Analyze this

Last night I had two dreams that I remember. Both of them are so cliched as to be ridiculous.

1. I was at the house of an acquaintance, for what I believed to be a Halloween party. Once I walked in, got myself a glass of wine and some finger foods and settled into a chair, however, I realized it was a wake. People were going around in a circle weepily telling stories about their dearly departed, who I did not know. Soon it was going to be my turn to speak. I had to figure out how to leave discreetly. Before they got to me, they decided to move into the other room, where the body was. The anxiety of that moment - what do I do now? - is all I remember.

2. I woke up on a Thursday and realized that Saturday was my birthday, and I had no plans. That was sad. I tried to think about what to do with a group of people - day activity? night activity? I thought just going to a bar would be boring, and so would a house party. I was sad that I didn't have any creative ideas. I asked a friend, who suggested a Sonoma day trip. Too short notice, I thought. She suggested Fly Bar. Well ok, I said, can you come? No, she said - my parents are in town, and we're going to a tattoo convention.

And that is how very dull anxiety dreams get weird.

Occupy?

I am sitting at my kitchen table with a glass of red wine and a mixing bowl of Funfetti batter, trying to decide whether to go Occupy SF. The batter is going into mini donut pans, which I bought in a fit of Bed Bath & Beyond-induced insanity (real affliction), and while I have absolutely no idea if cake batter is going to work as mini donut battter, it seems worth a try. The red wine is because I ate a few (read: many) spoonfuls of batter and needed to cut the sweetness, and also because I thought it would help me decide.

I really don't want to be part of any big out of control protest - I am claustrophobic and afraid of loud noises, much like a cocker spaniel - but my guess is that Occupy SF won't be like Oakland. The rumor is that the SFPD is raiding it tonight, which is why all my friends are going. As I ponder joining them, I've also been coming up with a number of possible Facebook status updates.

• To tell you the truth, I'd rather be occupying my couch tonight, but it's time, friends. It's time.
• Friends, family, and colleagues: don't worry about me getting teargassed, as I am way too chickenshit to do anything but stand on the periphery and run away if things get intense.
• Please don't fret about me, I'll be fine tonight, because I can just tell the riot police that authority figures love me. That always works.

This last one is a reference to a time that I attempted to talk two cops out of arresting friends. When they told me to back away and shut up, I told them they were reacting incorrectly. Authority figures love me! They were unimpressed.

I will probably go for a bit tonight, but leave if it starts heating up. I can't even cut an onion, dude - I'd be a seriously liability if I got teargassed. On the other hand, Mike is going, and I'd like to support him and our other friends. I also support the movement . Even though it obviously has its flaws, all populist movements do, and I think the cause is spot on. The fact that I have more Facebook update ideas than specific reasons for wanting to go tonight is troublesome, but I really am excited by what's going on in the world right now - and angry at the way that corporations legislate through our elected officials - and I'd like to show it in some way other than online petitions.

So I'm going to finish my brew - did I mention I'm brewing a batch of beer right now? - and see where I end up when it's done. If you see a photo of me tomorrow on the homepage of your newspaper of choice, looking bloody and disoriented, just blame the Funfetti.

Franzia

My brother is ridiculous.

Putting in the kilometers

I covered some serious ground today, and my feet are feeling it. It started with a morning run along the Tiber...

That led to post-run pastry ogling...

 Which inevitably led to post-run pastry consuming (sfogliatelle, my favorite)...

 And then, belly full, I noticed - and applauded - the rim of bike lane that is the shore of the Tiber...

And, after my wine and cheese tasting class, I strolled past galleries like this one, with some hilarious Obama/Clinton art...

And after walking through the Foro Romano and the Palatino and circling the Colosseum, I ended up here...

Where I enjoyed a beer, then rambled on for some wine and dinner. I like eating dinner in a restaurant alone, though I wouldn't want to do it all the time. I sat and read this fascinating Atlantic article on gun control, sipped a white wine (which I now know, after wine class, that I like because it's mineral-y!), and ate stuffed squash blossoms, the best penne arrabiata I've ever had, and seared tuna. And now I go to bed, because in the morning I head to Frankfurt. Boo.

What I love about Rome

So many things. Moto moto many. But here goes:

• The shoes. 9 out of 10 people wear pure beauty on their feet. Tourists stick out like a sore thumb. A sore thumb in Tevas.
• The food. It's divine. But you probably guessed that.
• The old + new. I don't think it would be easy to live in a city that has an identity defined by ancient history, but they wear it well here. Tonight on my walk home from a different neighborhood I passed through a piazza full of games for the night - ping pong, foosball, basketball, a climbing wall...It was for fun, of course, but it seemed like there was a games parallel. As in, there's a history of public entertainment, but it is no longer quite so bloody as it once was. 
• The people we've collected. Maybe we just lucked out, but within 30 minutes at a local's bar near our apartment off Campo de Fiori we met people from all over the globe. We sang songs together, and danced, and pressed cheeks at the end of the night. Granted we lucked out in that we met a few people who worked for the UN and introduced us to a circle of people that was mostly gay and had literally lived in dozens of countries (in crisis, no less), but still. There are a lot of NGOs here, a lot of people who are global citizens more than they belong to any one state.
• The cafe culture. As in Paris, you can sit indefinitely with very little pressure to keep ordering. When you're ready for the check, you ask for it. Simple. I just spent an hour alone at a cafe - at 8 p.m., prime time - drinking wine and reading a magazine, and it was easy peasy. I wasn't crowded, I wasn't rushed, and when I was ready to settle up I did. Boom.
• The light. Just as California light has its own glory and personality, so does the light here. Yesterday the sun was strong and hot; today it was buttery and slanting, and there was a lovely chill in the air.

