Back in the USA

Missing India, happy to be home. So much to tell! Too much, really. Better to focus on someone else's anecdote: last week Ke$ha asked my Australian coworker out on a date. You'll be surprised to hear that they went to a club.

Things organized neatly

We're ready to go now, just waiting for our cab. Bags packed, cats fed, house (semi-) cleaned. And I've chilled out in my demands for the excellence of our vacation. We're going to India, so it will be excellent. And it will probably blow, at times. I'm ready.

So I leave you with this: Things Organized Neatly. Wonderful.

Turkey cake!

I'm going to be out of the country for Thanksgiving, so I'm requesting that someone I know make this turkey cake, complete with mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, stuffing, and cranberry sauce. And don't forget to photograph it. Thank you.

I need a vacation

I am losing it just a leetle bit. We leave tomorrow for India, and the normal things you're supposed to stress about at the last minute - packing, getting the house ready, whether the cats will go apeshit while you're gone and shred all the upholstery - is of no concern. Instead, I am completely unable to book a hotel for the trip, a hotel that we will need beginning Monday night. I have spent HOURS on Trip Advisor, combing through all the recommendations. I have sent dozens of emails to inquire about reservations. And it's getting down to the wire. I tend to be a seat-of-my-pants traveler, but life has been so crazy these last few months that I feel like I need a totally relaxing, totally planned vacation.

And that is where I am screwing myself. The area that we are heading to - Goa, on the Arabian Sea - is supposed to be heavenly. The beach where we are aiming to stay is stunning. But my brain is telling me that I have to pick the perfect place to stay. What the hell does that mean? There are thatched huts, there are fancy resorts, there are beach hotels. And because this is India, we can afford them all. So I'm frozen with indecision and anxiety, and the worse it gets, the more I pity myself, because this is supposed to be fun! But what if we show up and the place I picked is a shithole, and the one next door is gorgeous, and I screwed everything up?

Clearly this is going to get resolved soon, and I'm not going to be torturing myself forever. But seriously, I need to get a grip. And take a vacation.

Slide

I just realized I never uploaded this video - it's from when I was in Berlin, and Cait and I went for a run in the rain. The slide was calling to me! I got very wet and sandy, but it was entirely worth it.

Atheists don't have no songs

No one ever wrote a tune for godless existentialism. Steve Martin to the rescue!

It begins

The cleaning-out-the-fridge-before-traveling roasting of everything in sight.

Potatoes, cauliflower, carrots, beets, peppers. Once we're through our groceries, there'll be a few nights of takeout, and then...VACATION!

Giants fever: a justification

I think I like sports because I like stories. I'm not going to rattle off baseball or football stats at you, but I will remember things like the fact that Oakland Raiders went into this past weekend having scored 92 points in the previous two games. Because there is a narrative attached: they blew epically for the beginning of the season, and now they blow less. Baseball has such a long season, though, that it's just too much number crunching. If I can't keep track of the story, I can't keep track of caring.

So now that the SF Giants fervor has calmed down a bit, I'm realizing that I got so caught up in it because it was a great story. Each player seemed so quirky, and nice! And they were underdogs, and they won! Even better, all the little rituals - the cheers, the signs, the weed jokes - were all very San Franciscan. It gave me the warm fuzzies to have so many people acknowledging how great my city/team is.

In sum, the last few weeks were a lot of fun. We spent time in our local bar, watching the games and reconnecting with our neighbors, and Mike even made friends with a guy named Dirty Kevin. Thank you for that, Giants.

The victory parade was on a lovely warm day, and everyone was just so HAPPY. I didn't even mind the crowds (much).

I rode my bike around downtown to scope the scene, and wound up having to salmon my way up Market for several blocks because there were so many people in the streets.

Do you like having strangers high five you? If so, you should have been here.

Tell Tale

Yesterday I picked up my first Tell Tale Society bag - I got it for a friend as a gift. I made her open it in front of me just so I could see everything that was in it. I hope it all tastes as amazing as it looks. And now it's getting blogged about!

Scone

Last week I made Smitten Kitchen's apple and cheddar scones. I don't have all that much to say about them except that you should make them immediately. You should first make sure that the people around you like the combination of apple and cheddar, though, because if you don't, and they don't, you will wind up sending all your visitors home with scones preciously individually wrapped in tinfoil. I tried to eat them all myself, I really did, but even I needed backup.

The batter alone was fantastic - buttery and apple-y and cheesy.

I was so pleased with myself for having made anything so domestic looking. Though I really need to learn to improve my food photography skills.

