25 Ways to Find Love in San Francisco

lalalovela1. Go to a taqueria and buy a burrito for the person behind you in line.

2. Go to The Mint karaoke bar and sing anything by Neil Diamond. Use the musical break in the middle to tell a story. Someone in the back will notice.

3. Take the N Juda and smile at the first person you see who looks interesting. If he smiles back, follow him home. If he doesn’t get scared when you confront him at his front door, ask him if you can come inside.

4. Pay close attention to the sidewalks. If you pass a house that has a handprint pressed into the concrete outside, check under the blue flowerpot.

5. Give the next ten Uber cabs you order five stars and unlock the special weekend chariot. When it shows up sit in the front seat instead of the back and drink the free water.

6. Go to the De Young and stand in front of a painting you just don’t get. After two hours, look harder. After three, blink three times and scratch your head. After four, begin to feel faint. After five, look around to see if anyone else is seeing this. After six, you’ll begin to understand.

7. Go to any local bookstore and write your name and phone number on page 37 of Tales from the City.

8. Next time you pass a discarded pile of clothes on the street, check the pockets.

9. Memorize a poem, any poem. Get drunk at Vesuvio and and stand up on your stool as you recite it to the whole room. Even if you’re too wasted to get the words right, someone will buy you a shot and ask you where you’re from before the night is over.

10. Go to Bourban and Branch and tell them you have a reservation under Neroda. When you get to the back room find Ricardo and ask him to make you a drink that’s bittersweet. Drink it all, wait for the ice to melt, then finish that too.

11. Bring a red bottle to Blue Bottle Coffee and ask them for a drip. If they can figure out a way to make it work, offer them the first sip.

12. Get a red Sharpie pen and draw a heart on the sleeve of your favorite denim shirt. Keep your eye on the first person who notices. She might be the one.

13. Write your three favorite adjectives on the palm of your hand. Share lunch with the first person who fits two out of three. The third will come with time.

14. Don’t bring your lunch to work. You’ll never find it that way.

15. Go out into the fog and remember that it is only a cloud that has touched the ground. If you happen to bump into someone while wandering through the mist, ask them if they’d like to get lost with you.

16. Wear a scarf. Everyone in San Francisco loves a great scarf.

17. Tell a stranger thank you. When they ask what for, tell them everything.

18. Next time you’re in a crowd, close your eyes and listen. There will be a lot going on but if you wait you’ll hear it. Don’t worry, it’s there.

19. Next time you’re at your local bar draw a picture on a coaster and give it to the bartender as a gift. If he puts it on the wall next to the cash register, keep coming back.

20. Walk home and look in every window you pass. Knock on the door of the house with the best art on the wall or, if you’re shy, just stand outside and enjoy.

21. Give up your seat on the train to someone who is young and healthy and standing. It’s nice to be asked and they are more tired than you know.

22. Go to the ocean. As often as you can. Put your feet in the water, no matter how cold. Never, ever wear shoes on the beach. Whatever you do. That’s just wrong.

23. Find someone who doesn’t speak your language and tell them a secret.

24. Stick your tongue out at a small child with her mother. If she sticks her tongue out back, cross your eyes at her. If she crosses her eyes at you back, let her win. Most young children don’t know how to cross their eyes yet.

25. Smile. Sometimes that’s really all it takes.


It’s-Its are a San Francisco tradition you know?

This is a story, a very short story, about San Francisco and ice cream.

Tonight while I was walking home, I ran into an older man about five buildings down from me, waiting outside with a large box of It’s-Its. Naturally, my eye was caught by this large box and the oh-so-familar simple green writing and picturesque cookie sandwich on the outside, and I smiled because, well, I love It’s-Its. They’re wonderful. And there’s also something silly about them and their name and their oatmeal, ice cream, chocolate simplicity.

So then I’m smiling my soft, happy, sentimental smile and the man obviously catches me. I know this because when I could finally tear my eyes away from the ice cream I looked up and my eyes met his and it was just like when I’m on the train and I’m so obviously checking out someone’s book–trying to read the title or glance over  a shoulder–and the person somehow knows–even though he or she is deep into the reading, the person always knows–and the person looks up, which makes me look up, and then we meet eyes and then, well, I’m caught. It was just like that… only with ice cream. And when this man caught me, he didn’t look back down at his book feeling smug and satisfied. Instead he asked me…

“Would you like an It’s-It?”

