Oct 22, 2007


My mom called this morning to tell me that the house may burn down today, and, sure enough, it may. Hell, the whole goddamn county appears to be up in flames.

"Is there anything you want me to take with us when we evacuate?" she asked.

I thought for a moment, then asked her to take my journals, a lifetime's worth stuffed in a cupboard next to the bed I'd slept in since the 6th grade. It's been many years since I've written in them, but I still hesitated for a second, feeling a pang of the adolescent fear that she might read them.

I remember having to evacuate when I was in 8th grade; we fled through unpaved back-roads and stayed at my grandparents' house. Went to school the next day unsure whether I had a house to come back to. It turned out that we did, but the flames had claimed a swath of our land near the top of the hill, singeing the tool shed, turning some of the neighbors' homes into so many piles of charcoal.

This time, I don't know where my parents will go: it seems my grandparents' house is in danger, too. They can't find my brother, but I suspect he's all right--probably in a different evacuation facility with his 16-year-old girlfriend.

Ah, SoCal, what a paradise!

Oct 12, 2007


Movie recommendation of the week: Hot Fuzz

Dessert recommendation of the week: Beer float (we used Chambly Noire, but I think St. Peter's Cream Stout or a good chocolate stout would work best).

SF restaurant recommendation of the week: Gialina Pizzeria

Anti-recommendation of the week: Going to mediocre gay dance parties until 3am on a the Thursday before an undoubtedly hard weekend, then going to work the next day. Ouch.

Anti-recommendation of the year: Ignoring snail mail. There may be a hospital bill or two among all the Capital One junk, and if you ignore those they'll send the debt collectors after you.

Oct 10, 2007

Because All the World Needs Is One More Blogger

Guess who has a new blog?

No, not me - my boyfriend. He joined his mega-ADD friend in starting a group music blog and managed to keep me awake until 3am on Sunday night composing one of his first posts. Nothing could have been better at convincing me that blogging is the devil.

Which doesn't really explain why I haven't been blogging. One real explanation is "math." Another is "work." And a third is "The Industry."

It took us--by which I mean M., of course--only a few months to break into this city's professional hipster elite. Now it's like an exhausting second job for me: oh, I guess we have to go to that party; I suppose we're expected to go to that; etc etc. It's true that we've met interesting people, many of whom can help us get free drinks, free shows, free parties, and DJ jobs and records for M., but ultimately my priorities lie elsewhere because I don't really like people. I loathe small talk. I like shows and parties every so often, but not all throughout the week. I like movies, books, and road trips even better, but I haven't had time for any such amusements. I've had the same 3 Netflix movies for at least 2 months, for instance.

Doubtless I'd be complaining if I were sitting around reading books and never leaving the house. Is it mad to ask for some moderation, though?

It's a big weekend. There'll be a huge college reunion party - M.'s organizing and DJing it, naturally - and there are at least four extra people who will be staying in our apartment in addition to the 5 that are already there. M. may or may not be DJing at a bar tomorrow night. And on Sunday, we're going to a wedding between the reigning King and Queen of the Scenesters. It's one of those everyone-who's-anyone-blah-blah kind of events. I've been broke for months, but I'll have to buy a dress. Then I will still look like crap in that ocean of scenesters because these people are supposed to look good for a living. My living, on the other hand, involves slouching in an ill-fitting office chair and correcting other people's spelling and punctuation errors. Perhaps, in the future, my job will involve something more sexy, such as correcting other people's errors of computation or analysis. But suffice to say, that's a different kind of sexy.

I'm rambling; so what? I've been fixing punctuation errors all day.

In other news, at the end of this month M. and I will have been together for three years. Three years! Just to think, two years ago our relationship was crap and I would've bet a paycheck or two against our staying together for another six months. Then came Wellbutrin. Thanks, Wellbutrin! Now, except for the late-night blogging that keeps me awake all night, things between us could hardly be better.

(This post brought to you by Big Pharma.)