So the Denver craigslist--particularly the groups section--has become my new favorite daily reading addiction. For reasons I don't completely understand, it's just way more entertaining than the Bay Area craigslist. Need proof? See the Mobile Alibi post below.
Here's my second example: The Denver Fjellborg Viking Meetup Group
The text reads: "We are one of many groups forming in the USA and Canada promoting Viking age reenacting based on the precepts of "Living History" (LH). We wish to attain historical accuracy where ever possible. Also, following the guide lines of "The Vikings" international groups, we utilize blunted steel weapons and historically accurate armor. This may be referred to as "live steel, sports competitive" combat. See our home website at http://www.fjellborg.org
The Denver Fjellborg Viking Meetup Saturday, October 28, 2006 at 12:00PM
This is a crafting and steel combat training meetup, with Viking age skills and weapons as the core interest."
Viking groups? That's like those civil war enactment clubs, but so so much better, because you get to run around wearing metal hats with horns. Sweet.
Monday, October 23, 2006
The Mobile Alibi
I've had a long-standing joke with some of my friends about the importance of having someone ready to do the fake-out "emergency" call for those times when you find yourself on the date from hell and need a way out.
It just never occurred to me that someone had already figured out how to make a buck off it. But apparently, the folks at www.mobilealibi.com have done just that. With their services, you can schedule calls--complete with fake names to show up in your caller ID and a fake voice at the other end--that can help you get out of any and all awkward or boring situations.
God bless that capitalist spirit of innovation.
It just never occurred to me that someone had already figured out how to make a buck off it. But apparently, the folks at www.mobilealibi.com have done just that. With their services, you can schedule calls--complete with fake names to show up in your caller ID and a fake voice at the other end--that can help you get out of any and all awkward or boring situations.
God bless that capitalist spirit of innovation.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Justice for UC Workers
This afternoon, 7 of my co-workers and I went to a rally to demand that UC Berkeley (and the rest of the UC system) pay its janitors and other university workers the money it owes them. Despite the fact that UC Berkeley is one of the most prestigious universities in the country, its janitors make anywhere from $5-10 less than an hour than janitors at other local community colleges. After a year of fighting with the University--including rallies, a strike and lobbying state senators, assemblymembers and Gov. Shwarzenegger--the state of California earmarked $8.5 million dollars of the state budget specifically to pay low-wage UC workers. But the University still refuses to spend it on raising wages and reducing workloads for its workers.
To put pressure on UC President Dynes, the UC workers union, AFSCME, staged a march and civil disobedience this afternoon. Here are some pictures from what was a fantastic, high energy action, with 40 people getting arrested after blocking the intersection of Telegraph and Bancroft. (For those of you who know the area near the campus, try to imagine Telegraph and Bancroft without car or foot traffic. It was seriously creepy, like being in a ghost town.)
To put pressure on UC President Dynes, the UC workers union, AFSCME, staged a march and civil disobedience this afternoon. Here are some pictures from what was a fantastic, high energy action, with 40 people getting arrested after blocking the intersection of Telegraph and Bancroft. (For those of you who know the area near the campus, try to imagine Telegraph and Bancroft without car or foot traffic. It was seriously creepy, like being in a ghost town.)
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Welcome Back to the Wee Hours
I have three days left before I leave my job. I have mixed feelings about the leaving--I definitely don't want to be doing grant stuff, and I'm still ambivalent on the communications part, but I'll miss my co-workers and there were things I was just starting to get excited about doing: supervising other staff, developing our collateral materials (that means website, newsletter, blog, brochure, etc), tinkering with the website and all our fun new e-activism toys.
The thing that's got me really excited about being unemployed, however is this: No more pre-midnight bedtimes.
I used to be the chronic night owl. You could pretty much guarantee that I would be awake until at least 3 in the morning. Even when I was working for the union, it was a safe bet that I was awake until 1 or 1:30 at least. But this past year, I've been the 10:30 or 11:00 girl. Maybe 11:30. (Unless I had big plans, and then I was up for staying out as late as necessary.) But seriously, I miss seeing the flip side of midnight on a weekday. I'm looking forward to it.
