24 May 2004
Homogenized, Like Milk
I grew up in Bakersfield, one of the more consistently conservative communities in California. I don't think I ever met any Democrats while I was growing up. "Democrat" might as well have meant "leprechaun" or "sasquatch". Literally everyone I knew voted Republican, parroted the Republican party line, and referred to liberals as "fascists". As any anthropologist knows, it's natural to simply adopt the popular beliefs of your local community and shun any deviant beliefs, because this helps maintain the community's coherence and prevent infighting.
But although I always had liberal tendencies, I wasn't as bugged by the conservativism in Bakersfield as I was by that herd mentality. If you don't critically examine your inherited lifestyle, how do you know whether it can stand up to criticism? If you've never had to defend your views, how do you know they're defensible? If haven't spent time with people who think differently than you do, then how do you know they're not just as intelligent and worthy of respect as you are?
So in Bakersfield, you're a Republican if you don't want to be ostricized, and you agree that Democrats are, without exception, stupid and evil. Any other point of view is simply out of the question, not worth considering. So you make cruel jokes about liberals and say how they should all be taken out behind the wood shed and shot with a 12-gauge.
Now try this: Replace "Bakersfield" with "San Francisco", "Republican" with "Democrat" and vice versa, "liberals" with "conservatives", and "shot with a 12-gauge" with "bludgeoned with a four-foot glass bong". That's the environment in which I now live. There's still one and only one acceptable political stance and little tolerance for any others—it just happens to be the opposite of the one I grew up with. It's easiest to simply agree with your neighbors, and say terrible things about people you've never met. "We" are always right, and "they" are always wrong. "They" are causing all the problems. "They" suck!
If only life were that simple. But it's not. So now I have to confess to having a few conservative values, including these:
- It's good to have the right to keep and carry firearms.
- Sometimes it's a good idea to go to war. Examples include the American Revolution and World War II.
- Even hippies ought to bathe regularly.
Now, before you lynch me from the Golden Gate Bridge, you should know that I voted for Ralph Nader and Matt Gonzalez. I'm pretty stinking liberal. But lately I've begun to wonder: Am I giving fair consideration to diverse points of view? I'm not sure! A few years ago, my Libertarian friends helpfully provided cogent conservative opinions that kept me politically well-rounded. But most of them have moved away, and I find myself immersed in a fairly homogeneous crowd. Without diversity, it's easy to simply congratulate ourselves for being right, without having asked, "How do we know we're right?"
24 May 2004
My Bike Has A Name
Lots of people like to name their vehicles. I've never had one that seemed worthy of a name, until now. My awesome new bicycle has too much personality to go nameless. So after much thought, here is the name that I have chosen for my bike: Magma Lou Gonzalez.
Magma. I recently returned from Hawaii with the inexplicable notion that the word "magma" is really kind of pretty. It's feminine, because it ends in an "A", and it refers to an unstoppable force that compels puny mortals to flee before it. I failed to persuade Colby that he ought to give this name to his forthcoming child, and I hate to see it go to waste.
Lou. Most girl-names are somehow a little cuter when followed by "Lou" or "Rae" or "Jean" or somesuch.
Gonzalez. An homage to my fake boyfriend, President of the San Francisco Board of Supervisors Matt Gonzalez. Anyone got any leftover "Matt for Mayor" stickers that I can put on my bike?
19 May 2004
Gojira
We've all seen the movie Godzilla. It's cheesy and quaint, good for a laugh but not especially interesting. Actually, it turns out that's just the stinky remains of Godzilla after Hollywood devoured it, pooped it out, and sold tickets to it.
