what are you talking about?

Nora and I made dinner last night.

We went to an Asian market on Clement street to purchase ingredients. We filled our basket: curry noodles, teriyaki seaweed, shittake mushrooms, green onion. I suggested protein. We entered the fish market: cocktail shrimp in tupperware, catfish, live creatures just chilling? We exited the fish market, empty-handed.

Back at Nora's, I chopped while she unwrapped the pasta. I found a miniature caterpillar on my hand. EW! Nora said that's normal. "He probably came in with our fresh vegetables." I said, Yucky. She put it outside the window.

After I finished my dicing duties I entertained myself by taking pictures of Nora's home.

Then I read her a little bit of a Miranda July story, the one about the sewing class. By that time, the water had come to a boil.

I'll let you imagine what the pink-swirled white discs are. Be creative! The reality is probably less appealing.


I had a discount candy medley for dessert. It included white chocolate gummy bears, Haribo graprefruits, nonpareils (why are they called that?? I've never understood), chocolate-covered raisons MY FAVORITE and one malt ball.



our own creatures

My brother and I went for a walk. We found some neat things on the pavement.

Such as, a skull.

And a veggie tales sticker.

Can you imagine all of the things we might see if we just looked down?

What's new, what's new. I finished a story. It is a long one so I'm feeling a little emptied out. It's the best kind of emptied out, but I need some break time, so this will be a picture post.

So: things that have happened.

Mistah Fab came to the Mission.

Angus made us all dress up. Then he fed us lobster.

I'm getting hooked on spin classes.*

The feeling of empowerment and deafening James Brown music I like. The overaggressive instructor who screamed "GET IN FRONT! BEAT YOUR NEIGHBOR! BEAT YOUR NEIGHBOR!" despite the fact that we were in an enclosed space on stationary bikes? Not so much, but hey. You can't have everything.

* Note: the bike above is the LeMond RevMaster Indoor Cycle. Just so I don't get sued.

Oh, and. Nora and I found an apartment. It's kind of the best place ever. And it has a clawfoot tub. Big smile.


four four two two

Apartment hunting is HARD! I guess this is obvious, especially in San Francisco, where the housing market is insanely competitive and ridiculously expensive. Today Nora and I took three different buses, wound up in a super cut (definitely not Noe Valley, as advertised in the apartment's craigslist post), trudged up an enormous hill, and hid from the heat beneath a willow tree for half an hour before realizing that the landlord definitely wasn't showing up. Going to see an apartment--especially one whose post doesn't have photos--is kind of like going on a blind date. Other bad dates of ours have included the incredible-sounding two-bedroom near Dolores Park that looked, in every way (lack of doors between rooms, brown egg-colored walls, stained carpeting), exactly like a sketchy motel; the edwardian in the Mission that, according to the real estate agent, "could probably be converted into a two bedroom if you, like, put a twin bed in the walk-in closet"; and the perfect spot, the kind of yellow-walled, pretty-gardened guy you dream about, which was snapped up before we could even submit an application.

Still, it's hard to get down about the process. Looking at each place feels like trying on different personalities--personalities with Victorian ceilings, or tiered vegetable gardens, or clawfoot tubs. I picture myself sitting on lime green stoops and looking out of rounded Painted Lady windows, getting sleepy Monday morning coffee at corner shops with witty names and homemade scones. Mmm. I kind of just want to make my own apartment, combine all of my favorite qualities in the ideal do-it-yourself project: a taped-together paper doll with a pointed roof of a head, windowed octagonal arms, five fingers of steps and skin the color of a mango.

It was foggy today. The view from my office:


charm school

I am back! It feels good. I have a limit for the amount of time that I can spend comfortably away from San Francisco, and it is something like eleven days. After that I just start to get really emotional whenever it gets foggy out, or I see a 415 in an address or telephone number.

A few things happened while I was away.

I began to dream of a mint green apartment.

I developed an interest in clotheslines.

I was impressed by sick graffiti.

...and colorful food.

I had to buy a notebook.

I wanted to adopt.

I bought a shirt for my brother.

On the plane ride home, I watched the movie "Manhattan" and ate Swiss chocolate. The dinner British Airways tried to feed us was fish pie. Who at British Airways thought this would be a good idea?

Now it is July 4th. Phew. I made it back to the US just in time.