Famous bros update

Last night I dreamed about Bruce Springsteen. The dream started in my childhood bedroom, where I went through my bookshelves and found a Russian novelist I apparently loved (Dovyovev - way to make up a Russian name, brain!) and an old used version of the fourth Game of Thrones book (important dream discovery - the series was actually published in the 70s, but no one bought it and so George RR Martin republished it recently, to great acclaim!).

The doorbell rang, and it was Bruce Springsteen, to see my parents. This made sense, because we lived in New Jersey, and Bruce, as everyone knows, is from New Jersey. I let them talk for a bit in the family room while hovering excitedly in the kitchen, eating an apple. When he got up to go, I caught him at the door to introduce myself, but my mouth was full of fruit. I shook his hand, and he said he had to run, so I never got to ask him about Woody Guthrie's influence on his music. Damn that apple.

But still, we were bros.

Famous bros

Lately I have been having dreams in which I am bros with various famous persons. It started a few weeks ago, with a dream in which I was interviewing Brad Pitt for Google. I asked him about what kind of food he likes, how he combats jetlag, and a host of other titillating topics. He was very pleasant, and we had good rapport. We were bros.

Dream #2 was even stranger. I texted President Obama to ask him to have Michelle call Mike to wish him a happy birthday. I knew he'd come through, because we were bros.

Finally, last night I dreamt I was at some sort of hotel with a bar next to the pool. On my way back to my room from the pool, I figured I'd stop by the bar and see who was hanging out. It turned out to be my good buddy Taylor Swift, along with two other famous ladies who, in true dream fashion, I can no longer recall. They were settling in for a night of girl talk, and I sat down with them so we could dish. We were bros.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Coach

So here is why I think I may need a life coach. I was considering what I wanted to write about today, and I thought about all the delightful things I see on the internet over the course of a day. Facebook and Twitter are a cornucopia of clever videos, stories, and photos. And the captions! My god, the captions. Every time I see something smart on the intertubes, it gives me a pang of gladness to be a human. I avoid Pinterest altogether so I don't over-pang myself. The downside is that by the end of the day I have no internet serotonin left. I collect browser tabs with interesting stories all day, but when I get on the bus in the evening I'm straight up brain pooped.

Here's where my need for coaching comes in. When I ponder all this, I think, Has there ever been a time in the world where humans were so aware of how clever and strange we are? Does it matter that we know? What does it mean that we know?

And what does it mean for me, and for those around me?

So ok, minor existential crisis, no big thang. At least it's not compounded by honkytonky hormones like in middle school. But lately I've also been turning all conversations with friends into probing studies of their hopes and dreams. What would they ideally be doing with their time? What's their calling? If they don't have one, how did they decide what to do with their life? Are their plans achievable? How do they know? I think half the time they sit on their bar stools looking at me and thinking I'm going manic, and half the time they seem to enjoy obsessing over What They Are Going to Do With Their Lives like I do.

My Obsessing doesn't extend to actual Action, however, nor have I dipped my toe in the font of Planning. I've just stewed about how many pretty things there are in the world and how much I like them, and how many people there are in bad situations who I would like to help, and how I know I can work hard if I need to but I really don't want to work hard all the time, really. So, law and medicine, let it be known that you're off my list. I'm sure the feeling is mutual.

A number of my friends have gone to one particular career/life coach, and subsequently quit their jobs for new and exciting things. I don't want to quit my job, but I'm very much pro-new and exciting things. In favor of coaching: it would require me to dedicate time and effort to considering how I want to spend my not-nearly-enough time on this planet, and to begin to work out how I can go about achieving any life goals I might gather up. Opposed: it would require paying for something that many people figure out on their own, and seems noodley and self-indulgent. Discussing a career is a noble goal; discussing a life path seems new age-y.

And yet I'm probably going to suck it up and do it, because I'm not writing stories these days, I'm not doing comedy, and I'm not helping people. Don't worry, there's practically a team of people, led by Mike, pushing me to do those things. But for now I'm not, and maybe I just need a coach to tell me why.

[Insert your own clever sports and coaching metaphor here.]

Grind

I realize it is deeply uncouth to complain about being tired after a vacation. But really, my recent adventure was EXHAUSTING. Exciting and indulgent, but also physically and emotionally draining. I love travel more than almost anything else in the world, but it's a guaranteed way to create some serious emotional ups and downs.

