transmogrification

Love Affairs and Kidney Stones

For some time now I have been fighting an uphill battle, perhaps even with a certain degree of success. Despite my increasingly respectable track record, I am slipping, and it is all the fault of a new love that has entered my life. 

I enjoy water. I think it tastes just fine, so long as it tastes like water and not silt or chlorine. Nevertheless, it has always been a struggle to force myself to drink an adequate amount. My kidneys are well oiled machines, skilled in the re-uptake of water. I enjoy a sense of pride upon observing whatever unholy shade of yellow my pee happens to be. For some time, my attempts to energize my organs in the morning with a glass or two of water, and to increase my heart health by drinking additional glasses throughout the day were going pretty well. My pee even ran clear, at times. 

I would faithfully carry a water bottle, I would even remember to refill it. I even purchased both 12 and 18oz versions, so that I could not excuse myself from drinking water merely because I didn't wish to load myself down with things to carry. The small one fits in my smallest purse - NO EXCUSES! It was all going so well. Then the seal on my insulated bottle gave out. I endured quite a few sleepy mornings that morphed into sleepy afternoons and faded into sleepy evenings. I eventually ordered a new bottle, and went name brand. From now on I am going to call my insulated bottle a Thermos because that is what it is, and even when they are not name brand I call them "thermoses" because "insulated bottle" is full of so much effort, and comes off a little too formal, and much too square.

This thermos keeps my warm beverages at exactly the desired temperature for as little or as long as I like. I can allow the drink to cool ever so slightly in the lid/sippy cup. I have never loved a bottle so much as I love this one. And by love I mean LOVE, worship, adore. This bottle is the golden calf, the false prophet. I have tested it; it keeps things warm for over 12 hours - that is close enough to infinite for me.

While I enjoy water, I am a tea fiend. I may rarely take the time to enjoy the ritual of brewing loose leaf, but that doesn't stop me from double brewing an average of 5 bags a day. Numi's Chinese Breakfast is my crack. Their Jasmine Green and various Puerhs also show up regularly. No other bagged tea is as good, and Numi is fair trade and organic to boot!

Right now I am drinking tea in the library at school. This thermos has made the experience of drinking tea while out and about so much more pleasurable, so much more enticing, that I am constantly forgetting about water. I have water in my bag right now. I am thinking of drinking water, but why should I when I can drink tea instead? Later, I will pee, with exuberance. I think that my kidneys actually hurt the other day.

Tea is supposed to be good for you, but not if you drink it to such an extent that you become dehydrated and suffer multiple organ failure. Thanks to this compact thermos, that is the road that I am on. Or at least, I am one day closer to a mean case of kidney stones. 

Speaking of which, I think I am going to break out that bottle of water, just this once. Don't tell the thermos.

Pooping on the Street

After work, one day last week I headed to BART with a co-worker, and insisted upon walking on Mission, in favor of another less populated route. Today, as we sneaked out of the office in search of nourishment, she mentioned an incident that occurred a mere day later, and conceded that my preference for Mission Street might be well-founded.

I responded, "As far as I am concerned, if someone will poop on the street at 9am on 24th and Mission, I don't even want to know what happens on Capp Street."

Perhaps I do have some concern for safety, but it is not so much that I am driven away from Capp by nagging paranoia, as it is that I am drawn to Mission by a need to study the produce lining the street and the people bustling by with no concern for produce.

This post is not, however, so much about produce, as it is about poop. Likewise, it is not so much about life in Oakland, as it is about life in San Francisco. While I am sure there are some who poop on the streets of Oakland, I have not witnessed the evidence of the prolific nature of their excrement as I have in San Francisco. Perhaps this post is nothing more than a musing on something that everybody does - but really only in reference to those who do it in public. I don't know about what goes on in the privacy of your home, and I don't want to share what goes on in mine. I have candles in the bathroom though, and sometimes they do need to be lit. I suppose really is all the same, isn't it?

In San Francisco, I have often had cause to wonder, "man or beast?" while side-stepping a turd. Since dog poop has a certain aesthetic, and human poop has a quite different one, the question is usually rhetorical. I don't think I've ever been given cause to wonder in my own, also flawed, city.

I don't want to get too deeply into the topic of dog poop, but I will say that, for me, the presence of canine excrement on the sidewalk is directly offensive while spotting the hominid variety saddens me a bit more indirectly. Human poop ends up on the street because we do not care enough for our fellow man. It is for the same reason that dog poop is thoughtlessly left to befoul the shoes of unsuspecting pedestrians. Poop may be a fact of biology, but poop on the sidewalk is a symptom of something bigger.