The thing that's got me really excited about being unemployed, however is this: No more pre-midnight bedtimes.
I used to be the chronic night owl. You could pretty much guarantee that I would be awake until at least 3 in the morning. Even when I was working for the union, it was a safe bet that I was awake until 1 or 1:30 at least. But this past year, I've been the 10:30 or 11:00 girl. Maybe 11:30. (Unless I had big plans, and then I was up for staying out as late as necessary.) But seriously, I miss seeing the flip side of midnight on a weekday. I'm looking forward to it.
The weekend rundown
Because I'm a lazy re-capper, this is actually a rundown of highlights from last weekend. I'll get to this weekend eventually.
Finally feeling at least mostly human after being so sick, I decided to hang out with Josh on Friday night.
We started out with yummy Italian dinner at a place near Josh's apartment--it's a perk of living in North Beach, if you can put up with the strip clubs and all the frat boys. We had a drunken (but fairly well behaved) bachelorette party on one side of us, and a really dysfunctional couple on the other side. I've never seen two people look so miserable and bored with each other in my life. The couple said all of twenty words to each other the whole night, and at least the woman spent the rest of the evening eavesdropping on our conversation.
I saw this as the perfect opportunity to begin talking about things that I might have otherwise deemed inappropriate for public conversation, such as recounting for Josh an assignment a theatre professor gave us that involved me reading Fetish magazine and writing a play about people who got turned on by watching other people blow up and pop balloons.
Anyway. The couple was dysfunctional and we were highly entertained by that. Made me think maybe it's good to be single afterall.
Then we made the rounds of the bars in North Beach. We're talking extensive tour of duty rounds, here. And for all of our troubles, neither of us saw anyone we thought was even remotely worth trying to pick up.
After realizing that the North Beach bar scene was lame, I decided to make my way home on the Night Owl Bus. I found myself squashed between a guy having hot flashes who was on the verge of throwing up all over himself and me, and a white woman who talked the whole way back to the East Bay about how she had grown up in Saudi Arabia and thus didn't know how to pronounce words like "pedestrian" and how she felt that had really hindered her ability to get ahead in this country.
I silently prayed that they would both get off the bus soon. My prayer was answered, and an alcoholic (by his own admission) Kenyan immigrant construction worker who lived with his two kids and his 'baby mama' sat down next to me and tried to get my phone number.
I've never been so happy to get off a bus.
Finally feeling at least mostly human after being so sick, I decided to hang out with Josh on Friday night.
We started out with yummy Italian dinner at a place near Josh's apartment--it's a perk of living in North Beach, if you can put up with the strip clubs and all the frat boys. We had a drunken (but fairly well behaved) bachelorette party on one side of us, and a really dysfunctional couple on the other side. I've never seen two people look so miserable and bored with each other in my life. The couple said all of twenty words to each other the whole night, and at least the woman spent the rest of the evening eavesdropping on our conversation.
I saw this as the perfect opportunity to begin talking about things that I might have otherwise deemed inappropriate for public conversation, such as recounting for Josh an assignment a theatre professor gave us that involved me reading Fetish magazine and writing a play about people who got turned on by watching other people blow up and pop balloons.
Anyway. The couple was dysfunctional and we were highly entertained by that. Made me think maybe it's good to be single afterall.
Then we made the rounds of the bars in North Beach. We're talking extensive tour of duty rounds, here. And for all of our troubles, neither of us saw anyone we thought was even remotely worth trying to pick up.
After realizing that the North Beach bar scene was lame, I decided to make my way home on the Night Owl Bus. I found myself squashed between a guy having hot flashes who was on the verge of throwing up all over himself and me, and a white woman who talked the whole way back to the East Bay about how she had grown up in Saudi Arabia and thus didn't know how to pronounce words like "pedestrian" and how she felt that had really hindered her ability to get ahead in this country.
