$5. Yup, I somehow managed to only spend $5 on my "free" day. I went to the library, then to the (closed) gallery, then realized i hadn't eaten so I got an iced tea and a mini prosciutto and swiss sandwich on olive loaf from LaBoulange, and sat in the sun in the park in Hayes Valley. But, as the famous quote says, "It's not the destination, it's the journey". And boy were they right. It was quite possibly the most interesting, not to mention frightening, bus ride I've ever been on. I took the #19 down Polk St. to Civic Center to get to the library. Polk St. gets interesting enough on it's own, but it was truly highlighted by the bus ride.
First there was the angry blind lady. She appeared gentle, innocent and sweet, my usual first impression of anyone looking over 70 years of age. She had no cane, no walker, no dog, just her instincts and other four senses to guide her. It took a bit of time for her to get on the bus, understandably, and the bus driver did his best to guide her to a seat. She sat, dug through her paper bag of a purse, and combed her hair. She sat in peace, that is until walker lady came on next.
Walker lady was a sight to see. The bus stopped even longer for her, as it had to lower the steps and convert to the lift as it does for those in wheelchairs. After a longer than usual stop, walker lady appears at the front of the bus as if by magic. She's surprisingly young to be behind a walker, must have been in an accident; or a massive drug addiction that finally rendered her legs useless. Though, either way, I'm not sure why she chose a walker as her mode of assistance, because she could not even really use her legs. She really just sort of hung from the walker and stood there looking helpless and frustrated, until the only man brave enough got up and helped her over to a seat near blind lady. Walker lady lowered herself into the seat ever so slowly, of course partially sitting on blind lady. Blind lady had a few incoherent words to share with walker lady and even tried to get up from her seat, until brave guy assisted walker lady in shifting over one seat.
A decently 'normal' looking man got on the bus and sat next to me. Phew. We were getting further and further down Polk, meaning further and further into what I call 'Druggie Polk'. (See, there are four neighborhoods of Polk St. From North Point to about Sacramento is simply the lovely Polk St. that I like to associate myself with. After that comes Tranny Polk, then Druggie Polk, then Ghetto Polk. Use your best imagination. ...ah, I love San Francisco.)
As we approached the boarder of Druggie Polk and Ghetto Polk, two women (? ...you never know) got on through the back door of the bus; I'm going to guess with no bus pass and no intention to pay, and the bus driver probably knew better than to question it. They came on yapping so loud as if they were putting on a performance. The normal guy next to me started to chuckle so I turned off my iPod to hear what it was all about. Turns out? Yappy girl one was pissed at Loud girl two beause Loud girl two was making Yappy girl one pay her back for the crack she sold her a day or so prior. This argument went on thankfully for only about three blocks until they got off the bus. Normal guy continued to quietly chuckle.
The bus then turned off Polk St. and on to Eddy St. This of course worried me because I just needed to head straight down Polk until I came to Grove St. where the library is. Normal guy must have seen the concerned look on my face (realizing that I was also the youngest, only normal dressed white girl on the bus) and asked if I needed to get off the bus. "No. Well I don't know, I need to get to the library, do you know how far down it is from here?" I said.
"Oh, wow, yeah just stay on the bus, we'll go right past it."
"Thank you."
We move along through the ghetto, past boarded up liquor stores and by-the-hour motels, cardboard and shopping cart homes, and small gatherings of shady looking characters. Drug deals no doubt. Finally Normal guy taps me and said the next stop was the library. "Great! Thank you!" I replied, thankful he actually gave me correct advice, as I'd be dead by now had I gotten off where the bus turned at Eddy St.
"Ha, yeah, have fun with that, that's like the highway to hell out there!" ...mwah ah ah ah ah...I seriously swear I heard an evil echoing cackle.
Stomach turning, heart pounding, throat closing, sweat glands pumping, I put away my iPod, got out my phone and dialed 9, 1 and put my thumb over the 1 ready to dial at a moments notice (thank you Tuscon for teaching me that one), zipped up my purse, put a scowl on my face (I figured if I looked as hard as I possibly could in white girl skin and a summer dress, I'd maybe be believed that it wasn't my first terrifying trip to the ghetto) and left the bus. I wanted to run, in my head i was running, but I kept my cool. I told myself "just walk with conviction, and if I miss it, I'll just continue around the corner to City Hall and pretend that's where I meant to go". Thankfully the library has a rather large and open enterance, probably for people like me, praying to God that it would be obvious enough to not have to wander around and fear getting mugged. I ran through the main door. Ah, I made it, I'm safe in here. ...Nope. There are homeless and crazies everywhere in the lobby! How is this possible?! So I kept my head down and ran through the enterance, through the metal/stolen book detector and finally came to a rest across the foyer among the normal people. Phew, I could breathe again.
