Photo of the Day: Reflection

Market street in San Francisco is chock full of reflective surfaces, a cityscape funhouse of buildings within buildings. 

Photo of the Day: Waves and Lines

On Market Street in San Francisco. It amazes me that someone designed this building, with its lines and curves and reflections, gently assaulting the sky. 

Photo of the Day: Pair of Sols

I took quite a few pictures of people on the street last Sunday in San Francisco, but this is one of my favorites. Do I even need to describe why? I mean, they're so cute. And they just posed like that, as if I'd asked them to. With their parasols. How can I not love this?

Photo of the Day: Art Meets Commerce

I took this last Sunday at Embarcadero plaza. This is perfect San Francisco. Art and commerce. Sculpture and high rise. Living together in one small space. Gorgeous.

what a lady, what a night

Warning: long ass post

What a trip that was, Internet. Goodness. The ups. The downs. The unexpected heat. The shopping. The hotel (grrr). The amazing show I will tell you ALL about. The glorious streets of San Francisco which make me homesick for Europe, but which have a personality all their own.

Gard I love this city. 

Where do I start? Shall I maybe go chronologically? I guess I could. But that would make sense and we all know I avoid any kind of sense at all costs, unless of course we're talking about Sense and Sensibility and then I can lose myself in that kind of sense for hours and days. Wait. Where was I? Right. My trip to San Francisco. 

So last we talked, Internet, I was having a tiny love affair with my hotel. That love affair has ended. Finit Finito. It was a not a great lover. The kind that started off strong, but lost interest in pleasing me early on and made me do all the work. 

I slept so-so. It was a little loud, but that was expected in a Union Square hotel and I had brought my earplugs. The room was just too hot and, being San Francisco, there was no fan or ac to speak of. So I could not get comfortable. And I awoke with a headache and really craving a nice, scalding shower. 

Which was not to be.

My shower was cold. It got warmish for a bit, tepid at best. Misery. I know these buildings are old. I like that about them. I like that they have narrow stairs and creaky hallways. They have an old-world appeal that makes me all fuzzy in my heart. But there are certain amenities that I think any hotel should have (and I'm traveled enough to know that in the US, certain things should not be impossible). So, call me crazy, but I think a shower should get hot. 

Anyway, then I headed over to Embarcadero to see the brand new show, Peter Pan. Please don't ask me what I do for a living that sends me to San Francisco to see a play. I refuse to blog about work, except that I will say that doing things like that are the best part of my job. It's like when I discovered that people get paid to stay in hotels around the world and critique them. I mean, who does that? Who gets paid for such a cushy life? Point to note: if you'd like to hire me to review hotels, I'm game.

I have to take a moment to tell you about this show, because it is so fucking cool! Click the link above and check it out. It's a completely new show, taken straight from JM Barrie's story and it is a whole new theater experience, I can't even tell you. I think I've seen a lot of different kinds of theater, but nothing like this. My best description is this: a combination of theater in the round, CGI projected scenery, Cirque du Soleil, melodrama, and puppetry. The animals in the play were all puppets, handled by a voice actor/ puppeteer right there on stage, topped only by the crocodile that was manned by two men in a bicycle-like contraption. It was brilliant. There was flying and contemporary dance and an ingenious use of trapdoors on the stage. And the pirates all played instruments so all accompaniment for the few songs was done right there on stage. Oh and the talented Jonathan Hyde, of Jumanji, The Mummy, and The Queen played Captain Hook/ Mr. Darling and we has absolutely excellent. I truly, truly enjoyed it.

The tent. See that blue sky? Yes, this was in San Francisco in May. And yes, it was hot.

This show premiered in London and is making its US debut in San Francisco. If you're in the area, go. Go see it. I predict it will eventually hit all the major US cities, but only in the summer months. Did I mention it's in a tent? Oh, and parents of little ones? Don't buy front row seats. Trust.

