The Docarat
It's a rat on a cat on a dog. Spotted by my husband, Jason, in front of the DSW shoe store on Powell Street.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Visions on my way to work
I took the 2 Clement to work today, and while cruising down Post Street at Leavenworth, I was struck by two scenes within one block: First, I noticed a window in a sooty apartment building, that was propped open with a can of Raid. Immediately after that, my eyes focused on two trannies rummaging through their car trunk, tossing wig after wig aside. Not drag queens folks, but cracked-out at 9am, I'm-for-hire trannies. Strange, this was actually a couple blocks north of the true Tenderloin.
This reminded me of a night in the 'Loin when I was standing outside the Edinburgh Castle making a phone call before pub quiz. In the span of no more than 10 minutes, the following occurred:
This reminded me of a night in the 'Loin when I was standing outside the Edinburgh Castle making a phone call before pub quiz. In the span of no more than 10 minutes, the following occurred:
- hustled for cigarettes, 4 times
- grimaced at for not having cigarettes, 4 times
- watched someone grab cigarette butt out of the gutter and try to smoke it, 1 time
- leered at by nasty men, 3 times
- offered drugs, 1 time
- offered an array of fake Rolex's by guy with a grill, 1 time
Awesome.
This euphemistic description of the 'Loin is offered by Only In San Francisco- The Official Visitors Site for San Francisco:
Thousands originally from Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam have given the Tenderloin, a 20-square-block district west of Union Square new life. A landmark church, an experimental theatre house, jazz and blues clubs, restaurants and cafes point to a neighborhood renaissance.
Double awesome.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
The Castle
Some jobs can be fulfilling. Others can be soul-sucking, feeling you left to wonder what is your purpose? Are you making a difference? Are you truly fulfilled? Fifty years ago, the idea of fulfillment might have seemed laughable. A person was glad just to be earning a wage. And in a lot of situations, that is still the case. Being said, I am grateful for my job, especially in this economic climate. For years, I've gotten by on the notion that I could effectively separate my office life from my real life, as so wisely explained by Jennifer Aniston's character, Joanna, in the excellent film Office Space.
... most people don't like their jobs. But you go out there and find something that makes you happy
I have a coworker who I like to imagine as Keyser Soze from The Usual Suspects. She is always distracted in meetings, hiding behind imperfect English and seeming to not understand most things. But I'm convinced that she's aware of everything, and smarter than us all. I imagine her leaving the office, casting off her accent in the same way that Keyser Soze abandoned his limp at the end of the film. "I f**cking hate all those bastards," I like to imagine her saying...
I recently printed a photo of my two cats and taped it up near my mailbox in the main office. One of the cats has glowing eyes in the photo, like red-eye in humans, but it's yellow in cats. I went to my mailbox the other day, and noticed that someone had crudely taken a ball point pen and drew in pupils on my cat's eyes. That someone was my boss. I was perplexed, trying to imagine her motivation to vandalize my cats' photo. Was she in the main office after hours, staring at my cat's glowing eyes and feeling compelled to color them in? All she told me when she confessed was that she "wanted the cat to be looking at something." Now my cat's inky eyes follow you around the room. I don't like it, but if I take the picture down, she'll know it's because I didn't like that she drew on it.
We now have a rule of no eating at our desks. It's a problem if you have errands to run during your lunch break, or if it's raining outside and the break room is full. Equally draconian are the rules concerning working at special events- we are not supposed to sit or consume beverages like water or coffee in front of clients, even though the event lasts all day. None of these activities would look professional, we are told. I am more concerned with looking and feeling human, versus feeling like a cyborg. And I really don't think it would turn off potential buyers, who probably want to interact with humans and not cyborgs.
More often I contemplate my place in this organization, but I know that feeling lost and frustrated at work are hardly unique sentiments. Years ago I saw the movie Kafka with Jeremy Irons. I was captivated by the perverseness of his situation as a clerk at an insurance company in WWI era Prague- his unreasonable manager, his ridiculous and useless assistants, and eventually even murder (though I don't see that last one happening at my job)?
(Kafka talking to his two totally incompetent assistants, Ludwig and Oscar.)
Oscar: It's not too bad working here, though.
Kafka: You've never felt it was a horrible double life from which there's probably no escape but
insanity?
Ludwig: Yes.
Oscar: No.
Both: No.
Kafka: I envy you.
Oscar: You should be content, you know.
Ludwig: You should!