The exhibit I went to see was less than impressive. It was of two french artists that illustrate children's books, and consisted of two small glass cases filled with a copy of a book and a few oil drawings. Neat, but not at ALL worth my trek down there. So I wandered up to the top floor having no idea what I was looking for or what I'd find. Two exhibits; one titled "Rebuilding Afganistan" which housed black and white photographs of life in Afganistan (depressing) so I moved quickly onto the second which was honoring the 75th Anniversary of the New Deal and its place in San Francisco. Fascinating! Still not sure it was "worth" the adventure I had to endure to get there, but it definately took my mind off of my near death experience (I never said I wasn't dramatic).
Monday, October 20, 2008
Monday, October 13, 2008
Justa 'Nother UD Day
4 hours, 23 applications, and 1 really sore backside later, I'm at the end of UD #9 (note: I'm not counting weekends).
A half hour after I was laid off, I was on the phone with a recruiter. Oddly enough, the recruiter that helped me find my last job was no longer with that agency. Great. Thanks for that. Place me in a shaky position and split, Steve Miller style she took the money and ran. Anyway, UD (Unemployed Day) #2, I was on my computer most of the day perusing Craigslist, updating professional networking profiles, spamming my friends with my resume and employment requirements. UD #3 was pretty fabulous, then #4 through #7 were pretty miserable. But today, UD #9, I'm back in the game, diving head first into the depths of Craigslist and a floundering job market.
I used to think that I was really good at not working. Turns out, my keeping-myself-busy habits are rather expensive. I learned that for me, being unemployed + bored + single + adventurous = the act of burning through money. I have tried to be creative and do things that are relatively inexpensive, however I also learned that the most effective soul searching also requires good food, good wine, cultural entertainment and sunshine. I've been to Napa, the Academy of Science, SF Botanical Gardens, Fort Mason, spent time in the coveted October sun, picked up a book, cleaned my apartment, baked a cake, and of course have been on Craigslist a couple of hours a day. But then there's the grabbing justa bite, justa coffee, just a beer, justa snack, justa few drinks with friends...so see, I don't just need a new job to make money, but I need a new job to stop spending money. Tomorrow I'm trying to spend a completely free day. On the agenda? SF Main public library and a Hayes Valley gallery featuring New Orleans artist James Michalopoulos, then a show at the Fillmore thanks to new friends.
I gotta say, it has been kinda nice to indulge in guilty pleasures during my time off: staying up late, having one extra drink, sleeping in, catching up on bad TV...I've watched a lot of bad TV over the last week. Reruns of Fraiser, Golden Girls, Will & Grace, Paris Hilton's "My New BFF", the new 90210...yes, I am indeed ashamed, especially since I never used to even watch TV other than the Food Network and Travel Channel (not just because they're the best channels on television, but because they don't show any scary movie previews, which scare me just as badly as seeing the whole movie itself). But what else are you going to do when you're not just unemployed but also sick? Oh right, I started blogging.
I'll post an update with how much money I end up spending tomorrow during my "free" day. It's going to be quite a challenge, but I'm up for it. It's amazing what boredom can do for inspiration. Maybe I'll start collecting sand dollars and cash them in for some more driftwood.
A half hour after I was laid off, I was on the phone with a recruiter. Oddly enough, the recruiter that helped me find my last job was no longer with that agency. Great. Thanks for that. Place me in a shaky position and split, Steve Miller style she took the money and ran. Anyway, UD (Unemployed Day) #2, I was on my computer most of the day perusing Craigslist, updating professional networking profiles, spamming my friends with my resume and employment requirements. UD #3 was pretty fabulous, then #4 through #7 were pretty miserable. But today, UD #9, I'm back in the game, diving head first into the depths of Craigslist and a floundering job market.
I used to think that I was really good at not working. Turns out, my keeping-myself-busy habits are rather expensive. I learned that for me, being unemployed + bored + single + adventurous = the act of burning through money. I have tried to be creative and do things that are relatively inexpensive, however I also learned that the most effective soul searching also requires good food, good wine, cultural entertainment and sunshine. I've been to Napa, the Academy of Science, SF Botanical Gardens, Fort Mason, spent time in the coveted October sun, picked up a book, cleaned my apartment, baked a cake, and of course have been on Craigslist a couple of hours a day. But then there's the grabbing justa bite, justa coffee, just a beer, justa snack, justa few drinks with friends...so see, I don't just need a new job to make money, but I need a new job to stop spending money. Tomorrow I'm trying to spend a completely free day. On the agenda? SF Main public library and a Hayes Valley gallery featuring New Orleans artist James Michalopoulos, then a show at the Fillmore thanks to new friends.
