People keep pressing their faces up against the glass but there's not a darned thing I can do about it.
But a college life is only days & hours & dollars from its death, so it's time to worry about new windows & new noses.
Besides, what does it say about me that:
1) I want to spend thousands of US dollars on a bicycle, &
2) I worry that immediately upon leaving said bicycle locked up in front of any building that it will go missing?
02 December 2009
16 November 2009
A Confession (& Hello to EAR)
Consider this my plea.
It is not a very long bicycle ride from Dolores Park to Lyon & Fell. It is, however, uphill.
So we rode, Trevor & Clint & I, churning pedals & grinding gears.
"Don't get caught in the tracks again!" He says as we cross over the railroad.
Trevor & I, side by side, climbing up Church Street. & on Church, a pigeon (either brave or unintelligent) saw his life flash before his beady eyes.
In my defense, Trevor swerved to hit him. & was unsuccessful. He only directed the poor bird into my tire's trajectory.
I would love to say, "It all happened so fast," but this would be untruthful. Still climbing uphill, I also twisted the bike, with my aim to avoid the hapless pigeon. Rubber. Feathers. Vertebrae. Asphalt.
In one unfortunate spin of a tire, his day was over. On pigeonesque swivels, we turned our heads back to survey the street. A little flapping. Less flapping. & then none.
So I may not be a popular man in this liberal City, where animals outnumber children on most days. But let the records show that this vehicular slaughter was anything but voluntary.
It is not a very long bicycle ride from Dolores Park to Lyon & Fell. It is, however, uphill.
So we rode, Trevor & Clint & I, churning pedals & grinding gears.
"Don't get caught in the tracks again!" He says as we cross over the railroad.
Trevor & I, side by side, climbing up Church Street. & on Church, a pigeon (either brave or unintelligent) saw his life flash before his beady eyes.
In my defense, Trevor swerved to hit him. & was unsuccessful. He only directed the poor bird into my tire's trajectory.
I would love to say, "It all happened so fast," but this would be untruthful. Still climbing uphill, I also twisted the bike, with my aim to avoid the hapless pigeon. Rubber. Feathers. Vertebrae. Asphalt.
In one unfortunate spin of a tire, his day was over. On pigeonesque swivels, we turned our heads back to survey the street. A little flapping. Less flapping. & then none.
So I may not be a popular man in this liberal City, where animals outnumber children on most days. But let the records show that this vehicular slaughter was anything but voluntary.
01 November 2009
Why do the Clippers have to be so lousy?
I used to have a whole stinking blog dedicated to my fandom of the worst pro basketball team in the country. That got too depressing, but I still think the question should be raised: What makes the Clippers so consistently bad, year after year after year after year...?
If you don't care for the city of Los Angeles (the Clippers share an arena with the Lakers) or competitive team sports or overpaid athletes (the 15 players on the Clippers make over $59 million this season), then please close this window. I'm just saying....
If you don't care for the city of Los Angeles (the Clippers share an arena with the Lakers) or competitive team sports or overpaid athletes (the 15 players on the Clippers make over $59 million this season), then please close this window. I'm just saying....
21 October 2009
Overdue for a
Of all the life-altering, heart-warping, & soul-squishing encounters I've had in the City, I find it cruel that I choose to rant about the my living accommodations. Maybe the whole lot is all too weighty to be pooped out in digital text on blogger.com
"Blog more, you'll be glad you did" sounds cute enough, but I think the best reflection and processing of this semester is to be had over a beer (or three) or in a cramped Mexican restaurant, where we can at least have the option of making eye contact & you can hear the wavering of my voice when I tell you how much I don't know about Being, Humans.
So, I will tease my three readers (& two followers) with the following nuggets, before proceeding onto the ever-shrinking patch of carpet between my desk and our bunkbed:
1. Working in public health is about as unglamorous as it gets for people at the post-doctoral, post-master's level. A favorite task has been to corner employees of San Francisco General Hospital—who could clearly be earning a killing at other medical facilities—& to ask them why they do what they do, where they do it. You would be surprised how quickly people light up when you ask them about their work.
2. If people change, it is a very slow & delicate process.
3. Jesus is still important.
4. If your favorite possession is a quilt your mother made for you, tell her so.
Now that that's out of the way, I can freely restore this blog to its function: complaining about my tiny room.
Fall Holiday came (thanks, Christopher Columbus) & we went camping. & hiking. & typhoon-dodging. Wednesday meant another day at the (unpaid) internship. Eight hours out of the house during which my tall, white roommate decided to clean the room. & change his sheets for the first time. (I'll change mine soon.)
