Ridiculous levels of inefficiency

Today I experienced something that made me (if only for a moment) re-think my opposition to privatization. I attempted to pick up my mail from the post office.

You see, I've been on vacation, so I had the post office hold my mail for me. And knowing that I have a pretty small mailbox and that my postman already has a disposition to mangle my magazines, bills and Netflix envelopes when he attempts to squash them into said very small mailbox, I elected to just pick up my two weeks of mail, instead of having it all delivered to me when I got back.

I did not realize when I made this decision to pick up my mail that it would take me nearly 3 hours, and trips to 4--yes 4--different post offices. I started with the post office nearest my house. (It seemed like a logical place for them to hold my mail.) They said they didn't hold mail there, and that I needed to go to the main office in West Oakland. When I arrived at the main office, they told me they didn't handle mail from my zip code and I needed to go to the Downtown Oakland office. After waiting in three separate lines at that office, I was told that they didn't handle my zip code either and that I should go back to the one in my neighborhood. When I pointed out that that was, in fact, where I had started out, the clerk looked confused, fumbled through two handbooks of postal regulations before she suggested--suggested, because very clearly she had no idea where my mail should have gone--that I try another, smaller post office in West Oakland.

Thankfully, after only 20 minutes of listening to one postal clerk patiently explain to a customer why they didn't sell 37 cent stamps anymore, I was able to explain my situation and finally get my mail. I know it's sacrilege, but I couldn't help but think that if Bill Gates or even Rupert Murdoch were running the US Postal Service, they probably would have known where my mail was and would have found it much much quicker. As it is, I'm thinking I'm gonna forgo holiday cards this year. I'd hate to stand in line for stamps only to find out that they don't actually sell them at that branch.

Argentina: Favorite Things Part 2

So I want to talk more about yummy food. And yummy wine also. Seriously, the food and wine were so good that they merit multiple blog posts.

Argentina is known for its beef, and rightfully so. I took it upon myself to eat beef at least once a day (and sometimes twice!) while we were there, in search of the perfect steak. I discovered it, paired with a nice 2004 Cabernet Sauvignon, at the Ruca Malen vineyard in Mendoza.

This is a picture of me with the best steak I've ever had in my life. See how happy I look! While eating at the vineyard, I also got to experience a tower made of chopped beets and covered with a dusting of parmesan cheese (actually kind of gross, but paired with a really amazing 2004 Malbec--I brought a bottle back that's just begging to be opened) and some sort of flan made of dulce de leche. Now I don't like dulce de leche because it's too sweet. And I have the sweet tooth of champions, so I feel like that's really saying something. I also don't like flan (because the texture is yucky), but I would happily continue to eat this flan for every dessert for the rest of my life if they would let me. It was that good.

Sejal and the beet tower

Gorgeous

While my friends were most excited about going to Buenos Aires (from here on known as BA), I was more excited about Bariloche, a Northern Patagonia town in the lake district of Argentina, and Mendoza, in the wine country of Argentina, located at the foot of the Argentine side of the Andes.

Neither disappointed. Mendoza looked and felt remarkably like home, with its dry climate, craggy mountains, and lack of vegetation (other than grape vines, of course).

We took the opportunity to go white water rafting on the Rio Mendoza while we were there. And by white water rafting, I really mean brown water. Because the water was moving so fast, it was stirring up all the sediment washed off the slopes of nearby mountains, making the water brown. And we're talking about a lot of sediment in this water--I was wiping brown grit off my face for the rest of the day. But it was totally worth it to get a fast river with non-stop rapids.

Bariloche was pretty awesome also. Cold and super windy, but gorgeous nonetheless. This photo was taken from the top of Cerro Otto, one of many "mountain" peaks in the region. (Mountain goes in quotes because as anyone who knows me well could tell you, I have pretty stringent standards for what I think should technically be considered a mountain, and Cerro Otto definitely falls short. It was still pretty though.)

I should point out that we actually went to the top of Cerro Otto twice. The first day we climbed to the top (because the gondola to the top wasn't running yet), but it was overcast and yes, snowing, so none of my pictures turned out that well. We had no intentions of going again, but when we awoke the next morning and found that the gondola had suddenly decided to run, we thought we'd try again to get some decent photos (and also to witness from above how ridiculously steep the previous day's trail to the top had been).

Forget switchbacks--this trail went straight up the side of the mountain!

Oh. One more thing about Bariloche. I'm convinced it's the hippy new-age capital of Patagonia. The Berkeley of Argentina, if you will. We saw Pilates studios and incense burners everywhere. And then we saw this guy, juggling/interpretive dancing in the street.

It reminds of me the first time I drove through Berkeley, and as I stopped at a red light at the corner of Ashby and College, a guy on a unicycle carrying rainbow streamers wheeled out into the intersection and did a little streamer/cycle dance until the light changed.

It's good to see that some things are universal.

