Okay, What is Wrong with the City Water This Time?

Water is supposed to hydrate not sedate, right?  I cannot be the only person who notices these things.  Ack!  The yawning won't stop.

Maybe, I will go for a walk before I properly update this silly blog thing.  The excercise is necessary to wake myself out from under whatever I just drank.  I'll catch you all here in a little while.

Too Loud to Sleep

Yesterday’s activities consisted mostly of drinking coffee at Vesuvio courtesy of my bartender friend Tony, expanding my noggin at the library courtesy of global climate change, lunching at MELT! courtesy of the gracious Gaynor, and athletically dancing to amazing music at the Saloon courtesy of the Bachelors. It was a fantastic day that led straight into a wonderful evening. I just wish I could be more chipper today that I actually am.


As the song goes… “I couldn’t sleep at all last night.” The voices in my head kept me awake until I resorted to playing music to put myself to sleep. Thank the heavens above that my old friend Patrick Liddell sent me his (at the time) newest CD/DVD, audio/video, music experience a few months back. It’s not that his projects are in the habit of putting me to sleep, but I needed something soothing to help me drift away.

It is odd, I must admit, being (alphabetically) Asian, Hispanic, Pacific Islander, and White all at the same time. I think my Czechapina heritage is a healthy mix that has left me genetically predetermined for madness, resistance to sunburn, immunity to still undiscovered diseases, possessing skills at modern (completely interpretive yet slightly Latin) dancing, an obsession with both science fiction and professional tennis, an addiction to microwave popcorn, intellectual ease with mathematics, and who knows what else I have yet to discover about myself.

The most worrisome thing about my ethnic background, though, is my face’s inability to age itself. In a society where a youthful appearance is so treasured, I know this is the last thing I should be complaining about; however, wisdom and knowledge comes with age, and with wisdom and knowledge comes respect. I would rather be known for having a strong mind and an unstoppable wit than for having the face of a teenager here in my thirties. It is a source of ire for me, honestly, that people can only see the surface when they meet me. I think. I write. I theorize. I analyze. I create. I wear the face I grew for myself with pride, yes, but if I could, I would rather wear my soul. If bourbon and makeup can’t age me, I’ll find something that will… as long as it is physically painless. I’ve had enough pain for a lifetime.

Photos of Friends with Varying Degrees of Focus

Here are three of the menfolk from my recent adventures.  (Hmmmm..... it seems I don't know how to format these things properly.)

He in the green t-shirt is named Tony Lioce and is a bartender over at Vesuvio.  He just asked me this morning to go on Yelp to review him... I shall do that anon. 

He with his back to the lens is "Mi Bandido Carino," or so I prefer to call him.  We were out dancing one night when I took out my camera and asked him to do something profound.  He turned his back to me, so I snapped the photo. I doubt he heard me properly. 

He in the photo where I look simultaneously drunk and Hispanic (They were technically both the case at the time; though, many other adjectives also fit me as well.)  is Tony Mackrell.  If I spelled and capitalized his last name correctly I will be completely shocked.  The photo was taken moments before we were both dancing on top of the bar at Amante together.  I had never seen such a sense of rhythm and balance in someone so drunk before.

Music, Music, Music

So, Grasshopper (better known as Mr. 'Hopper) and I have split ways. The details are far from being worth sharing, but it suffices to say-- making music is like making love, so both had to end. Maybe he will stop sending me emails I cannot make sense out of one of these days.  Not that I could ever complain about still hearing from him, or something like that.  There have been enough childish adult males in my past who never speak to me anymore.

Now, what is in the city water lately? Every time I drink the stuff, I start waking up and falling asleep all at the same time. Yeah, City of San Francisco, you really need to fix that!

Sigh... Ruce is playing the feature slot on Tuesday, and I promised to bring my friend (and astrological expert) Vera to see all the hot musician types that show up out there. So, yes, I will again be attending the open mic that Grasshopper hosts this coming week; though, I promised myself I would not sing.  Maybe I might read something.  I have been writing again as of late.

The last two nights of music I have caught have been fantastic, in a rock'n'roll sort of way. Let's see, Friday night I was able to see Superbad at Maggie McGarry's up here in North Beach. They were a bit more like pop rock than actual rock, I know, but they were a damn good show. 

