It Is What It Is

Travel Needs

The one thing I desperately needed in San Francisco? A topographical map. Sure, San Francisco is known for its hills, but none of that seemed to occur to me as I looked at our grid-like map each morning to plot our trek through the city. 

My failure to account for San Fran's landscape wasn't too much of a problem for the walk to Fisherman's Wharf or Chinatown, but it was far more than I bargained for when I decided the Significant Other [SO] and I should have no problem getting from Union Square to Grace Cathedral/Nob Hill.

I may be prone to exaggeration, but I really don't think there is any hyperbole in saying that this involved a near-vertical ascent. Between gasps, the conversation went something like this:

"How far are we going again?" SO said.

"Top," I said. "To the top."

Season's Greetings!

Myspace Chistmas Comments

I hope you have a wonderful holiday! Now that the shopping is done, enjoy yourself. And I wish you a stress-free, zero-embarrassment time with family and friends!

Conversation and Interpretation

Sometimes, you know exactly where someone stands on issues of race. "I'm afraid of black people" and "All Hispanics are lazy" are pretty strong indicators. In other instances, the personality of the speaker usually lets you know if the comment is racist or said in irony to draw attention to others' prejudices -- "If that's the way they feel, then maybe the Jews shouldn't have killed Jesus" or continued use of the term "Freedom Fries" eight years after the fact. 

Then, there are times you're in Sausalito having a few drinks while you wait for the last ferry back to San Francisco for the night and you have no idea whether or not your bartender spends his weekends plotting the downfall of the federal government and conducting eugenics experiments or just watching the ballgame with his other open-minded friends.

This is one such story.

The Problem With Prison

One of the big debates the Significant Other [SO] and I had while in San Francisco was whether or not to visit Alcatraz. The SO had been before and wasn't sure he wanted to go back. I'd never been but could leave it off my list should, say, shopping and/or food options take greater priority. (Pan-fried gnocchi? Yes, please.) Plus, we reasoned that we'd see Alcatraz plenty from our ferry trips to Vallejo and Sausalito. 

But, the more time we spent in San Francisco, and the more times I saw America's toughest prison looming across the bay, the more I realized that I really did want to visit. The outside wasn't enough; I needed photos of myself in a cell. Needed them, I tell you.

So, we went to Alcatraz. And I'll tell you the biggest lesson I learned from our visit: I would not fare well in prison.

Sure, sure, it seems pretty obvious -- I'm not a joiner and my reflexes are frighteningly slow -- but I was still surprised by how many aspects of prison life would present major problems for someone such as myself. (Although I guess that is the point. Crime deterrent accomplished.) I give you my list of the scariest things about life in the big house:

Airport Style

For those of you wondering why I haven't posted much lately, I was out of town last week. The Significant Other took me to San Francisco for my birthday, and we had a blast exploring the city, getting out in Northern California and eating our weight in Italian food. We also happened to visit during one of the coldest weeks San Francisco has experienced in the last 15 years. (I think the weather is part of a family curse. Ten years ago, when we went to Melbourne, Australia, the weather was also unseasonably cold and wet. That weather was so bad, I hear no one has experienced it since.) Thanks to that weather, I also brought home a little cold in addition to my new hat, gloves and San Francisco hoodie.

As excited as I was about our trip, I also knew that to get to San Francisco, I'd have to engage in one of my least favorite activities -- flying.

When it comes to dressing for a flight, I try to wear clothes that are comfortable, but I also put on my bigger items so that I can save space in my luggage for later purchases. This means that instead of wearing the FAA-recommended rubber-soled shoes (because I do know these things), I tend to fly in boots, a long sweater and my heaviest coat (winter only, of course).

The Hotel Talisi

My parents were the kind to go through phases.

In the late '80s they developed an incredible fondness for Cajun cuisine. This involved trips to cooking school in New Orleans, large pots of gumbo and cookie sheets full of pralines (my favorite part of this obsession), as well as a brief decorating scheme that had the kitchen island covered in faux netting with plastic lobsters and crabs trapped in its folds. 

When my sisters and I took dance classes in a strip mall, we all started spending a lot more time at the pizza place two doors down from the studio. This ignited the period in which my parents would host "make your own pizza" dinner parties with each couple having their own genuine, fresh-from-the-pizzeria dough. (Lesson learned: tossing pizza dough is much, much harder than it looks.)

There were also musicals (for my mother), Dennis Quaid films (for dad), self-help books (darkness), ping pong and the Footloose finale. Perhaps most unsettling though, was the period during which my parents decided we should take more vacations -- and take more vacation to random Southern landmarks at that.