Today is my first day back in the office, and for the first time in a long while I'm realizing exactly why it's called the daily grind. I feel like I got ground down today, a little bit around the legs and the neck. Maybe the shoulders too. My teeth definitely did, grit grit grit. My job is interesting, my coworkers a delight, but a day at a desk wears on you. The waking up before your body wants to, the hurry to get all the usual things done (pee-wash-brush-dress-eat-pack-dash), the commute, the sitting under fluorescent lights in recirculated air, the arrival home and subsequent panic that there are only 4 or 5 hours left in the day for Real Life. I work for the best employer in the world - I should have nothing to bitch about. But I am a champion tooth grinder and jaw clencher, and if I am doing something I think is important I will not get up from my desk to pee, even if I have had to go for like 3 hours. As follows, I don't drink nearly enough water. My blood is probably clotting in my leg veins as we speak.

I'm also stymied by the mid-afternoon snack. It's completely necessary - by 3 or 4 p.m. I'm super hungry - but in my many years of adulthood I still haven't tracked down the perfect afternoon nosh. Sweet treats are too sweet; fruit isn't filling enough (don't even get my started on what an absolute snack sham bananas are); chips and crackers are too salty; nut butters aren't good enough on their own; and yogurt gets gross if you eat it every day. Suggestions welcome.

So what to do, aside from quit my job to become a shepherd somewhere in Sonoma, then start an arty wool shop with the fleece of my flock? Well, I vow to drink more water, to start. That will force me to stand up more often, which seems like a plus. And I'd like to say I'll grind my teeth less, but that's just not going to happen. I have plans to stash some workout clothes in my desk so I can dash out for a quick run if I feel like I'm getting sucked into braindead land. And finally, I'm going to use my words - I'm going to blog here more, or write stories, or email amigos to pull me out of deskdom at the end of the day. Every once in a while, anyway.

SXSW

As always, SXSW was a huge and exhausting and heartwarming and occasionally disappointing experience. In the five years I've been going, I've never managed to see all the shows I've wanted to see, I haven't spent enough time with all the friends I wanted to have a beer with, and I've spent too much time rushing around and not enough time just enjoying the scene. And yet, as always, I'm incredibly glad I went.

While I go through my photos and process the last week in my overwhelmed and underslept brain, here are some good insights on the SXSW experience:

• a friend of a friend's blog is well written and gives the musician's perspective
• a friend's interview in the Atlantic about the Austin music scene 
• this is a pretty solid list of artists to check out; we saw Grimes and Dustin Wong

Bloom

This project is amazing.

I am made of mush right now. Sleep deprived, dehydrated, alcohol-sodden mush. A week and a half ago I flew to London. I walked, I ate, I worked, I sightsaw. Wednesday I flew to Dublin. I crossed the country, visited the family homestead, drove back, went to a wedding, strolled Dublin, and flew to New York yesterday. I had a birthday dinner with my dad, caught up with friends, and was escorted by those friends to a very hot bath and some chamomile tea. Thank god for that.

Tomorrow I fly to Austin for SXSW. I really can't wait, but I'd better be very very nice to my body so it doesn't break down on me even more.

Here's a few select phone shots from London - will post more on Dublin later.

View from the Thames

 Morning run along the river

 My travel uniform. I'm a packing ace by now.

 Atop the London Eye.

I realized while walking by Big Ben that most of my mental images of it are from disaster movies where it gets blown up.

 Food pilgrimage to Ottolenghi.

 I could eat nothing but Ottolenghi for the rest of my life and be a happy happy lady.

Wonderful thing of the day

Hello from London! It's chilly but great, though I did spend the day working. (Launched this!!!)

I received the email below from my former boss, who is a True Character. Its oddness made my day.

Subject line: Questions. Lots of questions.

Yeah,

I got questions. Lots of questions. Like as starters, how are you? How is your boyfriend and does he appreciate you? How is your dad and mom and are they enjoying their by now not so new house? Have you gotten a raise recently? Are you aware that we finally hired someone to step into your big shows? Are you aware that I can't type worth a damn? Do you ever come East and let publishers take you out to lunch or dinner? Are you still tall and comely?

Answer these, and any other questions that I should be asking but haven't (like, have you gotten a raise recently?)