Last night I had the privilege of seeing the Butlers play again.  Now that was about as brilliant a rock band I have ever had the joy of experiencing live.  There is something about the combination of their music with their energy that just makes me dance.  I even took BART all of the way out to Berkeley and back again in order to see them.  Mmmmm.... tasty rock music.  Why must you feed me so deliciously?

I know I had promised to see Forget About Boston last night too, but I did not have enough time to go the extra few blocks to see them.  If only BART could run all hours... then I could dance all night anywhere in the East Bay that it reaches.  Maybe next time I'll be able to sort out a ride home.

Speaking of Vera (which actually occurred a few paragraphs back), she really is a great friend.  When SynSyn, Annie, and (if all goes well even) Amalia come out to see me here in February, I hope we all get to spend time together.  We would all benefit from having a bit more of sagacious Vera in our lives.  We had some amazing girl talk the other night after I spent most of the wee hours of the morning sitting in Sam's eating chicken nuggets and fries and studying academic abstracts on global climate change.  Now, if I could just find a Benicio Del Toro for her.  Vera could definitely benefit from some Mr. Del Toro in her life.

Global climate change.  Yes, global climate change.  I don't plan on dying just because the weather changes.  Joy of joys, though, the San Francisco Public Library system allows access to academic journals on just about any topic you can name.  "Global Warming" still pops up with more hits than "Global Climate Change" in the database, but the papers and articles I can access make amazing brain fodder on sleepless nights.  Who knows, maybe I will even reach some sort of brilliant conclusion about it all someday.  We'll see.

Knowledge

And now, a selection from "The Penumbra" by Squid B. Varilekova...

~Knowledge~

As I shall prove in this section, we as legal residents and citizens are also guaranteed a right to knowledge that is necessary to protect ourselves, our minds, and our bodies under the penumbra of rights created by the Bill of Rights of the Constitution of the United States of America.

In the Second Amendment, we are told of the necessity for the “security of the free State.” Surely, keeping our country safe begins with keeping ourselves and our loved ones safe. The Fourth Amendment acknowledges “the right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects[.]” Well, how could this be possible if we do not know when we are in danger?

Most importantly, according to the Fifth Amendment, we cannot be “deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law.” It is only the governing body that may distribute a legal, harmful punishment. Also, if we are levied criminal charges, the Sixth Amendment guarantees that we get “to be informed of the nature and cause of the accusation” and “to be confronted with the witnesses against [us.]” Clearly, in a case where harm may come from the government by methods of due process, we are guaranteed the known information necessary to protect ourselves. And in these occurrences, the Eighth Amendment makes sure that we do not receive any “cruel or unusual punishments[.]”

Finally, the Ninth and Tenth Amendments open the door for the existence of the already established overlying penumbra by stating that we have rights as a people that have not yet been enumerated in the Bill of Rights.

Hence, between needing to protect ourselves, having the right to protect ourselves, being guaranteed due process, and being assured full knowledge of all harmful agents in times of due process, it is safe to conclude it is also then the responsibility of the governing authorities to dispense necessary knowledge of when we are in danger of harm to ourselves, our minds, and our bodies if the governing authority is in possession of knowledge that could prevent that harm.

Spilled Milk

Yet I still cried. Look, World, start fixing your problems. I'm tired of crying over you.

Music Tastes Yummy.

Mmmm... yummy, tasty music. I just wish they also served food at Ireland's 32 during the Tuesday night open mic that my darling Mr. 'Hopper hosts every week. Music would taste better with a side of curly fries.

I have got to admit, I'm coming around on this making music thing. It really is fun. I am fast making friends there at the Ireland's 32, and nothing (musically) beats having a stellar support system. Even at The Hotel Utah which I did attended two nights ago and which is somehow a little higher stress for reasons I never understand, making music was fun. I have had near-debilitating stage fright for so long; it's quite nice to have a room full of love to help me get over it.

This morning was a joy, as always, at the Vesuvio where I did get to spend quality conversational time with my bartender friend Tony Lioce. There was a tourist in there in a suede jacket that I recognized from the Condor (before the naked ladies came out to dance) this last Sunday. His name was Kevin, and although I thought I chose the correct piece from my writing portfolio to share with him, it was apparently quite uninteresting to him. At least he was a gentleman, though. I also met a tourist couple from Colorado which was also similarly disinterested in my writing. Well, I probably just chose a bad fit for each of their reading interests. My works are quite diverse.