I silently prayed that they would both get off the bus soon. My prayer was answered, and an alcoholic (by his own admission) Kenyan immigrant construction worker who lived with his two kids and his 'baby mama' sat down next to me and tried to get my phone number.
I've never been so happy to get off a bus.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Finally entering the 20th century, a few years too late. . . .
When I started at EBASE a year ago, I had one really big goal: get them a decent website. For anyone who never saw the old website, it was one page: black background, a couple of links to some PDF documents, and the EBASE logo, taken straight off our letterhead. It also said something like "Our website is under construction! We will be launching a new site soon, so check back often."
It said that for 7 years.
When I undertook to make the new website happen, I didn't realize how much work it would actually take. Writing the content, editing the content, finding a designer, working through many (I repeat MANY) rounds of design proposals, learning how to use the content management system and uploading everything: these all took a lot of work.
And now, a year later--and with only a week to spare before I leave EBASE--I can proudly send you to a new, beautifully designed, brilliantly written website where you can sign up for updates, give us money and find out what EBASE has been up to. I encourage you to do all of those things. Daily. :-)
It said that for 7 years.
When I undertook to make the new website happen, I didn't realize how much work it would actually take. Writing the content, editing the content, finding a designer, working through many (I repeat MANY) rounds of design proposals, learning how to use the content management system and uploading everything: these all took a lot of work.
And now, a year later--and with only a week to spare before I leave EBASE--I can proudly send you to a new, beautifully designed, brilliantly written website where you can sign up for updates, give us money and find out what EBASE has been up to. I encourage you to do all of those things. Daily. :-)
Friday, October 13, 2006
The Hills Are Alive with the Sound of Music. Bad, Cheesy Music.
Stop #3 on the European Vacation with my mom was Salzburg. For those of you who aren't up on your movie musical trivia, Salzburg is where The Sound of Music was set and filmed. This is a city that's really into that fact--there's a whole tourist industry that's popped up around it.
Our hotel had a whole station devoted to playing The Sound of Music, over and over and over. First, they played it all the way through, and then they did a "Best of" version, that only had the musical numbers. Then they did a little interview with some of the still-alive cast members, and repeated the whole process. This hotel also had The Sound of Music theme rooms--decorated with pictures from the movie and the same furnishings as rooms in the movie.
The keystone of the tourist industry, however, is The Sound of Music bus tour. They drive you around the city, pointing out all the places from the movie. And then you sing. When a random Australian tourist told us about it, I swore up and down we weren't getting anywhere near it. The Sound of Music is cheesy; I do not do cheesy. And I definitely don't do singing in public. Especially if it's going to be cheesy singing. That sounds like hell to me.
And yet, what could be more ridiculous than something called The Sound of Music Bus Tour? I may not like cheesy or singing, but I do like ridiculous. And so we went. And it was, in fact, ridiculous. A greyhound bus filled with The Sound of Music-loving women and the men they had dragged along. A corny joke-filled tour guide named Peter and a bus driver named Markus who sounded like a muppet. 100 tourists trying to re-enact the "dancing in a gazebo" scene from the movie. A song about a marionette goatherd falling in love. Lots of singing.
Our hotel had a whole station devoted to playing The Sound of Music, over and over and over. First, they played it all the way through, and then they did a "Best of" version, that only had the musical numbers. Then they did a little interview with some of the still-alive cast members, and repeated the whole process. This hotel also had The Sound of Music theme rooms--decorated with pictures from the movie and the same furnishings as rooms in the movie.
The keystone of the tourist industry, however, is The Sound of Music bus tour. They drive you around the city, pointing out all the places from the movie. And then you sing. When a random Australian tourist told us about it, I swore up and down we weren't getting anywhere near it. The Sound of Music is cheesy; I do not do cheesy. And I definitely don't do singing in public. Especially if it's going to be cheesy singing. That sounds like hell to me.