I gotta say, it has been kinda nice to indulge in guilty pleasures during my time off: staying up late, having one extra drink, sleeping in, catching up on bad TV...I've watched a lot of bad TV over the last week. Reruns of Fraiser, Golden Girls, Will & Grace, Paris Hilton's "My New BFF", the new 90210...yes, I am indeed ashamed, especially since I never used to even watch TV other than the Food Network and Travel Channel (not just because they're the best channels on television, but because they don't show any scary movie previews, which scare me just as badly as seeing the whole movie itself). But what else are you going to do when you're not just unemployed but also sick? Oh right, I started blogging.
I'll post an update with how much money I end up spending tomorrow during my "free" day. It's going to be quite a challenge, but I'm up for it. It's amazing what boredom can do for inspiration. Maybe I'll start collecting sand dollars and cash them in for some more driftwood.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Penguins, Prohibition & Pecan Pie
Ha. Wow. They're out of "Reality Czech" beer. And here I thought I was the only one being served a reality check; apparently they're tapped out! Ok, "Prohibition" it is.
It was a slow day. I laid in bed until 12:30. I got a lot of work done (side note: "work" to me these days is finding work, or soul searching, depending on my location and mood), pulled myself out of bed, planted my feet on the floor, and decided to start my day. What's on the agenda for unemployed day #3? The California Academy of Science, followed by linner / dunch at my beloved Park Chow.
I'm at a patio table, right behind the black wrought iron railing, emanating a European cafe. If it weren't for all the hippies walking by I could probably stare out into space long enough to believe I was in Paris.
Ah. My artichoke arrived.
...that was delicious. I could eat artichokes every day of my life.
The museum was neat. A few times I heard myself gasp an "oh wow!" aloud while meandering through the aquarium and the rain forest. The living roof was an awesome idea, the architect is indeed an artist. But sadly, the best part about the museum today was the gift shop; er, what I found in the gift shop. I browsed the pencils, bookmarks, magnets, postcards, windup toys, t shirts, meteorite pieces (yup), useless crap...then there it was. A book in the children's section (which in my opinion should have been on a shelf for all ages) titled Flipping Brilliant. Because I am human I do indeed judge a book by its cover, and boy was that a cool font in some pretty blue shiny writing! I pull the book to find a photo of a fat and happy penguin beside the subtitle "A Penguin's Guide to a Happy Life". Mm hmm, I hate this crap. But then I realized, I'm not terribly happy right now, I've already read Gandhi and His Holiness the Dali Lama, why not try penguin wisdom? ...and I'm glad I did.
There's a lot to learn from these cute little guys! Seriously they're one of nature's most adorable and beloved, but they are also some of nature's strongest adapters and most amazing survivors in places most things with a pulse find completely unlivable. Anyway, each page in the book is a different cliche also known as a "life lesson", and a paragraph or two explaining how it not only pertains to penguins but to humans. And you know? These are some gracefully positive creatures! The introduction mentions, "A penguin's approach to life is intuitive, practical, and cooperative. It also seems, at times, undeniably joyful". So I read on, looked at the slightly comical photos, smiled the whole way through. When I was done, I closed the book, ran my fingers across the back of it, then was suddenly once again aware of my surroundings (I'm in quite a fog these days so it's no wonder I'm frequently lost in my own thoughts) and I got a little angry. What the eff? I don't need advice from penguins, I know I don't want this book, I'll just feel silly for buying it once things are ok again. ...$10.81 poorer and one penguin book richer, I left the museum.
Nyree may come and meet me*, so maybe I'll wait to see if she wants to share the famous cant-go-to-Park Chow-and-not-order-it pecan pie. I had a brief daydream of our first encounter since my layoff (and shitstorm/Amandageddon):
Nyree: How are you?
Me: ...not good.
Then I realized while that may be true, I'm not completely satisfied with that answer. I used to give the standard "good" as my response regardless of who was asking and of what was actually going on in my life, because who honestly wants to hear something other than "good", er, the truth? Most likely next to no one outside of your doctor or a priest. And I just don't feel right saying "not good" because a part of me is good in that I realize this phase/situation/time is a chance for rebirth, an opportunity to change for the better, a step toward becoming what/who I want to be but may not have otherwise had the courage to pursue. So there I go again seeking that silver lining in a pretty @$#%&*! situation. Plus, to go with "not good" and not recognize that the universe is balanced and that every negative has a positive, just seems weak to me; always has (I come from a looong line of inherently strong and stubborn women...thanks mom, and mom's mom, and mom's mom's mom...). What is this 'next step'? Don't know yet, but I think I just found my first piece of driftwood for that raft.
