Last week, my friend suggested organizing a social knitting group to meet once a month beginning next week Thursday. I've participated in knitting groups in the past and they are fun for about a year or so and then people drop out after knitting twenty different colored scarves or developing carpal tunnel or finding better things to waste their time on.
It's been a while (last holiday season) since I knitted anything worth wearing in public. I did knit an "alien" motif scarf during a marathon knitting week because the scarf was a Christmas gift and I started a week before Christmas. The scarf turned out okay despite being a tad bit short on the neck wrapping part. I had to cut corners due to limited time and hand cramps.
I'm excited about starting a new knitting circle, especially one where I will be designated "expert knitter extraordinaire" as I am one of two in the group who actually know how to knit.
I've got a shitload of patterns I stole from various knitting books at the local book store or downloaded from the net as well as extra needles (different shapes and sizes) and yarn (mostly acrylic that can be passed for a wool blend) to start everyone off. And I'll provide instructions on eye poking, finger stabbing, hand and wrist numbness...fun stuff like that. And the basics of knit and purl, of course.
This is going to be great!
Monday, September 20, 2010
Sunday, September 12, 2010
bike stolen
Not my bike but my neighbor's bike who lives at the end of the courtyard. I'm on a dead end street and people rarely take leisurely strolls down only to turn around and head back out unless they live on the block or knows someone who does. But a tall, skinny-jean guy starts chatting up with my neighbor about his bike, which is in his garage.
I assume they know each other so I go about my business washing my car and get ready to leave for dinner. As I'm pulling out of my driveway, the skinny guy rides by me on the bike while my neighbor runs after him while throwing his skateboard. Next thing I know, my neighbor's banging on my window and shouting, "That guy stole my bike! Can I get in your car? Could you go after him?"
At this point, the thief and bike are two blocks down the street. I unlock my doors and then realize, what the hell am I doing? I can't run stop signs and red lights following a cyclist. I felt bad for my neighbor but honestly, he shouldn't have let a stranger test ride his bike. Not everyone is a thief but you never know.
I assume they know each other so I go about my business washing my car and get ready to leave for dinner. As I'm pulling out of my driveway, the skinny guy rides by me on the bike while my neighbor runs after him while throwing his skateboard. Next thing I know, my neighbor's banging on my window and shouting, "That guy stole my bike! Can I get in your car? Could you go after him?"
At this point, the thief and bike are two blocks down the street. I unlock my doors and then realize, what the hell am I doing? I can't run stop signs and red lights following a cyclist. I felt bad for my neighbor but honestly, he shouldn't have let a stranger test ride his bike. Not everyone is a thief but you never know.
Friday, August 27, 2010
cleaning out my system
On my first, actual day of swim class, the Swim Coach, a salt and peppered haired, medium build man in his 50s, wearing a grungy shirt and jeans, ran down a list of swim drills (freestyle, side kick swim, back stroke, etc) that he had planned for us to do. This is an intermediate swim class and Coach had certain expectations of us, such as having a general idea on how to swim all the strokes and not flail about in the water and drown.
While he walked back and forth along the pool yelling out the strokes like a drill Sargent, the pool filter system turned on and drowned out his voice. My fellow swimmers and I bobbed up and down in the water, clutching onto the pool edge with worry etched on our faces.
Every time Coach turned and walked by, it was difficult to hear what he was saying.
"And when you move your arms in a windmill motion, make sure you...mumble mumble mumble..so pay attention to your form when...mumble mumble mumble...you got that?"
"What did he say?" I asked the woman sharing my lane. She shrugged. "I can barely hear a thing either."
No one had the courage to request repeat instructions.
The coach started us off with the freestyle swim. He began at the deepest end of the pool where we assumed the faster, more experienced swimmers were and yelled out "Go!" as he walked past each lane. Then he walked around to the other side of the pool to meet us and went down the lanes yelling "Go" for us to swim back. This went on for each swim drill we did interspersed with comments on what we did wrong.