I met an energy healer on the way to the library. I worked to my heart's content there at the North Beach branch of the SF library until I completely killed the battery on this little ole computer. I did have enough juice, though, to set up my birthday wish list for my parents. Did I mention yet that I am going to Yosemite for my birthday?

My travel plans have left me in need of a new pair of hiking boots; even though, they have granted me Mr. 'Hopper as a travel companion. Are hiking boots as well as a disarmingly charming (where charming really does mean the same thing as adorably socially awkward) travel companion too much to ask from the universe? I don't think so.

Now, this afternoon and evening I plan to visit my doctor's office for a brain check-up, Kader (Yeah, I spelled his name incorrectly last time.) up at Caffe Cento, Mr. 'Hopper at his humble abode, Vesuvio again for what I think is a book release party, and then Caffe Trieste for some (YEY!) even more tasty live music. Datiko should be around there. He always makes for interesting conversation.

In the Land of Gooey Cheese

Yey! Right now I sit at MELT!, a local cafe and wine bar. The owner Gaynor and I are the only ones in here at the moment, and I do feel a bit guilty about typing away at this silly keyboard instead dedicating my conversation entirely to her. I do so much better when over stimulated, though. To concentrate on anything, I need to have street noise, neighboring conversation, and background music to all ignore in order to get the voices in my head to an low enough attention-sucking level to be acceptable. However, if I have all of that going on and am trying to hold a verbal in-person conversation, internet chat, and talk on the phone all while writing an email, I might actually be in my element. The last time I tried that, there was also professional tennis on the television as well.

When I sit at home and have nothing to listen to but the voices coming in my window and the voices in my head which somehow get their volume turned up by the mere fact I am in my (highly understated when I call it) humble abode, I can't get anything done. Of course, also it doesn't help that I feel like everything I type on this computer gets immediately publicized. I mean really. It's one thing to feel like people watch me while I type; it's entirely something different to feel like my entire portfolio of copyrighted material just lies around with the whole public able to read it. With all the verbal manure that the voices in my head spew at me, it's a wonder I can function at all.

Sigh... if I were to hazard a guess at which of my current works in progress I might resume laboring with first, I would say it would be the notes for my fourth volume of memoirs. Though, I know I really need to finally finish one of my works of fiction, so I can sell it. Writing is my only viable future livelihood still, unless Mr. 'Hopper has his way placing singing in my life. How is that any more practical than a writing career? As I already said, I might as well just move to LA and announce I want to be an actress.

Caffe Trieste

You never know whom you might meet here. Really. From Lawrence Ferlinghetti and Jack Hirschman to silly little me or a celebrity look-a-like (Or are they not mere look-a-likes?), Papa Johnny still packs a talented house.

I made the mistake yesterday morning of staying at Vesuvio for coffee when Tony wasn't there. He must have been on hiatus. I swear every metaphorical grease-ball [c]hristing mother of hell was in there running his mouth. By no means, though, does that mean that everyone in there was a bastard. But by the time the three loud-mouthed specimens of masculine inadequacy who had been at the bar since I arrived finally left, I felt like I needed antiseptic.

Oddly, I ended up having to go out and buy antiseptic to bandage some poor foul-mouthed, scruffy-looking nerf-herder of a skater's hand for him. Yes, he lacked every last notion of a gentleman, but my internal mother hen is instifleable. Really? If he really believed that his inability to answer 8th grade level math and logic questions was the real reason I wouldn't take him home with me after I had to be the one to buy him a drink to stop his whining, he is even more sorely deluded on the necessity of men to conduct themselves like gentlemen in public than anyone I have ever previously encountered. Instead of bandages and anitbiotics I should have given him a copy of the latest Emily Post guide to etiquette.

Luckily, after that, I wandered in here, to the Caffe Trieste where I ran into Amy and Kedir and, even later, Sean. Sweet, gentle humanity is rare these days, and they were breathes of fresh air to me. I even had a chance to catch up with Amy after years of not seeing each other. What a wonderful way to save a morning.

I spent the afternoon visiting my friend KC at an open house for a beautiful home up near Union and Taylor. I worry sometimes whether or not my friendship with him is in his own best interests. I gave him a book to read the other day, and he finally just reached the part about the dancing girl.