A newly-restored and subtitled print of the original Godzilla has been playing at The Castro. It's actually a serious, sophisticated, provocative movie! It's very frank about post-WWII anxiety in Japan. Hiroshima and Nagasaki are fresh memories to both the young and the old, and their aftermath dogs the country. One character laments that, as if the radioactive tuna and the black rain weren't enough, the H-bomb has also set loose a really cranky, city-smashing lizard that refuses to fuck off! Did we survive Nagasaki only to be crushed under Godzilla's scaley foot? Should the lizard be captured and studied for science, or should we just blow it up and be done? If we use our hitherto-secret "Oxygen Destroyer" technology to kill Godzilla, won't we also unleash a terrible new weapon on the world, much like the H-bomb? Who gets to decide? All of these crucial plot elements were removed from the American release. Can you guess why?
The citizens of Tokyo all have strong feelings about these questions! And amid all the terror and the heated debates, some of them change their minds before the end. Who knew that Godzilla was such a tight, thought-provoking story? The original ending is surprisingly emotionally engaging. And really, the special effects are pretty great by 1954 standards. Or maybe they just look more convincing on the big screen.
17 May 2004
The Best Bike Ever!
This weekend I bought my new fancy-ass bike, and boy is it a sweet ride! I thought carefully and did a lot of research before settling on this model, and it's paying off. This new bike will keep me mobile and happy for years.
I bought my old bike seven years ago, and chose it fairly carelessly. It was a cheap but nice-looking mountain bike, and I thought I wanted to go mountain-biking. It turns out that I don't like mountain-biking at all! Nevertheless, that bike was a sturdy workhorse that served me well in my travels around San Francisco.
This new bike is a whole different scene. First, I opted for a city bike because it's got faster tires and has a classic style. I also chose the girly-style frame because (a) I've started wearing skirts regularly in the last few years and (b) I'm hoping that bike-thieves are too macho to be seen riding a woman's bike. And finally, my daily biking habit and total lack of car-related expenses allowed me to justify springing for the most featureful city-bike I could find. Check out the bling bling:
- dynamo-powered head- and tail-lights
This is totally Amsterdam-style, but extra-high-tech. The dynamo is sealed inside the front wheel hub, silent, low-resistence, and safe from weather. The tail-light stays lit for a minute or so after you stop, so that you remain visible while waiting at red lights. And there's a sensor that detects when it's dark and automatically activates the dynamo. I tested the sensor this morning by riding through the Broadway Tunnel, and indeed it's smart!
- ring lock
Also Amsterdam-style, this locks the rear wheel so that the bike can't be ridden. It's not ultra-secure, of course, but it's handy for when I need to turn my back on my bike for just a minute.
- suspension on the front fork and the seatpost
Oh, was that a pothole I just hit? A pigeon maybe? I didn't notice.
- built-in fenders and cargo rack
Having these integrated with the bike makes them lighter and less inclined to rattle.
- internal wheel hub gears
The gears aren't visible at all; they're somehow inside the rear wheel hub. That means they never need to be cleaned or re-lubricated, which is great for lazy girls like me.
- chain guard
Now I don't have to wear a dorky velcro strap on my ankle to prevent the front cog from tearing up the hem of my pants!
It's got some other fancy bells and whistles too, but those are the main highlights. Kudos to the brilliant Joe Breeze for designing the Best Bike Ever! I'm completely psyched about it. Now I just need to pimp my ride, which in this case means giving it some street cred and making it slightly less eye-catching to thieves. A little dirt, some rude stickers, and I should be all set.
16 May 2004
Documentary Fest
I love movies. I especially love documentaries. In just a couple of hours, you can digest a lot of information about some odd topic or other, a real life topic, but with all the personal details and style of a drama: the demeanors of the people affected, the sights and sounds of their milieu, the music and editing that reflect the director's response, and more. This weekend is the San Francisco Documentary Film Festival. Yay!
I bought myself a five-movie pass (some of the five were shown with additional short films) and saw these:
- Black Hair (short)
In the Q&A session following this film, the director noted that our mostly-Caucasian audience reacted much differently than the mostly-African-American audience to which he'd previously screened it. Whereas they reacted with outrage and thanked him for enlightening them to their economic exploitation, our audience mostly asked, "Why didn't you capture more of the Koreans' perspective?"