Just like that. And then he took an It’s-It out of his box and held it out to me as I walked by. So I said, “Really?” And, he said, “Sure.” And I said, “Thank you, they’re my favorite.” (Even though I’m not sure they really are my favorite, but at that moment, right then they were.) So then he said, “Me too. It’s-Its are a San Francisco tradition you know? I used to always get them at Playland.”

And I didn’t know this. I didn’t know It’s-Its came from San Francisco, even though it’s right there on the wrapper. And I didn’t know what Playland was. And I didn’t know it was a tradition.

So naturally, I asked him about it and he told me there used to be a collection of amusement rides called Playland near Ocean Beach and that this was the only place that sold Its-It’s for the longest time because they were made there. And then his friends buzzed him in and my ice cream was melting (and so was his for that matter) so we both had to go.

But I thanked him again of course and told him to have a good night. Then he told me, “Enjoy the tradition!” and went up the stairs to meet his friends.

It was nice. It was more than nice actually. It was perfect.

It’s been a full couple of weeks. My friend Leslie came to visit and we drove all over the Bay Area to celebrate the 4th and visit old friends. I stopped by my old work and found myself tearing up in the hallways, not really knowing if it was the loss of a certain time of my life or the loss of a wonderful woman who seemed like she’d always be there and suddenly wasn’t. It was probably a bit of both. Some people get so tied to the places they inhabit that they become a part of them. Memory can do that. Either way it was good to visit. After that it was a full work week and back to the city life. Watching people finish books and leave them on trains, eating on rooftops with the girls from work, getting a copy of Gone With the Wind from my neighbor, or listening to people comment on the fog and bring up that same old Mark Twain quote about the coldest winter he ever knew over and over and over again. Then my daddy came and I had him all to myself for a couple of days. We went to The Saloon with my aunt and uncle, which is fast becoming my favorite dive bar and blues club in the city. Toured the neighborhood. Talked about books and work and politics and family over dinners. Saw a ball game with my brother and Jen. And phew, pretty much just had a great time.

I feel odd lately though. Do you ever have this feeling? Just like I should be doing more. Or like there’s something I’m supposed to be doing that I’m not, some potential that I’m not living up to, or some obligation that I’m not fulfilling. It’s an odd nagging feeling, and it’s not necessarily a bad thing, but it is somewhat disconcerting. But then, I’ve always felt this way really. Maybe it’s just that feeling of knowing there’s more ahead, other things to look forward to or look towards.

Ha, or maybe I’m just feeling guilty because I had an ice cream sandwich for dinner.

Either way, the It’s-Its was delightful. And it’s amazing to be in this place where I actually know my neighbors and they give me books, waves, and ice cream on my way home. I mean, wow, that is pretty amazing. I guess sometimes I just feel spoiled. Like I couldn’t possibly deserve all these gifts I’ve been given.

I’ll just have to come up with something to give back I suppose.

What I wouldn’t give for a hoodie, sneakers, and a six-pack of PBR tallboys right about now

I had this weird moment walking home last Friday. It was one of those Fridays where I found myself without plans so I decided to treat myself with a good bottle of wine and a new book. I got off my train at 24th street and bought my nice bottle, but it was getting later, around 7:30ish, and the skies were grey and drizzly. For some reason I felt like wearing heals that morning, so I had my black wedges on (shown above) with my new bright pants. This was all well and good for most of the day, but it really was not the best outfit for walking six city blocks in.

So I have my wine and I start walking home, and I have my music, and I’m in this great mood because it’s Friday in the city. And ya, my feet hurt, but I knew that would happen so I’m just laughing it off and going with it. And then it starts raining, like really raining, not just a drizzle. But I have a coat on and it kind of feels nice and refreshing because it’s not a cold evening, just a wet one, so I go with that too.

And I tend to be a bit of a romantic, so walking home in the rain while listening to Billie Holiday (which was on my iPod) makes me feel kind of great. Like, of course, I should be walking home in the rain right now. Of course, Billie Holiday is on and I’m 28 and it’s summer, and I’m in San Francisco and there are people kissing up against that building over there (there really was) and there are drops of rain running down the side of my face and into my eyes, and people eating in that restaurant, watching me as I walk by shakily yet steadily… And isn’t life so beautiful and real? And aren’t these are the moments that make me feel alive? The little, stupid, silly moments of nothing… and everything… that make me feel sublimely happy for no real reason at all?!

(Yes, I took it there. You might as well know, I always take it there.)