Chicken legs

I am currently waiting for my delayed flight to London, bouncing my leg so hard the whole row of uncomfortable boarding area chairs is shaking. I'm amped up, man. AMPED. I've got a long flight ahead of me, with lots of excitement on the other end. But after a long parade of house guests - who, don't mistake me, I loved having - last weekend's domestic laziness was so nice. And it's hard to leave San Francisco. Every time I do, I'm sure there's going to be a devastating earthquake and I'll be trapped away from it. So while I'm gone, earth, don't quake. You're on notice.

As an expert in the field of upsetting dreams, I of course had anxiety nightmares last night. The worst one was about Ezzie. Ezzie used to be a fat black and white cat. She is now, on doctor's de-fattifying orders, a skinny cat who is half black and white and half pink, because she has licked off all the fur that she can reach. Her tongue is a weapon of destruction, constantly sandpapering her stubbly skin. It's truly disgusting, and is either the product of allergy or nerves. We are employing various methods to try and treat it, but none have worked so far.

So. Last night I dreamed that Ezzie had licked all the way through her fur, through her skin, through her flesh, through her bones. Her hind legs - which in real life look like naked chicken wings - were actually cleanly gnawed through at the upper thigh. It may not be biologically accurate, but in the dream each thigh bone separated into two pieces and met again just above the knee, and since she had only gnawed the top portion, she was still able to walk. Her picked-over thigh bones clinked against each other like china as she moved. I could see the little circle of marrow in each bone, and wondered how she had been able to do it so neatly. It was deeply disturbing.

Bon voyage to me!

Romp

Dudes, I am killing it today. You know those days? You get shit done, you tie up loose ends, you calm anxieties and you're ready for more. I'm in productivity overdrive so I can leave for my trip tomorrow with peace of mind. And you know what, aside from the necessity of getting ready for travel, inspired me to be so fabulous? A romper. A silk, abstract print romper.

I signed up for Stitch Fix (and yes, that's my referral link, feel free to disregard), where you plonk down $20 and get sent 5 items of clothing that have been picked out for you based on what you've said you like. In my case I got 4 things I didn't like, and this magical romper.

(Apologies for the grainy bathroom photo)
I never thought I could love a romper, but I do. I DO. And if I can wear a romper, I can do anything.

These bugs spoon

Via my brother, an article on giant insects that were once thought extinct. The pictures are the stuff of nightmares, and I only made it 45 seconds into the video at the end, but get this:

Howe Island walking sticks seem to pair off — an unusual insect behavior — and Goodall says Patrick "showed me photos of how they sleep at night, in pairs, the male with three of his legs protectively over the female beside him."

Where ya been?

It is amazing how motivation has an inverse relationship with the amount of stuff there is to do. I have been finding just so many amazing things on the internets [all separate links, btw, and the last one is my idea of a joke right now], and I feel so overwhelmed by it all that I haven't been blogging about it. Instead I've been pinning it (link only works if you're signed up, mebbe), which is the pretty but lazy way out.

So what have I been up to lately? Well, a lot. A few days after my parents left I had an old friend in town, and we ate and drank and hiked all over the damn place.

Since then, I have DEVOURED the Hunger Games (900+ pages in 3 days), met with a real estate agent, fallen in love with an apartment that turned out to be tiny, gone dancing til the wee hours, and reveled in subsequent laziness. I bought a beautiful desk from the secondhand shop around the corner, and it fits perfectly over the ugly vestigial heater in the living room, the bane of my domestic existence.

My car got broken into - well, sort of, I suspect I didn't actually lock it - but only the FastTrak was stolen (the benefit of having a piece of shit car). I now have a missing FastTrak, a missing credit card (no charges on it in the three weeks it's been missing, so I know it's in my house somewhere), a missing FitBit (lost at a bar, I think), and a missing smog check as a result of somehow misplacing the registration renewal for two months. As a result, I will soon be missing some money, which will have relocated into the pockets of the DMV. Mike says that it's a good thing my butt is attached to me, or I'd lose it too. I know some people say the same thing about heads, but this is the Mike version.

One last dunderheaded thing: I thought I had canceled my flight back from Colorado for today (I know that I canceled the flight TO Colorado), but apparently not, since I got an Orbitz email alert that my flight was delayed. Skipping the trip was a bummer, and so is not getting my refund, but both are probably also good signs that I wasn't up to another trip, nor to slicing my way down the slopes without forgetting important safety gear or how to brake.