So, maybe its rather fitting then that "Reality Czech" was all out, seeing as I've already had one. "Prohibition": the general idea of forbidding an act many find inapt (perhaps like forbidding to succumb to my sour, citrus fate?), is far more appropriate.
...now, bring me that pecan pie...
*Nyree got stuck at work, so yes, I ate the whole piece of pie myself.
It was a slow day. I laid in bed until 12:30. I got a lot of work done (side note: "work" to me these days is finding work, or soul searching, depending on my location and mood), pulled myself out of bed, planted my feet on the floor, and decided to start my day. What's on the agenda for unemployed day #3? The California Academy of Science, followed by linner / dunch at my beloved Park Chow.
I'm at a patio table, right behind the black wrought iron railing, emanating a European cafe. If it weren't for all the hippies walking by I could probably stare out into space long enough to believe I was in Paris.
Ah. My artichoke arrived.
...that was delicious. I could eat artichokes every day of my life.
The museum was neat. A few times I heard myself gasp an "oh wow!" aloud while meandering through the aquarium and the rain forest. The living roof was an awesome idea, the architect is indeed an artist. But sadly, the best part about the museum today was the gift shop; er, what I found in the gift shop. I browsed the pencils, bookmarks, magnets, postcards, windup toys, t shirts, meteorite pieces (yup), useless crap...then there it was. A book in the children's section (which in my opinion should have been on a shelf for all ages) titled Flipping Brilliant. Because I am human I do indeed judge a book by its cover, and boy was that a cool font in some pretty blue shiny writing! I pull the book to find a photo of a fat and happy penguin beside the subtitle "A Penguin's Guide to a Happy Life". Mm hmm, I hate this crap. But then I realized, I'm not terribly happy right now, I've already read Gandhi and His Holiness the Dali Lama, why not try penguin wisdom? ...and I'm glad I did.
There's a lot to learn from these cute little guys! Seriously they're one of nature's most adorable and beloved, but they are also some of nature's strongest adapters and most amazing survivors in places most things with a pulse find completely unlivable. Anyway, each page in the book is a different cliche also known as a "life lesson", and a paragraph or two explaining how it not only pertains to penguins but to humans. And you know? These are some gracefully positive creatures! The introduction mentions, "A penguin's approach to life is intuitive, practical, and cooperative. It also seems, at times, undeniably joyful". So I read on, looked at the slightly comical photos, smiled the whole way through. When I was done, I closed the book, ran my fingers across the back of it, then was suddenly once again aware of my surroundings (I'm in quite a fog these days so it's no wonder I'm frequently lost in my own thoughts) and I got a little angry. What the eff? I don't need advice from penguins, I know I don't want this book, I'll just feel silly for buying it once things are ok again. ...$10.81 poorer and one penguin book richer, I left the museum.
[some of my favorite passages: It's what you do when no one's watching that counts, A day at the beach can cure a vast array of ailments, Guano happens, Uphills don't last forever.]
Nyree may come and meet me*, so maybe I'll wait to see if she wants to share the famous cant-go-to-Park Chow-and-not-order-it pecan pie. I had a brief daydream of our first encounter since my layoff (and shitstorm/Amandageddon):
Nyree: How are you?
Me: ...not good.
Then I realized while that may be true, I'm not completely satisfied with that answer. I used to give the standard "good" as my response regardless of who was asking and of what was actually going on in my life, because who honestly wants to hear something other than "good", er, the truth? Most likely next to no one outside of your doctor or a priest. And I just don't feel right saying "not good" because a part of me is good in that I realize this phase/situation/time is a chance for rebirth, an opportunity to change for the better, a step toward becoming what/who I want to be but may not have otherwise had the courage to pursue. So there I go again seeking that silver lining in a pretty @$#%&*! situation. Plus, to go with "not good" and not recognize that the universe is balanced and that every negative has a positive, just seems weak to me; always has (I come from a looong line of inherently strong and stubborn women...thanks mom, and mom's mom, and mom's mom's mom...). What is this 'next step'? Don't know yet, but I think I just found my first piece of driftwood for that raft.