But then the rain kept on coming, harder, and the bag I was carrying got wet on the bottom, so I had to cradle it, which isn’t easy, and I was balancing on my shoes that by now (I was only at 26th street and heading to 30th) I was really slipping on because they are opened toed and wet and ridiculous and completely wrong for this city yet alone this weather. And ya, my feet really fucking hurt. I could feel the blisters forming and I seriously considered taking off my shoes and walking home barefoot in the rain. (That would have been romantic wouldn’t it?) But then I smelled that smell that sometimes comes with a city rain… the smell of stale urine made fresh again….and I decided that no, no walking barefoot on urine-coated streets in the rain would not be romantic. So I walked on.

And you can imagine what I looked like at this point. I was wobbling, I was wet, I was wearing my trendy teal pants that were completely wet and stuck to my legs, I was cradling this bag of wine and cheese that was literally falling apart in my hands, I had my work bag over one arm with my books and laptop in it so I was kind of leaning to one side while I walked, my coat was soaked, my hair was too, and I probably looked like the biggest idiot in this city.

And then this guy walked by…

He was wearing brown chucks, a navy-blue sweatshirt with the hood up, baggy jeans with holes in the knees, and carrying a six-pack of PBR tallboys. Suddenly, I was reminded of everything I used to be.

I use to love my hoodies, my baggy jeans with holes in the knees, I lived in my brown chucks–all worn and dirty and absolutely wonderful. And as for the PBR tallboys… Oh man, that was my go-to good time on Fridays nights. I remember being in college and having no money and no credit, looking in my car for quarters, going to the store and buying my six-pack of PBR tallboys for $1.80. $1.80!!! And I paid in change. Ha, and that’s all I needed for a fun night with my friends. And I’d show up at whatever party was going on in my hoodie, sneakers, and my PBR tallboys and have some of the best times of my life laughing, and drinking, and pretty  much acting like a great big bum while hanging out in someone’s basement sipping on cheap beer and discussing things like books or rap music or the stupid things we all did last weekend and the stupid things we wanted to do next weekend and when we grew up, and when we graduated and got jobs and lives.

Sigh… life was so much simpler back then.

And for a moment it all came back to me, watching this guy happily swing his beers in the rain, sauntering down the street to whatever night he had ahead of him. And I really wanted to trade places, for just a moment, or at least trade shoes, because by then my feet were absolutely killing me and I had slowed down considerably, and if anyone had wanted to attack me, well now would have been the time, while I was wet and vulnerable, and wishing I had a hoodie, sneakers, and a six pack of PBR tallboys.

But I didn’t have those things. I had my black wedges, teal pants from The Gap, my work laptop , a bottle of Three Valley’s Ridge, some fancy cheese from Whole Foods, and my iPod.

Who had I become? I mean, wow, what a dumb bitch. Haha, and I know it’s bad to say such a thing about yourself, but ya, I thought it, and I maybe even deserved it.

But then the next song came on my iPod and it was Stormy Blues. It was the perfect song to limp home in the rain while feeling sorry for yourself to. And I thought of the particular pleasure, the small magic, of having the exactly right perfect song come on your shuffle. How the fact that you’re listening to it on this corporate, branded, iThing doesn’t really matter when the song is just so fucking great.

And I thought, you know, that guy is really missing out on this. Whatever this is.

Whatever that was.

It’s odd the realizations you can come to in one odd walk home. Life changes and so do we. We wear different pants, we walk in different shoes. We drink different drinks. There’s comfort and beauty to be found in torn jeans and tennis shoes and there’s a certain comfort in wedges in the rain too. Even if that comfort is just the familiar feeling of being a total and complete mess.

So no, I didn’t want to trade places. But I’m not going to lie, if he would have asked me, I gladly would have traded shoes.

A Potato Reading Virginia Woolf

Your eyes do not deceive you, that is indeed a potato reading Virginia Woolf. You see potatoes love post-modernism and the stream-of-consciousness style of writing. I do as well. That’s why I bought this custom print from Marc Johns, who will forever hold a special place in my heart.

It Takes a Worried Man to Sing a Worried Song
I’ve been digging on Pete Seeger today. He’s like  Mr. Rodgers with a guitar. Or maybe like that guy who tells everyone to paint happy little clouds. Anyways, he’s pretty amazing. Here he is on the Johnny Cash show:

“You know these old songs, they never really die out. This song is the whole human race!”