During the backstroke drills, I kept starting out with a back flop (opposite of a belly flop) and water kept splashing into my mouth and nose. I failed to exhale it out every time. I tried but my lungs wouldn't work. After 200 yards of backstroke, I could feel the chlorine killing the bacteria inside me. Physically, I wanted to throw up right then and there but I held it in until my burping managed to draw attention. I started breathing deeply which sounded like I was hyperventilating and the coach kept checking to see if I was still alive. "Are you tired? Take a break and rest." I just nodded and worked on keeping the chlorine down.
While he walked back and forth along the pool yelling out the strokes like a drill Sargent, the pool filter system turned on and drowned out his voice. My fellow swimmers and I bobbed up and down in the water, clutching onto the pool edge with worry etched on our faces.
Every time Coach turned and walked by, it was difficult to hear what he was saying.
"And when you move your arms in a windmill motion, make sure you...mumble mumble mumble..so pay attention to your form when...mumble mumble mumble...you got that?"
"What did he say?" I asked the woman sharing my lane. She shrugged. "I can barely hear a thing either."
No one had the courage to request repeat instructions.
The coach started us off with the freestyle swim. He began at the deepest end of the pool where we assumed the faster, more experienced swimmers were and yelled out "Go!" as he walked past each lane. Then he walked around to the other side of the pool to meet us and went down the lanes yelling "Go" for us to swim back. This went on for each swim drill we did interspersed with comments on what we did wrong.
During the backstroke drills, I kept starting out with a back flop (opposite of a belly flop) and water kept splashing into my mouth and nose. I failed to exhale it out every time. I tried but my lungs wouldn't work. After 200 yards of backstroke, I could feel the chlorine killing the bacteria inside me. Physically, I wanted to throw up right then and there but I held it in until my burping managed to draw attention. I started breathing deeply which sounded like I was hyperventilating and the coach kept checking to see if I was still alive. "Are you tired? Take a break and rest." I just nodded and worked on keeping the chlorine down.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
first day of swim class
My first day of intermediate swim class at CCSF and I arrived over prepared. It's swim class. I expected the first day would involve jumping in the pool, being tested the basics and go right into learning new swim strokes.
This wasn't the case. I arrived early, changed into swim gear, and showered before entering the pool area. I walked out and stood there dripping wet with a tower over my shoulders staring at my classmates sitting on the bleachers, fully clothed and staring at me. I turned right back into the locker room, quickly dried myself off, changed into street clothes and joined the class on the bleachers.
Unfortunately, I didn't dry off well enough and my pants absorbed the water from my damp swimsuit which left a nice wet spot that appeared as though I failed to make it to the restroom in time. That's two embarrassing strikes against me.
This wasn't the case. I arrived early, changed into swim gear, and showered before entering the pool area. I walked out and stood there dripping wet with a tower over my shoulders staring at my classmates sitting on the bleachers, fully clothed and staring at me. I turned right back into the locker room, quickly dried myself off, changed into street clothes and joined the class on the bleachers.
Unfortunately, I didn't dry off well enough and my pants absorbed the water from my damp swimsuit which left a nice wet spot that appeared as though I failed to make it to the restroom in time. That's two embarrassing strikes against me.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
typical client calls
I received a call from a client asking if the servers are down this morning. Our conversation below:
"No, everything is up and running."
"Well," she says, "I can't get on the internet."
"Where are you? Are you at the airport?" I ask.
"Yeah, how am I supposed to do work if I can't get online?"
Silence on my end while I ponder the stupidity of this call.
"You're at the airport. I don't know why you can't get their wifi. It's out of my hands."
"What's the url to access my mail?" She asks. "I need to at least check my mail."
I tell her the url and add my disclaimer, "You need net access for mail."
She sighs heavily into the phone. "Fine, I'll figure something out." And hangs up on me.
Seriously? These are the types of idiotic calls I receive.
"No, everything is up and running."
"Well," she says, "I can't get on the internet."
"Where are you? Are you at the airport?" I ask.