Am I disorganized? Mayhaps. But most of the plates are still spinning in the air, and nothing that has crashed has been irreplaceable, so I have hope that I'll whip it all into shape before I leave town again, this time for London and Dublin and New York and Austin. Aside from how impossible it is to pack for this kind of itinerary, I am immensely looking forward to it. Assuming I don't also lose my mind first.

Family weekend

My parents just left after being with us for a few days, and tonight Mike and I are going to have a VERY romantic Valentine's Day date of sitting on the couch with takeout and Downtown Abbey. The weekend consisted of stuffing ourselves full of good food and excellent beer, and walking a lot in penance.

Friday night was the SF Beer Week opening party, with 4 hours to taste beers from 60+ breweries, including some really odd stuff.

My favorites were Pac Brew Labs' hibiscus saison, Almanac Brewing's winter wit, and Sierra Nevada's brown saison. We tried some tasty stuff from breweries that were new to me, too: Ale Industries, Lucky Hand, Blue Frog, Dying Vines, and Heretic.

The next morning we ran errands like I was heading off to college: we hit Costco, Home Depot, Bed Bath & Beyond, and Trader Joe's. I feel like my parents' presence justified the big box store run, because they have the magical ability to know what I need to solve the niggling problems in my life. We picked up things like bulk flea medicine and fancy food for the cats, light fixtures for my hallway that don't require actually switching out the fixture and thereby likely electrocuting myself, gardening supplies so Mike and I can tackle the clover and nasturtium that have taken over our backyard, a beautiful All Clad pot (thanks Mom!), and, of course, lots of booze. In the afternoon we walked to the Mission and hit Southern Pacific, a new brewery in a beautiful renovated warehouse space. The beer was good, not amazing, but it was gratifying to introduce my father to banh mi, which he agreed is one of the world's finest sandwiches.

Sunday we went for a hike on Mount Sutro, a forest right in the middle of the city. We'd never been before, and spent a nice few hours tromping through the eucalyptus groves. The dogwoods are blooming and it smelled delightful. Here is my mom looking excited that she has a walking stick.

In typical fashion, we went straight from healthy activity to drinking beer at the Suppenkuche Biergarten. Until it clouded over it was lovely - the food is just the kind of horseradishy pickled teutonic goodness that I like, and the German beers were a nice counterpoint to all the hop bombs we'd been trying for Beer Week. On the way home we picked up an embarrassing number of macarons, which my parents appreciated for the glorious cookie creations they are. Salted caramel, holy hell.

We capped off their visit with one last Beer Week event, a Sierra Nevada night at Pi Bar in the Mission. The brewers were there, pouring from a giant bottle of reserve Celebration Ale (in addition to all the crazy stuff they had on tap), and I got to introduce my dad to the brewmaster, who I met at an event last year. He pretended to remember me. Plus the pizza was good. So: two pints up. (My parents aren't great at smiling for the camera, but I know they were happy inside.)

I'm sad to see them go - they really are a lot of fun - but the next wave of visitors is arriving soon. Brecki Bed and Breakfast, open for business.

It's Valen, it's Valentines!

That is to the tune of Business Time by Flight of the Conchords, by the way. 

So Valentine's is mostly a dumb holiday, but I think that, like Thanksgiving, it's nice to have a day where you focus on something that you really should be thinking about all the time: love and forgiveness and all that. The commercialism and heteronormativity are a bummer, but luckily there are some clever rebuttals, among them a friend's Occupy VDay blog (which has gotten good coverage) and today's Google Doodle. It is SO PRECIOUS:

Also, some dude rode his bike around San Francisco in an impressively detailed way, so props to him. In any case, whether you are coupled up or not, whether you exchange presents or not, I hope you will have an evening as satisfying as mine is shaping up to be. My butt will be planted on my couch, and my mouth will be full of takeout, and loving words for my boyfriend, of course. I'll try to minimize how much food I accidentally spit out on him.

And finally: NPR has some great valentines.

XO

Getting old sucks for everyone

I don't really know what to say about Arnold Shwarzenegger and Sylvester Stallone sharing a hospital room. Except: dude, they sure are old.