So, maybe its rather fitting then that "Reality Czech" was all out, seeing as I've already had one. "Prohibition": the general idea of forbidding an act many find inapt (perhaps like forbidding to succumb to my sour, citrus fate?), is far more appropriate.
...now, bring me that pecan pie...
*Nyree got stuck at work, so yes, I ate the whole piece of pie myself.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Building My Lemonade Stand
Well, here I am. I finally gave in to the world of blogging aimlessly; speaking to no one in particular, yet finding my own thoughts important and interesting enough to share with cyberspace. I used to make fun of these people. Then I realized these bloggers are pensive by nature, in the need of a venue to vent, bounce ideas off of objective strangers, and/or a creative outlet to let their thoughts flow in hopes of figuring it out on their own before someone claims to have it all figured out for them. I am, one of you now.
I'll mention now that this new blogventure could be a result of a regretful quarter-life crisis, or a result of the two glasses of wine I've just had while sitting at the Carneros Inn in Napa, CA to take a day to do some researching, soul searching, and of course, writing. See, I've always been a writer; I've carried a notebook and pen with me since I was 7 years old. It's not only what I do, but it's how I communicate, it's how I deal with things, it's what I'm passionate about, it's my way of thinking. I don't think in structured sentences, I think in prose, or how a conversation or situation would be written rather than experienced or spoken; much like the way I don't view my surroundings as a casual observer, I see the elements of a perfect photograph: the light, the shapes, the shadows, the composition. I write like I speak/think; grammar and language rules need not apply. If you're an English student, professor, teacher, you'll grimace at my personal style; I overuse commas and semicolons, misspell frequently, but frankly, I enjoy it.
I'm 25 and living the single life in San Francisco. I really do have a fabulous life: I have an amazing and supportive family, I've had a great education, traveled the world, I have a gorgeous apartment in a mildly ritzy neighborhood, I do what I want when I want, I'm independent and actually enjoy "me" time. I should point out that I'm also impatient, neurotic, stubborn, I have outstandingly high expectations, and I'm huge on my own principles - to a fault. On the slightly brighter side: I have a big sleeve-worn heart, I'm a seeker of silver lining, I'm a passionate believer, a lover of life, and a notorious horizon chaser. So what's the problem? Well, that's what I'm still trying to figure out.
That's where this blog comes in. What is "Make Lemonade" all about? Well, I seem to have been handed quite a few lemons, especially recently it seems. But, I refuse to succumb and accept that as my fate, so maybe, through writing and communicating with whomever is so inclined to join me in building my lemonade stand, we can figure it out. I know I'm not the only twenty-something out there who feels a little confused, who's a little hard on herself, and who's seeking a few answers; if not a small make-shift raft to bring me to that horizon.
I'll mention now that this new blogventure could be a result of a regretful quarter-life crisis, or a result of the two glasses of wine I've just had while sitting at the Carneros Inn in Napa, CA to take a day to do some researching, soul searching, and of course, writing. See, I've always been a writer; I've carried a notebook and pen with me since I was 7 years old. It's not only what I do, but it's how I communicate, it's how I deal with things, it's what I'm passionate about, it's my way of thinking. I don't think in structured sentences, I think in prose, or how a conversation or situation would be written rather than experienced or spoken; much like the way I don't view my surroundings as a casual observer, I see the elements of a perfect photograph: the light, the shapes, the shadows, the composition. I write like I speak/think; grammar and language rules need not apply. If you're an English student, professor, teacher, you'll grimace at my personal style; I overuse commas and semicolons, misspell frequently, but frankly, I enjoy it.
I'm 25 and living the single life in San Francisco. I really do have a fabulous life: I have an amazing and supportive family, I've had a great education, traveled the world, I have a gorgeous apartment in a mildly ritzy neighborhood, I do what I want when I want, I'm independent and actually enjoy "me" time. I should point out that I'm also impatient, neurotic, stubborn, I have outstandingly high expectations, and I'm huge on my own principles - to a fault. On the slightly brighter side: I have a big sleeve-worn heart, I'm a seeker of silver lining, I'm a passionate believer, a lover of life, and a notorious horizon chaser. So what's the problem? Well, that's what I'm still trying to figure out.
That's where this blog comes in. What is "Make Lemonade" all about? Well, I seem to have been handed quite a few lemons, especially recently it seems. But, I refuse to succumb and accept that as my fate, so maybe, through writing and communicating with whomever is so inclined to join me in building my lemonade stand, we can figure it out. I know I'm not the only twenty-something out there who feels a little confused, who's a little hard on herself, and who's seeking a few answers; if not a small make-shift raft to bring me to that horizon.
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