What I don't like about Rome:

• Jetlag.

The upside of jetlag, however, is being up early in the morning to go on photo excursions. Below are some of the pictures I've taken thus far. On the docket for tomorrow: a lunchtime wine and cheese tasting class, visiting the Colosseum, and a pub quiz with some expats.

Irony intervention

A high school classmate posted this on Facebook today. It was tempting to comment, but I refrained.

I wish people would stop writing about what they hate. No one tells you, but they think you're depressing and annoying. Like, did anything GOOD happen to you today? Life is too short to bitch.

Ciao Roma (soon)

Work is very very busy right now, for reasons uninteresting to everyone who does not directly work with me - product launches, performance reviews, bugs out the wazoo - and I realize I am becoming like all those people I didn't used to understand. You have too many meetings to attend? You can't get through all your email? You feel a vague sense of dread even when you've checked most things off your to-do list? I now know how you feel. But the real reason I'm discombobulated is that I leave in two days for Rome, and then fly on to the Frankfurt Book Fair.

Frankfurt is a clusterf*** of all-day meetings, bad food, no water (because no bathroom breaks), amazing team dinners, late nights in smoky bars, and jetlag. It is fun, it is intense, and I am always very glad it is over. I inevitably come home with a cold, and usually laryngitis as well. This year I have armed myself with Throat Coat tea (though not a humidifier, a tactic I've used in years past), a relaxing weekend in Rome beforehand, and a giant bottle of melatonin. I am hoping that their forces combined will keep me healthy and minimally exhausted.

Given that Mike is just back in town, and October in San Francisco is glorious, I wouldn't mind if the book fair were in, say, January. But please don't think I'm complaining - I'm not. I'm super excited, though I do feel like I only just caught my breath.  My mom left Saturday evening, after a few days of redecorating, wine drinking, and bluegrass-watching.

I dropped her off at the airport and drove directly up north, to Pt. Reyes, to meet friends at a birthday house rental. I got there late, and I left early, but I got to spend time with wonderful people I don't see all that often, and woke up to this view.

Vegging has been the name of the game the last few nights, but all that comes to an end now. On the agenda for tonight: packing.

I love Jezebel

I really really do.  "You're going to let your ass say its piece" needs to be a riot grrrl band.

There are certain situations where it may be impossible to get out of a crowd, and the fart must be passed. Say, for example, you're in the crowd at a sold out show, or you're waiting in the security line at O'Hare Airport. If you can't hold it, you're going to let your ass say its piece and deal with the aftermath. You can try to mitigate the smell — for example, if you carry scented lotion in your purse, take it out right after you fart and start nonchalantly applying some to your hands. Nothing to see here. Just a lady passing gas and moisturizing — or you can deny that the smell came from you. Whatever you do, if you plan on seeing any of the people around you again, do not raise your arms triumphantly over your head and proudly proclaim your stewardship of the fetid air now passing into your fellow humans' nasal cavities. This is widely viewed as rude behavior.

Ladies!

Oh man, that title has so much potential. Like, this post should be about yeast infections. Or the perils of men, and subsequent yeast infections. Or something. For the record, I have never had a yeast infection, but I have heard of the perils from other ladies. Anyway. Instead, this post is about this:

Do you do your nails? Do you know why? Because I don't. I am on a TEAR (as in paper, not as in sad salty drop of water running down my cheek), and I couldn't give you an explanation. I just like doing my nails. Except I DON'T. I don't like waiting for my nails to dry, I inevitably f*** them up, and they chip after like 5 minutes. But still, I have kept them weird colors like bright orange and grey and dark green for the last month or so. Free the Brennan Nails, right? Maybe I can work this into one of the many protests happening these days. Holy cow, that was shallow. But I have green nails these days, so anything goes.

P.S. I had to photograph my hand in this claw-like position because when a hand is flat out and you take a picture of it in bad light it looks like a creepy creepy anemone. Try it and tell me I'm wrong.

QT

My mom is in town to keep me company while Mike is gone, and thus far we have been eating great food, drinking lots of wine, and having epic gabfests. While I've been at work she has driven to Sausalito, headed down the coast to Half Moon Bay, and walked half the city. She went wine tasting at the ferry building, chocolate tasting at Ghirardelli, and panic-tasting at Coit Tower: she dropped her camera off the side of the Filbert Steps. In Brennan-luck tradition, though, a French trapeze artist happened by and helped her out, so her camera is safe and sound. All it cost my mom was a bottle of wine that she had bought for me.