- Trading With The Enemy
This guy is a homely dork, but in Cuba he's the man! He spends about $400 on Cuban cigars, smuggles them back to the States, and sells them for $4400. Cha ching! And while he's in Havana, he samples lots of beer and hookers.
- Plagues and Pleasures on the Salton Sea
Ecology is hard! Meanwhile, you can buy an undeveloped lot in Salton City for $3500 or a waterfront home for $20,000—if you can stand the smell. This one reminded me why I like Northern California so much. Also the director is cute.
- Keep the Change (short)
New York can show you that maybe it was nicer back home in Mexico.
- Alone Across Australia
This one is really fascinating, exciting, and heartbreaking, by far the most powerful movie I saw in this festival. One stunning scene had me and many others in the audience in tears. I'd like to read the book, but so far it's only available in Australia.
- In The Shoes of The Dragon
This one is only mildly interesting, but the protagonist is a likeable person.
- I'm Dead After Work (short)
Just some short scenes of a man who works at an animal crematorium and lives alone in a trailer with his cat. Every night, he slices lemons. Every day, he keeps lemon slices in his mouth while he pushes dead pets into the incinerator.
- Starlet (short)
The struggling actresses in this film think they're interviewing for a part in a film, but actually the interviews are the film. The results is a series of monologues about what it's like in the Hollywoood rat race.
- Kosher Cop (short)
A Stanford (Boo! Go Bears!) film student's first project, in black and white, the only film in the festival that was shot on actual celluloid, analog-style. We follow an Orthodox rabbi as he "kosherizes" various objects around Berkeley.
- Dirty Work
People are weird. Some of them genuinely love pumping septic tanks, collecting bull-semen, or embalming corpses.
In other movie-thoughts: As expected, Troy is pretty lame, yet sexy. I think Brad Pitt is now too beefy for my taste and has a monkey-face whenever he's not smiling. That Orlando Bloom sure is a tasty slice of boy-cake! Too bad about his acting. Nevertheless, I'm entirely in favor of any movie featuring hot men wearing masculine skirts. San Francisco metrosexuals regularly wear these, but now Brad Pitt predicts that man-skirts will become a more popular trend as a result of this movie. On that basis alone, I give this movie a thumbs-up.
14 May 2004
World Sausages
Last night, after our twice-weekly yoga workout at Gold's Gym, Paul and I had dinner at the newly-opened World Sausages, on Market at 14th where Cafe Cuvee used to be. I recognized one of the partners because he used to work at Rosamunde, so I asked him whether the two restaurants are related. They're not; he'd been planning to buy Rosamunde and "make some changes", but the owner decided not to sell. World Sausage is a new, separate business, and Paul and I were both impressed.
The sausages, from the Sonoma Sausage Company, can be had with or without a bun, with more topping options and sides than Rosamunde (though, sadly, no beef chili). I ordered a green salad that came with a wonderful, tangy dressing, so tasty that Paul decided to order one for himself. Our sausages were a little slow in coming, so the owner treated us to a sample of a new chicken, cheese, and tequila sausage that wasn't on the menu. Yum! Paul had the vegetarian kielbasa and I had the Hawaiian Portuguese (no bun), and we debated whether the owner is gay or merely Quebecois.
I'll definitely be hitting World Sausage whenever I pass by. It's fierce competition for Rosamunde, which previously had a monopoly on grilled sausages. But since Rosamunde is right around the corner from my house, I'm sure it'll continue to be a staple for me.
Meanwhile, my birthday was on Wednesday. I sure have some swell pals! They took me to Axum, one of my other favorite neighborhood restaurants, and then to Mitchell's for ice cream. Then we all retired to my place for fun conversation and shots of Dimple Pinch. We were up way too late for a school night, but that's what birthdays are for, eh?
Unfortunately, my bicycle met with some misfortune that day. The bike racks at work are woefully overcrowded, such that the bikes are all crammed together in a thick tangle. This creates some frustration. Wednesday night, when I went out to retrieve my bike, I found its rear wheel wildly bent. The force required to bend it this way is too great to be accidental. I suspect an incident of bike rack rage, with my bike the unfortunate victim.
