLean’s “Vincent” and she talked about the artist and showed slides of the painting. That was seventh grade and I can still remember in vivid detail her lecture and what I learned (I can remember little from my childhood, but I remember this). I’ve always considered that painting to be inspirational and I’m a fan of Van Gogh.

So I laid eyes on the actual painting….and I burst into tears. I was so moved, it meant everything to me. Despite spending a few more days in Manhattan, I could have gone home that day. I was spent.

My next art museum trip was to San Francisco’s de Young Museum for the “Chicano Visions: American Painters on the Verge”. It was a moving experience, showing art from Cheech Marin’s private collection, folklore items, and work by Chicano artists. Again, I was blown away to see the original “La Pistola y El Corazon” by George Yepes. Well, the second original, the first was owned by Sean Penn and it burned in a house fire. George painted another one with subtle differences, but no less powerful. I sat on the floor in front of the some eight foot tall canvas and gaped at that painting, blown away by the style and the power of it. Moved to silence.

(noticing a trend here? Going to art museums is usually a deep emotional experience)

So going to the MoMa in San Francisco on Sunday was a big day for me. My reaction on this tour of an art museum was much different from the previous two. The first two times, I fell in love. This time, I sort of got mad.

Mad, you ask? Yes. Mad. Or well, maybe not mad as much as disgruntled.

I am not a fan of abstract art. There I said it, shoot slings at arrows at me now…..

I don’t enjoy the canvas painted blue. Just blue, that’s it. I’m also no fan of Jackson Pollock. I know, heresy. And there was a lot of abstract art during this visit. Some I liked, some just made me hostile. All evoked a response, and that’s the idea, right?

But all was not lost. Also on this trip I got to see two real live Diego Rivera paintings! That was pretty cool. And also a real live Frida Kahlo painting.

And the main reason we went to MoMa was to see the display of Matisse sculptures. Ah yes, Matisse again! It was fascinating to watch him progress with his style and getting the human form right, then deconstructing it. Amazing! Made me want to pick up some clay and get to work!

And finally, I was wowed by the “Hidden Picasso” exhibit. First, I was that close to a Picasso! (you know the drill…*blown away*). And then the mysteries behind the painting hidden behind Picasso’s “Rue de Montmartre” and discovered using pretty cool technology.

Fascinating!

So, all filled with the arts and feeling artistic and flying on a cloud of joy……Sunday ended.

And today, I had to come back to work. To get yelled at. And complained about. And feeling decidedly UN-creative.

Being a grown up sucks.

My Happy Meal

In one of those “I saw something and that gave me an idea for something else” moments, I was scanning the Albuquerque Tribune today and looked under the “Photos” heading where sometimes they have little “Viewfinder” vignettes with a cool black and white photo accompanying. Today there is a link with the title Viewfinder: His happy meal.

It’s a cute little story about a dog. But that’s not the point of this post.

Just reading that title in my stressed out work haste made me think about food, comfort food (it is my lunch hour, after all). I have been so tweaked out with work and personal issues that I have been eating a LOT, lately. Taking to fats and sweets and salty to try to make me feel better about a life that feels on the verge. It’s doing nothing to help my waistline and doing even less to improve my mood.

Nonetheless, as I sit here with rumbling in my tum, I had a thought upon reading that title “What meal would make me happy?” Kind of like a turn on “If you were on death row, what would be your last meal?”

My mom wasn’t that great a cook, so I don’t have a lot of “home cooked” stuff I could list. But let me take a stab at it.

If I had to eat a last meal and there were no space or calorie limitations on my tummy, here’s top ten what I’d have:

1) My best friend’s homemade chile rellenos. She makes them with chile grown by her uncle, the flavor is fantastic and she has just the right batter to make them light and delicious. Alongside her with her pressure cooked pinto beans, she makes the best beans, hands down.

2) Beef Lasagne from Sodini’s in San Francisco. And the seafood linguini…..

3) Fried Calamari from Caesar’s down near the Wharf in San Francisco. And the Minestrone….

4) The green chile chicken enchiladas with an egg and sour cream on top from Gardunos….and a couple margs…I love Gardunos mix. And the carne adovada……

5) Pretty much anything made by my brother-in-law, but his mashed potatoes rock my little world…….

6) My mom’s tortillas “back in the day”. She can’t put the finesse on ’em like she used to, but circa about when I was seven years old and we’d come home from Saturday Mass and she’d roll ’em out and I’d cook ’em on the griddle. Layer on marinated beef or game meat, cheese and you were off to the races……

7) Anything from Legal Sea Foods in Boston.