After the show, I took the rest of my day to walk up Market from Embarcadero to Union Square taking pictures and enjoying being out on the city streets. Man alive do I love that city. Always, always reminds me of walking in Europe. Photos to come, but I didn't take my Holga because I didn't have room in my carry on and very much missed having it. I did a little shopping and made friends with a kid in a coffee shop who took pity on me and made me an iced green tea. Turns out he's from a little town down here in So Cal that I'm quite familiar with. Such a small world.

I grabbed something to eat at the airport and settled in at the bar in my hotel for happy hour until I needed to head to the airport. At which point I drank delicious Fat Tires (which proved too much for little ol' me) and chatted with other tourists while watching some random baseball game that I really don't give a shit about, but which seemed interesting with a beer in my hand.

Note: I cannot handle my alcohol. Nope, cannot. 
I feel like maybe I could when I was much younger, but suspect I just had less dignity then. 

So by the time I was en route (say it with a french accent, bitch) to the airport, I was telling the young and hip cabbie my entire life story and feeling a little woozy. But not to worry I held my head high and pulled off sobriety like a champ.

At this point, I must note my pride at the TSA workers in SFO (workers? officers? whatever, you know who I mean). You need to believe that I tell this story sans sarcasm of any kind. I am truly pleased. In front of me in the security line was a nice Sihk man and his two unruly boys (poor guy was trying his hardest to seem like a nice upstanding guy while keeping his boys from toppling over the bins and metal detectors). In this world we live in of post 9-11 paranoia, I know it's harder on men who look like him, that they have to work harder to appear innocent. Which pisses me off. Anyway, the TSA folks passed him through security with no incident and instead chose me for random screening. And I know you're scoffing right now, but I thought that was so cool! No racial profiling at SFO. Their random screening was indeed truly random (unless I'm on some watch list for my liberal-ass ravings), but when the white chick gets chosen for screening, there is finally some balance in the universe.

Seriously. And sure, it was a little inconvenient, but I had plenty of time thanks to young hip cabbie and I really didn't mind. I had nothing to hide. I fly so often that I never forget any kind of liquids in my bag, so screening completed, pat down done (though I think that TSA lady owes me a drink now), and I was on my way.

But that's where the fun ends, Internet. I was due to fly out at 9:30 last night, puting me home around 11 pm. Not an ideal flight, but oh well. But no, We didn't even board until close to 10, something about the toilet being out of order on the plane and they told us to pee first or hold it. We boarded. And then sat there for an hour. Something about the air conditioning and air pressurization (trust me, you want air pressure on a flight). They fixed that and we got in line for departure. And then we sat. And they took us back to the gate to deplane for our comfort (which was nice of them) about 11:30.

We were all cranky by this point. I was feeling so exhausted, sure the beer had been a mistake, and after the claustrophobic heat on the plane, a little woozy. Plus I had been sitting next to a guy who was shamelessly flirting with me, said he thanked his lucky stars I sat next to him (seriously, he said that) and I was trying to stay sane while fending off his advances (I think I made up a boyfriend) and try not to kill myself. They finally let us back on the plane, everything fixed.

But then we had to wait for more fuel.

Really. You can't make this shit up.

I think we took off a little after midnight. I didn't really sleep on the plane, though I tried, and when I did, I was treated to some lovely nightmares. May write some stories out of them. Oh! And I should mention that I hadn't checked luggage. I hate to check unless it's really necessary. But they decided because it was such a full flight that the carry on roller bags would have to stow under the plane (they didn't make us pay). So I had to wait another 15-20 minutes after landing to get my bag back. This is why I carry on. So I don't have to wait for checked luggage! Grrrrrr!

I think I got home a little before 2 am. So you can imagine what a fantastic mood I'm in today. It's not that bad, but I'm exhausted. And bound and determined to not do a damn thing. I needed to get a ton done today for my garage sale next Saturday, but I fear I may need to postpone. I just have so much stuff I still need to go through (books, desk, kitchen) and I won't have any time.