From there, I sped off to the Condor. Yes, that Condor. On Sunday afternoons before the naked ladies come out to dance, they have an amazing band that calls themselves Los Diablos de Amor [sic] play near the open windows. Something about them makes me dance, dance, dance. They play from three to six every Sunday, and I do what I can to stop by every week. I must have mentioned them already...

Last night, I walked up Nob Hill to visit Mr. 'Hopper. I don't know what I would do if he weren't around to feed me tasty vittles every time I see him. He takes such good care of me. I know we're not meant to be, but he is so sweet to me for just working so hard to have food to feed me that I have insisted on guilting him into spending my birthday with me in Yosemite next month. I know he wishes I would leave him alone, so he wouldn't have to hike Half Dome with me... I don't mind doing the hike alone, but he has some need to protect me from something, I know not what. Maybe someday I will know how to properly thank him.

I wandered home at about 1AM and went to sleep.

This morning I woke too late to make it to Vesuvio to see if Tony were around. I came straight here to Caffe Trieste instead, and I have been in fine company ever since. Yey!

I'm not going to double-check this post. You're all going to have to just deal with any typos.

So sleepy...

I'm sleepy.  I wish I could tell you my stories.  But it's the water.  They have ruined the water.  It's the city water.

The Weird

Okay, at this time I was actually asleep.  This is an acknowledged back post.  If I had been awake, though, this is exactly what I would have had to tell you…

(Supposedly) Schizophrenic Assertions:
1.)    Someone else is still putting voices in my head.  It is NOT comforting.  It makes concentrating on everything difficult, particularly conversations.  I am prone to giggling at them when they sound like morons… or embarrass me.
2.)    People are keeping secrets from me.  Yeah, well, I would like to tell you what THE ENTIRE WORLD doesn’t want me to know.  However, you are all successful.  I don’t know what I don’t know.  (How is that for a spin on an old turn of phrase?)  I just know that there is information to which I am not allowed access, and what I don’t know is already hurting me.
3.)    Celebrities and celebrity look-a-likes stalk me.  Well, that is all self-explanatory, isn’t it?

And people wonder why I still take my anti-psychotics.  It isn’t just so the LSD in the water supply will make me fall asleep.

Major Projects I should be Working on Every Day:
1.)    The Kalevala— I recently assigned myself to make a public domain recording of a (public domain) translation of the Kalevala for LibriVox.org.  It is a fabulous epic adventure through a fairy tale Finland that never was.  If I really plan on recording all fifty runes in now less than a year, I really need to get one of my more voluptuous body parts in gear.
2.)    Finding a Literary Agent— I figure that if I send a query letter everyday, I should find an agent somewhere for my creative writing.  I need all the help I can get at finally getting myself published.
3.)    The Creative Writing Itself— My current list of works in progress include my first television pilot, two still unfinished novels, my third and now fourth volumes of memoirs, my children’s fairy tale, a young adult fiction about candy engineering, and my first feature length screenplay.
4.)    Singing— I know, I know.  Who put that devil of an idea in my head?  Singing?  Really?  It’s the last thing anyone with an academic background should ever want in their future.  Pursuing a career in music?  Really?  That’s about as logical as moving to LA to become an actress.  However, I have found that singing, beyond being something I do in the privacy of my own home as a form of therapy, is sort of fun.
5.)    Independent Research into Global Climate Change— Now, this is something that an academic background is meant for.  If humanity is going to survive, we need to make major changes.  We need to know what we’re up against from the cosmos at work, and we need to start as soon as possible.  “Be fruitful and multiply, so evolution can see us through!” will only get us so far.


After finishing my back post above, I wrote the following blurb this morning as the ending to my third volume of memoirs…

     I adopted wearing a particular flower in my hair a few months ago.  I always said it was in honor of Johnny Depp, my personal symbol of inner beauty.  Now, this white silk orchid is a symbol for what I assume would happen if ever I and that Mr. Johnny Depp should ever converse.  This flower is a symbol of the end of waiting.  Johnny Depp will be my bringer of truth.
     Yes, right now I still wait.  I wait for the truth.  I wait for the end of my externally imposed ignorance over why I was forced to endure so many tortures.  I wait for the knowledge to keep myself safe.  I wait, I wait, and I wait.  And I wait with a flower in my hair.


And THAT is everything I would have told you, if I would have been awake.

Sweet Loving

Yeah.  (Squid giggles.)  Yeah.

