Sometimes I'm afraid that I'm a little Aspergy. Like I've got a touch of some low-grade autism that maybe's never been detected. I know, SHOCK.
I get this feeling because sometimes I fail at small talk and I can't figure out if I'm missing some obvious social clues or if the other person is just retarded. Case in point: I'm in the kitchen at work, filling up my water bottles (because I drink like 2 liters of water a day at work, but don't try to make this into some kind of Aspergy thing because I just like to drink water, it's not like I have to drink exactly 2 liters a day or something) and a Coworker #1 comes in and examines the empty coffee pot. The following exchange occurs:
Coworker #1: [Coworker #2] is just so clean, isn't she?
(OK, my mind goes into high gear, trying to figure out exactly WTF this could possibly mean. Did Coworker #2 smell bad today and I just didn't pick up on it and Coworker #1 is dissing her with sarcasm? I don't think so. Think, TK, think, goddamit!)
TK: What do you mean?
(Nice save!)
Coworker #1: [Beaming like a child or something] She washed the coffee pot already!
So I want to know - should I have been able to decipher this ahead of time? How the fuck do I know that Coworker #2 cleaned the coffee pot? I mean, what kind of reaction was Coworker #1 expecting?
In other news, today was one of those days when basically every story in the newspaper made me ANGRY. Like Taxpayers may bear cost of raising octuplets and Judges accused of jailing juveniles for cash and Mandy Moore's getting married to Ryan Adams. OK, the last one didn't make me "mad," I guess, but it provoked some kind of upsetting reaction that I haven't yet figured out.
Back to the woman with the Golden Retriever-like litter of children: There's nothing more I can say that hasn't been said, and all the outrage has been pretty much completely justified in my view and I can't think of any rational defense for anyone having 14 children, much less a single mom, but I just have to say that I love, love, love the term "Octomom." OCTOMOM!
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
You should listen to this
Like every good white urban overeducated liberal, I'm hooked on This American Life. Since I don't listen to the radio much, and I really have no idea when the show is even on, I usually just download the podcast (free, BTW, although I kicked down $25 recently when they were asking for donations because it's totally worth it) every week and listen to it on my iPod on the way to and from work.
That's right. An overeducated white man listening to the podcast of "This American Life" on his iPod while taking mass transit to work in San Francisco. I AM YOUR WORST FUCKING NIGHTMARE, RUSH LIMBAUGH.
ANYWAY. They're all good, but I have to say that last week's show, entitled "The Ghost of Bobby Dunbar" was so good and thought-provoking and incredible that it could be turned into a movie without any major changes. IN FACT, the story (which is true) bears some resemblance to "The Changeling," another true story, in that they both involve boys who go missing and the boys who then turn up might not be the same boys who went missing.
I don't want to get into the whole plot, but it really is an amazing story and the voices! The Voices that tell the story are mostly Mississippi ladies of a certain age and their accents alone will kill you. They're awesome. You can download it at the link above for free for the next few days. Do it. You won't regret it. Plus, I want to talk to somebody about it.
What's the other thing I was thinking about? Oh yeah, pitchers and catchers report in 3 days. Baseball is almost upon us again! Huzzah.
That's right. An overeducated white man listening to the podcast of "This American Life" on his iPod while taking mass transit to work in San Francisco. I AM YOUR WORST FUCKING NIGHTMARE, RUSH LIMBAUGH.
ANYWAY. They're all good, but I have to say that last week's show, entitled "The Ghost of Bobby Dunbar" was so good and thought-provoking and incredible that it could be turned into a movie without any major changes. IN FACT, the story (which is true) bears some resemblance to "The Changeling," another true story, in that they both involve boys who go missing and the boys who then turn up might not be the same boys who went missing.
I don't want to get into the whole plot, but it really is an amazing story and the voices! The Voices that tell the story are mostly Mississippi ladies of a certain age and their accents alone will kill you. They're awesome. You can download it at the link above for free for the next few days. Do it. You won't regret it. Plus, I want to talk to somebody about it.
