Itchy scratchy

Early last week, emerging from the shower, doing my usual thing of drying off, I came across three interesting, elevated, raised red bumps on my forearm. And these were no mosquito bites. Rather, it looked like an irritation from poison ivy. Being very attuned to the physical state of my body at all times, I immediately began a mental inquiry of places I'd been over the last 3 days. What I came up with was I'd been to school, home, back to school, the library, school again, the liquor store, my job at Oakland, school, and Safeway. These are not likely places one picks up a plant rash so I considered it a freak occurence and went about my day.

Three days later the bumps were still there, in the same condition, and beginning to be a little scratchy.

Friday evening, my roommate Jonathan comes home with a sulking appearance of being in great physical distress. He rolled up his shirt sleeves and immediately my eyes honed in on his wrists and forearms: he was infected too, and by the look of it, in a much worse state than I was in. My instinct for self-preservation immediately kicked in, and I looked at my forearms (still the same) and then started probing Jonathan if he'd been using my hand towel in the bathroom at all. He claimed he didn't.

The next day, Jonathan reports that the poison ivy affliction has spread up his arms and in another more "sensitive" area (zowie) and that he is in immense discomfort. Apparently, his construction job, which is a very sweat-inducing occupation, is the reason why the rash is spreading so profusely. Sweating opens up the pores, the irritation seeps into uninfected skin areas, etc, leading to more hot spots.

While I feel bad for Jonathan, and would like to offer some comfort, I am afraid to get near him. Plus, now I don't want to use any towels in the bathroom until he's better.

The Book of Right-On

i killed my dinner
with karate

kick him in the face
taste the body

shallow work is
the work that I do

Yes, I shouldn't be out on Shattuck Ave. at 12:30 am, but what's it to you?

Feeling a tad restless tonight within the confines of my home here on good ol' Bateman Street, I decided to go out on a night stroll at 12:30 a.m. In fact, I just got home a bit ago. I really should head off to bed, but the cold night air kind of woke me up.

I had my ipod on while rambling along. Oh, for reference, the ipod is a good device when you want to go out on a night stroll in a place like Berkeley. You just have to be careful not to turn it up too loudly. You need to be able to hear if someone is creeping up behind you. In Berkeley, that WILL happen, you can count on it, actually. Which is a good segway to recent happenings on Shattuck Avenue.

Shattuck is a commercial street, and at night it can be kind of sparse down there. A couple times, coming from behind me, I heard some terrible squeaking noise. Here was my dilemma: Joanna Newsom was playing so I didn't want to turn down the volume immediately to catch what it was. Also, it could have feasibly been Joanna's voice that was squeaking (she has kind of a quirky sound like that). So I continue walking, and then I begin to hear someone across the street kind of hollering out. Soon I realize that someone is following me on a crappy ass bicycle. The squeaking noise was coming from his brakes which he seemed to really like to manipulate for no reason.

People like that are so strange. I wonder if they are just lonely? I cannot think of any circumstances under which I would begin to follow a stranger in the dead of night on my bicycle, squeaking my breaks, and trying to get their attention. It is quite absurd. And the persistence! This guy must have followed me from 61st Street to the first street north of Alcatraz, which is kind of a ways. I was glad he left me around Prince Street, because that is where I turn right to head home. I didn't really want to bring him back to Bateman Street if at all possible. Bateman is a special place, afterall.

Drawer's log, entry 2

Since last Friday, I have failed to create any more large-scale amateur masterpieces. I doodled on an envelope of a birthday card I sent my sister today - geraniums - but that's it.

Guilt has led me to somewhat art-related endeavors that take less time than actual drawing. I bought four new Prismacolor pencils today at the little art store that is up and behind Urban Outfitters on Bowditch. And the winners are (drumroll):

Limepeel
Jade Green
Cool Grey
...and something called a "Colorless Blender" - used to smudge other colors with.

I also purchased three new CDs at Rasputin's on Telegraph. I haven't bought CDs in a long time. Nice people there. Some dude working there said he liked my haircut. And the winners are:

My Morning Jacket (from Louisville!)
Sleater-Kinney
Clap Your Hands Say Yeah

So far, MMJ is the favorite.

