Every time I read The Sartorialist, I am ashamed of how I dress and that I don’t live in Manhattan. But if I lived in Manhattan I wouldn’t be able to reach even the lowest level of style glory. At least here in the Bay Area the bar is set nice and low.

Super, thanks for asking!

A good time was had by all, gay and straight, in SF this weekend.

The Pride Parade was much enhanced by the appearance of SF Mayor Gavin Newsom, who looked fabulous in a block t-shirt, jeans and sunglasses. And the hair? His unfortunate hair gel addiction can be broken with the love and support of a good woman. A good redhead lawyer, for example.



Thanks to the strong Bloody Mary I was served at JNC’s friends’ house, I don’t recall too much else of the parade. I was too busy eating my body weight in bacon. Hopefully we offset the effects somewhat by walking from the BART station at 24th and Mission all the way up past Castro to Fountain street. Less than one and a half miles, but it was all uphill, which has got to mean we get some bacon credit. JNC promised a bacon haiku but I haven't seen it yet.

After devouring most of the brunch spread, we tromped back down the hill to meet FML at the Civic Center. JNC was contemplating a temporary tattoo but I made her abandon her place in line so we could go meet FML. I was in severe FML deprivation, and he needed to be liberated a wanna-be fag hag who was just not up to snuff.

The Redhead's Big Gay Weekend

It's off to the races this weekend. The gay races, that is. Spending the last three summers in school meant I was always too busy to spend a day at SF Pride. Now that I'm done there's no way I'm missing SF's best party of the year.

I'll be JNC's "plus one" at brunch at her friend's place near the Castro where we'll watch the Pride Parade on tv. It's best to have cute girls like us locked up when the Dykes on Bikes kick off the parade. Once the parade is over we'll be off to flout the open container laws and generally cause havoc. Hopefully we'll meet up with FML for hijinks. FML is my favorite daytime drinking buddy, and the way he says "cocktail" send shivers up my spine, even if he is a Republican.

I like going to gay events with JNC because it avoids any awkardness if hit on by another woman. God forbid I should actually have to explain, "You gays throw a great party, but I actually like boys..." It's a lot easier to travel with JNC and since we grump at each other like an old couple and don't really observe personal space restrictions, we easily pass as bi-racial Sapphic twins.

Emotional Barometer

My state of mind is easy to guage based on what's on my current playlist. I realized earlier this week that there was an alarming presence of Kelly Clarkson and Nickelback in the rotation. Taking the "cheese" factor to the redline made me accept that I'm still recovering from TB's departure in April. I thought by the end of June I'd be back to my usual self, more chipper than bitter, but it's taking longer than I expected. I still feel like my heart has been in a barfight. A real barfight - like a Texas motorcycle gang barfight, not a couple of San Francisco metrosexuals shoving each other outside a vodka infusion lounge.

I'm not sure how you speed up the "moving on" process. I think guys do this by having lots of cheap, meaningless sex, which sounds about as unappealing to me as taking a Southern Baptist to the SF Pride Festival. My poor little broken heart just needs more time to heal. And a lot more Mary J Blige.

Good news from Oodles, who was accepted into the Teaching Credential program at SF State. Oodles likes to play her cards close to her chest, so there have been many occasions when I haven't seen her in a few months and she's made huge, life-altering decisions that leave me and the rest to the Ya Ya's reeling. I'm glad she has a blog or I'd be even more out of the loop!

Thanks to budget cuts, she is losing her job in public health, but she has chosen to turn this into an opportunity to follow a dream into reality. If only we could all be so brave!

After watching (yes, I admit it!) Anderson Cooper's super-special Angelina Jolie interview, I want to quit my job and go work in African refugee camps. Preferably with Angelina. Well, ok I want to BE Angelina... alright, fine, I want to be Lara Croft. Anyway, aside from my loosening grip on reality and her fabulous legs, celebrities taking on "causes" always seems kind of ridiculous to me. The Jessica Simpson in Africa debacle was so cringe-worthy I couldn't un-hunch my shoulders for a week. But I have to give Angelina some props for using her celebrity to try to make a difference. I don't think the average People reader was quite prepared for the horrific stories and footage. She's using her celebrity to try to make a difference, and I have to say I admire her for trying to make a difference.