What's the other thing I was thinking about? Oh yeah, pitchers and catchers report in 3 days. Baseball is almost upon us again! Huzzah.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Exploding salad, rotting seal, movies ending in "ess"
Friday after work I met up with Super Hot Irish Girlfriend and we went to the book release party for Bay Area Graffiti at 111 Minna. The book looks great and it was a lot of fun, but I got the feeling I'm maybe 30% less hip than I needed to be in order to be there. It was fun, anyway.
After that we headed out to eat at Orson, which was interesting, I guess, but maybe a little over my head. The food is sort of intentionally complicated and imaginative, which I think is just great but maybe might be better appreciated by someone else. Like, if your server (androgynous mid-20's Asian, natch) has to explain to you how to eat your Caesar salad, maybe you're in for more than you bargained for. She explained that the salad itself contained flavorless Pop Rocks, and so what you were supposed to do was get a bite and then swirl it in one of the dressing medallions and then it would all explode in my mouth. I didn't get any explosions in my mouth, which is just as well by me.
For her appetizer, SHIG had a poached egg over oxtail, which was interesting, and then she had the scallops, which were far and away the best part of either of our dinners, perfectly cooked and delicious. I would say I'm glad I tried Orson but I can't see myself going back.
After dinner, we headed up to North Beach to meet some friends at Tosca, which, as you know, is one of my favorite places and had some drinks there and then we left because I wanted to check out Church Key, a new place that just opened on Grant. Interesting, extensive beer menu, but holy shit everyone in there was young. Like fetus-young. Also, guys, I can see wearing a backwards baseball cap to a sports bar, but please, can you at least try to class it up a little when you go out somewhere else? Lame.
Yesterday we took Leland out to Ocean Beach to let him run around. It was fucking freezing out there but he had a blast. "Hey, rotting seal carcass! SWEET! Let me just rub my head and neck into it. Oh, man, that is some good shit."
Yesterday afternoon we gave Leland a bath.
One final note: we capped off the weekend by watching two movies that were both boring in their own way, The Wackness and The Duchess. In one of them, Ben Kingsley spouts improbable dialogue and in one Ralph Fiennes rapes Kiera Knightley. I briefly feel asleep during both of them.
After that we headed out to eat at Orson, which was interesting, I guess, but maybe a little over my head. The food is sort of intentionally complicated and imaginative, which I think is just great but maybe might be better appreciated by someone else. Like, if your server (androgynous mid-20's Asian, natch) has to explain to you how to eat your Caesar salad, maybe you're in for more than you bargained for. She explained that the salad itself contained flavorless Pop Rocks, and so what you were supposed to do was get a bite and then swirl it in one of the dressing medallions and then it would all explode in my mouth. I didn't get any explosions in my mouth, which is just as well by me.
For her appetizer, SHIG had a poached egg over oxtail, which was interesting, and then she had the scallops, which were far and away the best part of either of our dinners, perfectly cooked and delicious. I would say I'm glad I tried Orson but I can't see myself going back.
After dinner, we headed up to North Beach to meet some friends at Tosca, which, as you know, is one of my favorite places and had some drinks there and then we left because I wanted to check out Church Key, a new place that just opened on Grant. Interesting, extensive beer menu, but holy shit everyone in there was young. Like fetus-young. Also, guys, I can see wearing a backwards baseball cap to a sports bar, but please, can you at least try to class it up a little when you go out somewhere else? Lame.
Yesterday we took Leland out to Ocean Beach to let him run around. It was fucking freezing out there but he had a blast. "Hey, rotting seal carcass! SWEET! Let me just rub my head and neck into it. Oh, man, that is some good shit."
Yesterday afternoon we gave Leland a bath.
One final note: we capped off the weekend by watching two movies that were both boring in their own way, The Wackness and The Duchess. In one of them, Ben Kingsley spouts improbable dialogue and in one Ralph Fiennes rapes Kiera Knightley. I briefly feel asleep during both of them.
