Golly, where to start? Arsenal finished third in the league, by the skin of our teeth, but it means that the summer won't be quite as horrendous as it might have been. I'm sad that Bacary is injured again, and that there seems to be more of an issue with Jack's ankle, but still, hopefully both of them sitting out the Euros will mean they are in far better shape for the start of the season.
To be honest though, football is taking a backseat to my real life right now. Go figure. This new job? Holy shit, I'm really pretty damn good. Now, I did scorch some candied hazlenuts today, but on the flip, I fucking rocked a ridiculous meatball recipe (seriously, it was dictated to me in handfulls and "some" of ingredients) and then the coupe de gras: I fucking trimmed and portioned out a tenderloin mid-service, on the fly. Which means, I had no warning when chef looks across the line and says "YOU, you know how to trim a tenderloin?"
I say "It's been a really long time."
He says "Can you do it now?"
I say, of course, because it's ingrained in me via CG: yes chef.
He says set up a station: there are two in there, but I need one now. NOW.
Let me just take a moment and say that the only times I have ever trimmed a fucking tenderloin of beef (one of the most expensive items a restaurant can buy, it's where your filet steaks come from) has been at 2pm, hours before service, when I've got no other prep and the line needs an extra pair of hands.
However, the fucking crazy ass intensity of a certain ChefGuy clearly made and impression. It literally has been over 6 years since I'd done this job, but dammit, it came back. And, given the remarks made by Garrett, I did pretty fucking ok. Then he asked me to portion it. Now, see, here's the thing about portioning a piece of meat: it's about a foot and a half long, it is about 4 inches wide at it's widest and then tapers gradually to the tail. When cutting it into 8oz pieces the first cut is crucial, and I should have started from the back. Oh well. Ultimately, I only wasted one, and we can do a tartare with it, but not fucking bad for a pastry chef. I was over the fucking moon. When Garrett came back and said, it looked fine, no more trimming (he did give me shit about using my chef's knife, but fuck, I didn't have my filet and didn't see a house one) and asked point blank:
"When was the last time you did that?" I said, probably about 2006 or so (probably earlier, but i don't need him to know that) and he was like "Really nice work."
They let me cut out early because it was slow, which is ok for now. The plan is for me to solo on Monday. I fucking cannot wait. Seriously. I love my work. It is so nice to be genuinely good at something, and to be among people who are on the same page. There are little things, but it is so amazingly similar to Upstairs that I can barely contain myself most moments. The waitsaff is actually better, but it's so amazingly good.
Oh. I forgot, there was one thing today: Seattle drivers suck. A lot. I had no idea how spoiled I was living in California. Sweet mother of kevin seconds, what a mess. Almost got squashed like a bug in a pileup today, but luckily guided the trusty Punk Rock soccer mom car to the edge of the road and around the idiot in the BMW.

Also, really, really miss Hopey right now. 

It's a done deal, I have a new culinary home with a lot of potential. I also got a job way sooner than anticipated, which means I should be able to move out of the brother's space way sooner than expected as well. Already have my eye on a place that lives in my personal history and is within walking distance of the job. That would be cool. Let's just hope the building isn't crawling with skinheads anymore. Beyond that, lots of connecting with pals who know me. Who love me. Who genuinely care about how I feel, what I'm interested in, and what I'm passionate about. I like knowing people, and I like people knowing me, which is a huge emotional shift in my personal being, but a welcome one. I want to share with smrge, but he is choosing not to be involved now, and so, I go on, doing what I do, following the path I've chosen, and waiting to discover where it will lead me. Talked to Karen today, and as always, a good, grounding conversation, and soon, K2 will be here and visit my new place. I can't wait for them to be sitting in my home restaurant again, and to send them food and to introduce them to the house. I am so amazingly grateful to have them in my life. I really love Seattle so much. Being down in Pioneer Square last night, was fantastic, seeing my friend's business come to life, hanging out with people I have decades of history with. This city is in my bloodstream and I can't wait for next season and to watch footy here, to meet new Gooners, to live this life I have, no matter what the rollercoaster brings. Ya gotta love 'em, your fucking friends....

back of the house

...there are few things that have been more satisfying in my life than walking into a new kitchen and killing it. I'm still waiting for the final job offer, but going in on Saturday to Branzino, a small high-end rustic Italian place that does a lot of seafood and seasonal pizzas I was full on nervous. It's been four years since I was on a real line of any kind, and I had told Chef Garrett that from the get-go. He appreciated the honesty, and invited me in that evening to trail (also known as a "stage"). I got a raft of good wishes from pals, even CG told me I'd do fine, and I did. Sure, I noticed every frigging thing I dropped (a hunk of cheese, my sharpie, whipped cream....) and when I scorched the side of a pizza (I have never used an actual open hearth pizza oven, it was crazy intense, but fun) I wanted to die. It's a small kitchen, in both in space and in staff. What it reminded me most of was that First Kitchen I was in with CG, where we had a lot more space, but the same amount of staff, and the same passion for the food, and the best quality product as well. Additionally, one of my goals this time around was to get back in a kitchen where the actual chef is there every night cooking. The station I would work would be right beside him, and when I missed an element (I forgot the lemon wedge on a ceasar) he was completely matter of fact, not rude, not condescending. His rapport with his team seems friendly, but respectful, and they all are committed to turning out great stuff.
The big challenge was the pizzas, which is ironic, since it's something I actually do on my own time frequently. He had asked if I had experience and I said doing small lunch-pizzas, but never with an oven, but was pretty sure my comfort level with working with dough and knowing how elements work together, it would simply be a matter of getting the muscle memory of pulling the dough and the timing of the cooking. I sweated it, but at the end of the night, when we sat to discuss, and he told me that he was impressed with how well I did with the pizzas in particular, I was flying. So frigging happy. Because of course, I had focused on every little thing I didn't get right...I really do love this job and it's immediacy. I like that it's like a performance every night when you work in a live restaurant, and it felt so good to be in a position that was familiar to me: pastry and pantry, starting the people off, and being the finale as well - it's where I am most comfortable, and this spot is probably as close to perfect as I could walk into after being so long out of the kitchen.
On top of the comfort level of the kitchen, and affinity for the food (I had the beet salad locked in after one go, because, after all, it was beaten into me by David and Sharon years ago: respect the beets) there was the front of the house. It's always a sketchy thing in a small kitchen, but all the waitstaff seemed smart, confident, and interested in the food and wine they were presenting. It's huge for me, after being spoiled with fantastic servers at 5 and Lantana, and then dealing with college student hacks at Pangea. They were all really welcoming as well, and one of the owners was even bartending that night (though I didn't know he was an owner until the chef told me later, which speaks volumes. You never find owners who aren't chefs working in their restaurants, and certainly to find one who doesn't immediately point himself out to you as "owner" is even more rare). When I sat to have my shift meal (a pasta carbonara with duck - chefs choice, and Garrett also sent me a seared scallop, perfectly cooked) and realized I should order wine, but was confounded with the enormous wine list - I was ably guided by one of the lead waitstaff through tasting 4 different white wines - something I would have never thought to do, and honestly quite enjoyed. I knew i liked the odd pinot grigio, but to be able to sample so many, with such a great dish of food - so wonderful and reflects their overall approach to dining.
I also was pleasantly surprised by how, even though I had butterflies, once I put on that jacket and stepped on the line, my head went into the Zone. I have never known that sort of focus in any other facet of my life, and to immediately know what to look for and that the mental notes of what I would tweak in the station once it was mine was like putting on your favorite hoodie. I have yet to find words to describe how happy and proud I am when I am in a good kitchen, where ultimately what I do, how I work, and how much care I take matter more than my haircut, my makeup, my shoes.
Don't get me wrong: my shoes matter. I'm glad I had my prized Birkis again, Crocs reek of newbie.
Anyway, I left that night on Cloud 9, and even if for some reason the gig doesn't happen (though he even said that he was happy to get me "before anyone else hired you") because he was going to talk to one other person, the feeling of being offered the job, of having them recognize my dedication, and of being able to step into a kitchen and at least do a couple of plates without flinching and step up to a new task (pizza oven!) was worth it. It's why you do a stage. Sure, I only got paid in food and attagirls, but for me, its what I love - if I didn't have to pay for things like rent and cars and the like, I'd gladly do this job for free, just to be doing what I love.
Yeah. Additionally, it keeps my aching heart from overwhelming me....

setting the bar

sweet baby jesus Grant.

not hard science

However in a limited sample survey, Tom & Jerry and Bugs Bunny still elicit more genuine laughs from a 3.75-year old than Thundercats, Octonauts, Micky Mouse & Donald Duck, Max 10 and all those weird, poorly drawn cartoons on Nick Jr. Just saying. Mel Blanc, Carl Stalling, Mr. Hanna and Mr.Barbera, you created cartoons for not just all ages, but for THE Ages.

so, yeah.