A few weeks ago, I stepped off of the train at 9am and caught a glimpse of a dirty, skinny, wrinkled butt. I did a double take, not quite sure what I had seen. And then, I noticed that - on the corner of Mission and 24th, surrounded by day laborers, commuters, and grocery shoppers - this man was laying a meadow muffin. I am not easily grossed out, so, it was not disgust, but shock that drew my eyes a third time. Yes, that is right - a triple-take. 

I resumed my walk to work, and started to process the unusual start to my day. In this neighborhood, so far as my limited glimpses have shown me, the homeless population is a frequently revolving roster of people who have fallen through the cracks. They do not seem to have shopkeepers for friends. While I only saw the back of him, I don't suppose that the man has many decent options for places to poop. It may not well be worth it to him to fork over a few cents to do what comes naturally. I get how it might not seem like there is a point to doing right by a bunch of people who have not done anything to do right by you. It did not shock me that he would poop on the sidewalk. Nevertheless, while I know that when you've gotta go, you've gotta go - it did leave me flabbergasted, that one wouldn't find a less conspicuous place or hour to leave one's mark. But, I'm the one that wears my swimsuit out of the pool and into the gym shower - so what do I know?

The Gold House

Several weeks ago Elaine came to visit us. I set out to take her to Mitchell's Ice Cream. Incidentally, this is among the best ice cream in the Bay Area. On with the story though: I do not have a very good sense of direction. We walked the wrong way for a long time. We eventually came upon this absolutely gorgeous building on Guerrero. The building is finished with gold details -- this only adds to how stunning it is. Elaine asked "Do you think that is gold leaf or just gold paint?" I said, "I really don't know" and joked that she should ask Tim-Tim/Mapquest -- the love of my life, my personal tour-guide, and bearer of an impressive wealth of "dad-knowledge". We eventually got going the right way, we ate our ice cream and life was good.

Fast forward to this weekend.

My mother spilled a can of coke on her keyboard. She charged me with the task of replacing it. I found a brand new mac keyboard and mouse on Craigslist. Considering that I only wanted the keyboard, the price was a little high -- but I figured there is nothing wrong with keeping an extra mouse around. Also, I am of the opinion that I would rather buy something that already exists in the real world...than go to a store and buy something that would encourage more production of that thing.

I was nearly talked out of buying the Craigslist keyboard -- but general disdain for visiting shopping malls combined with feelings of guilt about calling to cancel 10 minutes before I was scheduled to pick up the keyboard urged me onwards.

Tim and I set out last night to buy that keyboard. As we approached the address Tim suggested that perhaps we would end up at The Gold House. We did. I was delighted. Tim marveled once again at my strange Hunter S. Thompson luck.

I told the keyboard seller of our obsession with the building she lived in. Tim called Elaine to say, "the answer to your question is: It is gold leaf." Elaine paused to consider what that might mean, and burst out laughing and asking "How did you find out?" My new acquaintance told me that this house was spared by the 1906 earthquake and resulting fires. She also said that the current owner takes great pride in the building and replaces the gold leaf annually.

Today I was trying to find a picture of the house on the internet... for the purpose of this journal entry. I discovered something interesting. The house has a little more historical significance than being merely the object of my fancy.

Dining with a Million Dollar View

Last night I planned to use my new itty bitty food processor. I felt pressured -- how to make my first project with this little fella worthwhile? Maybe pesto? -- but basil isn't even in season. Damn you winter. Why would I need to grind up squash into tiny little pieces? Cooking doesn't always work out.

Short on ideas, we decided to go pay someone else to cook for us -- one stipulation: Cheap. I wanted Chinese (Pink Place). The Good Doctor wanted Pizza (CyBelle's). Initially, neither of us would budge -- but we eventually reached a consensus.

Fifteen minutes later, we were in the car. About 40 minutes after that we were parked next to The Lawrence Hall of Science, eating our respective choices in the front seat of The Doc's truck. I turned to him and said, "You know, a lot of people would pay a lot of money to eat someplace with a view like this." He replied, "Sometimes we really are like Homer and Marge Simpson."

We were thinking it would be amusing to make a Used Toyota rebuttal to the current retarded Nissan Campaign. If only we had brought the video camera along.

La Prueba está en el Budín

Mañana en la casa tendremos un asadito en celebración del 4 de julio... no importa que estamos en Chile y es medio invierno.

Queremos cocinar mucha carne, y incendiar... algo... porque en Santiago fuegos artificiales no se permiten. Por fin tenemos la oportunidad probar a los chilenos que la hamburguesa no es una tontería gringa.

Después de la fiesta el Doctor y yo vamos a Buenos Aires para comer lo mejor del mundo durante una semana. Ya el fin de nuestro tiempo en Chile se acerca.