And yet, what could be more ridiculous than something called The Sound of Music Bus Tour? I may not like cheesy or singing, but I do like ridiculous. And so we went. And it was, in fact, ridiculous. A greyhound bus filled with The Sound of Music-loving women and the men they had dragged along. A corny joke-filled tour guide named Peter and a bus driver named Markus who sounded like a muppet. 100 tourists trying to re-enact the "dancing in a gazebo" scene from the movie. A song about a marionette goatherd falling in love. Lots of singing.
(Above) The "Do-Re-Mi" song was filmed in the Mirabelle Gardens. The Von Trapp children skip around the Unicorn Fountain you can see in the picture, and then they do some sort of skippy dance to the top of the flight of stairs that this picture was taken from.(Below) Our tour guide Peter making bad puns as we admire the lake house where The SOund of Music was filmed.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Blood on the walls. . .
Literally. I just checked Janna's blog, and it reminded me that I forgot a kind of key component of last night's experience at Mama Buzz Cafe. There were paintings on the wall that had been created using, among other things, human blood.
Hence all the red and pink tones, I suppose. Now I've heard of artists using wine as paint. And tea. But blood? That's a little creepy, and it leads me to wonder exactly how much blood it takes to paint these paintings (they were rather large) and how one goes about getting that much blood.
Hence all the red and pink tones, I suppose. Now I've heard of artists using wine as paint. And tea. But blood? That's a little creepy, and it leads me to wonder exactly how much blood it takes to paint these paintings (they were rather large) and how one goes about getting that much blood.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
World Tour of Bathrooms
So besides making funny faces in Europe, my mom and I also took a lot of pictures of bathrooms. I guess it's one of the places where travel in Europe seems the most different from traveling in the states, and we wanted to capture some of that uniqueness.
Unfortunately, my mom was responsible for taking the bathroom photos, and her digital camera ate most of them. This is the only one that escaped.
My mom actually took this photo squashed inside the world's smallest shower in our hotel room in Vienna, to try to demonstrate just how ridiculously small this bathroom was. If I'd been sitting on the toilet with my feet on the ground, my knees would have been squashed against the underneath of the sink, and when I bent over to wash my face or brush my teeth at the sink, my butt pushed the door open.
This is what happens when demanding American tourists expect a bathroom in every hotel room--you get a full bathroom. . . . for midgets.
Unfortunately, my mom was responsible for taking the bathroom photos, and her digital camera ate most of them. This is the only one that escaped.
My mom actually took this photo squashed inside the world's smallest shower in our hotel room in Vienna, to try to demonstrate just how ridiculously small this bathroom was. If I'd been sitting on the toilet with my feet on the ground, my knees would have been squashed against the underneath of the sink, and when I bent over to wash my face or brush my teeth at the sink, my butt pushed the door open.
This is what happens when demanding American tourists expect a bathroom in every hotel room--you get a full bathroom. . . . for midgets.
Punk Rock. . . in 3/4 Oompa time
On a whim, I met up with my friend Janna tonight at Mama Buzz Cafe, the place where all the grungy hipsters hang out. She was doing work there and noticed on the schedule of events that tonight was the bi-monthly Punk Rock Accordion Workshop, and asked if I wanted to check it out.
How on earth could I pass that up?
In short order, Henri--the teacher--and 4 students showed up, with accordions in hand. And me and Janna, the two accordion "interlopers" and "voyeurs," as we were introduced to the rest of the group.
Henri procededed to teach them the basic tune of a song, which, when played on an accordion, didn't sound the least bit punk rock to me. I will admit to being a bit skeptical about the punk rock-iness of this accordion lesson. But then Henri busted out some teaching points about the composition of punk rock songs and the music theory behind them, and he broke down a Ramones song as an example. That made me feel it was a bit more legit. And then we listened to the CD, and it was indeed angry, angsty--if a little bit instrumental--punk rock.