The movie had such an ideological and visual impact on me, that I've since had a pet-fantasy of opening a cafe called "Prague 1915," based on Kafka's Prague. It would serve Trappist ales, wine and a small selection of spirits, and be old world, bohemian, and gypsy. It would be dark with a touch of something diabolical- an air of superstition, without being full-on Vlad the Impaler. The closest thing that I've seen come close to this is Cafe Van Kleef in Oakland. Go there sometime, you will enjoy it.
... most people don't like their jobs. But you go out there and find something that makes you happy
I have a coworker who I like to imagine as Keyser Soze from The Usual Suspects. She is always distracted in meetings, hiding behind imperfect English and seeming to not understand most things. But I'm convinced that she's aware of everything, and smarter than us all. I imagine her leaving the office, casting off her accent in the same way that Keyser Soze abandoned his limp at the end of the film. "I f**cking hate all those bastards," I like to imagine her saying...
I recently printed a photo of my two cats and taped it up near my mailbox in the main office. One of the cats has glowing eyes in the photo, like red-eye in humans, but it's yellow in cats. I went to my mailbox the other day, and noticed that someone had crudely taken a ball point pen and drew in pupils on my cat's eyes. That someone was my boss. I was perplexed, trying to imagine her motivation to vandalize my cats' photo. Was she in the main office after hours, staring at my cat's glowing eyes and feeling compelled to color them in? All she told me when she confessed was that she "wanted the cat to be looking at something." Now my cat's inky eyes follow you around the room. I don't like it, but if I take the picture down, she'll know it's because I didn't like that she drew on it.
We now have a rule of no eating at our desks. It's a problem if you have errands to run during your lunch break, or if it's raining outside and the break room is full. Equally draconian are the rules concerning working at special events- we are not supposed to sit or consume beverages like water or coffee in front of clients, even though the event lasts all day. None of these activities would look professional, we are told. I am more concerned with looking and feeling human, versus feeling like a cyborg. And I really don't think it would turn off potential buyers, who probably want to interact with humans and not cyborgs.
More often I contemplate my place in this organization, but I know that feeling lost and frustrated at work are hardly unique sentiments. Years ago I saw the movie Kafka with Jeremy Irons. I was captivated by the perverseness of his situation as a clerk at an insurance company in WWI era Prague- his unreasonable manager, his ridiculous and useless assistants, and eventually even murder (though I don't see that last one happening at my job)?
(Kafka talking to his two totally incompetent assistants, Ludwig and Oscar.)
Oscar: It's not too bad working here, though.
Kafka: You've never felt it was a horrible double life from which there's probably no escape but
insanity?
Ludwig: Yes.
Oscar: No.
Both: No.
Kafka: I envy you.
Oscar: You should be content, you know.
Ludwig: You should!
The movie had such an ideological and visual impact on me, that I've since had a pet-fantasy of opening a cafe called "Prague 1915," based on Kafka's Prague. It would serve Trappist ales, wine and a small selection of spirits, and be old world, bohemian, and gypsy. It would be dark with a touch of something diabolical- an air of superstition, without being full-on Vlad the Impaler. The closest thing that I've seen come close to this is Cafe Van Kleef in Oakland. Go there sometime, you will enjoy it.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Phantasmagoria ii
Tam O' Shanter and the Witches
In Tam O' Shanter (1790), Robert Burns tells the tale of the eponymous character as he begins his night at the local public house in Auld Ayr (Scotland), and eventually goes over to the dark side...
Tam drinks and regales with friends at what might be considered the equivalent of the modern-day happy hour (have fun looking up all the Scots colloquialisms).
When chapman billies leave the street,
And drouthy neibors, neibors, meet;
As market days are wearing late,
And folk begin to tak the gate
While we sit bousing at the nappy,
An' getting fou and unco happy
He stays too late, gets too drunk, flirts with the landlady of the pub and offends his wife. Eventually leaving alone, he makes his way through the countryside, which seems especially eerie on that night. Ultimately he comes upon a raucous scene ablaze in light- a danse macabre with witches and warlocks, open coffins, and the Devil himself, carousing and whirling in decadent abandon.
He dances with a pretty young witch, wearing a too-short nightshirt (cutty-sark). Tam, overcome, can't help but exclaim in lecherous glee:
Weel done, Cutty-sark!
Suddenly, the lights go off and Tam is pursued by the witches and warlocks, who have flown into a rage. Escaping on his horse, he makes it over the bridge to safety (the witches and warlocks can't cross running water) (1), but not without the young witch grabbing his horse's tail and pulling it off.