Freedom's Just Another Word for Nothing Left to Lose

Apparently, Mr. 'Hopper had something left to lose.  He flat did not accept being set free of me and even behaved quite gentlemanly when I stopped by the open mic he hosts at Ireland's 32 every Tuesday night.  He behaved so gentlemanly, in fact, that I even sang the midnight set with him.  The next thing I knew, I was sitting at his place eating homemade soup at 1:30 in the dead of morning. 

Before stopping by Ireland's 32, though, I spent the afternoon with Gaynor at MELT! snacking on coffee, a brownie, a mimosa, a homemade Cornish pasty, and (there must have been) something else before stopping by IDEALe to see Tessa.  She's the IDEALe bartendress.  And what did I order there?  Mmmm... tasty orecchiette in broccoli rabe with pecorino... Someday, I should order something new when I stop in.  If it weren't so tasty, I would have by now, I suppose.

I had originally intended to stop by last night's open mic in order to return CDs to Mr. 'Hopper... but when I saw and heard the musical talent that had turned out for the night, I couldn't help but stay.  I am making an assumption, I know, when I say this... but I believe there has not been such musical talent in the City of San Francisco in decades.  We are experiencing a bit of a musical renaissance these days.  I wish I could keep better track of all the amazing music I have experienced.

A Rollercoaster Sunday, an Informative Monday, and the Start of a Tuesday

Except for the fact I was to miss the entire weekend's worth of stellar tennis due to my refusal to own a television (which I would only use to watch professional tennis anyway), Sunday at least started out strong.  I wandered off to Vesuvio to see my bartender friend Tony and to have delicious morning coffees with my best friend in the City of San Francisco, 'Dabs.  Sometimes two people are friends for so long that the art of conversation between the two of them can do nothing but get more beautiful.  'Dabs is that sort of friend for me.  His and his brother's joint wedding reception is in Sonora, CA this coming October, and I should really get on getting a room out there for that night.

Then I was off to the Royal Grounds on Polk to meet Jimmy for some coffee... Of course, Jimmy never showed and didn't even call to cancel.  I suppose that is probably due to my insistence that we stay completely Platonic friends.  He was quite honest about his intentions towards me, and those intentions were not Platonic.

Sometime in the late afternoon I showed up at the Condor back in North Beach.  Before the naked ladies come out and dance they have a live band called Los Diablos De Amor [sic] their on Sunday afternoons.  I really did get some good dancing in while I was there, and they even asked me to sing one song with them.  Such sweethearts.  I asked for "Ain't no Sunshine." 

From there, I climbed up the hill to visit Mr. 'Hopper.  He was in a bad mood when I got there, and I could not deal with how he was treating me.  I was sure that keeping in my life was ruining him.  I broke into tears, and I set him free.  We are no longer together.  It was my choice.  I did it for him.  And, yes, I broke my own heart doing it.  That was my rollercoaster of a Sunday.

Monday I finally learned about the weekend's worth of tennis--sans audio, sans commentary, sans anything but the visual-- while sitting at MELT! chatting with Lynn Ruth, Gaynor, Johnny, and various British ladies.  Does anyone else think Del Potro looks a bit like Colin Farrell?  And that Federer, he was as artful and graceful as always.  Congrats to Clijsters, and Ms. S. Williams, wow, lady... I thought I had a red attitude problem.  If you're going to get angry, that is the way to make it a good show.

I meant to stop at the National Maritime Library yesterday, too, in order to re-volunteer with them; unfortunately, I failed to get myself out of MELT! until well after they were already closed.   I did manage to get myself out to see the Jugtown Pirates last night, though.  They play every Monday night at Mojito, and I try to see them every week.  And, yes, I did get some good dancing in there, too.  Yey!

I woke up late today, Tuesday, and I went straight to MELT! which was not open, yet... so, I stopped in at my dry cleaner's place, the Doo Wash, to hit up Stanley for some chatty chat chat until Gaynor could let me in to MELT!.  And here I have been trying to take care of some details, heal my broken heart, and, of course, eat some tasty food ever since.  Hmmm... I should really call ahead to the Maritime Library and tell them I am finally stopping in today, shouldn't I?