Now, if she was going to be a teach an elementary bilingual class, I'd be really impressed. But not everyone can be as cool as Oodles. Not even Angelina Jolie!

When older means more competitive...

When I first started running, I was surprised that the fastest age groups are not the youngest. For most of the recreational runs that I do, the results are far more competitive in the 30-39 and 40-49 age groups than in the 29-and under groups. Theory swapping has led to a couple explanations:

When you're in your twenties, you are more likely to be spending Saturday morning in bed with a pounding hangover than pounding the pavement.

The competitive runners in the under-20 group are competing in high school and college competitions, and not blowing all their energy on small-town road races.

Most runners didn’t get the bug until they were already in their late twenties. I chalk this up to the fact that graduate from college and you start sitting on your butt for eight hours a day right around same time that your metabolism goes to shit. By the time you really learn to love it, you’re pushing 30.

I’m making the most of it while I’m still in the relatively slower group. Next year I’ll have to move into the big leagues – women 30-39!

"It's fucking fantastic to be a woman..."

by Opinionistas

"I’m at a table crowded with frozen margaritas and half-devoured fish tacos, and I’m relishing the perfect weather plus the company of two amazing women. We’re perched on stools, dangling our sandals from our toes as we toast new jobs, accomplishments, boundless futures. After a few minutes, we fall into the smooth banter of those who know they can speak openly, liberated from the confines of peer judgment.

Suddenly it hits me: in this moment, this place, this pinprick in the human timeline, it is fucking fantastic to be a woman. The three of us discuss switching careers, moving to new continents and constructing our lives in concrete terms, never considering that we might not have the freedom or abilities to consummate our plans. The notion of being excluded from schools, organizations or companies because we’re female doesn’t enter our consciousness. Our choices for an autonomous future are just that: our choices. We romped freely through adolescence and our early twenties, and now sit back and laugh at past pitfalls and mistakes with no fear of scarring reputations or curbing options. We harbor aspirations and goals with no concept of limits or walls, carving out identities without heed to convention or social mores. Our personalities run rampant, never crammed into boxes or forced to embody male fantasies or antiquated visions of “femininity.” Without trying, we convey the poise that accompanies self-assurance gained from life experience. We can laugh at the world’s puerile assholes knowing they’ll squirm through life as barely a blip on the cosmic radar. We love men as companions and equals, not saviors, tormentors or patriarchal substitutes. We sob, scream, cackle, grin and giggle on the street with abandon, achieving full self-expression whenever and however we choose.

Sipping my margarita, I realize that here, now, we have everything we need to create extraordinary lives brimming with possibility, all handed to us wrapped in silver ribbon. To the women who endured the past and fought limitless inequity, dedicating entire generations to social transformation so that women my age could step into a world of immeasurable opportunities: Thank you."

Father’s Day

Father's Day is always kind of a strange day for me. Growing up, my dad was not really in the picture. He'd call on my birthday, and on Christmas I'd get a card with a hundred-dollar bill in it. Apart from that he was more like a benevolent uncle who occasionally and unexpectedly drops by and takes you out for ice cream.

My mother expected to be feted on both Mother's Day and Father's Day. She was doing twice the work, so she thought it was only fair that she got twice the recognition. The Friday before Father's Day, I'd bring whatever home cards and misshapen ashtrays (the last generation of kids who made ashtrays) that we'd made in school. She'd sniff at them and ask if I'd made anything for her. She didn't want me to hate my father, she was just desperate for recognition of how hard it was. I'm not unsympathetic to her struggle to raise a child alone, but there really is no replacement for a father. No matter how good a parent you are, you can never fill that gap. I now recognize how my own behavior reflects my efforts to try to fill it myself; with older boyfriends, with my need for security.