The evening of conspicuous purchase-making was not quite over. At exactly 9:30 pm, I left the house with C. to go procure some needed and newly absent members of our liquor cabinet. And the winners are:

Jameson (on sale for $15.99....a damn steal, I've paid $25.99 before)
Ketel One
Maker's Mark

What are you wasting your hard-earned money on lately?

War of the wires

The Internet god, or as I refer to it, the Oracle, is beaming down negative energy on Bateman Street this week. Indeed, our ability to go wireless ever since we switched to cable Internet a while back has been bumpy, unpredictable, a little maddening, and down right frustrating.

All last year we had DSL, but we switched over this summer when our roommate Todd moved out. Todd had the DSL bill in his name and basically insisted on breaking all ties to the house when he vacated, which meant cancelling the DSL service. Since we had Comcast cable anyway, we just decided to bundle it together and have them also be our ISP.

Bad decision on our part. Admittedly.

Cable Internet, while faster in downloading songs, has been giving us a load of trouble. We actually think it's our crappy D-Link router that is the source of the trouble (that the crappy Comcast installation guy told us he preferred). Anyway, it's a damn mess and I've had to revert to a hardwire connection. That leaves my roommate SOL, because we only have one Ethernet cable.

So much for the Internet. And so much to getting anything done tonight because basically my entire academic career is dependent on the Internet. It's a hobbling reality. But it is true.

Back to transcribing notes like a monk...

Song words of wisdom

Never get so attached to a poem
You forget truth it lacks lyricism.

-J. Newsom

Santa Fe Right of Way, at Francisco & Virginia Streets

Santa Fe Right of Way, at Francisco & Virginia Streets
Originally uploaded by Ms E.

In lieu of social life, I shall draw

I used to draw an inordinant amount when I was a kid, and as a result, my affection for the sketching trades waned during the important, formative years of high school. I never took an art class in high school because I thought there were more important things to soldier through (AP Biology...the 2 month lab with fruit flies isn't really helping me RIGHT NOW, is it??). How dumb of me. Despite the fact I always was an A student, I must have been really academically deranged for not have taken art in high school.

That misjudgment later led to to never taking an art class in college because I felt unqualified. Then, by the time I graduated college, I had no formal drawing, painting, or sculpting instruction under my belt. This missing link in my studies would then preclude me declaring a creative-edged specialization in grad school (i.e. urban design, etc.). For this, I have no excuse and can only whimper a timid "whoops."

However, I am not a terrible drawer. In a class I am taking this term, there is an opportunity to draw and sketch. This is what I did exactly from 1:30 p.m. to 3:30 p.m. today, sitting in a sparse, deserted alleyish throughfare that used to be a passenger rail corridor. It came out pretty well. I scanned the image and have emailed it to people in order to gather the positive feedback I require to continue this extracurricular activity. So far, people like it. I will try to do this 1-3 times per week, time and landscape of interest permitting. I was just recounting the benefits to this new activity to a friend today...with drawing, I have something tangible to look at, share, and display. I can keep it. And it doesn't take up much space. Plus, practice makes perfect, right? Things can only get better.

He has the most excellent voice. He could do radio.

Today, I heard a nice sound. My classmate in my speech and writing class for visual thinkers, who I'll call *Matt Davis, read aloud an excerpt from a book with great care and vocal adeptness. I've told him many times before that he has a tremendous voice. He usually just shrugs his shoulders and says thanks. But he's selling himself short.

I worked in radio production for four years, people. So I know what the hell I am talking about. As soon as possible, Matt should start doing some voiceovers on the side for money while in school. With some luck, he could end up doing some great public radio in the future. He could be the city planning correspondent. Wouldn't that be so cool?

I went to high school with NPR correspondent Ari Shapiro. Ari started his broadcasting career working as an assistant to Nina Totenberg. Now Ari does his own stories. He usually is traveling around, reporting on the vibrant community landscapes of America and beyond. But to be quite honest, his voice isn't that great. He was a theater kid at Beaverton High School, so he tends to project a bit too much in his reporting. But otherwise, he's a thoughtful reporter. I don't think he went to journalism school, either.

I will end this entry with a tribute to my most excellent past boss, George Liston Seay. Now this individual has a voice of gold. His almost 20 years in radio broadcasting is a career to revere. George is quick to mention about the importance of choosing your words and tone carefully. Some days, his voice is like red velvet cake. On other days it's like a bold, smooth vintage Barolo. Even when George is sick and has a hacking cough, he sounds better than me.