"Yeah, how am I supposed to do work if I can't get online?"
Silence on my end while I ponder the stupidity of this call.
"You're at the airport. I don't know why you can't get their wifi. It's out of my hands."
"What's the url to access my mail?" She asks. "I need to at least check my mail."
I tell her the url and add my disclaimer, "You need net access for mail."
She sighs heavily into the phone. "Fine, I'll figure something out." And hangs up on me.
Seriously? These are the types of idiotic calls I receive.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Keep Walking Johnny Walker
I had the assumption that this tasting would be free. After all, the event was advertised as a publicity/marketing stunt to promote the Johnny Walker label.
We stood in line among a bunch of young 20-30 somethings dressed for a night of drinking. The first thing we are asked is for a $5 donation to RAD (Rockstars, Recording artists, Radio dj's against Drunk Driving or something like that). What the?? That was really slick to have us involuntarily donate $5 to a copy cat MAD cause. None of us had the balls to say no.
There were "Johnny Walker" ladies with handhelds registering us in line. They swiped our id cards and asked us a few questions (eg. How many drinks do you consume a month? I said 20. What do you usually prefer to drink? Bourbon, Scotch. Did you drink Johnny Walker in the last month? Nope. What brands of whiskey do you prefer? Four roses, Macallan, 1792, Woodford Reserve).
They stamped our hands and we were led directly to the top floor, handed one token to exchange for one drink, a small selection of appetizers and told that we have a half hour to consume food and beverage before heading downstairs for a one hour presentation. I'm thinking "oh no, this is going to be like a time share presentation". They give you alcohol in exchange for wasting an hour of your life listening to a salesman sell you their product. We started looking for escape routes.
But then our "host" announced that we were in for a tasting treat of five of the Johnny Walker labels, So, we obligingly followed the masses like obedient lemmings to the presentation room where we were seated in neat rows of eight to 12 with three glasses of two gulps worth of liquor, a business card case, an eye dropper, a glass of water, four strawberries in a bowl, pepper in a dish and a mini Johnny Walker lapel pin. Huge projection screens covered the walls.
Each Johnny Walker label (black, red, gold, green, and blue) had it's own intro video and history told to us by the MC. We tasted all five labels, two of which were presented in different glasses by the "Johnny Walker" ladies complete with with the alcohol sniffing, water dilution, and strawberry with pepper test.
There were about 90+ of us and our photos were taken and will likely be used for their future marketing purposes. Upon leaving, my friend and I got our money's worth. We took the eye dropper and the prettiest glass they served our whiskey in. Johnny, we will keep walking, right out the door.
We stood in line among a bunch of young 20-30 somethings dressed for a night of drinking. The first thing we are asked is for a $5 donation to RAD (Rockstars, Recording artists, Radio dj's against Drunk Driving or something like that). What the?? That was really slick to have us involuntarily donate $5 to a copy cat MAD cause. None of us had the balls to say no.
There were "Johnny Walker" ladies with handhelds registering us in line. They swiped our id cards and asked us a few questions (eg. How many drinks do you consume a month? I said 20. What do you usually prefer to drink? Bourbon, Scotch. Did you drink Johnny Walker in the last month? Nope. What brands of whiskey do you prefer? Four roses, Macallan, 1792, Woodford Reserve).
They stamped our hands and we were led directly to the top floor, handed one token to exchange for one drink, a small selection of appetizers and told that we have a half hour to consume food and beverage before heading downstairs for a one hour presentation. I'm thinking "oh no, this is going to be like a time share presentation". They give you alcohol in exchange for wasting an hour of your life listening to a salesman sell you their product. We started looking for escape routes.
But then our "host" announced that we were in for a tasting treat of five of the Johnny Walker labels, So, we obligingly followed the masses like obedient lemmings to the presentation room where we were seated in neat rows of eight to 12 with three glasses of two gulps worth of liquor, a business card case, an eye dropper, a glass of water, four strawberries in a bowl, pepper in a dish and a mini Johnny Walker lapel pin. Huge projection screens covered the walls.