I first came upon an illustration of the Tam O' Shanter dance scene on a trip to Seattle during college. It was on a promo postcard for a show at a downtown bar. I had no idea of the artist, and was so intrigued by the debauched imagery that I simply had to know the tale behind it. It took about 12 years (and Google) before I could search to find it's inspiration.
Tam O' Shanter and the Witches by John Faed, 1892
Illustration to the poem of Robert Burns
(1) Lindsay, Maurice (1996), "Tam O'Shanter", The Burns Encyclopedia (3 ed.), Robert Hale, ISBN 978-0709057192, http://www.robertburns.org/encyclopedia/TamOShanter.23.shtml, retrieved on 31 October 2008
In Tam O' Shanter (1790), Robert Burns tells the tale of the eponymous character as he begins his night at the local public house in Auld Ayr (Scotland), and eventually goes over to the dark side...
Tam drinks and regales with friends at what might be considered the equivalent of the modern-day happy hour (have fun looking up all the Scots colloquialisms).
When chapman billies leave the street,
And drouthy neibors, neibors, meet;
As market days are wearing late,
And folk begin to tak the gate
While we sit bousing at the nappy,
An' getting fou and unco happy
He stays too late, gets too drunk, flirts with the landlady of the pub and offends his wife. Eventually leaving alone, he makes his way through the countryside, which seems especially eerie on that night. Ultimately he comes upon a raucous scene ablaze in light- a danse macabre with witches and warlocks, open coffins, and the Devil himself, carousing and whirling in decadent abandon.
He dances with a pretty young witch, wearing a too-short nightshirt (cutty-sark). Tam, overcome, can't help but exclaim in lecherous glee:
Weel done, Cutty-sark!
Suddenly, the lights go off and Tam is pursued by the witches and warlocks, who have flown into a rage. Escaping on his horse, he makes it over the bridge to safety (the witches and warlocks can't cross running water) (1), but not without the young witch grabbing his horse's tail and pulling it off.
I first came upon an illustration of the Tam O' Shanter dance scene on a trip to Seattle during college. It was on a promo postcard for a show at a downtown bar. I had no idea of the artist, and was so intrigued by the debauched imagery that I simply had to know the tale behind it. It took about 12 years (and Google) before I could search to find it's inspiration.
Tam O' Shanter and the Witches by John Faed, 1892Illustration to the poem of Robert Burns
(1) Lindsay, Maurice (1996), "Tam O'Shanter", The Burns Encyclopedia (3 ed.), Robert Hale, ISBN 978-0709057192, http://www.robertburns.org/encyclopedia/TamOShanter.23.shtml, retrieved on 31 October 2008
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Mensch / Natur / Technik
It is a huge understatement to say that I like cycling. I like it a lot, almost bordering on obsession at times (I just got a new Easton wheelset this weekend).Naturally, then, one can imagine that I'm currently in cycling heaven, as the Amgen Tour of California rolls through the state. The tour gets better each year, drawing more top cyclists and spectators. It's the closest thing to la Tour that we have stateside, and yesterday I got to see it live. The peloton raced over the Golden Gate Bridge, and right through my neighborhood. We were able to see them at the start of their short climb up to the Legion of Honor, and then spur-of-the-moment drove down to Santa Cruz for the finish.
Watching them slice through the drizzle on El Camino del Mar was like watching a phantom ship glide silently through the mist- a soft whir of derailleur and wheel, punctuated by the rhythmic breath of the riders. All is distilled to the essence of man-machine.
The inspiration for this characterization is not lost upon me, as the idea of the man-machine was famously conceptualized by the likewise cycling-obsessed Kraftwerk. Describing the Tour De France EP, founder-member Ralf Hütter explains “the bicycle is already a musical instrument on its own. The noise of the bicycle chain, the pedal and gear mechanism, for example, the breathing of the cyclist...When your bike functions best, you don’t hear it – it’s silent, there’s no cracking, just shhhh – you’re gliding. It’s the same when you’re in good shape and you're in form and you’re riding your bike, you hear nothing – maybe just a little bit of breath." (from "Kraftwerk and the Ultimate Man-Machine" by John Thurston, Rouleur Magazine, August 2005)
Thursday, February 12, 2009
GHI
I am obsessed with shows about the paranormal. It started with Ghost Hunters, but now that has expanded to Ghost Hunters International (GHI), Psychic Children, and Paranormal State.
Why this obsession? I blame it on a report I had to write in the 7th grade, over winter break. I don't remember which class and why I chose a report on paranormal activity, but I checked out all these books at the library on topics from the Bermuda Triangle to the famous Crystal Skull (Mysteries of the Unknown: Time-Life Books). I immersed myself in all of this while my parents were at work. It rained two straight weeks that break, and George Harrison's "I Got My Mind Set on You" kept playing on MTV. I thought that video was creepy.