Friday, February 6, 2009
What I saw at the Bay Bridged birthday party
It's raining! Fuck. I know, I know we really need the rain and it's a good thing and blah blah but it's still a pain in the ass, as far as I'm concerned. I got up this morning around 6:40 to walk the dog and put his leash on got to the door and he took one step out and froze and looked up at me like "Are you fucking serious?" I had to drag his ass down the steps.
Happy Friday, everyone!
Last night after band practice Stoney and I walked over to Rickshaw Stop (warning: faux-Geocities website) for the The Bay Bridged's 3rd Anniversary party. For those of you not in the know, The Bay Bridged is a website covering local music that also puts out a regular kickass podcast concerning same. Now, if I could just get them to cover my band we'd quickly become a big deal and Pitchfork would accuse us of selling out. Sweet.
ANYWAY, they got a great crowd out, even on a semi-shitty night, and, Madre de Dios, it wasn't all hipsters which kinda surprised and pleased me. The excessive use of a smoke machine to make the interior of the club hearken back to Ye Olde Days when you could actually smoke somewhere did not.
First up we had Geographer, with the rarely-seen guitar/keys/sampler, electric cello, drums lineup. I liked it! Definite indie-pop undertones, which always grabs me, and definitely interesting instrumentation. I think more bands should use cello, too.
Then Birds and Batteries. I really liked their first few songs, which I guess you could describe as art-blues maybe, if that didn't sound totally grad school pretentious, but then things took a turn for the Zappa and that's when I kind of lose interest. I'm still gonna check out their record, though.
I missed The Heavenly States because after B&B it was 10:45 and I had to go home because I'm old and I had to work today. Wah.
Happy Friday, everyone!
Last night after band practice Stoney and I walked over to Rickshaw Stop (warning: faux-Geocities website) for the The Bay Bridged's 3rd Anniversary party. For those of you not in the know, The Bay Bridged is a website covering local music that also puts out a regular kickass podcast concerning same. Now, if I could just get them to cover my band we'd quickly become a big deal and Pitchfork would accuse us of selling out. Sweet.
ANYWAY, they got a great crowd out, even on a semi-shitty night, and, Madre de Dios, it wasn't all hipsters which kinda surprised and pleased me. The excessive use of a smoke machine to make the interior of the club hearken back to Ye Olde Days when you could actually smoke somewhere did not.
First up we had Geographer, with the rarely-seen guitar/keys/sampler, electric cello, drums lineup. I liked it! Definite indie-pop undertones, which always grabs me, and definitely interesting instrumentation. I think more bands should use cello, too.
Then Birds and Batteries. I really liked their first few songs, which I guess you could describe as art-blues maybe, if that didn't sound totally grad school pretentious, but then things took a turn for the Zappa and that's when I kind of lose interest. I'm still gonna check out their record, though.
I missed The Heavenly States because after B&B it was 10:45 and I had to go home because I'm old and I had to work today. Wah.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Book release party
I shall be in attendance at this event:
Bonus points if you can figure out who I am. Hint: I don't look 40.
What else is going on? I've been busy. I see that the American Apparel debate continues to rage on over at SFist and other blogs and, whatever side you're on, God bless you for giving a shit, since most people don't.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Monday, February 2, 2009
Most of this post is about booze and drugs
Good morning! We've got a lot to cover this morning, so let's just jump right in.
- How about that Super Bowl? I believe I said "Steelers by 3 in a surprisingly low-scoring game." As it turns out, it was Steelers by 4, and 27-23 might not be "surprisingly low-scoring," but I'd say I got the gist of it right.
Anyway, you really couldn't ask for a better game.
- From yesterday's Chron: "Popchips' marketer's swell spots to hang." "Russell Barnett, the vice president of marketing for the San Francisco snack company Popchips, tells us about his favorite places to schmooze clients, watch the sunset and blow off some steam."