Each Johnny Walker label (black, red, gold, green, and blue) had it's own intro video and history told to us by the MC. We tasted all five labels, two of which were presented in different glasses by the "Johnny Walker" ladies complete with with the alcohol sniffing, water dilution, and strawberry with pepper test.
There were about 90+ of us and our photos were taken and will likely be used for their future marketing purposes. Upon leaving, my friend and I got our money's worth. We took the eye dropper and the prettiest glass they served our whiskey in. Johnny, we will keep walking, right out the door.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Thursday, April 22, 2010
the 'loin characters
I don't like to drive my car in the city and if I could walk, bike or bus it to my destination, I'll do it. Last night, I had plans to see Camera Obscura at GAMH. Biking was an option but GAMH isn't in the nicest part of town and I didn't want to exit a concert and find my lock, bike-less on a parking meter.
So, I bused it on the "Dirty 8", got off one stop past the one I should have gotten off at and found myself in the heart of the Tenderloin. There's nothing "tender" about this neighborhood.
Rather than walk straight up O'Farrell, I went up a block to Geary, a slightly safer street to walk on and where Edinburgh bar is located. Two blocks later, there's police cars lighting flares to cordon off the intersection where a Toyota Prius (no driver to be seen) with a cracked windshield, a bag of bloody groceries spewed by the front bumper, and a blood stain under the left tire sat. No sign of a victim or victims. Just a bunch of rubberneckers watching the police nonchalantly do their job so I assumed the ambulance came and went. I kept walking.
A block later, two bearded hipsters of fixed gear bikes riding the wrong way on Geary (Geary is a one-way street) are honked at by a taxi. And guess what the self-righteous hipsters do? They yelled obcenities at the taxi driver, spat on his vehicle and continued to ride against one way traffic toward the squad of police officers at the next intersection. I hoped they got ticketed. I kept walking.
Another block, a drug deal plain as day was going down while some poor soul was shooting up in a doorway of a boarded up storefront. I just kept walking.
So, I bused it on the "Dirty 8", got off one stop past the one I should have gotten off at and found myself in the heart of the Tenderloin. There's nothing "tender" about this neighborhood.
Rather than walk straight up O'Farrell, I went up a block to Geary, a slightly safer street to walk on and where Edinburgh bar is located. Two blocks later, there's police cars lighting flares to cordon off the intersection where a Toyota Prius (no driver to be seen) with a cracked windshield, a bag of bloody groceries spewed by the front bumper, and a blood stain under the left tire sat. No sign of a victim or victims. Just a bunch of rubberneckers watching the police nonchalantly do their job so I assumed the ambulance came and went. I kept walking.
A block later, two bearded hipsters of fixed gear bikes riding the wrong way on Geary (Geary is a one-way street) are honked at by a taxi. And guess what the self-righteous hipsters do? They yelled obcenities at the taxi driver, spat on his vehicle and continued to ride against one way traffic toward the squad of police officers at the next intersection. I hoped they got ticketed. I kept walking.
Another block, a drug deal plain as day was going down while some poor soul was shooting up in a doorway of a boarded up storefront. I just kept walking.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Bruised, battered and biking
Last Sunday, I rode my bike after my return from vacation. Rather than take a leasurly trip along flat, well marked bike paths, I accepted the challenge of riding to the Marin Headlands with my friend as my guide. A trip to the Headlands required clipless pedals to make the hill climbs easier on the legs.
I was excited and nervous about the ride. For one, my balance sucks and two, I haven't ridden with clipless since forever. Because of this, I pretty much set myself up to fall at least once while unclipping to stop.