This is the song I remember my parents playing as a kid:

Funny how at the time I just thought it was a fun, silly song with boxes and colors. I thought ticky-tacky was a good thing. It was such a silly word and it was so fun to say. As it turns out ticky-tacky is just the man trying to get me down! Once again, I have been disenchanted. But, you know, in a good way.

Strangers’ (Books) on a Train
Tonight on my way home, the passengers of the J train were reading the following:

The Imperfectionists by Tom Rachman 

The Devil in the White City by Eric Larson

Journey to the Center of the Earth by Jules Verne

The Imperfectionists really wasn’t too great in my opinion, but only because I really wanted it to be great and it let me down. Sometimes I think the idea of a book is better than the actual book. (You can read my whole Goodreads review here.) The Devil in the White City sounded cool–murders and the World’s Fair. Okay, sounds cool, I’ll bite. And I’ve never read Journey to the Center of the Earth but I absolutely loved the cheesy movie they made us watch in grade school.

And okay, since I’m YouTube happy today, I have to embed the old trailer:

Oh man, that takes me back. How glorious. There’s something completely wonderful about old movie trailers.

Time Does Not Exist. I Ate It.
I’m still reading The Broom of the System by David Foster Wallace and it’s still wonderful. Below is a selection that had me laughing out loud the other night. I should have shortened it up for you but I had a hard time stopping myself. (I guess I’m not the only one.)

“Didn’t I say to look at me? Can’t you tell what I am? Listen to me very carefully. I am an obese, grotesque, prodigal, greedy, gourmandizing, gluttonous pig. Is this not clear? I am more hog than human. There is room, physical room, for you in my stomach. Do you hear? You see before you a swine. An eating fiend of unlimited capacity. Bring me meat.”

“Have you not eaten in a very long time? Is that it?”

“Look, you’re beginning to bother me. I could bludgeon you with my belly. I am also, allow me to tell you, more than a little well-to-do. Do  you see that Building over there, the one with the lit windows, in the shadow? I own that Building. I could buy this restaurant and have you terminated. I could and perhaps will buy this entire block, including that symbolically tiny Weight Watchers establishment across the street. See it? With the door and windows so positioned as to form a grinning, leering, hollow-cheeked face? It is within my financial power to busy that place, and to fill it with steaks, fill it with red steak, all of which I would and will eat. The door would under this scenario be jammed with gnawed bone; not a single little smug psalm-singing bagging-skinned apostate from the cause of adiposity would be able to enter. They would pound on the door, pound. But the door would hold. They’d lack the build to burst through. Their mouths and eyes would be wide as they pressed against the glass. I would demolish, physically crush the huge scale at the end of the brightly lit nave at the back of the place under a weight of food. The springs would jut out. Jut. What a delicious series of thoughts. May I see a wine list?”

“‘Weight Watchers?”

“Garcon, what you have before you is a dangerous thing, I warn you. Human beings act in their own interest. Huge, crazed swine, do not. My wife informed me a certain time-interval ago that if I did not lose weight, she would leave me. I have not lost weight, as a matter of fact I have gained weight, and thus she is leaving. Q.E.D. And A-1, don’t forget the A-1.”

“But sir, surely with more time…” 

“There is no more time. Time does not exist. I ate it. It’s in here, see? See the jiggle? That’s time, jiggling. Run, run away, fetch me my platter of fat, my nine cattle, or I’ll envelop you in a chin and fling you at the wall!”

“Shall I fetch the maitre d’, sir? To confer?

“By all means, fetch him. But warn him against getting too close. He will be encompassed instantly, before he has time to squeak. Tonight I will eat. Hugely, and alone. For I am now hugely alone. I will eat, and juice might very well spurt into the air around me, and if anyone comes too near, I will snarl and jab at them with my fork–like this, see?”

“Sir, really!”

“Run for your very life. Fetch something to placate me. I’m going to grow and grow, and fill the absence that surrounds me with my own gelantinous presence. Yin and Yang. Ever growing, waiter. Run!”

“Right away, sir!”

“Some breadsticks might have been nice, too, do you hear? What kind of place is this, anyway?”

Every Night (When the Sun Goes In)

I stumbled across this song tonight and fell in love. It’s so beautiful and sad and slow. It makes me want to melt somehow.

And I don’t even know what I mean by that.

So yes, I know I said I’d write in here every day and I kind of did not do that at all. So um… ya, oops. Sorry about that. But really, I should have been more clear. When I said, “every day” I didn’t mean every day so much as “quite often.”