Coffee

So, here I sit at the counter at MELT! clicking away at my keyboard and trying to converse with the fellows beside me... though they both seem quite taken with the Bay Guardian at the moment.  They're from Scotland.  Apparently, I passed through their hometown on the train once.  Okay, twice.  Once up and once back.  Apparently, they find Hoover Dam to be a marvel of modern engineering.  Did you know that 9% of Las Vegas's power comes from the Hoover Dam?  Apparently, we all saw the lightning or at least all heard the thunder this morning.  As the song goes... If the thunder don't get you then the lightning will.

Yesterday afternoon I even had two cups of coffee sitting around here at this counter, too.  I had hoped to see my friend Karen yesterday or today, but the time is sweeping by rather quickly.  Such is the case though, isn't it?  The longer that people are friends the longer they can go without seeing each other.  Sigh... too true in my life.

I was up early this morning.  Well, more precisely, I still couldn't sleep well last night.  I even found an odd patch of rug burn on my right shoulder to match the gargantuan mystery bruise on the back of my left knee.  So, I found myself wishing I could dance in the rain... but the rain was sadly merely drizzle when I finally made it outside in my raincoat.  The thunder and lightning are an odd treat around here in San Francisco.  People actually go out on rooftops to watch, or so I learned when I made it to Caffe Trieste for an espresso dopio and (of course) an almond croissant.

Well, yeah, there is probably yet another coffee and chocolate story in me from late last night.  But you're going to have to wait to hear that one.

You Know, If You Would Move Forward, People Might Actually Dance.

Where were you this morning at 11:09? I was the cable car turn around with good ole Mr. 'Hopper.  I really need to rename him.  What do you think?  Mr. Underrated or Prince Socially Awkward?  Let the debate begin.

Last night was and odd odd night for me.  I caught Honeydust and Forget About Boston at Maggie McGarry's.  I cannot express how truly enjoyable it was to dance to their music, and I cannot describe how horrifying it is to see a dance floor left empty because some guy is standing in the middle of it with a video camera.  When I felt the burn of that particular lens's eye on me, I ventured next door with hopes of dancing to Floozy at the Grant & Green.  It was early, anyway, barely even midnight.  However, they were turned up to eleven.  I went home to get some earplugs and pathetically ended up staying in.  Mmmmm... tasty hummus.  What do you do to me? You make me miss damn good dancing.

Crenelated

After a delightful night of gypsy jazz, I spent late last evening, my magnificent Wednesday night, standing on the partially-crenelated ramparts of the delivery entrance for the Mark Hopkins Hotel with a certain fellow as we stared up at the starry sky.  I am thinking about renaming my Mr. 'Hopper something far more romantic.  I am currently wavering between Prince Socially Awkward and Mr. Underrated.

Also in the starry sky update, we are apparently in the International Year of Astronomy.  There is going to be a star-gazing event in Millbrae this coming Saturday night.  I think I might just go.

Does anyone remember the original Super Mario Brothers games?  You know, the ones with the stars that bounce around the screen?  Anyone remember how long you are invincible after you catch one?

Better yet, anyone remember the oldish Chinese fairy tale about the Star Shepherd?   It is such a beautiful story; I wonder why more people don't read it.  And on a final note about that, may life grant you more than a star-crossed dancing girl or even a flat-faced peasant. 

Yey.

Another Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood (and a Bit Beyond)

I woke up late yesterday morning after a mostly sleepless night.  What else was there to do except stop in a local bar for an early coffee drink?  I wandered off to meet my friend Tony whom I knew would be behind the bar at Vesuvio at that fine hour.  It proved to be a truly delightful morning full of witty conversation and other forms of verbal manure.  He's only there on the morning shift Sundays, Mondays, and Tuesdays... so I cherish my precious time with his protective bartenderly ways when I can get them.

A few coffee drinks later, I was off to run a morning's and early afternoon's worth of errands.  Hmmmmm... lunch.  I did have the foresight to drop off my recently laundered dry cleaning, newly re-heeled shoes, and other sundries at my shoebox of a domicile before finding my darling friend Renee at the U.S. Restaurant for lunch.  She always takes such good care of me.

I had agreed to tutor her daughter in whichever 8th grade-level topic she would need each week, and she had also procured a book on the subject matter covered in Catholic high school entrance exams.  It's so odd sometimes how standardized tests of all grade levels tend to still be built in all the same way.  At least the COOP seems to test whether a student can think rather than just memorize facts and algorithms.

