So I was in D.C. last weekend, searching frantically for an apartment that I can move into when I get to D.C. in the middle of August. After looking at what felt like a million apartments and trying to navigate the many flaming hoops that apartment management companies feel are necessary to determine whether or not you're worthy of living in their apartment (you want the application fee as a money order and the deposit as a cashier's check? You need to see my 3 most recent pay stubs and my W-2s? You need to know the balance of all of my bank accounts and you need to see my actual social security card as well as my passport and my driver's license? Um. . . Ok), I found a place that I'm excited about. (And didn't require any flaming hoops at all!)
I also managed to find time to take in a Nationals game. I went with my friend Brianne, who brought her friend Rachel, who brought her friend Fred, who brought his friend Alex. Alex, like me, happens to be a former HERE union organizer, so we bonded over that. After the game the group of us headed out to a dive bar on U Street that soon got overrun by a bunch of drunk rugby players who'd just won the Mid-Atlantic Rugby championship in their division, or so they drunkenly told us. Repeatedly.
Anyway, Alex and I continued to chat, and in the process of talking, discovered that his dad grew up next door to the mom of my very dear friend, Miss Abby Levine. Wow. Kind of random. And yet, somehow, I am not surprised at all. And neither was Abby, when I told her about it.
You see, Abby, was the link that led me to meet nearly everyone I know in San Francisco. So of course she would somehow be connected to the friend of a friend of a friend that I meet at a baseball game. Also, Abby was my introduction to San Francisco's progressive Jewish circle, so it seems fitting that she would manage, inadvertantly and without even needing to be there, to be my introduction to that exact same circle in D.C.!
With friends like that, who needs Kevin Bacon to play the "6 degrees" game?
Friday, July 27, 2007
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Heard on the streets of D.C.
While walking down a street in Washington, D.C. last weekend, I heard this little piece of a coversation:
A 30ish woman talking to her family: "I mean, I don't know. When I have the baby, I'm gonna have to sell it for more than it's cost me."
Wait, what?
It took me a good 5 minutes more of eavesdropping to realize she was actually talking about selling her mustang convertible, not her baby. That's what I get for not listening to the conversation from the beginning!
A 30ish woman talking to her family: "I mean, I don't know. When I have the baby, I'm gonna have to sell it for more than it's cost me."
Wait, what?
It took me a good 5 minutes more of eavesdropping to realize she was actually talking about selling her mustang convertible, not her baby. That's what I get for not listening to the conversation from the beginning!
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Missing California
When I first made the decision to move to Oakland (was it really 5 years ago?), my friend Erin made me a mix CD of songs about California. It is a testament to Erin's spectacular taste in music that the CD wasn't overly campy or kitschy (as theme mixes often are), and that I still listen to it occasionally even now. In fact, I listened to it the other day. It, along with a number of experiences I've had in the past two weeks at home in CO, has made me miss California even more.
So I thought I'd write up a little list of some of the (non-people) things I miss most about California--it should go without saying (although I suppose I'm saying it right now) that I miss the people I left behind in California.
Alright. With no further ado, here's what I'm missing most about California at present:
1) Falafel. There is one--I repeat ONE--place that sells falafel in the greater Colorado Springs metro area. What I wouldn't give for some falafel, fresh pita and minty lemonade from Holy Land right about now.
2) Produce that actually tastes like something. I had forgotten that produce, by the time it makes its way to the middle of the country, has lost both its flavor and texture, and thus everything tastes. . . .sort of mealy and watered down. I didn't really appreciate tomatoes (or most vegetables, for that matter) until I moved to California.
3) Recycling. In fact, I miss the whole Reduce/Reuse/Recycle concept. It hasn't quite made it here yet. I went to an ice cream place the other day where they gave me my scoop in a styrofoam cup. I couldn't even enjoy the ice cream because I felt so guilty about the damn cup. This is what happens when you get used to cups (and spoons) being made out of recycled materials, and knowing that if you throw it away, it WILL biodegrade.
4) Independent movie theatres and "arty" movies. Landmark cinemas, how I miss thee. And the Parkway: I miss you too. I'd pretty much kill to see something with subtitles right now. Or that starred Parker Posey. I still read the SF Chronicle's movie reviews every Friday. It's really just an exercise in masochism, because all it accomplishes is to remind me of all the movies I wish I was watching but that will never make it to Colorado, much less Colorado Springs.