I doubt I mentioned publicly the seven-foot climb from seabarf green carpet up to my dirty bunked mattress. 45 consecutive nights of jumping, clawing, & praying that I wouldn't fall out of bed. Lord knows the floorboards in this house couldn't withstand my hairy body plummeting from the attic, if I did roll out.
Back to Wednesday. After a long day at the internship, & a frustrating bus ride home (see Teasing Nugget #2, above), I hiked upstairs onto the set of Extreme Room Makeover. The seabarf carpet's color and consistency stayed unchanged, but there was more of it; literally square yards of floor were visible between the front door and the fire escape window. Our beds were made up, & in an act of pure selflessness, Nate had swapped our mattresses. No longer do I have to pull out the trampoline to get into bed. I can now climb out of my covers and feel the balls of my feet touch the ground. Thanks, Nate.
The beds made, carpet vaccuumed, & even the surfaces of our desks organized, I peered into the bathroom. The characteristic stench remained, but the familiar snarls of body hair & toilet paper were distant memories. My roommate CLEANED HOUSE!
Fast forward five days & a hundred "Let's-keep-it-this-clean-forever" promises, & we are back to the beginning. The bathroom tile is again sticky, more of our carpet is missing under piles of socks, ties, & underwear. A good day is one where I don't find an article of Nate's clothing tossed carelessly on my bed.
But this is how it should be. When the City calls, you'd better answer. Unless you're too busy trimming your beard (almost) over the bathroom sink.
"Blog more, you'll be glad you did" sounds cute enough, but I think the best reflection and processing of this semester is to be had over a beer (or three) or in a cramped Mexican restaurant, where we can at least have the option of making eye contact & you can hear the wavering of my voice when I tell you how much I don't know about Being, Humans.
So, I will tease my three readers (& two followers) with the following nuggets, before proceeding onto the ever-shrinking patch of carpet between my desk and our bunkbed:
1. Working in public health is about as unglamorous as it gets for people at the post-doctoral, post-master's level. A favorite task has been to corner employees of San Francisco General Hospital—who could clearly be earning a killing at other medical facilities—& to ask them why they do what they do, where they do it. You would be surprised how quickly people light up when you ask them about their work.
2. If people change, it is a very slow & delicate process.
3. Jesus is still important.
4. If your favorite possession is a quilt your mother made for you, tell her so.
Now that that's out of the way, I can freely restore this blog to its function: complaining about my tiny room.
Fall Holiday came (thanks, Christopher Columbus) & we went camping. & hiking. & typhoon-dodging. Wednesday meant another day at the (unpaid) internship. Eight hours out of the house during which my tall, white roommate decided to clean the room. & change his sheets for the first time. (I'll change mine soon.)
I doubt I mentioned publicly the seven-foot climb from seabarf green carpet up to my dirty bunked mattress. 45 consecutive nights of jumping, clawing, & praying that I wouldn't fall out of bed. Lord knows the floorboards in this house couldn't withstand my hairy body plummeting from the attic, if I did roll out.
Back to Wednesday. After a long day at the internship, & a frustrating bus ride home (see Teasing Nugget #2, above), I hiked upstairs onto the set of Extreme Room Makeover. The seabarf carpet's color and consistency stayed unchanged, but there was more of it; literally square yards of floor were visible between the front door and the fire escape window. Our beds were made up, & in an act of pure selflessness, Nate had swapped our mattresses. No longer do I have to pull out the trampoline to get into bed. I can now climb out of my covers and feel the balls of my feet touch the ground. Thanks, Nate.
The beds made, carpet vaccuumed, & even the surfaces of our desks organized, I peered into the bathroom. The characteristic stench remained, but the familiar snarls of body hair & toilet paper were distant memories. My roommate CLEANED HOUSE!
Fast forward five days & a hundred "Let's-keep-it-this-clean-forever" promises, & we are back to the beginning. The bathroom tile is again sticky, more of our carpet is missing under piles of socks, ties, & underwear. A good day is one where I don't find an article of Nate's clothing tossed carelessly on my bed.
But this is how it should be. When the City calls, you'd better answer. Unless you're too busy trimming your beard (almost) over the bathroom sink.
08 September 2009
We Moved out of the Basement
In one swirling week I have biked the Golden Gate (twice!), donned a tie, interviewed in two languages, danced at a gay club, & cheered for a rival team.
& I still haven't unpacked all my stuff...
30 August 2009
[A]Basement
So we're here, we're moved in, & I can taste the city just by straightening my back & swiveling my neck.
Nate & I are in a tiny room in the basement of the old Victorian, but we have realized there is really nothing to complain about.
There are walls, doors, a roof, & a fully functioning bath room.
Here goes nothing!
Here goes everything!
City—
It's about time we exchanged some stories.
29 August 2009
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