knit and purl

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Fatiqued to Fantastic!

Doesn't work..probably because the expiration date listed is 12/2007.

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.

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.

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.

two large dogs + burbs + rain = migraine

Because I'm a nice person and I was asked nicely, albeit last minute, I'm dog-sitting Diesel, a German Shepherd with ADHD, for the next three days in the East Bay. I don't usually dog-sit but I figured my dog, Solan, might like the company and a little doggie socialization never hurts.

I arrived late last night, dropped off my things and let the kids out to do their business. Diesel, still a rambunctous teenager, ran circles around Solan. He jumped on him, nipped his face, and was essentially everywhere at once. Solan, with his grandpa like movements, strolled through the grass, leasurely sniffed things and wandered off at a turtle's pace. When I called them back if they traveled out of view, Diesel would come bounding toward me full speed while Solan would stare in my direction but appear to not "see" me and then wander away again.

Solan's an ancient turtle compared to Diesel. It's like pairing a teenager with a 90+ year old grandpa and grandpa wants to take a stick and whack the teenager in submission but is too tired and weak to pick up the stick.

This is the burbs. There's nothing out here but residences, a mini shopping center, and a gas station. The center of town and the nearest bart station is a 15 min. drive away. The nearest large shopping center is in Walnut Creek, about 15 miles away. No one walks around the neighborhood. I didn't see a single soul when I arrived. It was just me watching two German shepherds piss all over the place.

Then it started raining. We were all indoors by that time. I was trying very hard not to organize things and clean up. It's not my apartment but I can't stand staring at clutter. It irked me. Despite being told that the apartment was cleaned up before I arrived, I begged to differ. I look like I took a beating from the waist down from bumping into furniture and tripping up on stuff on the floor. I'm sure a hurricane came through his place. I lived with this person for a number of years and I knew he was messy but comparing his apartment now to when we lived together, I was the housekeeper that kept our home orderly and clean. He had it good.

Back to the rain. I had to let the dogs out before bedtime. They ran amok before I gathered them back inside where they proceeded to shake the water off their coats while I struggled to wipe them down with a towel. Fun. Then the whining started. On and off, all night.

2010 parade

My friend and I ventured out to the crowded streets of downtown SF to watch the Chinese New Year parade last night. It was a parade viewing first for her and over 15 years since the last time I watched a parade.

A few photos from the parade below:

10 yrs

With nearly 11 years at one company under my belt, I was rewarded with an anniversary dinner last night with the owner of the company along with several other 10+ yr coworkers, at the Ritz Carlton dining room.

Below was our multi-course meal with wine pairings for each. A very pleasant experience.
______________________

BLUE FIN TUNA SASHIMI
wasabi, ryuhi konbu, ponzu gelée, soy sauce

ABALONE
shiitake mushrooms, baby leeks, dashi broth

TURBOT
black truffles, carrot ravioli, black truffle sauce

STONINGTON MAINE SEA SCALLOPS
savoy cabbage, baby green garlic, prosciutto, black truffles

HOT FOIE GRAS
spiced huckleberry compote, brioche, pineapple reduction with longpepper, vanilla salt

CAULIFLOWER RAVIOLI
baby onions, chard, green garlic, black truffles

KOBE BEEF
chanterelle mushrooms, roasted potatoes, sancho pepper reduction

Fun times on MUNI

I ride the 33 Stanyan to class every Thursday evening. It's a 40 min ride that cuts through Haight, the Castro, Noe Valley, to Mission. A long loopy ride but it gets me within four blocks to campus.

On my way home last night, there were four guys sitting in the rear of the bus with heavy southern accents and large duffel bags (prob their life possessions) having a conversation about the opening of the first porn shop in some town in Alabama, the heart of the bible belt. "First the porn shop, then the tattoo parlors arrived. Next thing you know, there's a stripper joint!" Funny conversation to ease drop on. Then talk turned to the pot shop opening in Oakland and how one can take classes there and learn how to grow pot. "Everything you need to know from the lights, and the sprinkler system and the chemicals. Everything! Except the plants." And then one of the four started coughing. More people in the back started coughing. I thought this was some prank people were in on where the whole bus starts coughing away except me and then the film crew jumps on board and yells, "You're on Punk'ed!"

That was not the case. The scruffy, bearded guy in the group started cursing, and yelled "why'd you do that?" and "open the windows!" The air was hazy behind me when I turned around and I breathed in and it hits me. It felt like oven cleaner in my lungs but it might have been one of those smoke canisters the swat patrol throws in barricaded buildings to smoke people out. It was awful. You had to cough. Your lungs burned from the fumes. Everyone moved away from the back and a woman told the driver to pull over. He does and we all jumped out, coughing and spitting out saliva into the bushes. It could have been a scene from a film clip about the plague.

I was halfway home so I had to stick around the bus stop. Eventually half of us filed back in and crowded up in the front seats, because the driver told us he had to stay on schedule and he would leave us there if we didn't get on. Muni bus rules, apparently.

Those four stayed on the bus and eventually got off at Haight. Figured they would be heading there with all the talk about porn and pot shops.

Even after I got home, spat a couple times, and drank a glass of soy milk (isn't that what you are supposed to do when poisoned?), it didn't help much. I hope my internal organs aren't permanently damaged.

Apple marketing failed to do their research

MadTV prediction three years ahead of Apple in product naming..

net access this weekend

I've been without a Verizon wireless card for some time because the one I originally used on a semi-weekend basis had to be given up to an editor at work for a convention. Convention time has come and gone and where's the f**king card? So, I email the editor I loaned it to requesting it back. Three emails and a couple phone calls later, the editor ignores my requests and essentially goes MIA.

This is irksome. I need that wireless card, dammit. We have another Verizon card but it's a pcmcia one and that doesn't fit in my laptop slot. I know I can just as easily walk several blocks to a cafe w/ my powerbook and get cranking online but it's rainy and cold and I want to surf the web in my pjs in the comfort of my home.

Then I look around and well, I have access to a slew of laptops. I can just take one that works with the pcmcia card and go with that. I install all the software I need on the loaner I plan to use and then it dawns on me, this one doesn't have a built-in video camera. Actually, none of our spare laptops do. *sigh* I can't win.

one word: FAIL

So, I didn't hit my 52 posts for 2009. It was one of those years. Anyhoo, 2010 is looking better and brighter!

Recap of my Japan winter holiday forthcoming.