Oh. the Life, it is a neverending source of amazement. Possibly time to up medication. Don't really know. I once again find myself redefining words I thought I understood, finally. Ultimately, the lesson seems to be: you know nothing. At all. Ever. I am as close to I have ever been to just giving up. I didn't even really have any grandiose plans, just simple hopes to share moments.
Fuck. Performance art indeed. No Minchin will cure this pain. For this it'll take Khyan .

admittedly avoiding writing here...

just saying...

Namaste MCA

Another passing...this circle of life thing is a bear sometimes. The Beastie Boys were a constant in my college days, and have always been one of those generational touchstones - I mentioned them a little while ago in a post about rap, and they were the subject of an initial blog post I wrote that unleashed a daily torrent for several years. I'm posting it again, because it is a favorite, and the emotions they inspired continue to this day.
beastie love
Right, so I get home last night in time to catch the last 45 minutes or so of the SNL 25th anniversary show. I mention this mostly because it turned out to be perfect timing - I missed the gratuitous Belushi salute, which it turns out was accompanied by a lot of Bill Murray (he usually doesn't get much play at these sort of events).At least that's what they tell me this morning here in cubicleland. Now, don't get me wrong, I dig both comedians, and their shtick. Especially in eighth grade, as the only female member of the audio-visual staff at Canyon Park Jr. High (oooh, the truth rears it's ugly head...) when being able to recite the latest episode of SNL verbatim put you on the fast track to cool.
However, over the years I get tired of seeing the same clips trotted out. So I was happy to have missed that, and quite thrilled to catch young David Spade choke on his "tribute" to Chris Farley. A disclaimer: I can't watch Spade without remembering a piece of gossip I picked up from a hippie who owned a recording studio in Grant's Pass Oregon. The hippie claims to have worked with Spade in a bong-building enterprise in Northern California. Now, this is pure gossip, but one look at that whiny little burner-monkey and it doesn't take much imagination to picture him gluing stems on pvc pipe.
Oh, wait. Before I get too carried away, let me get to the real reason I was stoked to have landed at the SNL show at all - the Beastie Boys backing Elvis Costello on "Radio, Radio". It was great on so many levels. First and foremost, because the Beasties were playing instruments. And I, for one, am of the, uh, demographic that was around for "Pollywog Stew" and all that early, really horrible punkrock noise they made. I love them for that stuff as much as I love "Paul's Boutique". Last night though, watching them fully dig playing (it was clearly evident that they were digging it. HRH Elvis didn't seem to be digging it quite as much, but still played hard, which was all that needed to happen)provided a couple minutes of joy for me. I really found it almost exciting to watch them not be the Mac Daddy Beasties but to be a band. To not be dressed in costumes, to be playing with some passion, instead of performing "the gig". It was punk rock. I mean that in the purest, non-commercial way too. Yes, I realize it's on national t.v. and all that, but I'm talking about the spirit, the passion, of playing live even though you're not the most gifted musician in the world. I love that.
12:40:47 - 1999-09-27

life, the universe, and everything.

Karen and I met in 5th grade - we were ten. Both of us had just moved to this little podunk town in the Sierra Pelona Mountains, north of LA and west of the Mojave desert and Palmdale. We were geeky, wore glasses, and hit it off immediately, even though we lived at opposite ends of a rural valley that translated into a 40 minute school bus ride. Hanging out at her house after school was amazing, because both of her parents worked, and not only did it mean that I would ride the school bus to the very end of the route (her house was the second to last stop) and get to hear our very odd bus driver (Clifford, his name was Clifford) do his impression of an old time radio announcers (he would do the intro of the Lone Ranger and stuff, it was so great) over the bus speaker, but we'd arrive at their house, which her parents had designed and had built (something I had never seen done before - I have a crazy recollection of crawling around in the crawlspace underneath the house before they put the insulation in, and running around through walls that were only framed out). Karen's mom; Liz, worked in a lab. She was a scientist. In a lab. It didn't hit until later how unique it really was, but it certainly made an impression. In fifth grade, when we did our science projects, Liz brought clean Petri dishes home, and Karen and I dosed them with various liquids and stuff and then tracked the growth. I remember going to the house every day and racing to their kitchen to check on our progress. Plus, since Karen and I were such responsible kids (she has an older brother, who was a teenager and rarely around, and a younger sister; who, like my middle brother, was busy setting fire to the surrounding area with discarded cigarettes and shoplifting) we were allowed to be at Home Alone. Karen's Mom trusted her. Not that my mother didn't, but, my mom was at home. To drive us to the hospital, or animal shelter, or whatever was needed given the situation. But going over to Karen's was such a treat. They had a piano. Horses. A back 40 that was yet to be discovered, full of poison oak and manzanita, and, yes, baby rabbits.
The Saltwater Taffy Debacle (wherein we made saltwater taffy with no real idea of temperature or plan for storage. hilarity ensued, unless you were her mom, who cam home to find shards of green "taffy" all over the place). The Day Karen Built a Harness For The Baby Rabbit and we took it for a walk. The Investigation of The House That Had Burned Down. The Secret Bookcases Storage System Next to Our Desks. The Comic Strips she drew and I wrote, the creation of Fuzzies, and the entire construction paper and cardboard city we built in the multi-purpose room during the MGM program where they herded the "gifted kids" once a week at a central location. We had a connection and a way of communicating even then, that was so immediate, so natural. I had no idea it would last 35 years, and am thankful every day that it did. My family moved away to Seattle when I was 13, so our actual bonding time was only three years, but it was a crucial time in any kid's life, that time when you start sorting out what you think, what you are interested in, how to navigate the world around you - and when you are a sensitive, creative, loner with a family that isn't especially emotional (we shared that as well) finding someone who you can talk to, share secrets with and laugh with is so important.
We were housemates in college, which I probably wouldn't have even bothered with (as my parents weren't pushing it) but she encouraged me to apply, and blammo, there I was, a journalism student at Humboldt State University. Had a radio show. We rode horses on the beaches of Arcata, and I wond my punk rock wings in Agent 86. Karen left, in a mess of romantic chaos and professional indecision, but we remained close, always writing, calling, always communicating. Much angst, much laughter. We criss-crossed the country, and always touched base about our family. Her mom, the professional, the constant, the breadwinner in her family. It registered, even if I hadn't noticed it at the time. Over so many years, and seeing her mom and family much more in the years I lived in Fresno, it became very much a surrogate family for me. And by that I mean, I came to understand their dysfunction, and much as my own family's. But it was ok, because, once again, as we move through this period of our lives, it only brings Karen and I closer. She is the most constant thing in my life, and through good and bad (yep, there's been bad) we have withstood all challenges. My life without her - I can't even imagine. So, it was with much sorrow that she told me her mom, Liz, died on Monday morning. It's a strange thing when constants from your life start vanishing.
Especially lately, when I was away from my family, Karen's Mom and brother (and for a while stepdad) stood in - they always included me in family gatherings (even if i couldn't make it 'cause of work) and her mom of course was part of our daily conversations when i lived with Karen. I can't state enough though, how much Liz influenced me as far as a woman who had a job outside the home. My mom was like her in other ways (not a dress wearer, an outdoor worker and gardener, not afraid to get in with the animals, all of that) but there was this thing about Liz, a distance that she held, a sort of bearing that she had, that might have been a call back to her South Carolina roots, or the fact that she attended a formal university in the early fifties, but there was a carriage about her, a poise that I will always remember. Sure i also know her faults given my closeness to Karen, but overall, Liz was a woman who encouraged her girls to explore, to develop, to try things and to be strong and smart, and for that, I will always remember her.
Also for her affection for sun images, yellow, and bees. But more about that later. Good luck Liz, hope our paths cross again.

it's funny because it's true...