Magical Book Moment Number 1,397

The other day while taking the train home a guy was sitting next to me reading Sacre Bleu by Christopher Moore. He was really close to the end and he ended up finishing it after about six stops, after which he looked around in that wonderful dazed way people always look when they are coming out of a good book. But then he suddenly looked lost. Like he didn’t know where he was at all. I dunno, there was something really confused about him and he started tapping his closed book against his palm. Then he looked out the window. He looked around the train car. He looked at me. (I was reading my own book). He looked down at my book. He looked at all the other people on the train. And I did too because I was kind of following his looks by this point, trying to find out what he was looking for. And almost everyone on the train was reading , looking down at their own page or device. So then at the next stop the guy gets up, takes one final look around, then leaves his book on his seat and gets off. I think he was looking for someone to leave his book with, but everyone else was reading so he just left it on the train. I had my own book so I didn’t pick it up. And I’m not a huge Christopher Moore fan so I felt like I should leave it for someone else. But it was nice. It reminded me of how finding books can be somewhat serendipitous, and that there’s this whole life to a book and how it’s traveled that you don’t even know about when you read it. How even the book doesn’t tell the whole story.

Things I Like (More For the List)

When you’re in the backseat of a car and you catch the eye of someone else sitting in the backseat of a car and you just kind of both look at each other for a while. You’re in the same position, moving in the same direction, but somehow in two totally different worlds going to two totally different places.

How whenever I go to the beach there is always a group of kids, no matter how warm or how cold it is, playing in the waves with all of their clothes on (jeans, t-shirts, all of it) while screaming and laughing and not caring about anything at all.

Melted Witches All Over San Francisco?

I’ve been noticing this for a while but lately even more than usual… There are always piles of clothes on the streets of this city. Why are these clothes there? Where do they come from? And often they will be whole outfits. A sweater, a shirt, pants, and shoes. It’s so odd and they always remind me of the part in The Wizard of Oz, where the witch melts and after she’s gone all that’s left is a pile of her cloths, her broom, and some green smoke. What if people are going around melting witches all over San Francisco and stealing their brooms? That’s a lot of melted witches. And yes, I know that’s not the answer, but it makes me wonder even more where these piles come from. I suspect that they are offerings just like the book the guy left behind on the train–that people don’t want these clothes anymore so they leave them behind for someone else to pick up.

People are always leaving things for other people. I like that too.

The Wonders of Life

“Beauty plus pity—that is the closest we can get to a definition of art. Where there is beauty there is pity for the simple reason that beauty must die; beauty always dies, the manner dies with the matter, the world dies with the individual.” -Vladamir Nabokov

This quote doesn’t have to do with much in my life right now but I think it’s pretty and true and a little bit sad so I included it. The picture is City of Books by Ma Chevrette—a print I got off her etsy the other week. I think it has a lot to do with my life right now. But then, books and art always do. And a city made out of books? Well, that’s just too perfect.

I wonder if she pitied the books when she turned them into buildings. And I wonder if she pitied the buildings after she created them.

But I’m feeling oddly poetic and a little dreamy at the moment so I’m wondering a lot of things.


This is a picture of my car with a missing tire:

No tire

Ha, with a missing tire. As opposed to, without a tire. I don’t know why I chose to say it in just that way, but it goes to show that when you lose something you gain something. I may have lost a tire but I gained a missing tire. And a story to tell. An old friend of mine once said, “Isn’t that what life is all about? Having stories to tell?” I’ve always remembered it.

This particular story is simple:

I woke up.

I walked to my car.

It had a missing tire.

It had a missing rim as well.

I put on my spare tire and drove to the shop.

I got two new tires and a rim.

Now I park my car closer to my apartment.

The end.

Ha, it’s a cautionary tale I suppose. Don’t park your car next to shady characters. Wasn’t it just a few posts back when I was talking about how excited I was to find a good place to park my car? I think I may have even used the words shady characters. Ooops. If I was capable of reading my own life the way I read a novel, I might have been smart enough to see that one coming. It’s such obvious foreshadowing.


I went to the symphony with my good friends Laurie and Scott. I’ve never been to the symphony before and I’m not the most knowledgeable person when it comes to classical music but it it was wonderful. It makes a big difference when you’re there and experiencing the music live, when you’re surrounded by it, and with other people.

Scott told me how the main violin player, essentially the first violin, of the San Francisco symphony gets to play this violin that the symphony owns that’s over 300 years old. Could you imagine? Playing something with such a history? And having something that was built in such a real and lasting way that it survives 300 years of existence? And not just any existence, actual use? That kind of stuff just blows my mind.