It's a sock. It's a Flip-flop. No, It's a Sock-Flop!

One more example of a horrifying fashion trend that seems to be taking Argentina by storm. . . . the Sock-Flop.



And, here's a photo to prove that you can even wear your Hammer Pants on the hottest of days, because they come in shorts too!

Argentina: Favorite Things Part I

So now that I've gotten the ugly out of the way, I can focus on the fun, fantastic, hillarious, and yummy. Let's start with yummy. Argentines are big on the concept of afternoon tea (even though they don't actually drink tea at tea--mostly they drink coffee). I think this may be the best concept ever. Especially considering that they don't eat dinner until 10 or 11 at night--a late afternoon snack and some caffeine is definitely in order.

In our extensive study of afternoon tea, we came across several options that were always big winners: Medialunas and submarinos. Medialunas are little baby croissants, most often glazed ever-so-lightly with some sugary stuff, but I guess they can be savory with cheese and ham also. We liked the sweets ones. This is my friend Brianne, expressing her feelings about medialunas (with, coincidentally, a medialuna).

Now submarinos (yup--Spanish for submarine) are the perfect beverage pairing with sweet medialunas. The basic deal is that a submarino consists of steamed milk that comes with a small bar of chocolate, that you then dunk in the milk and stir up until it's melted, giving you a slightly less rich, less sweet (but still fantastic) version of do-it-yourself hot chocolate. And while that's already a pretty awesome beverage concept, what makes it even better is that normally, the little bars of chocolate are actually shaped like submarines. (Get it? You're submerging your submarine into the liquid, just like you would with a real one! So smart!) Below, Sejal and I demonstrate the appropriate submarino submerging/mixing technique.

The steamed milk and "submarine" chocolate

Submerging the "submarine"

Stirring up the submarino to prepare it for consumption

Argentina: First the ugly

I'm back from Argentina. It was a fabulous, hillarious and all-together too short vacation with friends I love dearly, and I have tons of great fun stories to tell. But since I'm still feeling a little lazy after all the turkey consumption yesterday, I thought I'd start with something short and fast: the ugly parts of Argentina.

In no particular order, here were the things about Argentina (and Buenos Aires in particular) that I found less than appealing:

1) The men. Actually, that's not quite true. The men were fine; it was the hair that was the problem. It seems that faux hawks, mullets and yes, rat-tails are the hip and trendy look in Argentina right now. It was a little like being trapped in a bad 80's movie starring Billy Ray Cyrus. (And here's some even worse news for other mullet/rat-tail hating women of the world: my hairstylist just got back from some big hair conference and she tells me that mullets are the next big thing in men's hair styles here in the States. I'm shuddering in horror just thinking about it.)

2) Hammer pants. Yes, not only are mullets and rat-tails staging a comeback, but Hammer pants for women are also coming back. (For those of you who were asleep--or not yet alive--in the late 80's and early 90's, Hammer pants were made popular by one Mr. MC Hammer, and consist of baggy pants with a very roomy crotch and tightly bound ankles. They were often found in garish colors, or in gold and silver. And I'm sorry, I know MC has gone on to be a pastor at some church in the South Bay, but there is no number of souls he could save that would un-do the fashion travesty that was--and apparently still is--Hammer pants.)



This is my friend Sejal trying to rock the full-length hammer pants, but even more horrifying were the Hammer shorts that we found on sale all throughout BA.

3) This is probably the worst. According to my new BA-inhabiting friend Angie (and TimeOut Argentina Magazine) the thing to do when you're short on cash but still looking to get something waxed (because apparently Argentines are very big on waxing away body hair--at least on women) is to go for second-hand wax. That's right. That means that they re-heat the wax that has already been used to yank out god knows which hairs from some other woman before they apply it to you. I'm all for saving a buck, but that's seriously disgusting.

A Small Blog Hiatus

I am leaving for Argentina in T-minus 9 hours. Wooohoo! And in remarkably un-Claire-like fashion, I am already totally packed. No crazy drunken packing. No scrambling to throw stuff in a bag at the last minute.

But alas, the downside of going to Argentina is that my blog will be taking a hiatus. But just a baby one. Hardly noticeable even. Certainly shorter than the ones that network television stations take right smack in the middle of the season so you're left wondering if Meredith Grey got blown up by a bomb in the OR. (Or fill in the blank with whatever television show you are embarassingly and unreasonably addicted to.)

I'll be back in the country on Thanksgiving Eve, and the first thing I'll be doing (after consuming ungodly amounts of turkey and pie) will be blogging. I'm planning on having great adventures, doing ridiculous things and taking good notes while I'm gone, so I'm sure there will be plenty to blog about.

See you on the flip side of November. . . .

The Things We Do For Love

My gym is currently being renovated, so they've squeezed all the cardio machines into the back of the weights area, next to the classroom where they hold step aerobics classes. This means that all the cardio machine do-ers have a prime view of the people in the classes.