Minchin ftw, again.

affirmation

sounds

So, this just came across my radar - and here's what I think - if this is how some fucking feeling gets back into music, then I'll take it. Right now, it's nice to hear, as I am totally submerging myself in what has come before:

Because, it's so very, very easy to forget that music can move you, can evoke passion, heartbreak, angst and joy. The pablum that is fed through the machine that sells things is dumbing us down. Music is passionate expression, it's emotion, it's performance, it's a way for people to tell a story. We need more of that. More stories from real people who feel real things. Less of the hurry-up and wait for what's gonna be cool. What's cool is what is real, what is created by people who can't do anything else but make that music. Right then. Right now.
Recently, listening to an interview with Dick Cavett, he talked about art and about its relationship to crazy (passion) and talent. There are a lot of people with plenty of talent out in the world trying to make money. Then, there are the people who are passionate, with a bit of ability, who rise above because their sheer joy and intensity bring a performance to a whole other level. And there are, of course, wonderful, skilled craftspeople who can woo you with their understanding of time, measure and the beauty of sound they create beautiful sounds of wonder. Then, there is that lightening bolt. Where talent and passion collide, and you see it transform into something else, an experience, a message even. Performance that makes you walk away feeling that people are good, that humans are gifted, that we all understand that innate need to communicate and feel. Best of all, I think, is if you walk away wanting to create something of your own to share.
You get that occasionally. I've been lucky a few times to find bands and performers that move me like that. Currently, Ms. O'Day is rocking my world much like John Coltrane did almost 15 years ago. As Juno and the Gits have so many times. She's classic, but also transcendental. The layers of beauty and the voice communicating with instruments and sound....it sounds almost trite to say, but it's about hearing all of it, about that moment. Jazz, baby, jazz. That idea that it's in the playing, the listening, it's a conversation players are having and you listen to it actively, passionately.
Not Kenny fucking G.
What I always loved, in my brief moment as a musician, was the performance (although, with that one, sterling lineup, sometimes practice would be pretty sweet too) - in the moment, when the song sounded right, when the energy was in sync, when we were all, literally, playing as one. That was what I loved most, it's what I crave in my life today. I find it, sometimes, when in a restaurant, during service in the higher end ones. When you are plating a complicated composed plate, with many elements, and you want it to be balanced, to look right, to taste, just right, and you set it up for the server and they whisk it away, and you hope that the person who experiences loves it and is as happy as you are in that moment of creating it.
Yeah. There are parallels all around. More to come.

down to the wire

In the home stretch with organizing and getting moved, lots of ideas floating around, looking to getting those down shortly, but for now, this.

that thing you do.

I have an odd history with rap and hip hop. As a rule, I find it boring, repetitive and to be honest, somewhat retarded. Retarded in the literal sense: held back. I find most rap songs (music wise) to sound exactly the same. Most lyrics follow suit. I'm not proud of it, and will even allow that it's my lack of an urban upbringing that makes this all true to me. I can admit I might not understand the context. But the sheer un-musical aspect of it? Well, that just seems obvious.
How. Ever. There is some rap/hip hop stuff that has spoken to the suburban malcontent in me. The disaffected intellectual. I like the Beastie Boys, from Cookie Puss on through to Paul's Boutique. The stuff I've heard off the most recent one is fantastic as well, and my first online diaryland entry is a breakdown of a performance they did on Letterman, which blew my doors off for the sheer punk rock joy of the happening.  Of once again, watching people genuinely enjoying what they were doing.
It's not just white boy rap. In fact, most times the white kids bug me even more.
That Eminem kid - never got that, though I read reviews and theoretically get it, it doesn't speak to me the way Adam and the boys do. Perhaps it's my age - I am, of course, of the Beastie generation, of their mindset, that particular Reagan-era pissed off middle class white kid; it's like Eminem had no sense of irony, or wit, heavy on the trash part of his whiteness.
I loved everything I read about Public Enemy and IceT. I heard, growing up on the west coast, enough LLCoolJ to be wooed by the interplay of samples into a rap. However, it was moving to Washington DC that really educated me.
Shocking, right? Moving to DC in 1989: in punk rock, it was Revolution Summer, in the rest of the District it was about GoGo, and as much NYC rap as you could possibly hear. I waltzed into a job (like I tended to do back then) at a record store called "Nobody Beats The Wiz".
I know, crazy. How much more NYC could it be? Not much. The location was in Georgetown (interestingly for later in my life, directly across the street from a french bistro called Au Pied A Cochon, "the foot of the pig" - it was the first time I'd ever heard of cappuccino, which I quickly learned to hate just because I had to fetch it for the owner's harpy of a wife every morning after counting out the tills).
At any rate, working at the Wiz was a massive education - we had a small punk rock section of cds, but it was the guys I worked with, a couple of students at Howard University who schooled me in hip hop, who in hooked me up with De la Soul. I already knew of Fishbone, with their West Coast punk rock roots; and would later work with a close friend of theirs at my next job at a bookstore in Dupont Circle called Common Concerns. Of course, Run-DMC, you couldn't have been breathing and miss that. But right then, there was Boogie Down Productions to be reckoned with, Erik B & Rakim, A Tribe Called Quest, Jungle Brothers,KMD, 3rd Bass, even, god help them, DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince. There were movies to watch: School Daze and Do The Right Thing, there was Public Enemy, Easy E; West Coast stuff from Tupac, NWA and Dr Dre, all of which was the fodder for long debates around the cash register as they broke down all of those early guys. Of course, De La Soul, with their sampling and their verbal interplay, got me most stoked, but I appreciated the political motivations of all of the major players, and even knew about Sir Mix A Lot from my hometown of Seattle.There were local guys DC too - Vince D, and the go-go of Chuck Brown and his All Stars would have never even hit my radar if I hadn't worked there.
Anyway, I bring all this up, because recently, there's another white kid who does rap and hiphop and he's from Seattle, and there is a song that he wrote, one that I heard in the purest form there is to discover a song (for me anyway) - on the radio, in the car. The station was KEXP, which was KCMU when I grew up - and the first place I heard Suicidal Tendancies, the band that literally, changed the way I thought about music. About what it could do, about what it could mean. Sounds odd, right? When I heard Macklemore's song, "The Town" - the melody drew me in first. Sure it had that basic hip hop beat, but it was layered with interesting melodies, interesting riffs. Vocals cut with samples of people talking about growing up in the hip hop scene in Seattle. A scene I wasn't part of, but that was running parallel to the punk rock scene that I was a part of. We all played many of the same clubs - it turns out. Sit & Spin, RKCNDY, Paradox, all of them were places he name checks and that immediately brought back such vivid, intense memories of night after night in those places. Of the community - and that's what the song speaks to, and he mentions the city government. In Seattle, in the late 80's and then through the 90's there was a concerted effort by the city managers to pen kids in. It was a very, very unfriendly city for a teenager to grow up in. Poster bans, curfews, constant harassment of underage dance clubs...places like the Monastery, Skootchies, and the Vogue, the Graven Image, all scenes of police raids on kids who were just trying to see some music. When you live through a city trying to legislate your scene out of existence under the guise of "protection" and then, in spite of that, watch it explode when national attention focuses on the bands that become so good by persisting through all that bullshit (and that's what I believe made our scene so vibrant for a time, was that understanding that it kept going in spite of the pressure, in that classic sense of wanting to piss off the folks so much, you just kept playing shows, kept practicing, kept recording, kept living in group houses with a basement where 4 bands practiced, just because you loved it, loved being a part of a community that was creating a place you wanted to live in). Sure, now that the city fathers have (supposedly) embraced the music scene (because of the revenue it brings, not because they give a shit about the people, that will never change) I understand there is a difference in the city I love. There's a difference in me, too - I'm not twentysomething (or thirtysomething, even) and in a band anymore. I haven't, if I'm honest, been to a show in well more than a year (events I've worked at like Outside Lands excluded, of course), so I don't necessarily expect it to be the same. What I do expect though, is some of the more lyrical things in Macklemore's song - that skyline that is etched in my veins too, to travel those streets that I know so well, to see those vistas that have so many memories attached. He lists all these neighborhoods, places so familiar and plain to me, that it gets me homesick in the best ways. And yet, as he says "So much has changed here, so much has not." Police brutality, oppressive local ordinances, materialistic developers exploiting the downtown and surrounding areas. I get that. All cities have their bullshit. In SF they are legislating against Happy Meals at McDonalds. Not that I'm a fan of childhood obesity, but for crying out loud, is that really the best work of the city representatives? Really?
I digressed. Again.
The memories, for a long time, were why I left (ok, there was the divorce thing, but that's all part of it) I grew weary of feeling I knew everyone. The familiar became tedious. It's only recently that I realize a lack of familiarity, or the constant infusion of a new place and new people also breeds a certain dissatisfaction in general within me. I've always loved Seattle, warts and all. Recently, my mother told me that my older (of the two) brother and his wife were at some bar on the eastside and the piano player mentioned he had attended Bothell High School (where I went, as did my brothers and his wife, and one would assume probably a good percentage in a suburban piano bar on the Eastside, just saying) it turned out he was a guy I knew from school that I was pretty friendly with (particularly in junior high, when he did this amazing multimedia presentation about the Beatles, that still probably is the single most informative thing I've ever seen about them) - he is now, and has been for a while (I do remember having a conversation about this at our 10 year reunion, about he and I being the two playing musicians in the room. Not that either of us would have ever expected it when we were in school) and when my brother mentioned me, apparently he lit up and said, "Oh, yeah, I always dug her, she's great" or something along those lines. Stuff like that, for whatever reason, used to drive me batshit - like why can't I just be rid of this? Now though, I crave a bit of history. Of not having to explain who I am anymore. Of just being me. I think it might be part of being comfortable in my own skin - which apparently has taken 4 decades to do. Comfortable enough to say that I'm totally impressed with a white kid from Seattle who writes some interesting lyrics and works with a dj (Ryan Lewis) and producer (Lewis also does the videos, which are also much higher quality and more cinematic than the usual pool party rap trash) that allows him to transcend, at least in my mind, the barriers I have to a certain type of music. I can see how you could think of it as a form of blues or poetry, if it's written like that - and I always thought bands like Public Enemy and Run-DMC and others hit that, and that I just wasn't familiar enough with what they were talking about to be able to really appreciate it as the art form it was always referred to. Now, I finally have a touchstone. Not that I'm going out and buying new stuff, or gonna hang at hiphop shows, but an appreciation for different styles and understanding is something I value, and I'm happy to be able to have a little sliver of that from his stuff. Here's another, creative spin on an old story, "Irish Celebration". Cheers kiddo.