*name was not changed to protect identity of future radio personality

I just found him asleep in a folding chair

My new roommate Jonathan is seriously suffering from sleep deprivation. Either that, or he is incredibly drunk and I can't detect it. I just found him in our kitchen, asleep in a folding chair, with his arms crossed, legs akimbo, and his hat pulled down over his eyes.

I went up to him, poked him in the shoulder, and told him it was my duty to not let him spend the night in such a precarious position.

Thoughts?

decemberists.jpg
Originally uploaded by Ms E.

Same great band, but a different show altogether

Monday, September 12 marked the second sold out show in two nights for the Decemberists at the Fillmore in San Francisco. The music program started out with a return to the old: they played what seemed like the entire Tain album right up front.

The band has been continuously on tour since their most recent album, Picaresque, was released in mid-March of 2005. I saw them the day after the album release on March 23 playing at Bimbo's in North Beach. That show featured a full run through of the new album, which was fabulous. It was the first time I'd ever seen this band live, so that performance kind of set the tone for my future expectations. I left Bimbo's that night really energized because the new music was fresh, sharp, and just what I was looking for. Last night they only played three songs from Picaresque, so I get the feeling the band is looking to take a step back for the meantime. They ended this show in the same way as before, with the Mariner's Revenge song.

The majority of the music played at last night's show was older, and a couple songs I'd never even heard. It was a different kind of newness. My friend Tom really liked the performance, he'd never seen them live either.

I hope it was just what he was looking for, too.

The Fox has arrived on Bateman Street

The Fox has arrived on Bateman Street
Originally uploaded by Ms E.

Mom and the half pipe

Mom and the half pipe
Originally uploaded by Ms E.

Power to the peaceful

I attended Saturday afternoon's Power to the Peaceful festival in Golden Gate Park. The festival site was at 25th Avenue, which is the midpoint of GG Park. I was with my 58 year-old mother, who is in town from Portland, Oregon this weekened. I am always up for excuses to do some intensive people watching, and the Power to the Peaceful festival is a great place to find a patch of grass to sit down and gaze at the kooky passersby.

We entered the festival ground from Fulton Street, which runs along the northen edge of GG Park. From there, we followed some people with coolers and lawn chairs to the access gate. Here, you are requested to donate money or canned food. For me, donating canned food seems kind of nuts in a place like this. First of all, carrying canned food to the park is extra weight for the festival attendee. Next, when you sit down and think about it, donating canned food in CALIFORNIA to be delivered to NEW ORLEANS or MISSISSIPPI doesn't make much sense from a transportation/delivery perspective. It would make much more sense to donate money to buy canned goods for delivery in a neighboring state, like Texas or some other nearby place. Transporting canned goods 2/3 the way across the continental United States seems like a disasterous waste of resources, especially considering the cost of fuel nowadays.

So once we get into the festival grounds, mother and I head east to the skateboard halfpipe site they'd set up. We watched some local skateboarders do some amazing and not so amazing board acrobatics for about 20 minutes. Then, we headed west, towards the stage area. We listened to Woody Harrelson introduce Angela Davis, the leader of Berkeley's Free Speech Movement. Her speech first dissed the Bush adminstration. Then she also mentioned getting stuck in traffic on the Bay Bridge getting over to the fair grounds. At this moment, mother and I purchased two hash brownies from some guy selling them out of a cardboard box. Mother claims she felt the effects of the confection. I myself cannot say definitively that there was any real physical effect. Since we've returned from dinner, I just consumed the second one myself. Still waiting for that high.

Several minutes after the brownie procurement, some guy stopped by to talk to me, Julian. Julian is a totally random guy! He purchased my old Gateway computer from me about five months ago that I had listed on Craigslist for $800. I was selling it to upgrade to a smaller, more portable computer. He was with what appeared to be his young son. His son had a long rat tail that was braided. Although the child was kind of grubby, he looked generally well-cared for. Julian didn't mention anything bad about the computer he bought from me, so I was relieved a bit about that.

Now I need to get serious about schoolwork. Drat.

Oh, I now have a car!

Pan Pacific Hotel entrance, Post Street

Pan Pacific Hotel entrance, Post Street
Originally uploaded by Ms E.