Of course, my experience was hardly isolated. There are almost ten million households with single mothers, a statistic which has remained pretty much constant for the past ten years (Press Release cb98-228.html, U.S. Census Bureau, www.census.gov, April 29, 1999). Many of my friends were in similar positions, and we all had a sense of awkward loss, almost shame, about our fathers.

I spoke to a friend of mine Sunday morning as he was on his way to go fishing with his dad. He was reluctant, he felt a lot of pressure around his father and there were other things he'd rather be doing. My first instinct was to chastise him, to tell him he was lucky to have his father to spend the day with, an oblique and self-serving reference to my dead father. But I paused, and realized how unfair that would be. It's unreasonable to undermine the difficulties that he's had with his father by saying, "At least you have one." The absence of a father is no less difficult than a painful relationship with one who was around. I can't imagine the tortured experiences that someone who was abused by a parent would go through. It is a lot easier to damage your kids by being a bad parent when they are growing up than the damage done by mere absence. My friend's dad isn't a cruel man, but they have a troubled realtionship. Father's Day isn't easy for him, either.

When my dad died, the absence of a parent was suddenly legitimized. I no longer had the lingering shame of awkwardly trying to explain where daddy was. Looks of pity were replaced with a respectful sympathy, which I stoically accepted. I excelled at the graceful acnkowledgment of my loss, a different loss than the absent parent, the one I had never learned to deal with. It pains me that in his death I found the excuse I had always been looking for. His death meant I no long had to explain his absence, or even explain that there had been an absence. I relied on his death to legitimize my upbringing because it is no long obvious that it was with only one parent. As time passes, the sense of loss I feel on Father's Day has lessened. My friends have become fathers and mothers, and I see them in an entirely new light. As we've grown up, I've realized that none of us have it easy, and hdozen a father present doesn't mean that you have a Hallmark Father's Day. I guess family relationships aren't easy for any of us.

Cut me a break, it's Friday

Instead of writing an actual blog entry today, I'm linking to one of my favorite posts from Defective Yeti, with his addendum to "The Thirty Hottest Things You Can Say To A Naked Woman".

My very first sprint triathlon tomorrow! Cross your fingers I don't drown!

Nice Person, Bad Book

I simply cannot stand to hear people rave about bad books. I have had the misfortune to overhear a couple conversations between people I otherwise respect and admire discuss their appalling taste in pleasure reading. I’m not going to pretend I’m not being a snob. Oh, I’m being a snob all right! And last time I checked it was perfectly ok for me to stand in a public place, yelling, “Tom Clancy is a moron!” But then, the Constitution has taken somewhat of a beating lately, so maybe freedom of expression was revoked under the Patriot Act.

Dirty Ol' Town

Some friends of mine are visiting Dublin and asked for advice on what to see. They are interested in seeing multi-ethnic drag shows, nude cage fighting, improv poetry slams and interpretive dance done by choir boys. They are too shy to ask me where they can enjoy their eclectic tastes in Dublin, and instead purported to be interested in historical landmarks, particularly from the Victorian and Georgian periods.

I compiled a list of interesting places they could visit in Dublin when they weren't taking in the drag shows, and included the following caveat:

"There are areas of Dublin that I wouldn't go in broad daylight, much less at night. When I first moved to Dublin I didn't take the threat of getting mugged or attacked very seriously because I figured, I come from the land of the concealed weapon, what is some little 14 year old punk going to do? But the lack of personal safety in Dublin (combined with the complete intolerance for anyone who wasn't white and straight) was one of the main reasons I left. It's a very dangerous city, I felt a lot safer in Beijing, in San Jose (Costa Rica), in post-Guiliani New York, or in St Petersburg than I ever felt in Dublin. People are constantly getting mugged and robbed, especially tourists. The whole thing was can do here about putting our purses on the floor or hanging them off the side of the chair won't be ok there - you'll turn around and it will be gone. The gypsies are giving the North Dublin kids a run for their money in terms of street crime. Dubliners, especially drunks in bars and street kids, will give you shit and try to start trouble for no good reason. You guys are not from Wisconsin, so you know how to take care of yourselves, I just want to give you a heads-up that it's not all the merry fookin' leprechauns that the Irish Tourist Board would have you believe."

