Aptly titled

"Real Life Despite My Best Intentions."

This is nicely illustrated almost every day in ways large and small, but I think last night's example is particularly rich.

When I returned to my car after a small workshop about mindfulness and breaking negative patterns in one's life, I discovered a hundred dollar parking ticket.

I could tell you a far more detailed version of this story, but why?

Your savior

I heard on the radio this morning that some study has recently been conducted that shows that 1) people who live with a partner live longer than those who live alone and 2) men will live longer if they live with a college-educated woman.

Ahem.

Gentlemen, I have a Master's degree. And I'm single.

Step right up.

Monday Miscellany

I do complain about my job (I complain about everything, actually, so this is really not surprising), but on some days there is nowhere I'd rather be. Those days, friends, are Talent Show days. Let's just say that Monday morning is very much improved by witnessing two seventeen-year-old white Jews stepping into their DJ personas of Rhymeoceros and HipHopopatamus* and doing a little freestylin' on the mic. One of HipHopoptamus' lyrics ended with "how could you come up with such a preposterous hypothesis." I only wish I could remember more because it was mad quotable yo.

*****

Later, overheard in the hallway.
"Yeah. In Spanish, I just put an "o" on the end of English words."
[PAUSE]
"I got an F-o."


*****

Hardly Strictly Bluegrass was this weekend and it was quite an extravaganza. Billy Bragg said that football is a game they play in England which is called "'football' because you play it with your feet. See? What you play here that you call 'football' we call 'runny, runny, catchy, catchy.'" Aimee Mann was astonished by the size of the crowd and the blinding sun. "I feel like my forehead is a giant solar panel," she said. And darling, adorable Neko Case said all manner of ridiculous things because she is a big goofball. She also snorts when she laughs. And we love her. She did have to keep hoisting her pants up and said, "It's hard to do rock and roll when you've got no butt. You have to just keep pulling your pants up. Belts don't do no good."

Thanks for the music, y'all.


And now, MUNI, may I just have a word? Do you see this picture?




Yeah. That's the crowd at one of six stages. This will apparently come as a surprise to you, but after the festival all those people had to get home. So, I'm thinkin'... maybe run more buses? I know. It's a crazy idea, but it just might work.

As for me, although I exited the park at a bus stop, the (two) buses on Fulton were full, so I walked to Balboa, where another bus passed me, so I walked to Geary. Once there, I just walked and walked and walked for the better part of an hour during which time only one bus passed me at all. After 35 blocks, I finally came upon an empty taxi at Geary and Stanyan which took me the remaining 17 blocks home. Had the taxi driver proposed to me, I probably would have married him.


View Larger Map

The way this was supposed to go was a straight shot down Fulton on the trusty #5 and a leisurely 10-block stroll home. Had I planned to walk between 30 and 50 blocks, I would have worn different shoes. And I definitely, definitely would have peed first. Just to recap: four buses are insufficient to transport 750,000 people. I only mention this in passing.

Love,
Kari

P.S. The one bonus of walking directly east for an hour in the dark was that I did see the moonrise. And it was lovely.

{10/7/09: I have since been informed that while our two students are still clearly adorable and entertaining, they are not rap parody geniuses. But they are.}

MUNI--the freshmaker

Do you remember that Mentos commercial where the pretty lady has a little tiny car that is gets boxed in by bigger cars, so she has some burly construction workers pick up her car and move it?

It's better in real life.

On Saturday night, my friend and I were at Kezar on the corner of Carl and Cole, directly on the route of the N Judah. Trains come and go, of course, and one learns to ignore them, but instead of heading into the tunnel as usual, one outbound train stopped in the middle of the intersection for a long enough time to attract my attention even thought my back was to the window. When I turned to look, the train was stuck right where the track curves tunnelward; all the doors were open and passengers and driver seemed stymied. Suddenly, about a dozen guys stepped off the train and surrounded a four-door Toyota sedan just a few feet from the head of the train. They lifted it up, and moved it a foot closer to the curb (allowing the train to clear it) and deposited it back on the street. Then, looking rather pleased with themselves, they reboarded the train to applause from their fellow passengers, passersby on the street, and even those of us in the bar. It was strangely elating.

A lesson in parallel parking and a small neighborhood celebration--all at once. Who needs candy?

Things I'm not good at: Part 8,600,010

Hula hooping. Or rather, since Hula Hoop is a trademarked device, hooping. A thing that seems as though it would be A) not all that difficult and B) downright whimsical. Bah ha ha ha.

You know how they say you never forget how to ride a bike? I am willing to believe that's true, although I've never put it to the test. Personally, I haven't been on a bike since I was 9 years old and I have no intention of getting on a bike ever again. But, that's me. For, you know, normal people, perhaps the adage holds true. Therefore, you might imagine it would be true for other skills one possessed as a child. Based on my small not-all-that-scientific study, this is not the case. Seriously. I was fantastic at hula hooping when I was 8. I had a red hoop and I spent many a pleasant hour with it on the back deck. Round and round it went and all was right with the world.

Fast forward 31 years. Hooping fitness class (a thing that actually exists, in case you didn't know). Of ten women, I am the only one who cannot keep the hoop up. In fact, I suck to a degree that makes me incredulous even though each time the hoop clatters to the floor I am presented with irrefutable evidence. Also, ow. Really. Ow, ow.

The following day, I had this bruise on my blinding white flesh. The photo doesn't even really do it justice. It was a truly awe-inspiring bruise. I also had (and continue to have) bruises over my ribs on both sides of my body, as well as a massive one on my left elbow and another on the knee. If you don't mind my saying so: whimsical, my ass.




I won't be returning. Fitness has once again slipped from my grasp.

The good news is that I think I'm still pretty good at jumping rope.