Now normally, even with my Ipod going, I am somewhat bored while I run at the gym. But not tonight. Because tonight I watched the advanced step class. And more specifically, I watched the one young guy in the class, clearly there with his girlfriend, as he tried to keep up. Mostly he just stood on the top of his step and looked confused. When he actually did the stepping part, he was often facing the wrong direction, or lifting the wrong leg. I felt kind of bad for him. But finally, he seemed to be getting the steps down and was really getting into it.

Until he tripped on his step and wiped out on the floor.

A Pick Up Line to Avoid

The following conversation took place in Van Cleef's, a bar in downtown Oakland, last night while I was trying to get drinks for me and the friend I met up with there.

I walk up to the bar. To my right, about a foot and half away, is a slightly shady-looking guy. The bartender is busy with someone else, and so I'm waiting patiently. Then, out of nowhere:

Slighly shady-looking guy: Hey! Are you wearing perfume?

Me, slightly weirded out: Um, yes.

SS-LG: Well it smells really good.

Me, more weirded out: Wow. I didn't realize it was that strong.

SS-LG: Oh, it's not. I just have a really good olfactory sense.

Me, really creeped out as I slide a few more feet down the bar, away from this guy: Yeah. I'm going to order my drinks now.

San Francisco, Tourist Style--Part I

It occured to me recently that I have lived in the Bay Area for more than 4 years, but there are still tons of areas I've never seen or explored. Maybe it's that the odds are about 50/50 that I'll be leaving by the end of the year, and maybe it's just that I recently got VIA Magazine (the travel magazine put out by AAA) and it got me inspired, but I decided it was time to do a little more wandering around San Francisco this weekend.

I broke out a book I bought a couple years ago, called Stairway Walks of San Francisco, and chose an area to explore. Today, I chose Telegraph Hill, Russian Hill, North Beach and Chinatown. This was my route:


The highlights of my day included the Filbert St. stairs: a crazy, wild garden; the wooden plank "streets"; and the parrots. I remember when that movie The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill came out last year. I never really considered that there were actually tropical parrots hanging out in the middle of San Francisco. Or at least I didn't consider that there might be hundreds of them. But there are. And they all live right here, in and around the garden on Filbert Street. They're all bright green and really loud and pretty much awesome. I tried to take a picture but I couldn't get close enough for you to tell that they were parrots.

Darrell "Street" in the middle of the Filbert St. Stairs

Filbert St. Stairs, where the parrots live

Coit Tower. Because every great city needs a phallic object for tourists to visit.

Other highlights? Macondray Lane. An ex-whatever we want to call him of mine claimed this as his favorite street in San Francisco, and I think it's worthy of a run for that title. On Russian hill, Macondray Lane is this little windy pedestrian-only path that cuts between rows of townhouses and it's all jungly and dark and mysterious. Very cool.

Macondray Lane

More phallic structures: the TransAmerica building

Oh, and I also tried Durian gelato in Chinatown. For those not familiar with durian, I'm told that it is a nasty, NASTY-smelling fruit very popular in Thailand. I've never had or even smelled durian, but given that my durian gelato smelled and tasted like sugary poo, I'm gonna guess that plain-old durain probably smells and tastes like. . . well, plain-old poo.

A Report from the Field

Seen this morning: a pink haired hipster playing the accordion at the Farmer's Market.

Her song of choice?

"I Want to Be Sedated."

A Lazy Blogger

First off, I'm sorry for the lapse in blogging. It's actually NOT that I haven't had anything worth blogging about--every time I hang out with Josh something shady and ridiculous happens (thus one of the appeals of the friendship). I've just been lazy. And crazy busy. And stressed.

You know for someone who is very technically unemployed, I think I've actually had more going on in the last two weeks than I did for much of the time I was working at EBASE. I'm planning the victory party for the Claremont Hotel workers for my old union. I'm planning all the logistics of our upcoming trip to Argentina. And I'm crafting work-of-art cover letters for jobs that will make these employers beg me to come work for them. At least that's the plan.

The irony of all this busy-ness is that I don't like doing any of it. I don't like writing cover letters. And anyone who knows me well knows I HATE planning. I'm a go with the flow, spur of the moment kind of girl. I don't do logistics. It stresses me out. Even easy planning like trying to figure out what to take my parents to do when they come visit stresses me out. And yet, I'm now juggling airfare and lodging for four, talking to caterers about how many cocktail tables I think we'll need for 400 people (like I have any idea), and trying to figure out what's the cheapest way to get to hang out with some Argentinian cowboys.

Anyway, enough of the blah blah blah complaining. I'm going to ARGENTINA in less than a week, I get to plan a party for workers I love on a campaign that I played a major role in winning, I've finally figured out what I want to do with my life (or at least the next few years) and I'm actually finding jobs that fill the bill. That's not too bad at all. Now if the winter rain could just hold off a little longer, I'd be a really happy girl. . . .