(No offense to people from Wisconsin, they just have the benefit of living in a state with little theft crimes.)

My friends are smart, safe people who lived in China Basin in SF and now in Manhattan, and they can take care of themselves. God only knows what kind of warning I'd be giving people who were less sophisticated. It makes me sad that I feel the need to issue warnings about the city I called home for three years. I can't think of anywhere else I've been that I'd feel I had to say that about. I felt safer when I was lost in a Beijing slum than I ever did on the O'Connell Street in the middle of Dublin. But to this day I have a moment's pause before I put my purse on the floor under my chair, and I think part of me will never shake off that heightened awareness that comes with living in a city as crime-ridden as Dublin.

"The iPod was not developed by Baptists in Waco."

With Ineptitude on Full Display, the Party's Over for Republicans
by Garrison Keillor

(Published on Thursday, June 8 2006 by the Baltimore Sun)

People who live in mud huts should not throw mud, especially if it comes from their own roofs. As Scripture says, don't point to the speck in your neighbor's eye when you have a piece of kindling in your own.

I see by the papers that the Republicans want to make an issue of Nancy Pelosi in the congressional races this fall: Would you want a San Francisco woman to be speaker of the House?

Will the podium be repainted in lavender stripes with a disco ball overhead? Will she be borne into the chamber by male dancers with glistening torsos and wearing pink tutus? After all, in the unique worldview of old elephants, "San Francisco" is a code word for "g-a-y," and after assembling a record of government lies, incompetence and disaster, the party in power hopes that the fear of g-a-y-s will pull it through in November.

Running against Ms. Pelosi, a woman who comes from a district where there are known gay persons, is a nice trick, but it does draw attention to the large shambling galoot who is speaker now, Tom DeLay's enabler for years, a man who, judging by his public mutterances, is about as smart as most high school wrestling coaches.

For the past year, Dennis Hastert has been two heartbeats from the presidency. He is a man who seems content just to have a car and driver and three square meals a day. He has no apparent vision beyond the urge to hang onto power. He has succeeded in turning Congress into a branch of the executive branch. If Mr. Hastert becomes the poster boy for the Republican Party, this does not speak well for them as the Party of Ideas.

People who want to take a swing at San Francisco should think twice. Yes, the Irish coffee at Fisherman's Wharf is overpriced, and the bus tour of Haight-Ashbury is disappointing (where are the hippies?), but the Bay Area is the cradle of the computer and software industry, which continues to create jobs for our children. The iPod was not developed by Baptists in Waco. There may be a reason for this. Creative people thrive in a climate of openness and tolerance, since some great ideas start out sounding ridiculous.

Creativity is a key to economic progress. Authoritarianism is stifling. I don't believe that Mr. Hewlett and Mr. Packard were gay, but what's important is: In San Francisco, it doesn't matter so much. When the cultural Sturmbannfuhrers try to marshal everyone into straight lines, it has consequences for the economic future of this country.

Meanwhile, the Current Occupant goes on impersonating a president. Somewhere in the quiet leafy recesses of the Bush family, somebody is thinking, "Wrong son. Should've tried the smart one." This one's eyes don't quite focus. Five years in office and he doesn't have a grip on it yet. You stand him up next to Tony Blair at a press conference and the comparison is not kind to Our Guy. Historians are starting to place him at or near the bottom of the list. And one of the basic assumptions of American culture is falling apart: the competence of Republicans.

You might not have always liked Republicans, but you could count on them to manage the bank. They might be lousy tippers, act snooty, talk through their noses, wear spats and splash mud on you as they race their Pierce-Arrows through the village, but you knew they could do the math.

To see them produce a ninny and then follow him loyally into the swamp for five years is disconcerting, like seeing the Rolling Stones take up lite jazz. So here we are at an uneasy point in our history, mired in a costly war and getting nowhere, a supine Congress granting absolute power to a president who seems to get smaller and dimmer, and the best the GOP can offer is San Franciscophobia? This is beyond pitiful. This is violently stupid.