Buzzcocks. appreciation post. here. soon. referencing a crazy show at Hammerjacks in Baltimore, and this amazing footage fromCoachella today. Seriously. Aside from Joey Shithead, there is no one I know at this...uh, vintage, doing it with this much fun and passion. Seriously. How much fun are these guys having? I love that. I love to see people doing what makes them happy. Yay. Apparently they played on the mainstage before the Black Keys. Oh, Universe, you are magnificent.

yes, please.

circus lion

I'm struggling.Which is why I'm so happy this exists....Minchin is marvelous. xo.
                                           

         - Sometimes when I do this thing—this blogging about my life—and I'm grasping for words to write, I start to get anxious or feel guilty or a combination of both. Today is one of those days, so instead of uselessly kicking at those feelings I'm just going to let it be and admit that I'm having a bad day. Tomorrow could be different or more of the same, but I'll deal with it when it happens.                            

From yesterday's game, poor Hot Robot.

just keep paddling

in memory of...

no words, just feels.

North Beach-y

Always something to think about. Today, I met up with my pal who is the pastry chef at the P3 location to hang out. Truth be told, I was supposed to meet she and Shaggy at the farmer's market at 11am to see their demo, but it was grey and rainy this morning, and so I slept in instead But, in the spirit of trying not to be a shut-in, I headed into the City to meet up with Suze after she was done.
It was the first visit to that location now that CG was there. Luckily (I suppose) I was immediately trundled in front of the GM of the location, who is...well, my mother would call him a pistol. Very gregarious, very self important, of a spanish descent. He was exceedingly complimentary to me, so much so that once again, it struck me that no one eats this food, they all just look at it. Whatever, though, if he wants to blow smoke up my skirt, then so be it. CG was tucked away in a corner, back to me, butchering out fish, totally working with the intensity I remember - or appearing to. He looked over his shoulder, I met his eye, nodded, and he glared.
Yeah, just like the old days. So, then I camped out at the cafe counter and waited for Suze while watching them all go through their paces. I chatted with a server who had transferred there from 101 (my location) and then with the Chef de Cuisine, who totally blew me off initially (when he reached past me to get a straw, I was about to say hi, but he stared through me so I kept mum), then later, after seeing everyone else greet and talk to me, at least manned up and made a point to say hi. Which was cool, though I couldn't help but rub a little salt in his wound and give him a hard time when he admitted he hadn't recognized me at first. Clearly though, everyone seemed really over the moon with me. Which is weird, since I'm about 2 weeks from jumping ship. Ultimately, CG did come out of the kitchen to say hi, he stood by (I remained seated) we chatted briefly, small talk, and then he returned to his work.
It's odd, and yet somewhat comforting to not have it have be crazy at all - since I know not everyone gets to end relationships being friends or even civil. So, if this is how it ends up, then I'm fine with it. True, I miss working in the kitchen with him, but it's his level of commitment, his skill and intensity, and not the fucking headcase stuff that I miss.
The reality of the situation, for me, is that I don't get the one without the other. So. Yeah. Then, Suse and I went to Macy's to see an old coworker of hers, who now owns her own chocolate company, do a demo making Brazillian truffles. It was kind of dull, but good from a networking standpoint - or would have been if I didn't have plans to leave town shortly. It's amazing to me how frigging social Suze is though - it's a skill I'm just not practiced in, though supposedly it runs in my veins (personally, I believe my brother M got the lion's share of that DNA, but whatever) as my father was quite the crowd pleaser.
Anyway, Macy's is in the part of SF that I never, ever, traverse: the shopping zone. With Cartier, Neiman-Marcus, Prada stores, all that. That frigging Macy's and the thousands of people milling about - it was like a crazy anthill. Like one of those weird '50's industrial movies come to life. I got really, really tense in there. I'm not a fan of shopping in general, and feel very out of place in swanky locations like that, and this one, because it's downtown was crawling not just with high-maintenance trophy wives, but international tourists, students with trust funds, and the bridge and tunnel locals. Ack. Could not get out of there quick enough, I literally felt dizzy.I talked Suze out of some crazy idea to go to the Cheesecake Factory (located somewhere within Macy's WTF?) because apparently the driver she has a crush on's brother works there...noooooo. So, off we headed to North Beach (the original plan had been to go to the Mission and visit Tom's cart, but apparently he is in Vegas this week, so no dice) to do a little drinking and noshing. We went to Vesuvio's first, which is just across from the legendary bookstore City Lights (where I usually stop after watching Arsenal matches at Maggie's which is a few blocks up the hill) - and while it was a dive, it was insanely expensive and the staff was pretty cranky.So, not "dive" in a good way, at all.
Now, I get it: working in North Beach is like working in Georgetown, or Pioneer Square, or Times Square, you are gonna get tourists and not a lot of regulars, but damn, that's no reason to be outright jerks. I have had some of the rudest bartenders in my life in this city, and it's really amazing what they get away with. I am not newbie, and yet time and time again, I find myself wondering what the fuck is wrong with me asking for a Jack and diet, or when I can't understand them when they spit out the tab total.