We rode out that warm afternoon, taking the shortest route to Presidio for the short and narrow climb to the Golden Gate Bridge. Once there, I successfully navigated across, following close behind my friend. Once we got to the other side, he failed to mention the hill climb up to the Headlands. He knew the route and fortunately for me, a section of the roads were closed to cyclists. We weren't sure why but I was relieved. My friend really wanted to ride to the Headlands so we took a different route. There were more cars on the road than usual which made me all the more nervous. Undaunted, we made it to Fort Cronkite and where I had my first fall. I turned on an incline, stopped and failed to unclip fast enough. I fell on my left. It was a soft fall but I managed to bruise my left palm, left shin and thigh.
A little shaken and embarrassed, I laughed it off and we rode up to Battery Mendell. The views are gorgeous from there. It was just after 4p and time to head back. We hustled down the road, through one tunnel and across the bridge. At the end of the bridge, there's a sharp and narrow right turn down a steep path that leads to the Presidio. I didn't take the turn sharp enough, my front tire hit a pipe jutting out of the concrete path and I fell on my right side, hard. There wasn't time to lie there and groan. I unclipped, slid out from under my bike and moved off to the side. I was in a blind turn and I didn't want to be run over by another cyclist and cause a bike pile up. My right side was throbbing and sore. I was hurting too much to be embarrassed when cyclists rounded that corner and asked me if I was ok. I kept saying "oww, oww, oww". My friend suggested I rest to get my bearings before riding off. I must have been shaking. I just wanted to get home. I sucked it up and we rode back as quickly as possible. This time, he rode behind me to keep an eye on me.
I made it back safely and now I have matching bruises on both sides of my body; both palms, both thighs, both shins, both upper arms and a big ol' one on my ass. I look beaten up.
I was excited and nervous about the ride. For one, my balance sucks and two, I haven't ridden with clipless since forever. Because of this, I pretty much set myself up to fall at least once while unclipping to stop.
We rode out that warm afternoon, taking the shortest route to Presidio for the short and narrow climb to the Golden Gate Bridge. Once there, I successfully navigated across, following close behind my friend. Once we got to the other side, he failed to mention the hill climb up to the Headlands. He knew the route and fortunately for me, a section of the roads were closed to cyclists. We weren't sure why but I was relieved. My friend really wanted to ride to the Headlands so we took a different route. There were more cars on the road than usual which made me all the more nervous. Undaunted, we made it to Fort Cronkite and where I had my first fall. I turned on an incline, stopped and failed to unclip fast enough. I fell on my left. It was a soft fall but I managed to bruise my left palm, left shin and thigh.
A little shaken and embarrassed, I laughed it off and we rode up to Battery Mendell. The views are gorgeous from there. It was just after 4p and time to head back. We hustled down the road, through one tunnel and across the bridge. At the end of the bridge, there's a sharp and narrow right turn down a steep path that leads to the Presidio. I didn't take the turn sharp enough, my front tire hit a pipe jutting out of the concrete path and I fell on my right side, hard. There wasn't time to lie there and groan. I unclipped, slid out from under my bike and moved off to the side. I was in a blind turn and I didn't want to be run over by another cyclist and cause a bike pile up. My right side was throbbing and sore. I was hurting too much to be embarrassed when cyclists rounded that corner and asked me if I was ok. I kept saying "oww, oww, oww". My friend suggested I rest to get my bearings before riding off. I must have been shaking. I just wanted to get home. I sucked it up and we rode back as quickly as possible. This time, he rode behind me to keep an eye on me.
I made it back safely and now I have matching bruises on both sides of my body; both palms, both thighs, both shins, both upper arms and a big ol' one on my ass. I look beaten up.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
another a-line cut
In preparation for summer time and my trip to Hawaii next week, I went in for cleaner A-line cut.
Here's the before pics:
And here are the after pics:
Notice a difference? Yeah, I don't either. Looks like I paid $40 for a trim and if you look closely, you'll see that the right side is longer than the left. Now I have to return to the hair salon and have it fixed today.
Here's the before pics:
And here are the after pics:
Notice a difference? Yeah, I don't either. Looks like I paid $40 for a trim and if you look closely, you'll see that the right side is longer than the left. Now I have to return to the hair salon and have it fixed today.
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