Wednesday we went to see John Prine, and boy howdy was it amazing. He is the real deal. It was a hot day, stayed warm once the sun when down, and we picnicked with wine and this view.

John Prine has been around forever, doing his funny sad country music, and he can work a crowd. His brother was in the audience, and every once in a while he would say, "I love you Doug." And Doug would yell back, "I love you brother." Then everyone would cheer. Someone yelled "John, you're a legend!" He blinked a few times, then said, "Usually that's inside my head." The whole thing made me feel happy, and centered (ohmygod, I have gone NorCal), and like I know what I love and can surround myself with things that I love. It was...inspiring.

Last night we went to my regular yoga class. I had told the instructor that I was bringing my mom, and she said she was honored. I don't know how honored she felt when my mom gave her an in-depth explanation of why she couldn't do pigeon pose, but mom was successfully shushed, and seemed to enjoy the class. I definitely did. The best part: Mom wore a tshirt that said "Group Therapy" and had bedazzled glasses of wine on it. 

TGIwhatever

I have had a week of incompetence and ill luck. I've had commute fails on an epic scale (well, epic if you consider waiting on the curb for 45 minutes then getting stuck in 2 hours of traffic epic, and being trapped in a roasting airless bus on the return trip, which I do), I've spent over a week trying to write a self review for a promotion at work that doesn't make me sound like a jackass, I've dropped and chipped and burned all kinds of things, I've embarrassed myself multiple times, I've pissed off creatures great and small. And this morning I put Mike on a plane to Cairo, which has nothing to do with incompetence or ill luck, but does have its own frustrations. But I'm happy for him, really!

Anyway, I'm going to turn it around here. A few things I've enjoyed this week:

• attending a super fancy startup party (with Beth and the mostess hostess above)
• this article on a small-town pharmacist
• discovering that a friend from college is undertaking a very cool world-exploring theater project
• resisting the urge to buy oh so many thigns on this site
• fixing my internet - with a friend's help - through methods technical and hacker-y
• planning my Halloween costume (just you wait!)
• wallowing in the lovely Indian summer weather
• drinking out of a big glass boot with this lady, who generally does not look so sleepy (or enshadowed, but that is my camera's fault)

A week for the books

Today is Friday, which means I'm posting this a bit late, but whatever. I'll proceed. Last Saturday we had a gathering at our house that turned into a party that turned into a rager. It was a lot of fun - probably a bit too much. We wound up getting the last guests out of the house at about 5 a.m., and pissed off our neighbors mucho in the process. On Monday I left a bottle of wine and an apology note outside their door, and returned home to find a typewritten note - on a letterpress card, no less - thanking us for the wine but scolding us for being inconsiderate. Fair enough.

Aside from gathering the ire of our neighbors, the party went off smoothly. It had a summer camp theme, so I put out pitchers of Tang with vodka (delicious, and my downfall) and Countrytime lemonade with whiskey, along with fruit rollups, animal crackers, and bags of Capri Sun, which inevitably wound up being used as mixers. We had the firepit going in the backyard, and there were people on the porch, and in the house, and pretty much anywhere they could fit (including a couple locked in the bathroom, doing exactly what I hoped they weren't doing).

There were make-your-own-merit badges of construction paper, markers, stickers and safety pins. I was awarded Hostess with the Mostess badge, and also two that looked like nipples, pinned to my chest. Someone else had a badge that named her Chief Breast Inspector. It was that kind of party. My favorite thing was the pinata I bought and stuffed with little plastic bottles of booze.

Sunday morning (er, afternoon) I woke up in a haze, and stayed that way until we met Boof at the Willie Nelson concert at Mountain Winery. A pound or so of brie and manchego brought me back to something approaching normalcy, and Willie doing all his classics brought me back to endorphin-land. Monday we had a cocktail party to attend (hosted by friends who are opening their own distillery), and Tuesday I tore through dollar-oyster night, eating something like three dozen. Wednesday I had a work happy hour (balanced out by a run when I got home), and yesterday I stood at the stove for hours to make bread, lentils, roasted vegetables, fried rice, and a pot o' grains (amaranth, quinoa, teff). I don't know what got into me. Oh right, red wine.

This weekend will hopeful involve more recovery time than this week has, but I'm really not counting on it.

Happy Friday!

Today started off as a pain in the ass, with the simultaneous meltdown of both my phone and my computer (because our wifi router spontaneously bit the dust). Without my work account on my phone I couldn't get into my computer, and vice versa. A kind Muni driver let me sprint my way onto his bus, and I am now in the office, where electronics know to behave.

And Mike came for lunch!

Yes, there is a photo booth in the San Francisco office. I don't know why either.

Divinity

This may not look like much, but it is ohsotasty. Warm lentils with olive oil, balsamic, celery salt, and some fried-up freezer rice. Dinner last night. I had a Ball jar with some red wine in it going, and I was a happy lady.

Smartypants

Caitlin just presented her new company, Amen, at a TechCrunch conference/competition. Go Caitlin!