It is painful to look at your father and realize the old man should not be allowed to manage his own money anymore. This is the discovery the country has made about the party in power. They are inept. The checkbook needs to be taken away. They will rant, they will screech, they will wave their canes at you and call you all sorts of names, but you have to do what you have to do.

© 2006 The Baltimore Sun

Great moments in film (in no particular order):

1. Old School: the "muff it" scene, where Vince Vaughn's character protects his son's ears from mild profanity.
2. The Matrix: opening scene, in which Carrie Ann Moss changed my life and my wardrobe forever.
3. Ronin: Quite simply, the best car chase scene ever. Sorry, Bullet.
4. High Fidelity: Fantasy sequence when John Cusak's character beats up Tim Robbin's character.
5. Any movie that has a scene in which Colin Firth proposes to someone.

Are you there cleavage? It's me, Margaret.

I wore my lovely new cornflower blue silk shirt to S's birthday last night. I would characterize the neckline as "daring" but not "immodest"... until I saw the photos of me halfway through the evening. There was some Ya Ya's, and then there were some Ta Ta's. Apparently the surging mass of tissue that is my chest had pushed it's way forward until the shirt was practically bursting with boob. The worst thing is realizing it part way through dinner, so I couldn't do much about it except smile... and enjoy the great service from the waiters.

Secret to Spin Success

I tried the new spin class at the gym yesterday. It's called "Hard Core Cycling" and led to the unfortunate comment that I was "up for anything with 'hard core' in the title." I think I made some new friends that day.

It was definitely tough. That instructor sure kicked out butts. Just when there was no more resistance to put on the bike, she'd yell for more! And she'd just keep pushing us harder and harder. You know, she never event broke a sweat. Of course, that wasn't too tough since she WASN'T ON A BIKE. That's right, folks, the secret to being a tough aerobics instructor is not to do anything aerobic. We were given the excuse that there was some kind of lower back injury, but I'm sure that it has nothing to do with the extra 40 or so pounds she was packing. I'm not sure what's with the instructors at the gym and their prediliction for curly fries is all about, but it''s not very motivating to do all that work and think, "Gee, maybe I can look like... that?"

Flashbacks

I met up with a friend from law school who is studying for the bar exam right now. Talking to her made me relieved and shocked, all over again, that I had passed. The memories of that horrible, wonderful time came crashing in on me. Horrible because of the feeling of being helpless and overwhelmed with work, all at the same time. Wonderful because I spent every day with the man I loved.

It's such a relief to be finished with studying, and so gratifying to see my name with "Attorney" under it. But sometimes I think I'd like to go back for a day, so I could wake up with him, spend the day with him, laugh with him like we used to. So it's bittersweet. To be where I wanted to be in life, and still second guess my own happiness.

Commencement Speakers

Ok, so I liked Samantha Power's commencement speech at SCU graduation. But... wouldn't it have been cool to have Stephen Colbert?

Oh, well pardon me!

Overworked yet foxy young lawyer: "What was the name of that guy from A Christmas Carol?"
Cynical, frequently-grumpy boss: "Scrooge?"
"No, the other guy, um, Marley."
"Bob Marley?"
"No, Bob Marley is the reggae singer."
"Uh, I believe you mean the reggae legend."

When will it be on QVC?

Anderson Cooper and the mancage.

Homeless

Having received the good news about the bar exam, I immediately gave notice at my apartment complex in the South Bay, in order to make my transition back to Santa Cruz as quick and painless as possible.
Ah, the seaside town of my birth. It calls to me with it's redwood-lined running trails and organic grocery stores. There are enough good coffeehouses in Santa Cruz that you can usually find a quiet corner to relax and almost forget the stink of patchouli from the unwashed hippie sitting next to you.
However, finding a place to live is proving challenging. This task has kept me from practicing writing every day, which was after all, the goal of this site. I'm trying to work on that, and in the meantime, keep your little toes and fingers crossed that I get that 2 bedroom over on the eastside with laundry and - blessed Mother - storage space!