5) The ocean. Water in general, I suppose. Colorado doesn't have much in the way of water. Even though I'm not a big beachy person, I miss the smell of the ocean, the sound of waves. Hell, I even miss the crazy seagulls who try to shit all over you.
But just because I don't want to sound like an ungrateful wretch, I'm gonna add one thing I've missed about Colorado that I'm happy to be near again: mountains. Big-ass, craggy, timberline-sporting mountains. Because if it doesn't have a timberline, kids, it's just not a mountain; it's a really big hill. I suspect that being born and raised at the foot of a mountain that shoots up more than 8,000 feet has made me into a mountain snob, but so it goes. For the next few weeks, I'll be trying to get my fill of mountains, while I hope and pray that in Washington D.C., it's possible to find a tomato that actually tastes like tomato, and that someone, somewhere, might be willing to compost the part that I don't manage to eat.
So I thought I'd write up a little list of some of the (non-people) things I miss most about California--it should go without saying (although I suppose I'm saying it right now) that I miss the people I left behind in California.
Alright. With no further ado, here's what I'm missing most about California at present:
1) Falafel. There is one--I repeat ONE--place that sells falafel in the greater Colorado Springs metro area. What I wouldn't give for some falafel, fresh pita and minty lemonade from Holy Land right about now.
2) Produce that actually tastes like something. I had forgotten that produce, by the time it makes its way to the middle of the country, has lost both its flavor and texture, and thus everything tastes. . . .sort of mealy and watered down. I didn't really appreciate tomatoes (or most vegetables, for that matter) until I moved to California.
3) Recycling. In fact, I miss the whole Reduce/Reuse/Recycle concept. It hasn't quite made it here yet. I went to an ice cream place the other day where they gave me my scoop in a styrofoam cup. I couldn't even enjoy the ice cream because I felt so guilty about the damn cup. This is what happens when you get used to cups (and spoons) being made out of recycled materials, and knowing that if you throw it away, it WILL biodegrade.
4) Independent movie theatres and "arty" movies. Landmark cinemas, how I miss thee. And the Parkway: I miss you too. I'd pretty much kill to see something with subtitles right now. Or that starred Parker Posey. I still read the SF Chronicle's movie reviews every Friday. It's really just an exercise in masochism, because all it accomplishes is to remind me of all the movies I wish I was watching but that will never make it to Colorado, much less Colorado Springs.
5) The ocean. Water in general, I suppose. Colorado doesn't have much in the way of water. Even though I'm not a big beachy person, I miss the smell of the ocean, the sound of waves. Hell, I even miss the crazy seagulls who try to shit all over you.
But just because I don't want to sound like an ungrateful wretch, I'm gonna add one thing I've missed about Colorado that I'm happy to be near again: mountains. Big-ass, craggy, timberline-sporting mountains. Because if it doesn't have a timberline, kids, it's just not a mountain; it's a really big hill. I suspect that being born and raised at the foot of a mountain that shoots up more than 8,000 feet has made me into a mountain snob, but so it goes. For the next few weeks, I'll be trying to get my fill of mountains, while I hope and pray that in Washington D.C., it's possible to find a tomato that actually tastes like tomato, and that someone, somewhere, might be willing to compost the part that I don't manage to eat.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Port of Oakland, deconstructed
When I decided that I was leaving the Bay Area, I made a list of things I wanted to make sure to do before I left. Some of the items on the list involved re-visiting old favorites; some were new things I'd always meant to do but hadn't ever gotten around to. High up on the list was taking a boat tour of the Port of Oakland. I have a deep and slightly obsessive fascination with the Port and had always wanted to go on the tour, but the part where they only run the tours during the summer on weekdays at ten in the morning made it challenging, given that whole job thing.
But with a departure date set and a more flexible work schedule made possible by temping (and my temp placement's complete adoration of me--heehee!), I was determined to go. I called for reservations, argued my way off of a waiting list, told the movers that I was sorry, but they just could not show up for my stuff on that particular morning, and cleared my work schedule--nothing was getting between me and the Port of Oakland.
You know how sometimes, you build things up in your head until there is no way they could possibly meet your inflated expectations?
Definitely not the case with the Port of Oakland boat tour.
It was fascinating and informative and beautiful and great. So great, in fact, that I found myself rejecting the advances of a very charming Romanian man (the only other person on the boat even close to my age--be warned: this is a tour that is overrun by 6 year olds in day care and 85 year old retirees) because he was trying to flirt with me while the tour guide was talking: "So, beautiful lady," he said to me, "what brings you here on this lovely day?" "I'm sorry," I replied, "I'm sure you're very nice, but I really just want to learn about the Port."