The thing that stuck out about what I was reading was a report of an area in England called "Chestnuts." There had been strange disappearances, sightings of supposed demons, and even UFOs. Dogs would mysteriously disappear and be found dead, but at an advanced state of decomposition that didn't correlate with the time they'd been gone. A priest disappeared. A large, black 10 foot shadow was seen by a man one night. The next day, cloven footprints were found where that shadow had been seen.
All of this creeped me out to no end. One night while I lay awake thinking about everything, I noticed the walls of my bedroom start to glow (though it was probably an illusion caused by the fact that I kept my eyes open too long). I had the sensation of my sheets levitating off my body. I was convinced I was haunted, and that if I looked down the hallway, I'd see that black 10 ft demon shadow.
Until I graduated high school, I would only sleep on my back so I could keep one eye on my bedroom door. This probably lead to sleep paralysis incidents that I will discuss in a future post.
Fast-forwarding to now, and my GHI watching, last night the GHI team investigated the Clark Air Force Base hospital in the Philippines. The hospital is a ruins now because the eruption of Mount Pinatubo in 1991 sent 11 ft of ash through the place. The team recorded some of the eeriest EVPs (electronic voice phenomenon) that I've heard in all my Ghost Hunters watching. You could really hear disembodied voices clearly, saying actual words.
The thing that was so fascinating to me with this investigation is, this is where I was born. I saw the ruins personally in 1996, but seeing them now in their haunted state, and knowing it was once a working, vibrant place where, 33 years ago, my mom had a c-section and there I was- well, it was intriguing.
Why this obsession? I blame it on a report I had to write in the 7th grade, over winter break. I don't remember which class and why I chose a report on paranormal activity, but I checked out all these books at the library on topics from the Bermuda Triangle to the famous Crystal Skull (Mysteries of the Unknown: Time-Life Books). I immersed myself in all of this while my parents were at work. It rained two straight weeks that break, and George Harrison's "I Got My Mind Set on You" kept playing on MTV. I thought that video was creepy.
The thing that stuck out about what I was reading was a report of an area in England called "Chestnuts." There had been strange disappearances, sightings of supposed demons, and even UFOs. Dogs would mysteriously disappear and be found dead, but at an advanced state of decomposition that didn't correlate with the time they'd been gone. A priest disappeared. A large, black 10 foot shadow was seen by a man one night. The next day, cloven footprints were found where that shadow had been seen.
All of this creeped me out to no end. One night while I lay awake thinking about everything, I noticed the walls of my bedroom start to glow (though it was probably an illusion caused by the fact that I kept my eyes open too long). I had the sensation of my sheets levitating off my body. I was convinced I was haunted, and that if I looked down the hallway, I'd see that black 10 ft demon shadow.
Until I graduated high school, I would only sleep on my back so I could keep one eye on my bedroom door. This probably lead to sleep paralysis incidents that I will discuss in a future post.
Fast-forwarding to now, and my GHI watching, last night the GHI team investigated the Clark Air Force Base hospital in the Philippines. The hospital is a ruins now because the eruption of Mount Pinatubo in 1991 sent 11 ft of ash through the place. The team recorded some of the eeriest EVPs (electronic voice phenomenon) that I've heard in all my Ghost Hunters watching. You could really hear disembodied voices clearly, saying actual words.
The thing that was so fascinating to me with this investigation is, this is where I was born. I saw the ruins personally in 1996, but seeing them now in their haunted state, and knowing it was once a working, vibrant place where, 33 years ago, my mom had a c-section and there I was- well, it was intriguing.
Phantasmagoria i
The Jersey DevilThe Jersey Devil, or the Leeds Devil, is said to inhabit the Pine Barrens of southern New Jersey.
Deborah Leeds had twelve children, and she vowed that if she gave birth to another, it would be the devil himself. In 1735, she gave birth to her thirteenth child. It was seemingly normal at first, but later formed bat wings, a horse's head, a forked tail, and cloven hooves. (1)
There are sightings of the Jersey Devil to this day.
(1) Documents Relating to the Colonial History of the State Of New Jersey, 1st Ser., Vol. XXX Ed. A. Van Doren Honeyman, (Union-Gazette, Somerville, N.J.)1918.
Prima
Hi. This will be my space to spew forth random thoughts and observations, recount memories, and document an assemblage of curiosities that I like.
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