After that, we went down the hill a bit to the Comstock, which is a saloon-themed bar (they even had a live piano player in the mezzanine doing ragtime-y numbers) owned by the Absinthe people, who Suze worked for for 5 years - and she knew a couple of people there. It was empty when we took a seat at the bar, and the bartender was young, but pleasantly friendly. He was fun to watch and occasionally would inadvertently bounce ice cubes out of the drinks he was making - but it was definitely a mixed-drink place, and so he was totally busy, and I actually do kind of like watching good bartenders work.
The bar itself was awesome, lots of restored turn of the century fixtures and the wood bar itself with the old ice-box pull handles, reminded me of the Merchant Cafe in Pioneer Square where Jesse was the bartender for so many years. The Merchant's bar was physically actually even bigger, but still, that same time period, and the Comstock was definitely in better shape We started with a happy hour beer and shot of bourbon, then each had a sarzerac - that had absinthe in it. Then, as we were getting along so well with jared, our bartender, he gave us a mixed drink that I believe he called "Dirty Sand" or something like that - bourbon, citrus, and god knows what else Tasty though. We needed food, so we ordered the house fresh pretzel which was huge, warm, really good (even Suze, who is German and knows of these things, commented on how good it was) and was welcome filler. Most of the conversation seemed to keep coming back to her trying to find out what it would take to get me to stay at the Organic cafe. Yeah. The thing is, as much as I appreciate how much they "love" me, it's not even about that really. I reiterated that I was disappointed in Shaggy being unable to even tell me not only how much my raise would be (she says it'll be to 35k) or when, and that there just was no concrete timeline for ever getting out of that rabbit hole of production baking.
So yeah. We also talked a lot about her and the driver same old stuff. I got a little fidgety. We decided to get a burger, and went to Sam's on Broadway, a complete dump of a spot, which I even said "I dunno, looks kind of sketchy" as she was locking up her bike - and it turned out the cook was outside having a smoke as we were doing that. However, once we got inside - it turned out Anthony Bourdain had put the place on the map last year in his new show "Layovers" or whatever - so a burger and fries with a coke was $9, but I have to say, it was a good burger. And the guy working, seemed really familiar, almost like a character out of a movie, and as Suze chatted with him, we found out he was from Palestine.He was really easygoing, which in that neighborhood has got to be tough, though certainly easier than any job in his homeland. He cheerfully refilled our cokes andeven put Suze's fries back in the fryer after overhearing her tell me she preferred hers more crispy, which was a nice gesture.

Fun spot, though I imagine it gets a bit nuts around the time the bars close. It was only about 7 though, so Suze said there was just one more place she wanted to go - though it turned into two - but ultimately we finished the evening at the Specs Adler, a great little bar off an alley down from Tosca's (just so I remember, should I ever be in that neighborhood again) I really, really, really liked that bar. Divey, like the old Frontier Room in Belltown used to be. Good, even keeled, older guy at the bar - and he didn't even blink when we came in from the rain (there were two torrential downpours) and ordered irish coffees, and they were fantastic. Totally would have spent all night there, had I had more money and not had to work tomorrow.

All, in all, a nice little jaunt, though it was rough having Suze try and get me to stay I...I just don't want to keep treading water, and something has to change; other than offering me a minimal pay increase they can't promise anything else. Suze wants to visit Germany in May, and asked if maybe I couldn't stay around a little longer to work at P3 in her place.
Yeah, that'd be just what I need to do.

hoodies i know and love

                       

The Daily Show with Jon Stewart	Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c
C.N.I.: Cable News Investigators - Hoodie Threat
www.thedailyshow.com
Daily Show Full Episodes Political Humor & Satire Blog The Daily Show on Facebook

So...here is the part where I emphatically state for the umpteenth time that this country boggles my mind. Its staggering ability to be so divisive and just flat out, ridiculous, is...well, it's enough to make a girl want to figure out a way to live in Brindisi (Italy). Yeah. Where to begin with the hoodie nonsense?
Firstly, I guess, let's start with the part where some jackass white-appearing latino with an inferiority complex (job as a rent-a-cop) kill a black kid in a hoodie with skittles and ice tea. Because he's wearing a hoodie. A hooded sweatshirt.
Now. I am....oh, fine: punk rock. I know people literally, who have been killed WITH their hoodie. The idea that wearing one connotates a gang affiliation, much less a threat is so completely ridiculous to me.
Seriously, I'm gonna venture a really racist idea: I'll bet Zimmerman (Zimmerman? Really? Latino? Huh.) has friend who wear hoodies to soccer practice.
Yep, I said it. Look. When I see a hoodie, I almost always think "straight edge zombie jock who listens to DRI" or, more likely "does that come in my size?"
Because here's the rub RentACop: I own a half dozen hoodies. My mother fucking wears one. You have got to be joking me that it is any sort of defense to use that as a way to profile a threat.
JOCKS. Mormons. Straight Edge Punks. And, yes, I suppose some fucking wannabe rap thugs. But just because you are in Florida (and I am not kidding where this is just one more reason as far as I'm concerned to fucking disavow that whole state. Though the Gainesville Punk rock scene has done the best it possibly can to stand apart from the rednecked and senior masses) does not mean you get to play Cop. Especially when the COPS told you specifically to get the fuck back in your car and NOT PLAY COP.
In your CAR. Holy mother of Sonic Youth. What's saddest about even talking about this, is that once again, I got into a bit of a tete-de-tete with my best friend's husband. We routinely tangle about anything having to do with Reagan (he is an apologist for both Reagan and Bushes) or Clinton (I'm not an apologist, but I'm also not an idiot) ...but he proffered the idea that the rent a cop with the car had been attacked and threatened by the black kid in the hoodie with the skittles and iced tea.
Here's the thing: even if the kid was butch enough to threaten wannabe cop, and even if the kid threw a punch, it does not justify deadly force, especially WHEN YOU ARE A CIVILIAN.
K2(male) who himself has a permit to carry a firearm and a black belt in several martial arts actually started getting puffy chested about this with me. And both me and his mate kept retreating to the final answer: the cops told him to back the fuck up. He did not. He had a car. And a gun. I just cannot for the life of me get over the fact that a black kid, dressed just as one of my drummers (a black 19-year-old male in Maryland) did every day - got shot because he was a "threat" - clearly, the threat was the rent a cop. Recently Zimmerman's lawyer abandoned an interview, and as the saga continues it will be enlightening to see how hoodies are portrayed. K2(male) also went on about the "injuries" Zimmerman sustained, but latest reports show nothing that a good smack in the face with a 6-pack of beer wouldn't do, and worse, he didn't seek medical attention until the next day (so, uh, not crucial, and uhm possibly not attributed to the "altercation") it pains me, because the person putting forth this Devil's advocate standpoint is smart, a holder of 2 college degrees, and a licensed surgical technician, yet the mere idea of someone not being "allowed" to wield deadly force in the possible (not remotely probable, however) face of bodily harm (and not greivious, I mean, how much damage would that can of iced tea do against a gun?)  is just another knee-jerk Charlton Heston NRA sort of reaction that concerns me. Smart people shouldn't constantly be assuming the worst. The worst case is what the MEDIA wants you to believe. So you'll stay in your house, eat your cocoa puffs and go to work. Argh. He's better than that. It pains me to type this.
I just don't get how it's a threat to anyone? Who sees a hooded sweatshirt and panics? I mean, other than really geeky Nintendo fanboys?
I have two favorite hoodies currently: my WSU beat to shit grey one, my newest acquisition the navy Arsenal one and the Bambix number (also grey) given to me by Adam. Additonally, I love my Jets to Brazil  hoodie, and proudly own a Keith Haring "Barking Dog" one as well. I'd be proud to be shot in it.
Americans. WTF?
Some Tim might help:

                   

a good plan

"Sell your cleverness and purchase awe"-Rumi

So, I got a little side tracked with planning big Life Changes and then a quick visit to oldest and dearest best friends...but I haven't been noticing things. First off, up top there is the trailer for the upcoming season on Doctor Who, and while I'm disappointed to see that it appears to be taking a definite "Cowboys vs. Aliens" flavor I'm stoked to get season 7 going and see what happens to Amy & Rory. How Moff writes himself out of the corner he put them in at the end of last season (Amy realizing she's the Doctor's mother in law? I mean, WTF? And now, some really broad mugging in this series? It's like a Norman Lear sitcom or something) plus, I just miss some Who. Even if they have to drag out the Wild West theme.Will do a re-watch soon, to get back into form.
Then, there is the amazing fact that these guys:

have been winning like we know they can, hardscrabble, with the amazing power backline of Verminator, Sagna, Kos, and Gibbs proving once again, that Arsenal really are the most amazing team to follow ever. How happy am I to see them doing so well? I know there are still 9 games to go, and we have in recent seasons gotten lazy in the run-in but I'm still hoping for a finish that makes Cesc and Samir feel like they should have hung in there. Though, to be fair, I do think that our season has hinged on RVP being the skipper - I think a big part of why we tanked previously is due to Cesc just not being a particularly inspiring captain. Good guy, I'm sure, but not a leader like RVP is.
I listen to a alot of podcasts (I'm kinda geeky that way) and there are four pods about Arsenal (well, three are Arsenal specific, one is a general football one) that I never miss, and actually, quite look forward to. I've been meaning to do a bit of an appreciation post about them for some time now. The one I've listened to the longest is Arsecast. Created by the delightful Arseblog ( http://arseblog.com/ ) it's a nice balance of funny, and informative. Arseblog is Irish, has a great radio voice, does entertaining impersonations/characterizations of players and has been following Arsenal for a long time. He structures the show well, interspersing his own commentary on the current state of the team with guests, and humorous interludes (one of my all time favorites was Silvestre with the disco music, and of course the brooding Arshavin). He has a great variety of guests who he interviews well, creative questions and honest reactions.
The gold standard of Arsenal podcasts (and the one I look forward to the most every week, and dread the off season when they break) is "The Tuesday Club" (formerly Up For Grabs) which features Alan Davies, Ian Stone, Tayo Popoola, and Keith Dover. Alan Davies is a well-known comedian in Britain (Jonathan Creek, QI, Bob & Rose, Whites) and Stone is a comedian as well as radio personality. Tayo is a dj, and Dover is a former comedian who, if their banter is to be believed, is now mostly employed as a carpenter. All of them sit together in the same section of the stands at the Emirates, and as well at Highbury before. All have been following the team for decades, and their banter is hilarious, even when you know very little about the (or any, really) team. I will admit, it took repeated listens to really appreciate the 'cast. They tend to talk over one another, and with the accents, it can get hectic until you are familiar with their voices and the rhythm of the show. The pod started just after I started following Arsenal, so it is especially close to my heart because every game they have commented on is one I've followed. I've learned a lot about the history, and their banter about the other sides we play is actually quite helpful as well, and has keyed me into players & managers I might not have noticed otherwise. Mostly though, it's just laugh-out-loud funny, often because they don't hesitate to take the piss out of each other, as well as the team. After a horrible loss or any time where Alan is raging is especially fun. He was also quite amazing after Rambo's injury at Stoke. Anyway, highly recommend, funniest of the bunch. Also, I once spotted Tayo on the street in SF, tweeted it, and he returned my tweet. (Shameless fangirling portion of the roundup). I am also especially fond of their constant search for new songs, and the discovery of "Alex Dimitri Sibg Billong" (check a taste here:
"Footballastically  Arsenal" is the pod that replaced "Up For Grabs" on the "network" that produces it, and is hosted by Boyd Hilton, Dermot O’Leary and Dan Baldwin, who are all members of Brit media and sit together at the Club level at the Emirates. Their banter is a little more flash, and a little more arch, but still is entertaining. They have also had guests, though they don't typically do straight up interviews, it's more like a round table of comments. I like it, but tend not to get as much information out of it so much as casual updates on general team happenings. Lately they've been taking digs at TTC, and it's coming off as very sour grapes, which is a shame.They can often get sidetracked into personal B-list celebrity gossip, which isn't quite as entertaining as actual footy or better yet Arsenal gossip. But still, the one I listen to after the others.
Finally, the pod that has become my Continuing Education Course in world football, "The Football Ramble". Love, love, LOVE this podcast.It covers not just the Premiere League, but, the SPL, La Ligua, League 1, and Series A, with looks at other leagues worldwide and various cups and championships. Aside from the funny and interesting commentary, there is "Diego Corner" a weekly check-in with everyone's favorite Argentinian footy legend, and the profiles that they do of historic players. Also, "Going for Gloald" where the guys try to guess the identity of a player based on clues. This podcast has improved my understanding of the game and my interest in all facets of it. A lot of fun and really unpretentious, totally accessible for anyone interested in the Beautiful Game's wide reach.
Really good stuff if you have the time.
Ok, this has become quite long. Next time, a hoodie appreciation post.

Tim Time

I am working on the words that beg to be written, in the meantime, some Tim to keep the spirits up in the face of douchebaggery gone amuck....

 "I don't believe in Apocalypses. I believe in Apocatastases."
-Neil Gaiman
 Apocatastasis.
What it means:
1) Restoration, re-establishment, renovation
2) Return to a previous condition
3) (Astronomy) Return to the same apparent position, completion of a period of revolution.

Irish-y

Seriously, the only thing that could get me into a bar on St Patricks Day: The Gits. This poster is from the one of the most incredible shows from a band that rarely played an un-incredible one. But to be at the Weathered Wall, with The Gits and their fans and friends was to experience a solidarity and joy that epitomized what being a part of punk rock meant to me, and I am forever grateful and thankful for it. As I prepare to return to a very different Seattle - I am also finding myself reminded of how many wonderful and transcendent moments the city and the friends I made there provided. Looking forward to new memories, and new moments. Sláinte!

Ch-ch-changes...