I have to say, going to the symphony for the first time felt like how I imagine some people must feel going to a baseball game for the first time. (There is so much history there–in the building, with each player, instrument, composer, each sound and note, and even the owners and operators. It’s just like baseball…only it’s so much older.) So yes, I loved it.


I’ve been running more lately and, even though I try to look up and take in my surroundings, I tend to run with my head down. (I’ve always done this–spaced out and looked at my own feet when I’m running or walking. I feel like half of my day is spent reminding myself to look around me instead of just watching where I’m going.) But it was during one of my city runs, with my head down, looking at my own feet, that I started to notice all the messages people had drawn into the sidewalks.

There are a ton of messages and art and hands and pictures and just random stuff drawn into the concrete on the sidewalks of San Francisco. The first thing that really made me take notice was the scene above. The Wonders of Life. I mean, come on, how can anyone with even an ounce of romance in their soul not find that completely delightful? They even drew a sun, and stars, and flowers. Clouds and birds. Very nicely done.

So yes, I started a tumblr: http://somethingconcrete.tumblr.com/. Thanks to one of the many wonders of life, new technology, if I happen to find a fun message or picture drawn into the concrete I can snap a picture and post it right away.


I’ve been watching the Ken Burn’s documentary on jazz. In addition to listening to Louis Armstrong and The Hot Five all weekend, I’ve been obsessing over this quote from Sidney Bichet:

Whatever kind of thing it was, whenever it happened, the music put it together…What it is that takes you out of being just a kid and thinking it’s all adventure, and you find there’s a lesson underneath all that adventure–that lesson, it’s the music. You come into life alone and you go out of it alone, and you’re going to be alone a lot of time when you’re on this earth–and what tells it all, it’s the music. You tell it to the music and the music tells it to you. And then you know about it. You know what it was happened to you.

There’s so much that’s beautiful and perfect in that.

One of the men in the documentary was talking about Louis Armstrong and described genius as the ability to hear something that isn’t there, something that doesn’t exist, something that nobody else can hear. Louis Armstrong heard a sound that didn’t exist, and then he made that sound. It’s incredible when you really think about it. Reminds of how Galileo saw stars nobody else could but it’s more than that. It’s not just seeing stars nobody else can see. It’s creating those stars. It’s constructing realities. Whole new sounds and ways of hearing. It’s changing the world. It’s the stuff you talk about when you’re young and up late at night, drunk and a little crazy with ideas and learning and loving and making mistakes. It’s genius.

My brother once told me that music is freedom. I’m sure he wasn’t the first one to say it, but it was the first time I listened. I’ve always remembered that too.


Despite the fact that he looks sweet and innocent while napping in the sun, Rupert is now a full-blown killer. He kills birds and mice and tortures them. And he gets very upset when I won’t let him into the house with his new toys. One night last week he stood outside my back door meowing this creepy meOOOOooowwphfff, that was really him trying to meow with a huge mouse in his mouth. That was actually kind of cute. You know, in that meowing with a huge dead mouse in your mouth sort of way.

He is averaging one kill a week.

Earlier this week I got home and a bloody wing was sitting on my back porch in front of the door. I don’t want to know what that’s foreshadowing. Sometimes these silly things happen and it seems like such an obvious symbol that it’s hard to remember that in the real world a bloody wing doesn’t mean anything other than my cat killed a bird.

I’m totally using that in a story some day though. And then it will be symbolic of broken dreams or, I dunno, destroyed innocence or something like that.


I went to SFMOMA again, not this weekend but the last, and there’s a new installment by Klara Kristalova that I really liked. She works with ceramics and her pieces play on different fairy tale and folktale traditions. Some are more whimsical while others are more creepy.  I really like her style though. It’s childlike and rough and that’s exactly why it works. Here’s a sample:

Kind of different for me, but I like it. The pictures don’t do her justice, so if you’re in SF and get a chance you should check it out.


My friend Victoria had her first Banned by the Bay event for Banned Book Week today. It was a great kickoff at the San Francisco library and I’m stoked for the rest of the week.

So there’s more fun to come. More adventures to be had. (And under the adventures, lessons to learn.) Ha, all the wonders of life–300 year-old violins, a bloodied bird’s wing, ceramic owl heads, and a city of books.

There are so many beautiful things to pity these days.

(heartfelt sigh goes here)