Our "deluxe" room

Our "deluxe" room
Originally uploaded by Ms E.

The Pan Pacific, San Francisco

This report comes to you on Friday evening, 8:57 p.m. from the 18th floor of the Pan Pacific Hotel at 500 Post Street in San Francisco. I am staying here for the next two nights with my mother who is in town from Portland over the weekend. She decided when planning this visit that she'd rather not stay in Berkeley and offered to find us a hotel. I was pleasantly surprised when I heard the hotel choice she came up with. I've always wondered what the Pan Pacific was all about.

Last January, this blog reported from the 6th floor of the Sheraton Palace Hotel located on Market Street. The Palace was quite nice, too, but I have a feeling I will enjoy my stay here at the Pan Pacific much more. The Pan Pacific caters after Asian business clientele, so there are nice perks to be had by the lowly pleasure tourist. The hi-speed internet took literally 20 seconds to set up. There are robes. There are wine glasses sitting out. The guest book with the room service menu is immaculately clean and non-grubby. And mother just remarked that the bedsheets have a nice thread count. That's right, mom is already in bed. But for this typist, the evening has hardly begun.

In fact, I will just be in the room for just another hour or so - then I will head to meet up with some of my friends at a watering hole in the Mission, at 16th and Valencia. It's my friend Tom's 25th birthday. Such a significant stepping stone to middle age must be commemorated with a group outing. Therefore, we are going to Blondie's - a forum I've not visited, but have passed by on my way to Casanova. Should be busy. Then I will stumble home, hopefully aided by a taxi.

Tomorrow morning I will check out this place's health center. I could use a workout. Then it's off to GG park with mummy where we will take in the atmosphere. From there, we wander about looking at intersting SF things, like sea lions, breadbowls, and cable cars. At 7:30 we are off to eat at Tablespoon. We come back to the PP, and then I sneak off to another party around 10 in the Western Addition.

They come for your pet kibble...

They come for your pet kibble...
Originally uploaded by Ms E.

Piercing coon tractor beam eyes

Piercing coon tractor beam eyes
Originally uploaded by Ms E.

Coon wars, Part 3...maybe Part 4

The commencement of September means there are only a few weeks until autumn is officially here. And with fall just around the corner that means Nature is plodding her strategy to vigorously shake us out of our bleached-out, summer slumberings. She accomplishes this task in a variety of ways: suddenly, you need a jacket to leave the house; it gets dark earlier without so much as a gentle warning; the air is cold and damp before 10 a.m.; the leaves under your feet aren't green anymore; it goes on and on.

Collectively, all these signals tell you the fall season will be here quite soon. However, the very recent and tactile memories of carefree summer afternoons and evenings of lingering strolls keep one from really processing those signals. For me, I was in this summer-don't-go coma until just last night. While surfing the Internet around 12:30 a.m., which I do a lot, I heard a curious clamor of small feet on my rooftop. First the noises seems sporadic, but soon grew to an alarming intensity.

After thinking about it for a second, I was reminded of a succession of similar events that happened last winter. Yes, the raccoon army had made its bold return to Bateman Street. I hadn't heard a peep from the varmits in nearly 9 months, so their chaotic return kind of threw me off. These particular animals are *winter activated raccoons - meaning they are less of a nuisance and more self-sufficient for foraging during the summer (eat from trash bins, melted ice cream sandwiches people leave on the sidewalk, spilt popcorn in the driveway, community vegetable gardens, etc.). However, when the weather changes, they quickly resort to military-style tactics to feed and entertain themselves. People who leave out pet food, like I do for our ugly calico cat, are their first targets of the changing season. The cooler weather emboldens these beasts to engage in cavalier antics - and the porchstep is their preferred forum.

From what I could hear, there must have been three adults on the roof and two scout coons on my front porch. It sounded like they were jumping in and out of our recycle bin, too. In the morning, the evidence was plain as day: a muddied water bowl (raccoons lack salivary glands and need a water source to eat anything), raccoon pawprints everywhere, and a sparkling clean pet food bowl. Also, they made off with a tuna can lid I'd recently placed in the recycle bin.

Damn Berkeley coons, they think they can intimidate! So wrong they are. I wonder if the tool lending library loans out coon traps?

*coon term originated by author; It is not actual terminology commonly used to describe city-living raccoons.