As if I hadn't had enough coffee at lunch, I soon found myself sitting at the counter at MELT! sipping on yet another tasty, caffeinated beverage and brandishing my shiny, new tambourine.  After the initial "Anyone know any Carpenters' songs?" teasing, the typical and quite local (if not at least newly so) collection of regulars calmed down around my weapon of mass percussion.  Oh, wait, maybe that was a different time I was in MELT!.  Maybe this time at MELT! was nothing for me but a long afternoon of disturbing phone calls mixed with an attempt to plan my birthday travel.  Either way, the first story is better.

Regardless, I was soon off to buy a brand spanking new dress at Annabella's (if I spelled that correctly... "Annebella's" maybe?), sit in the park for a moment, and then head off to tutor the youth of America... well, okay, one youth of America.  She is such an intelligent young lady, a quick learner, and joy to converse with.  She is going to get a merit-based scholarship to Catholic high school.  I can feel it.

Dinner.  What was dinner?  I believe I snacked at home before running off to Mr. 'Hopper's open mic at Ireland's 32 in the Inner Richmond.  Sigh... what a beautiful night.  I fear my friend Ruce may have blushed when I pecked him on the cheek, but that is hardly anything that should distress me.  The music there is just as high strung as it is casual, and I am fast filling out my list of local musicians.  Here is to an enduring tradition of music.

Song Bird

Hee-hee!  I had intended to spend yesterday afternoon reviewing the content on which I was going to tutor my friend's daughter Jess.  My friend had just procured a book on the standards for Catholic High School admission, and I promised to help her daughter study for the admissions exam.  Well, it turns out I am going to do all of that reviewing this afternoon instead, so I spent yesterday afternoon at the Hyde Street cable car turntable singing with my busking friend Mr. 'Hopper.  It was truly quite delightful.

I had barely slept at all the night before, so I returned home afterward for a long (overdue) nap, ran some errands, and then met Mr. 'Hopper yet again at the open mic at the Hotel Utah at which we sang a little Motown together.  "Second that Emotion" never sounded so sweet.  I was so shy after we sang that I could barely handle the compliments we received.

I met a fellow named Jimmy while I was there who wanted to talk my ear off while I tried listening to the music.  I was already out of whiskey when I met him, so I couldn't sip quietly while spinning my glass in my fingers.  I had to merely ask him politely to allow me to hear the music after politely accepting his phone number and politely finding a future polite occasion upon which we could go get some polite coffee.

From the Utah the evening's adventure took me and the handsome and sweet Mr. 'Hopper to North Beach for some safely vegan self homemade cuisine in my boudoir (where "boudoir" means "shoebox size room") before stopping to see the Jugtown Pirates at Mojito.  Yes, I was even able to get a little dancing in before the night was all over.  Yey!  For dancing!

The night ended in the wee hours of the morning with me yet again recently left alone in my room hoping for a chance to try all that over again.  It was a night for a song bird.  And the bird had sung so sweetly.

They Sneak Like Ninjas

Wednesday morning, September 3rd, 2009, I was all groggy. I almost never sleep well, but that morning it was so difficult to get out of bed. The first time I remember feeling that way was my first morning of in-patient care. Both times, yes, all times, even on the similar mornings at my parents' house, at Carmen's place, and even other times here in my shoebox, I awoke with severely hazy and cloudy medicine-headedness. This time, though, just like the time in in-patient care, I had whiplash.

Not so oddly, on the night where the evening of the 3rd met the morning of the 4th, I couldn't sleep at all. I kept lying in bed with my heart pounding in my chest and echoing in my ears keeping me awake. I kept looking back over my shoulder so damn sure I would see people ready to attack me in the night. What else was there to do but go to the all night diner? I found little comfort in "pancake puppies," but I did find time to pay my medical bills.

All I can say now about it, after testing the voices in my head: The world need beware my eyes. If only you could see everything I see in the context of history in which I see it. If only...

And so I have returned to the land of the blog...

Greetings, curious passersby,

After a long, only partially dull hiatus, I have begun to blog again. For those of you who remember this site from days long gone by, I promise to fill these pages with many more colorfully honest adventures, tales of boy-hearts by the wayside, and of course, friends more exciting and dear to me than could ever be imagined. I never disappoint, and please keep stopping by.

Thank you most sincerely,
Squid B. Varilekova