And everything is better when served on a green plate.

As a side note, I'd like to take a moment to note how math really is everywhere, and will not leave us alone. I was dumping all the scone-making accessories into soaking mixing bowl when I realized that bubbles are fractals. They appear out of one another, like cleanliness-oriented spores of soap and air.

Beth has known this for years, but it took this intense bubble experience for me to fully grok it. Fractals are awesome. Check out that bubbular structure, man. Sweet.

Run

Tonight I went for a run. I wasn't really excited about it (when am I?), but Mike was coming home from work late and it was too early to open a bottle of wine. So. I did my usual 3 miles (serious runners: shutup), and ran into a Wellesleyite along the way. I was chugging along to some Coolio - seriously, revisit mid-90s poppy rap if you haven't yet done so - when she flagged me down. It was good to see her, but I was feeling a bit sad when we parted that I had missed all of "1, 2, 3, 4" except for my favorite line: "I got something new for that ass." Yes you do, Coolio.

But anyway. I was mourning the social obligations that make us miss out on our favorite pop songs ("What? I can't hear you that well...Oh yeah, Black Eyed Peas are totally lame. I would never listen to them on my own. But when they're on in a bar...No, yeah, I hate them then too, obviously.") when the perfect tune came on. A big hill loomed above me; George Michael sang through my earbuds. You got to have...Faith! Faith! Faith!

It was kismet. George Michael got me up that hill. Not only that, but I ended the run with a sprint home to my favorite song [fair warning: Youtube video], which never stops being amusing to me. Because, he's kidding, right? But what if he's not? But what if he is? Is it post-feminist of me to love this song? Post-post-feminist? When does irony just become an embarrassment to the person indulging in it?

Point of story: it was a good day to be outside on a run. And being outside is kind of the only reason I run, so it was validating. And that is pretty much all that I ask from life. Unequivocal validation.

Little matching frog-gloves

Saturday was a rainy rainy day, and we made the most of it by going to the Conservatory of Flowers in Golden Gate Park. Here is a neato thing I learned from the carnivorous plants exhibit: "Some Nepenthes [pitcher plants etc] capture frogs, and when the frogs are dissolved, all that is left in the fluid are little matching frog-gloves. Apparently, the skin on the frog hands is resistant to digestion."

Aren't you glad you know that now?

I took lots of photos with a cheesy app on my phone, and I love them. Here are a few. Ok, several. Too many. Self-restraint is not one of my virtues.

The Conservatory.

The main hall.

It was nice to be inside, with the rain outside.

The building was a bit leaky, but that just made it feel...authentic.

Lily pads that I want to lay on.

Under water!

Exiting aquatic plants.

Check out this upside down pineappley dude.

I wish I had written down what this guy was.

A good leaf to hang out under.

A rainy palm tree outside.

The view upon leaving.

Saxophonists were playing in that tunnel. The End.

Boonville

I love love love the Anderson Valley. As does, apparently, The New York Times. I have discussed this love before, and I just want to say: go. Go for their Beer Fest, go to the wineries, or just go for the amazing drive to get there.

You will not be sorry.

To poncho, or not to poncho

Guys: Anthropologie poncho. Thoughts?

I mean, it's a poncho, so that's bad. But it's a pretty color. And I like layers. And I've never owned a poncho. And it's ten dollars.

Ok, I might have just talked myself into it.

Last days in Berlin

For my last few days in Berlin, Amanda came to visit from Bonn! It was rainy and chilly, but we made the most of it. Here's the ladies, in the lower left corner.

We walked around Cait's neighborhood and got a fantastic German brunch. I could easily eat bread and cheese and salad and pickles for breakfast for the rest of my life. Screw French toast, man. We spent Saturday afternoon in Mitte, the central district, shopping our butts off. I found Berlin fashion really inspiring - it has taken the shlubby-stylish San Francisco look to its logical conclusion: Eurohipster.

Then I dragged the ladies out for a final night on the town. One of my favorite things about Berlin is how little bars seem to have popped up in storefronts all over the place - in Cait's neighborhood, at least. You walk by a window late at night and there's a few people sitting inside, smoking cigarettes in front of a tiny bar with a chalkboard menu hanging behind it. You enter, and sit, and order wine, or a beer, or a long drink. And look at your friends over candlelight. Speaking of which, isn't Amanda pretty?

Cait and I are now once again separated by a continent and an ocean, but our love will persevere. If my brain doesn't melt from jetlag, that is.

But Mike and the cats seem very happy to have me home, so I think they will cuddle me back to normalcy.