Holy cow, what a cliche. However, cliches exist for a reason, and therefore: boom, it's time to take the show back on the road...Home. My California Sabbatical has come to a bit of an anti-climactic end, but an end nonetheless.
I'm not sure what exactly I expected to have happen here in the Bay Area, but it wasn't quite this. I took a big risk getting out of the kitchen, to take the job with LBF, and to have lived here and only worked in one actual restaurant is probably a waste of opportunity, but I wanted to (as usual) to expand my experience and to learn new stuff, and that, I did in spades.Loads of challenges and changes both career-wise and personally, and most of the School Of Hard Knocks variety, but you know what? I'll take it.
Not that I have a choice.
Returning to Seattle is a big deal for me, I left the city because I simply was tired of feeling like everyone knew me wherever I went, that I'd be unable to restart my life in the way that I wanted. Fresno seemed like a desperate choice, but ultimately did what I needed. I was surrounded by my closest friends, who allowed me time and space to gather myself, to sort through so many years of emotions and ideas. What seemed like running away from a failure gradually became a discovery. Sometimes when I think about how things went - about pulling myself out of a 3 month nosedive where I refused to let go of the past, which only led to more pain and anguish - until I finally did let it go. Gradually, as I built a new life, met new people who didn't know me as anything other than an old friend of K's, it was a full-on epiphany: I was who I was right then, at that moment. Not "used to be in a band", "works in reprographics" or whatever. It felt shiny and new and exactly what I wanted in that moment.
 I decided I wanted to be a chef, enrolled in school, got a job in the kitchen of a children's shelter, and started doing what needed to be done, for myself. What is always amazing to me, is how things fall into place once you make that choice, that choice to do something. I had a really strict schedule in the first months of school, I'd go to school from 7am to noon, then have to be at the shelter by 2:30 and we'd prepare dinners, serve and clean up, and I'd typically get home by 7:30 or 8, in time to sometimes join K2 for dinner, sometimes be a little late, but almost always be able to hang out and chat about the day and compare notes, and then it was homework and to bed. I did that for 6 months, and worked with this amazing older Latina, Nina, who was the most feisty and yet gentle person I'd ever met. At the same time, I was practicing meditation, reading Siddhartha, and even using my work breaks to sit in a quiet corner of the yard outside the dining area to simply sit, quietly. It was so easy to have discipline then. I definitely seem to flourish when I have challenges and goals (I suppose maybe everyone does? though I suppose there are those out there who do just fine treading water, but as I've found in the last year, it doesn't do me much good). When I was offered the job at Upstairs Downtown (names are being used now, because I'm not actively employed by these places anymore, which I think is what yr supposed to do) it was a mindblowing thing. It was the only place in town doing the kind of food I wanted to do (previous journal entries detail that) and it was as close as I would get to the Holy Grails of Chez Panisse and French Laundry, so to be asked to work there was a huge victory. Looking back, what seemed at the time to be great luck, was, actually as CG said: I had "made this happen", by singling myself out to him and Sharon; and by being willing and able thanks, again, to the amazing compassion of K2, who allowed me to live with them rent-free, thus making it possible to take a full time job that only paid $8/hr so that I could get real skills in a kitchen. A kitchen working with amazing product and people who genuinely were passionate about what they did. Never would have been able to accept that job had I actually had to pay rent.
The staff of UD were possibly the most dysfunctional family I have ever....god, what word could I use to describe it? Upstairs was like being Alice in Wonderland (shit, another CG metaphor, which I only realized lately that he has used throughout my career) - an amazing refurbished warehouse in downtown Fresno, with a weekly changing menu, shopping twice a week at the Farmer's markets for produce pretty much exclusively, and getting out proteins and other goods from various specialty outlets. The only thing we got from Sysco were cleaning supplies and paper products. The interpersonal drama though, was epic, and the crazy manic-depressive co-dependent-Fu that went on left me with bruises and burns on my body and my psyche, but in the end, a huge learning curve that paid off in little ol' Fresno.
I had to play a waiting game, among others, in order to get to be the pantry chef, but once I did, the amount of freedom I had was insane, and the menu items I tried to create there allowed me to learn so many things. Not to mention actually being taught to butcher out lamb, ducks, and trim filets from beef. They let me braise whole calamari for a salad, and it was my idea. Even to the point of simply being able to understand the difference between grassfed beef, or freshly picked lettuces (seriously, it's a huge thing, fresh lettuce is so wonderful, to be able to make salads every day with those kinds of ingredients is a gift). The magic of duck cracklings, the zen of brulees, and the adrenalin rush of a la minute souffle service. Sadly, I let my emotions get the better of me, and bailed sooner than I should have.Culinary school at the same time as working at Upstairs gave me even more cache - all my instructors knew where I worked, and they commented on my dishes and my plating all the time.Even my practical, my final dish was late, but scored so high in all other categories that I finished top of my class in spite of the time penalty. School was such a good time, there was not a single day that I ever didn't want to go. That's a rare feeling, one that I won't ever forget.
I moved to a more "normal" restaurant, the brand new "5" a tuscan italian spot that got lots of press in Fresno, where, though I was hired as an assistant, I ended up being the pastry chef in less than 90 days when the barbie doll they initially hired couldn't take the day to day drudgery. I had a lot of fun at 5, and made friends I still have, including Carlos, Taylor, and Brett. Sure, I still keep in touch with Xtian, who was a server at Upstairs, who was the first person I ever texted, and is still a pal today - so many esoteric conversations in such unlikely places with him. From 5 to Lantana, another new build-out in the heavily douche-infested north end of Fresno. Truly a magic time, being there, though like all magic, when you find out it's a trick, you're kinda bummed. Ray was the Exec, I was the Pastry Chef and we had a sommelier who had worked at Chateau Marmot in LA and were even sent to LA to the owners favorite restaurants to find out what they wanted. In fact she took us a second time to do lunch spots in LA as well, which is how I came to actually eat a club sandwich in Barneys in Beverly Hills.
Man, it's been a busy 8 years. Ray and I bonding over the drive to Oakland to buy equipment for "our" restaurant, how often do you get to do that? How often when you are just a year out of school? Such a crazy fun front of house, we ran it like a real resto too, doing lineups and staff meals and....
This is a lot. I am realizing that there were a lot of details I didn't get down, even with the plethora of posts. It's just this whole California chapter is coming to a close, and i'm realizing that it's really more than just a chapter, it is, in fact, a volume on it's own. Like DC, but with so much more personal growth and self-awareness. I suppose that's simply due mostly to being older. Sometimes I feel like nothing's really happened, but when I look at it all on paper (still haven't mentioned the stage at Max's ((though there is an entry for that)) Pangea, or working for Love & Garlic, Cracked Pepper for Vatche or at Campagnia while waiting for Pangea to open,  to LBF and Roli, and then finally to Latest Place Organic) so much to think about, to reflect on. So many people so many, varied specific experiences and fun stuff. Aside from work, there was culinary school hijinks, dates that couldn't see, river rafting, wine tasting, actual social party events with actual people who do social things, finding Arsenal, even getting free tickets to a Giants game from a cop on my 3rd day doing the cart at the stadium. Cool stuff. Lots of stuff.
  Eight simple weeks, and a new chapter in Seattle begins, and while I'm nervous about all the usual things, I'm also, as I was when I returned from Eugene in '94, stoked. I'm ready to have old friends close again, to have family, to make new friends, to be in a place where people have memories of me (good, or bad) and I of them. There is the whole new world of possibility with smrge, to be explored as well.
I return with a new way of seeing the world, in knowing more about what makes me happy, and as the ever-wise Mr Tweedy says, better able to know what to care about, what's really important.
As stoked as I am to start again, it will tougher and  bittersweet not having Scraps with me - this will be the first move I've made in 18 years without her.  Still miss you like crazy everyday, Arugula.

week in review...

 http://youtu.be/jlLQbL2Rv2I
Clearly, Rome is falling. I dunno what's worse: 24 hour access to as many fancy cupcakes as you can afford/are in the dispenser or the fact that calling it an "ATM" is basically equating cupcakes to money, which means I print money for a living, which means....wait, this might not be so bad...;)

 “The players put in a faultless performance, with fantastic spirit and you can only congratulate the whole team. It is a night when players can be proud to play for this Club. The team have grown together. Hopefully from here we can finish the season in a strong way.” - Arsene Wenger on beating Milan 3-0
Meanwhile, today I was never prouder to be a Gooner. Great match against Inter today, clean sheet (!!!) and we only missed out on moving to the Quarters of CL due to goal differential. Great game, and honestly, to have been watching TR7 for almost 5 years now, and see him score two games in a row? The second of 3 in this game? So much fun. We came very very close, and honestly did much better than anyone gave us credit for. RVP is a legend. I'm afraid he will leave, but understand. At any rate fantastic first half and great teamwork by the guys. I love you Arsenal, I do. My bi-polar adorkables.