And learn I did. I learned that if you stacked the containers on a ship end to end, they would stretch 17 miles. I learned that enough containers come through the port every year to reach from Oakland to South Korea. I learned they had to deepen the estuary leading into the Port by 35 feet to be able to fit the newer Panamex container ships (and I learned that a Panamex container ship was designed to be exactly as large as possible to fit through the Panama canal). I learned that Alameda wasn't always an island, and that they dug the channel between Alameda and Oakland in the 19th century. I learned that Alameda used to be the headquarters for Skippy peanut butter and cornnuts. I learned that there is a gigantic gun hidden in one of the pylons of the Bay Bridge, in case enemy combatants in WWII ever attacked the Bay Area. And my awe and obsession with the Port is more intense than ever.
People often ask me why I'm so interested in the Port. There's a two part answer: 1) I think the Port is beautiful and enthralling. It's definitely not pretty, but there is something striking and yes, beautiful--in an urban, industrial way--about the bold lines of the cranes, the way the light catches them at sunset, the way they glow eerily amber after dark. They look like post-modern trojan horses, and it's easy for me to see how they could inspire creative flights of fancy (just ask George Lucas!) 2) Shipping has existed in a relatively unchanged way for thousands of years. We live in such a modern, fast-paced, technologically-advanced world, and yet we still depend on boats--ON BOATS--to move our goods around the world. When you think about the amount of stuff that we sell and consume every year--every day--and it all comes into and out of a Port somewhere . This amazes and humbles me every time I think about it. My only regret is that it took so long to learn more about it. For all of you left in the Bay Area, I highly HIGHLY recommend going on the boat tour. If you don't come to share my obsession, you'll at least be better situated to make fun of it, no?
But with a departure date set and a more flexible work schedule made possible by temping (and my temp placement's complete adoration of me--heehee!), I was determined to go. I called for reservations, argued my way off of a waiting list, told the movers that I was sorry, but they just could not show up for my stuff on that particular morning, and cleared my work schedule--nothing was getting between me and the Port of Oakland.
You know how sometimes, you build things up in your head until there is no way they could possibly meet your inflated expectations?
Definitely not the case with the Port of Oakland boat tour.
It was fascinating and informative and beautiful and great. So great, in fact, that I found myself rejecting the advances of a very charming Romanian man (the only other person on the boat even close to my age--be warned: this is a tour that is overrun by 6 year olds in day care and 85 year old retirees) because he was trying to flirt with me while the tour guide was talking: "So, beautiful lady," he said to me, "what brings you here on this lovely day?" "I'm sorry," I replied, "I'm sure you're very nice, but I really just want to learn about the Port."
And learn I did. I learned that if you stacked the containers on a ship end to end, they would stretch 17 miles. I learned that enough containers come through the port every year to reach from Oakland to South Korea. I learned they had to deepen the estuary leading into the Port by 35 feet to be able to fit the newer Panamex container ships (and I learned that a Panamex container ship was designed to be exactly as large as possible to fit through the Panama canal). I learned that Alameda wasn't always an island, and that they dug the channel between Alameda and Oakland in the 19th century. I learned that Alameda used to be the headquarters for Skippy peanut butter and cornnuts. I learned that there is a gigantic gun hidden in one of the pylons of the Bay Bridge, in case enemy combatants in WWII ever attacked the Bay Area. And my awe and obsession with the Port is more intense than ever.
People often ask me why I'm so interested in the Port. There's a two part answer: 1) I think the Port is beautiful and enthralling. It's definitely not pretty, but there is something striking and yes, beautiful--in an urban, industrial way--about the bold lines of the cranes, the way the light catches them at sunset, the way they glow eerily amber after dark. They look like post-modern trojan horses, and it's easy for me to see how they could inspire creative flights of fancy (just ask George Lucas!) 2) Shipping has existed in a relatively unchanged way for thousands of years. We live in such a modern, fast-paced, technologically-advanced world, and yet we still depend on boats--ON BOATS--to move our goods around the world. When you think about the amount of stuff that we sell and consume every year--every day--and it all comes into and out of a Port somewhere . This amazes and humbles me every time I think about it. My only regret is that it took so long to learn more about it. For all of you left in the Bay Area, I highly HIGHLY recommend going on the boat tour. If you don't come to share my obsession, you'll at least be better situated to make fun of it, no?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)