I didn't know Popchips was an SF company! Even more reason to love Popchips. However, one of Russell's fave spots is the execrable Redwood Room, a little slice of what everyone hates about LA right in the heart of SF. Why, Russell, why?
Stick to puffed potato products, Rusty.
- Speaking of bars, we checked out Bloodhound, a new place on Folsom between 7th and 8th, Saturday night. I like it a lot. Same owners as Double Dutch, but don't let that scare you off. Bloodhound is definitely more of a grown-up bar. There's sort of a rustic vibe, with a reclaimed barn wood interior. Nice, eclectic crowd. Will do business again.
Oh, while we're there, Tom, on drinking: "I'm not an alcoholic. I just really like booze." You tell it, brother.
- So Michael Phelps smokes the pot. Now comes the utterly predictable and ridiculous public apology and shaming and "I'll never do it again wah wah wah."
- How about that Super Bowl? I believe I said "Steelers by 3 in a surprisingly low-scoring game." As it turns out, it was Steelers by 4, and 27-23 might not be "surprisingly low-scoring," but I'd say I got the gist of it right.
Anyway, you really couldn't ask for a better game.
- From yesterday's Chron: "Popchips' marketer's swell spots to hang." "Russell Barnett, the vice president of marketing for the San Francisco snack company Popchips, tells us about his favorite places to schmooze clients, watch the sunset and blow off some steam."
I didn't know Popchips was an SF company! Even more reason to love Popchips. However, one of Russell's fave spots is the execrable Redwood Room, a little slice of what everyone hates about LA right in the heart of SF. Why, Russell, why?
"This is a must for drinks with friends and colleagues. It's classic San Francisco with a modern twist. Even locals need to sit in the Big Chair in the lobby. They just celebrated their 75th anniversary, and the best part is it has changed very little. They make a mean martini and offer delicious appetizers from Asia de Cuba - the tuna poke and lobster pot stickers are not to be missed. Out-of-town guests love the old-school vibe."What in the fuck are you talking about? It has "changed very little?" It's not even remotely the same place any more. It used to be kind of a classic, if a little well-worn, SF hotel bar. Now it's a sceney nightmare where hookers, bridge-and-tunnel screech girls, and striped-shirt chest bumpers converge to buy $12 cocktails and try to impress each other. It's NOTHING like it used to be. As if you needed any other clue, your tipoff would be those old classics from 1934, tuna poke and lobster pot stickers.
Stick to puffed potato products, Rusty.
- Speaking of bars, we checked out Bloodhound, a new place on Folsom between 7th and 8th, Saturday night. I like it a lot. Same owners as Double Dutch, but don't let that scare you off. Bloodhound is definitely more of a grown-up bar. There's sort of a rustic vibe, with a reclaimed barn wood interior. Nice, eclectic crowd. Will do business again.
Oh, while we're there, Tom, on drinking: "I'm not an alcoholic. I just really like booze." You tell it, brother.
- So Michael Phelps smokes the pot. Now comes the utterly predictable and ridiculous public apology and shaming and "I'll never do it again wah wah wah."
Just the latest in the ludicrous and ongoing farce called the War on Drugs. Everybody with half an ounce of sense knows that pot is about as harmful as decaf coffee, but we have to engage in this ridiculous sham and pretend that he's done something really bad.
You know what the real message to kids is? Smoking pot can't even keep you from winning eight gold medals in a single Olympics, so how the fuck is it going to keep you from passing Biology? The problem with the whole War on Drugs message is that pretty much everybody tries pot and they find out, "Hey, this is no big deal," and they compare that the the scare-tactic commercials that are trying to convince them that if you take one toke, your life is pretty much over and since they know that's not true and they've been lied to, hey, maybe crank's not so bad either!
- This may be the longest single blog post I've ever done.
- FINALLY:
I don't get it. What's the mothers' beef with murdered children? Seems mean to go after them. They're already dead. Why the hate?
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