But I will be selling some furniture online if anyone is interested: kitchen table, fridge, bookshelf, desk, etc. Let me know and I'll give you first pick.

And of course it's about a thousand degrees today. I am so damn sick of Southern California. 

Up in the Air

Well, kids, I'm here in San Francisco and while the short journey was a little stressful, I'm so glad to be here. After a quick dinner, I'm cozy in my hotel room in Union Square (SO glad I brought my laptop) all ready to relax.

Point to note: I love hotel rooms. I love the cozy beds and the fluffy pillows and the little soaps. I especially love hotel rooms in San Francisco because they always have so much personality. My very fave hotel where I always stay when I come here The Hotel Union Square, a funky modern art-style hotel, was booked (NOOO!) so I'm staying somewhere new. And so far so good.

But most of all, I love the TV. Now, because I talk about my favorite TV shows quite a bit, you probably didn't know that I don't watch television. I don't, at least not on an actual TV. I watch it online, which means the range of shows I watch is very narrow. I don't pay for satellite or cable and the only time my rabbit ears get any use is every weekday at 7-7:30 pm when I watch Jeopardy with my dad. I think the last time I had cable was in like 2002 when I lived with my cousin who was in advertising at the time and wrote it off in her taxes. So watching TV and this whole range of channels (even if there is nothing on) is such a luxury of staying in a hotel.

Yes, I am a dork. I realize. Moving on.

Back to the stressful part of my trip. My plane was taking off late afternoon, so I left a smidge early so I could eat at the airport so I wouldn't land in Frisco a starving monster. Except nothing (NOTHING) was open at the airport. Not even fast food. One little shop was open that had sodas and candy. No trailmix or sandwiches or any other food I could cobble into some kind of meal. And maybe you're wondering why I didn't take my own food. Well, I didn't think I had to. Also, I'm traveling for work and my dinner would have been paid for. If one had been available. By the time I landed in the Bay, my head was screaming for FOOD! Confirms my life story: I love to travel, but I hate airports.

Someone invent teleportation already.

However, I was fortunate to see one of the most spectacular beginnings of a sunset on the Bay from the plane. It was gorgeous, light glittering on the water, setting the world on fire.

Then, as the plane taxied into the terminal, everyone pulling out their phones and letting their loved ones they'd landed safely, I felt a new wave of sadness. I felt a little like George Clooney in Up in the Air (not that I travel even nearly that much), but I do travel enough for it to be old hat and it's a very solitary life. I have no one to call when I land. No one that would really notice if I did or didn't arrive safely. Sure, my coworkers would notice eventually (especially since I'm here for work) and maybe my online peeps would wonder why I'd been offline. And my close friends would wonder after a week or so why I'd been out of contact. But do I have anyone wondering how I am? If I'd arrived and am safe? Not really, no.

How do I feel about that? Not sure. It's partly my fault, I guess. This is the life I lead. But then I also feel a little sad. Today it's a life of travel and work. But someday maybe I die in my apartment and my cats nibble on my corpse and no one notices until the neighbors smell me. Gross right?

It's also a lot warmer here than I'd anticipated and I admit, I'm disappointed. After 90 degrees in So Cal today, I was hoping for some chilly Frisco air. Maybe it will be cooler tomorrow. Let's hope.

one order of cranky, hold the mayo

Ohmigod I'm exhausted! After last weekend and working all week and a day of schmoozing and clapping, I could nap for a year. But I won't be. I leave tomorrow for San Francisco. It's a quick trip for work and I come home late Sunday. I haven't even started packing yet. Blerg.

But I adore San Francisco. It's so lovely there. I'm sure the fog (even though it's supposed to be sunny, if chilly) will melt away any lingering stress. I need to it. I haven't slept well all week and my head is throbbing.