Something here about the Gleek keying me in to an online stream of a dramatization of the Prop 8 hearing. really good stuff, including her boy Colfer (who, it appears, can act) but also Brad Pitt, George Clooney, Martin Sheen, Kevin Bacon, Jane Lynch and a bunch of other stellar performers. Really good. And, if you've never really had a handle on how courtroom manipulation goes, it's good to watch: they are basically simply reading transcripts from the trial, and yet, with the inflection, I personally think you get a much deeper understanding of the role lawyers, and how facts are presented really plays. Good stuff:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qlUG8F9uVgM&feature=relmfu

...and finally, stuff I do to get paid:

Daydream Believer

Truth be told, Mickey was my favorite. I watched the Monkees anytime it was available on TV, and when I was little, it was on all the time. Wacky hijinks and sarcasm were ingrained in me via Mickey, Peter, Mike and of course, Davy (click on photo to see him in action). Always a fan of the offbeat and quirky though, I gravitated to the manic Mickey, and away from the big, doe-eyed, adolescent dreamboy Davey. Even the songs he sang seemed to lack something to the 8 year-old me - they seemed candy-coated even then. However, being the Monkees fan I was, and a child of the only woman who graduated high school in 1962 who DID NOT like the Beatles,the show with it's evergreen plotline of what crazy job would the boys try in order to make enough money to pay the rent on their beachhouse,  it was a natural fit. As I got older, and appreciated the anti-establishment nods the show sprinkled in (it's true, they were soft-focus, but there was a definite pro-youth vibe and a distrust of status quo, plus, did I mention wacky hijinks/proto videos/and broad sarcasm? Yeah.). I remember tuning in the antennae of our kitchen tv so I could watch the show via Canadian tv when we moved to Seattle. In high school, they were the first record collecting and memorabilia hunting I ever did. I still have picture discs and all three of the first albums on vinyl among the milkcrates. At one point I had jigsaw puzzles, buttons and loads of magazines all featuring the Pre-fab Four. As I went to college and began to mainline punk rock, I tucked the Monkees stuff away, but I have never lost my affection for that bit of childhood, that first real feeling of being a fan. Later, a screening of "Head", the Monkees movie, which featured all sorts of the hardcore (for them) anti-establishment stuff, drug references and made it clear how Jimi Hendrix became their opening act made me feel like I might be just a little bit more hip. I saw it at the old Neptune in the U-district, a double feature with an early Jack Nicholson exploitation flick, Psych Out.Oh, those wacky '60s, viewed in the ironic '80s.
At any rate, Davy always represented "safe" and "normal" to me, even though he was British, shorter, and an actual stage actor who started as a childactor in a production of  "Oliver" in London. (To his credit, Mickey Dolenz was also a child actor but who the hell ever saw the tv show "Circus Boy"?). I disliked him because he was the most popular, and it became a way of seeing most things in our culture that persists to this day. I gravitate to the unique, different, and the difficult.
Even as a little kid, watching the Brady Bunch, the fact that my least favorite Brady (Marcia, duh) crushed out on Davy just strengthened my resolve. Clearly everyone loved davey, and that must mean the other Monkees weren't getting love, that was what I always told myself as I watched on Saturday mornings thorughout the 70's, huddled in my light green beanbag, madly scanning the TV Guide for more episodes. I do love the biggest musical hit, "Daydream Believer", and feel like it couldn't have been sung by anyone other than Davy. It was one of the first songs I ever learned all the words to, and Stepping Stone, Mickey's big hit, was one of the first cover tunes I ever learned on bass.
Most of all, as my pal Drl pointed out today - Davy also seemingly created the Axl Rose shimmy dance (see above screen cap) and for that alone he will be a small legend in my mind. I certainly didn't expect him to be the first Monkee to shuffle off this mortal coil (somehow, I thought it would be Peter, in some crazy accidental convenience store drug rampage or something), yet another milepost passes into the distance.
That said, today marks a week since smrge's visit began. It was a bit of a fantastic daydream right out of the gate - a warm, sweet meeting at the airport, animated conversation and affection as we drove back to the house. We enjoyed delightful morning cocktails (i did a little bloody mary magic) and reacquainted ourselves. Drug out old pictures, and compared notes. The evening was spent enjoying the construction of a pizza as music was played and conversation expanded. We curled up in the evening, putting a stuffed bear out to pasture, and enjoying the Wilco doc, "Ashes of American Flags" which smrge hadn't seen, and in fact, loved. We played each other music (I heard latest TOOL, he latest Wilco) and the natural affinity seemed to click in well.
Friday was a rambling day - Berkeley guitar shop, SF car tour and more music stores. Lunch at Nopalito, which was an adventure in urban hipster land, but I was so happy to have him by my side, and we headed home, where I did my traditional roasted chicken dinner, and it was more relaxing and watching movies, Doctor Who, and music, some heartfelt discussions and laughter. Saturday was leisurely, coffee, scones and some observation of the backyard fauna, specifically Addict Cat ("Whiskers") whom smrge managed to entice to within arm's reach. That evening we drove into the City via Marin, so that smrge could travel the Golden Gate Bridge, and we braved the dreaded (by me) Marina district in order to eat at my old coworker's new gig: Umami. Taylor took care of us - we sat at the sushi bar, not far from his station, and he sent out a huge menu of all his favorites, and we filled in with a few pieces of sashimi and seriously, some of the most lovely sake I've ever drunk. Taylor also demoed a new salad for us (not on the menu yet, but soon) of house smoked duck and a salad of pea shoots, kumquats, watermelon radish and other seasonal yumminess. From there, it was tuna tataki, cherry smoked salmon, halibut sashimi in a ceviche style that blew my doors off...a take on a bbq pork sandwich as a roll, and so many more things (I kept the menu, and may break it down again). Taylor came out a couple times to talk to us, to tell us about the food he was sending, and it was so much fun to be able to share that with smrge, who seemed to really dig it. When he got up to use the loo, he planted a kiss on my forehead and I admit, I swooned a bit. Such a great night.(we had started by getting coffee at the Coffee Bean and smrge mentioned it was the best vanilla latte he'd had - and that's no faint praise - he loves his coffee.
It was all the conversation and loveliness of the food - of explaining things about the kitchen and the ingredients to smrge, being finally able to share it with someone in that way...really could not have asked for a better night. We drove home the way we came in, and so smrge got the nighttime view of the Bridge and stuff as well. Every bit of it dreamy.
Sunday was quiet, and we made a trip to Berkeley Bowl to buy provisions for making an old favorite of smrge's: scallops with bacon & brussels sprouts. Sunday is not a good day for shopping at the Bowl, and sadly, I did not realize the extent of how horrendous it would be.
Fucking hippies.
Dinner was yummy, we had a nice bottle of Layer Cake and then attempted to stay awake to watch early episodes of The Office, but drifted off pretty quickly. While the first night was full of tossing for me, by Sunday night, sharing blankets was like riding a bike. Monday, smrge was a champ and came into work with me, even enduring the BART merry-go-round. I plied him with baked goods, and he showed me how get the spill guard off my mixer to get it clean. Which reminds me: somewhere in there he also managed to clean up my computer's registry & free up huge amounts of memory, and also to find the code so that I can once again use my car stereo. Kudos to my big-brained soulmate. We got home late, and I made a quick stop at the burrito joint I found recently so that he could also enjoy a real burrito (one of the great joys of this area, imho) - which he also was most complimentary of. He also ate several scones (not that night) and took several naps, as one should when on vacation. I thought it was a great visit, and I couldn't help but cry when "Radio Cure" started playing as we headed to the airport, where I once again got very emo as we parted so that he could catch his plane.
I know there is a lot of stuff going on. I know that I probably should have been more cautious with my emotions - that nothing ever is a simple anything for me. This has always been the case, and appears it always will be. What I am thankful for, even if it was only for a few days, was the chance to share my life with smrge again, face-to-face and nose-to-nose and for it to actually be *my life* that I was sharing, not simply space. I certainly have all sorts of worries about what happens next - but I will not forget how good it felt to have smrge there, to be laughing, sharing discoveries (even goofy YouTubers that I follow) and being as honest as I know how, right then with him.
I'm a believer.

this is the way it goes, and goes, and goes...

Working on a post about the weekend, a highlights-reel sort of thing. We enjoyed some nice weather, good wandering, amazing food and a lot of hanging out together. Even dragged him to work on the last day; such a champ. Getting back to the *normal* routine is taking some effort.
In the meantime, when in the Marina section of SF, dine at Umami. Ask for Taylor. Get the duck salad.