All in all, it was pretty awesome. We watched as the 5 accordion players gradually drove all of the paying customers out, and Henri even took a moment to refresh my memory on some basic music theory stuff about chord structure, which I appreciated. They had a pretty rockin' harmony going by the time the lesson finished, and I'm starting to seriously think about trying to find myself an accordion, so next time I could join in!
Janna--always prepared, it seems, for absurdity and wonder--had her camera, so pictures are to come!
How on earth could I pass that up?
In short order, Henri--the teacher--and 4 students showed up, with accordions in hand. And me and Janna, the two accordion "interlopers" and "voyeurs," as we were introduced to the rest of the group.
Henri procededed to teach them the basic tune of a song, which, when played on an accordion, didn't sound the least bit punk rock to me. I will admit to being a bit skeptical about the punk rock-iness of this accordion lesson. But then Henri busted out some teaching points about the composition of punk rock songs and the music theory behind them, and he broke down a Ramones song as an example. That made me feel it was a bit more legit. And then we listened to the CD, and it was indeed angry, angsty--if a little bit instrumental--punk rock.
All in all, it was pretty awesome. We watched as the 5 accordion players gradually drove all of the paying customers out, and Henri even took a moment to refresh my memory on some basic music theory stuff about chord structure, which I appreciated. They had a pretty rockin' harmony going by the time the lesson finished, and I'm starting to seriously think about trying to find myself an accordion, so next time I could join in!
Janna--always prepared, it seems, for absurdity and wonder--had her camera, so pictures are to come!
Monday, October 09, 2006
Magical Thinking
So I've been on a bit of an Augusten Burroughs kick lately. As someone who desperately hopes to wake up one day and be funny, I really enjoy reading other writers that I think already are funny (the hope is that if I read enough of them, it will wear off on me). In the humor writing class I took a few months back, everyone chose David Sedaris and Anne LaMotte as the writers they thought were funny, (I personally think this is because that's who the teacher liked. Suck ups.) but I'm sticking with Augusten.
He's warped, twisted, completely self-centered and horrible. And he totally knows it. And that's what makes him funny--he does and says all the things semi-nice, semi-appropriate people would never do but want to. And while the hip thing to do right now is read Running With Scissors--since the movie's about to come out and all--I actually preferred Magical Thinking, his collection of short memoir pieces about being an adult, working and falling in love. There's something about the fact that he is such a mess, and so flawed, and so human, that makes me really want to root for him.
And then there's the central idea of the book: the magical thinking. It seems that Mr. Burroughs believes he has the power to will things to happen. A horrible boss that he wished would get hit by a bus drops dead. The guy he loves who's had a pattern of dating only big black men suddenly makes an exception for him, a skinny white guy. He becomes a New York Times bestselling author just by deciding that it will happen.
I like this idea of magical thinking. Who hasn't at some point wished for the ability to will things to happen? I've been feeling this desire a lot lately: the ability to will relationships to work out. To will the perfect job for me into existence. (Or perhaps it's to will myself to be perfect for a certain job?) To will people I miss into calling me.
But alas, the ability to exercise magical thinking seems to be limited to Augusten Burroughs and, strangely, his editor. The rest of us are left to work with whatever the Fates see fit to deal out.
He's warped, twisted, completely self-centered and horrible. And he totally knows it. And that's what makes him funny--he does and says all the things semi-nice, semi-appropriate people would never do but want to. And while the hip thing to do right now is read Running With Scissors--since the movie's about to come out and all--I actually preferred Magical Thinking, his collection of short memoir pieces about being an adult, working and falling in love. There's something about the fact that he is such a mess, and so flawed, and so human, that makes me really want to root for him.
And then there's the central idea of the book: the magical thinking. It seems that Mr. Burroughs believes he has the power to will things to happen. A horrible boss that he wished would get hit by a bus drops dead. The guy he loves who's had a pattern of dating only big black men suddenly makes an exception for him, a skinny white guy. He becomes a New York Times bestselling author just by deciding that it will happen.