I had a little relapse last night. Took a bath. Played some Andrew Belle. And then promptly bawled my eyes out. And I had been doing so well.

Not that I want to complain, mind you (I do, I really, really do), but I can't help myself. I'm so tired that I can't hold the cranky in anymore. I feel lonely and beat down and I want someone to hold my face and tell me I'm perfect just the way I am.

Or maybe I just need a fabulous man who wears glitter and pleather to tell me I look fierce and take me dancing. Maybe San Fran will make it better after all. Or shopping. I could spend my savings in Union Square. I'd be broke, but I'd look fantastic.

On the upside, I'm making tilapia with a green olive tapenade for dinner and it is smelling fantastical. Now I really wish I had some alkeehol in my house so I could get the motivation to pack.

If someone would send a half-naked gorgeous single man who reads Proust and Faulkner to my hotel room in SF, I'd be your bee eff eff 4 evah! I'm not kidding. Yes, yes I am. No wait, no I'm not. Nope. Not kidding, Maybe I'm kidding. Maybe just a little. Nope, please send him. I'd like him on my bed when I arrive. That is all.


*I've got a Facebook page now! If you'd like to get blog updates (and select Twitters), come and click "like," puhleez. And tell yo friends! 

Photo of the Day: Room with a View

This was the view from my hotel room in San Francisco last weekend. And I don't even want to describe it. It's everything I love about modern art captured in an urban setting. Just stare and soak in the shapes, the angles, the empty space, the perspective, the gradient light. *sigh*

plumb tuckered out

*whew* I. Am. Exhausted! I had a big weekend. And I actually thought I wouldn't post tonight. It's roughly 7:45 yet I could fall into a deep coma right now. But I just posted a photo from my trip this weekend (more to come!) and thought, what the hell?

Soooo, here we are, Internet, just you and me and my sweatpants. And my cozy beanie which I just can't force myself to take off, it's that wonderful. I had a blur of a weekend in San Fran. And for the most part, it was awesome. The city was misty and cold on Friday and (after MUCH craziness getting into the city, so crazy in fact that I can't even recount it here without having little stress convulsions) I wandered around the Union Square area with my cameras (whilst shielding them from the mist of course) and basically soaked the city in.

lovely, isn't it?

It never ceases to amaze me how San Francisco, downtown at least, always hits me with a profound homesickness for Paris. Good god in hell it's wonderful. And despite the word lover that I am, apt words fail me right now. Suffice to say, the combination of weather, city life, food smells, and people somehow combine to remind me of my old home. And it's not exactly a fit, naturally. The architecture is uniquely different and you don't see many Frenchmen following you down the street asking if you like the sex and have you heard of the french kissing. None of that. Thank heaven. But somehow, the energy is similar. And don't foresee a situation in which I'd have the opportunity to live in Europe again, but if I did? I can't even describe the mounds of happiness.

And I always stay in the same, funky, artsy hotel in Union Square. And I usually have a pretty great experience, but this time they put me by the elevator and I'll be damned if I didn't wake up every time that damned elevator dinged. Even through my earplugs. I swear. Needless to say, I didn't get much sleep. And my work event went well, as good as can be expected. And I got to see my friend Mel and good god I didn't realize how much I'd missed her! It was so wonderful to catch up and get to know the amazing woman she is now (she was amazing before, but we all get better with time. usually.). I really enjoyed myself.

Buuut, I'm glad to be home. Weekend trips are always somehow a little too short to really enjoy myself without total exhaustion. And that's how I feel today. Work was fine and I barrelled through, but after therapy this evening, I was just plumb tuckered out (p.s. I might be reading All the Pretty Horses and it might be making me talk like a cowboy.).

And it was hard to sleep last night as my attention-starved cat kept crawling up on me, purring like a muscle car on train tracks. In fact, that's what she's doing right now. Have I mentioned that my cat is totally neurotic? Just like me. That's how you know it's meant to be.