8) Hamburger. All of the following:
A green chile cheeseburger from Blakes.
A Whataburger.
A Fuddruckers hamburger circa 1986. (I went recently, it’s yucky now, but back then it was da bomb! ).
A carefully cooked thick burger over a campfire on a bun that *might* have a little sand or ash on it but who cares because you’ve been swimming in the lake/fishing/ hiking/ skiing all day and you are FAMISHED and besides you already ate two hotdogs……

9) My own chile con queso and chips

10) Huevos rancheros from this restaurant in Albuquerque that is now defunct and it will plague me all day until I can remember the name……

Honorable mention:

Biscuits hand made by the mom of my college roommate along with her homemade apricot jam….next to two farm fresh (I pulled ’em this morning) over easy fried eggs.

Homemade ice cream (my best friend’s recipe) and a couple of my homemade chocolate chip cookies

Anything from Chopies, Nopolitos or Sadies

An Owl Burger (the one in San Antonio, NM, not the Albuquerque location)

Pizza from New York City, preferably the borough of Brooklyn….

Anything from the Aqua Grill in SoHo.

A good old fashioned Polish buffet alongside my Midwest family in South Bend. Ah the fried chicken! And the sausages! And the saurkraut! : drool :

Crabs, lobsters and clams straight outta the pot by the pool at the home of my best friend from high school. Ah, those were good days…..

I’m sure there is a lot I’m missing, but that’ll do for now. I’m happy. And hungry.

: rumble :

Where I come from

Last night I had a chance to attend a concert at a fave local venue. The show was Kenny Chesney and he played the outdoor Shoreline Amphitheater locally.

Kenny’s appearance, being a good country boy and all, meant I pulled on my fave pair of Fat Babies and hit the show to sing along with the crowd and Mr. Chesney. (you know him, he’s the guy that married Renee Zellweger for like, a minute….)

Being a good New Mexico girl, I’m a pretty good fan of country music. I’m always utterly surprised at how many fans there are out here in the Bay Area. Now, the friend I went with bummed a cigarette off a guy who had come over from Modesto. Ah, Modesto, good farm country, that makes sense. But there are a lot of “city folk” who love them some country music as much as anyone from the outskirts. And that always makes me a little happy. (and yes, I know today’s country acts are hardly country anymore…more like rock ‘n roll in a straw hat with a Bell Ranch crease)

I saw young kids that I *know* have been raised here in the Bay Area, raised among the people and the concrete and the hustle and bustle and they were singing along word for word to “Back Where I Come From”, Chesney’s ode to small town livin’.

I smiled. Because I knew these kids, though they loved the song, and sang with gusto, in a lot of ways, couldn’t possibly understand.

And it made me thankful, again, for the multi-millionth time about where *I* come from.

Oh, the simple pleasure of knowing a place where a grain elevator and a gas station/Snappy Mart are the only the only things in town (like here or here or here. Kids are homeschooled, folks live in wide open spaces where they run cattle or horses or corn or cotton or whatever comes from the land.

Or knowing how fun it is to dance a two-step on a hardwood floor with a boy you like. Or even a boy you don’t like but is a good dancer.

Or cramming the cab of a pickup with as many friends as will fit and riding to the river to have a little fun while the swirling water rushes by.

And knowing what it means to “live simple”.

Oh Fair New Mexico, how I miss you……

People who are not like us…

So, where I live, we have a lot of squirrels. Now when I say “a lot of squirrels” I don’t mean “oh my, there’s quite a few out there”. I mean a whole horde, an army, a remuda, of squirrels.

They run around everywhere, up and down power lines, around trees, hither and yon. When I go for a walk at noontime from work, I walk down this one street and they scatter in all directions like a squirrely sea of doom.

People here think they are cute. Find them amusing. The fluffy tails make them laugh. People here FEED THEM. Yes, they put out food for the little b*stards.

They don’t understand my revulsion, my utter HORROR that these vermin are allowed to roam free in a civilized society.

They don’t understand because I am a New Mexican. And one of the bonus features of being raised in New Mexico is, da da dummmmmm, bubonic plague.

In fact, according to this article in the ABQjournal, there have already been four cases this year, including a boy who died.

To quote the article, “Plague, a bacterial disease, is generally transmitted to humans through the bites of infected fleas but can also be transmitted by direct contact with infected animals, such as rodents, wildlife and pets.”

Unh huh, no wonder every little rat with a fluffy tail gets the suspicious eye from me. Early on in life my mom would yell at all us kids to stay back from any wild creature, especially the small rodenty kind.

I will not draw one of those beady-eyed plague-carrying varmints closer to me or my home! I live in a duplex and for a while my next door neighbor put out bird seed with no cover or protection from the squirrels. I would stare horrified out my living room window to see a swarm of the things eating with reckless abandon in my back yard.

THE PLAGUE!!! THE PLAGUE!!!!

In my old place, a couple of squirrely warriors had an epic territory battle on the roof right over my apartment. Not only did I have to hear the squeals and the death call of the loser, I *freaked out* about the dead rodent right there over my doorway. As you know, fleas leave the dead rodent searching for a new home.

I shall print out the referenced article and keep copies handy for the next person who looks me and says “how can you not like squirrels, they are sooooo *cute*!!”

I’m keeping an eye on you, you plaugey b*stard!!!!