I like this idea of magical thinking. Who hasn't at some point wished for the ability to will things to happen? I've been feeling this desire a lot lately: the ability to will relationships to work out. To will the perfect job for me into existence. (Or perhaps it's to will myself to be perfect for a certain job?) To will people I miss into calling me.
But alas, the ability to exercise magical thinking seems to be limited to Augusten Burroughs and, strangely, his editor. The rest of us are left to work with whatever the Fates see fit to deal out.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
If it ain't Baroque. . .
I'm sorry. That title was the lead in to a terrible joke that I just don't have the heart to finish. I'm just not that cheesy.
I am, however, cheesy enough that after discovering the work of Franz Xaver Messershmidt--a Viennese Baroque sculptor who was really into faces of ugly-looking people--I felt the need to try to imitate the faces on my own, with my mom helping out. Here are our best efforts:
While I couldn't find the translated names of these specific scultpures (which, if you're interested are "Ein Erhangtee" and "Der Schaafkapf"), from the English translations of other works, I'm gonna say that our Mr. Messerschmidt was quite a character, and probably would have embraced the awkward with the best of them. Examples of English names for his work include "Constipated Man" and "Laughing, Goofy Man." That's awesome. Where have you been hiding these 26 years, Franz Xaver Messershmidt?
I am, however, cheesy enough that after discovering the work of Franz Xaver Messershmidt--a Viennese Baroque sculptor who was really into faces of ugly-looking people--I felt the need to try to imitate the faces on my own, with my mom helping out. Here are our best efforts:
While I couldn't find the translated names of these specific scultpures (which, if you're interested are "Ein Erhangtee" and "Der Schaafkapf"), from the English translations of other works, I'm gonna say that our Mr. Messerschmidt was quite a character, and probably would have embraced the awkward with the best of them. Examples of English names for his work include "Constipated Man" and "Laughing, Goofy Man." That's awesome. Where have you been hiding these 26 years, Franz Xaver Messershmidt?
Juxtaposition
I really like the word 'juxtaposition.' It makes me feel smart. And I found a perfect example of an ironic juxtaposition of cultures in Prague that I wanted to share, in a conscious effort to lighten up the tone of this here blog.
Here goes.
What kind of museum, you ask?
The Museum of Communism, located immediately above the McDonald's, and right next door to a casino. God I hope they did that on purpose.
Here goes.
What kind of museum, you ask?
The Museum of Communism, located immediately above the McDonald's, and right next door to a casino. God I hope they did that on purpose.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Better than Coffee
I inadvertantly discovered something even better than Diet Coke--or even coffee--for keeping you wide awake and alert: Non-drowsy cold medication.
It's just too bad that the reason I know this is because I was awake until almost 3 am this morning (despite getting virtually no sleep the night before), after having popped some in a desperate attempt to stop being so stuffed up.
Interestingly, the cold medication did pretty much nothing to keep me from being stuffed up, so I found myself roaming my apartment at 3 in the morning, looking for things to do while breathing out of my mouth. Good times.
It's just too bad that the reason I know this is because I was awake until almost 3 am this morning (despite getting virtually no sleep the night before), after having popped some in a desperate attempt to stop being so stuffed up.
Interestingly, the cold medication did pretty much nothing to keep me from being stuffed up, so I found myself roaming my apartment at 3 in the morning, looking for things to do while breathing out of my mouth. Good times.
Sunday, October 01, 2006
Beautiful details
I don't really have a story to go with these pictures: they're a combination of photos from Vienna, Salzburg and Prague. I guess the theme here is that I really love craftsmanship, and I love finding the details that make cities unique.
I saw a bunch of doors like this in old parts of Salzburg.
Salzburg was famous for its hand wrought, ornate over-the-door signs indicating what kind of business resided there.
St. Vitus Cathedral in Prague.
Nearly all of the sidewalks in the older parts of Prague are patterned; this was just one of many different designs I noticed while I was there.
The formal gardens at the Belvedere in Vienna.
The wrought iron over this door in Vienna was beautiful.
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