I don't notice how attached I am to my bike until it's out of commission. Muni is okay I guess, but it doesn't offer as much freedom, exercise, or sheer pleasure as a bike does. Fortunately, it happens that I was planning to give my old bike away and buy myself a really spiffy new bike anyway! Tonight I'll visit REI and see whether they have it in the size and color that I want. If not, I'll just have to order it and spend another week or so riding the slow, lurching bus.
10 May 2004
Gavin-Spotting
Tonight, having dinner with Erin at Gaylord, I saw Gavin Newsom holding a large dinner-meeting. I can confirm that he looks just as android-like in person as he does in photos. If you find yourself in need of a skin graft, I suggest sending ninjas to steal some of Gavin's synthetic skin while he sleeps. He'll just regenerate some more before morning anyway. But beware: he appears to have some very studly bodyguards.
5 May 2004
What Are You Staring At??
The pictures from my photo shoot with Brent are now ready. Man, it's hard to look at myself sometimes. Brent kindly allowed me to veto the ones that I really couldn't stand, which turned out to be many. These days, I don't mind so much that I'm a big dork; I just prefer to minimize the durable evidence of my dorkiness!
This one is my absolute favorite. What does this say about me?
- I think canned pork brains are hilarious.
- I don't take myself too seriously. Or, that's what I want you to think!
- Barbara Walters taught me that women look younger in soft focus.
- I prefer pictures where I'm smiling but not exposing my gums like a donkey.
4 May 2004
Go Ahead, Stab Me!
Returning from a vacation makes me feel fresh and new, and that's a good time for more new stuff. For a long time, I'd been meaning to get my ear-piercings revamped; my jewelry was all mismatched, and I had a conch piercing on the right ear but not on the left. I prefer symmetry. And since my birthday is approaching and I have the day off, this seemed like a great time to treat myself to some new body-decor.
Body Manipulations is widely regarded as one of the very best piercing shops around. They only buy the highest-quality jewelry and hire badass piercers. Today I was in luck: white gold captive bead rings were half price, making them marginally affordable. Yes, it was time to ditch the cheap stainless steel and buy something nice! I picked out three pairs with the help of Eldo, the metals expert at the front counter.
"You're lucky, Renzo will be piercing you today," Eldo told me, pulling out a portfolio full of sharp photographs of beautiful, complex piercings: double industrials interlocking with tragus rings, triple navels, configurations I'd never have imagined, all of them perfectly placed and healed. "We saw his portfolio and hired Renzo on the spot, out of North Carolina," said Eldo.
It was my turn, and Renzo turned out to be a sexy Central American boy with dreadlocks, gorgeous tattoos, and a perfectionist streak. He's also a fine salesman and he buttered me up right away: "You have beautiful ears.... Wow, you picked the white gold, it's such a pleasure to work with really fine jewelry. This is going to look great with your red hair!" I smirked while he deftly swapped my five existing pieces for the new ones.
"You're very relaxed," he whispered.
"No I'm not. See? My feet are wiggling! I'm anticipating the pain."
"That's the best part. The anticipation."
I still needed a new hole in my left ear. It was time to lie back and take a deep breath. Renzo had my ear firmly between his fingers and instructed me to exhale slowly, slowly. The needle slipped easily through the cartilage with a soft snap sound, painfully elegant.
Without thinking, I sighed, "Oh! Yeah," then clapped my mouth shut, embarassed. Isn't that a great example of feminine conditioning against expressing sensual pleasure? I didn't want him to know I enjoyed it, because that would make me a bad woman! Apparently I'm not as liberated as I like to think I am.
On the bus ride home, my fresh wound began to burn with a sharp ache. I felt proud: I had paid a hot boy to skewer me with metal, and I didn't even wince! I am FIERCE! An old Asian woman was sitting next to me, and soon I noticed that she was crying. I peered shyly at her and she smiled wistfully. As I reached my stop, I squeezed her arm. She took my hand, smiled more brightly at me, and said something I couldn't understand that seemed to mean, "Thank you, I'll be all right." You and me both, sister!
It had been three years since my last piercing. I'd forgotten how thrilling it is, how it unleashes a torrid flood of adrenalin. It's a harmless little thrill, like roller coasters or skydiving, only you get to walk away with lovely new ornaments. The burning ache has subsided, the redness has faded, and I shake my head to hear my new rings go plink plink.
2 May 2004
Floppy and Spent
I woke up on the floor of Jim's hotel room, thinking, "Wow, I had a lot to drink last night." A total of six friends were crashing in that room, some on the queen bed and some on the floor. My head and neck ached. I dragged myself out of the tangled blanket, brushed my teeth, and headed out in search of breakfast. I was still sandy, wearing my bikini and a long skirt. At the fancy hotel buffet, they told me to go put on a shirt. Now, what kind of a place is that, that doesn't let shirtless women in?
At any rate, I found my shirt, then found my friends already breakfasting, all of them as hung-over as I was. We painstakingly reconstructed the events of the previous evening with our collective fragments of hazy memory. Pete wanted to know, "How did my pants get all wet?" Sonic didn't know, until Caleb reminded her that she had stolen them from Pete after he stumbled into the ocean, then swung them around her head screaming, "I got yer pants!" We recalled heckling the musicians in the hotel bar, then ordering room service delivered to the bar after last call. We speculated that it must have been 3am or later when we finally passed out in various hotel rooms.
Given the toll that our festivities had taken, we did absolutely nothing today. We all lounged by the pool, occasionally taking a dip, ordering fruity cocktails, reading, napping, and recovering. The climax consisted of a very fine dinner: stunning red wine, sashimi appetizers, filet mignon, a front-row view of the sunset, and finally a pot of Earl Grey tea. By this time, many of our friends had left the island, and the rest of us were leaving the next day. We said our goodbyes after dinner, then turned in early.
After ten spectacular days of beauty, leisure, and the company of delightful friends, I'm absolutely ready to go home. I miss my city. I miss my bicycle and my gym. I miss my local friends. I especially miss my cat-friend and the bed we share. Paradise is everything it's cracked up to be, but home is even better!
1 May 2004
Volcanoes, and A Wedding
I actually thought I had had the maximum fun that was possible on this vacation, and that today it would begin winding down. But no! This was the fullest, most delightful day yet.
Lamont dragged me out of bed early (8am!) so that we could drive down to the Hawaii Volcanoes National Park and try to see some lava. Alas, the only flowing lava today required a ten-mile hike for which we did not have time. We were happy to settle for a tour of various steam vents, craters, and exhibits. Satoshi put his geology degree to good use by providing us with educational facts about the formation of these islands and about volcanic activity. We had lunch at the farmers' market in Hilo before showering and dressing for the wedding.
At the Hapuna Beach Prince Hotel, we found our friends. That place is super-swank! We congregated at the poolside bar before streaming down to the beach for the ceremony, many of us carrying our mai tais and our margaritas. This was possibly the shortest and most beautiful ceremony I've ever seen. The bride and groom exchanged their very special vows, were declared man and wife, and everyone walked back to the bar as the sun was setting over the sea.
Like any good wedding reception, this one quickly degenerated into a drunken festival of hilarity. Frank, Cutter, and Kendal were all thrown into the pool, though I believe Frank actually jumped in willingly. Someone made a pipe out of an apple. Frank and I ran screaming through the service corridor.
The rest of the evening is pretty hazy, but I distinctly recall one unbeatably wonderful moment: skinnydipping in warm, gentle ocean waves, late at night, under a full moon, with five other drunken pals. I'm pretty sure it was Sonic who yanked off my swimsuit! Eventually, hotel security appeared on the beach with flashlights—not to tell us to put our clothes on, but to gently request that we please stop squealing. That swim will put a grin on my face every time I remember it.