winter solstice

It's only 3 days until Christmas, and the shortest day of the year. That means every day after today will have more sunlight. And that is a very good thing.

This holiday season has been an exceedingly mellow one for me. Almost no gift shopping, few parties, lots of talking on the phone to loved ones, lots of warm visits. It's nice to be rested, clear-headed, and calm.

In a few minutes I jump in my car, laden with food gifts, snacks, and outfits for every occasion, and drive to Weed, California. There I'll be staying at Stewart Mineral Springs, and completing the drive to Portland on Sunday, where friends await. It should be a mellow holiday with overeating, basement soccer, and excellent conversations with dear friends.

Happy holidays, and a peaceful week of rest to folks everywhere.

What do you love?

I just made myself a spectacular lunch. The secret is to spread out the work: marketing one day, prep in the morning, then a reheat/wrap up just before you eat. On today's menu was potato leek soup, braised swiss chard with shitake mushrooms, and fresh ravioli with butternut squash filling.

I am considering vanilla ice cream with homemade chocolate sauce and cashews for dessert. Just as soon as I can move.

It's been a wonderful weekend. Last week it was rainy in San Francisco, and I was down for the count with a flu bug. Three days of doing very little in my apartment was remarkably restorative, and I've recovered well enough to make it to the gym today, primarily to use the hot tub and schvitz (steam bath), but got a few laps in there.

It's sunny, crisp, and lovely outside. The Christmas/Hannukah spirit is in the air, and I'm thinking of treating myself to new window shades.

Last night I went to a Shuso ceremony. At the end of a practice period at Zen Center, the head student has a formal stepping ceremony in which everyone asks him or her a question. I asked: "What did you learn as a Shuso that you did not expect to?" Zackery (for that is his name) answered: "I learned I need a lot more care and nurturing that I thought I did."

So it's the time of year to think about that: what sustains us, from the network of farmers, grocers, truckers, laborers who deliver food to our local markets, to the people, places, and activities that humanize us, and bring to each day the possibility of pleasure and real joy.

Another questioner asked the Shuso some heady question about dharma. Zackery replied, "What do you love?" The questioner was caught off guard, looked down in intense concentration, then bunted, replying, "I'm asking the questions here." Everyone laughed.

But it's a good question. What do you love? You can make lists of things: a walk on a fine day, a dear friend, your mother, a new window shade that fits exactly right. Your home, the smell of pine tree boughs in your living room. Cooking beautiful food. But somehow none of these things quite captures the What. Is it life? Being of service? Accomplishing what you feel only you can do? Maybe it's the pep, or verve inside each of us that makes us grasp new experiences, extend our minds to new ideas, open our hearts to people and their intimate thoughts and habits.

Speaking of new experiences, I've discovered Netflix on demand. There had been these "free" hours on my account to "watch instantly", but I'd ignored them. No more. I'm hooked. The first night I watched, amazing, as a Morgan Freeman movie started right when I pushed play on my laptop. Cool! The next night, things got out of hand. Turns out Sense and Sensibility, the British version, is 3.5 hours long. 7 episodes. I couldn't stop. My friend Peggy says Pride and Prejudice is even better -- all 7 hours of it. I can't wait until January.

Get out there and take in some holiday cheer. The lights are out, the decorations festive. If you're not out shopping, you might just have yourself a nice night.
Love to all, in all the towns and cities and treelined streets where you may find yourselves for the holidays.

Green Festival

A few weeks ago I went to the San Francisco Green Festival, on a date. It was interesting.

First of all, the nice young man invited me to the keynote, Deepak Chopra. Now, I'm not a big Deepak Chopra fan, but I figured maybe there was something I had missed here, so agreed.

We stayed 4 minutes. There was Mr. Chopra, talking about how humans are the only species to wage war on our own kind, to murder, to poison the earth. I said to Guy D: "That's not exactly true," and he replied "Nothing he's said so far is actually true." So we left. Nearly a thousand slack-jawed neo-hippies folks stayed behind.

The exhibition floor was very interesting. Did you know you can buy a mattress made from ("natural") rubber? It's pretty comfy, too. There are small group eco-vacation outfits like Gap Adventures, and resorts like Maui Retreat. I learned about the chemicals in common makeup like formaldehydes and parabens, which "may play a role in decreased sperm count and increased breast cancer." Recommended are the usual natural cosmetic suspects: Weleda, Aubrey Organics, Dr. Hauschka, and Jane Iredale. You can buy purses made from truck inner tubes (English Retreads), tote bags made from recycled billboards (Reusable Bags), and organic cotton underwear (EnvironGentle).

Want to be a little greener? Here are resouce websites for the rest of us.
www.idealbite.com
www.greenmaven.com
thedailygreen.com
grist.org
treehugger.com
greencar.com
greatgreengadgets.com

Me? I get excited about organic bedding (A Happy Planet), Print Raw and Design Action Collective eco-printing services, and the guy in San Rafael who makes furniture out of recycled lumber, Bill Callahan.

doing myself favors

Lately I have been doing myself plenty of nice favors. On Friday, I upgraded my seat at the symphony to premier second tier, effectively doubling my ticket price. I enjoyed Mendelssohn's violin concerto so much more without a 15-year-old texting into her phone next to me.

Symphony seating segments imprecisely along age lines. The power couples and family money are in the orchestra, the somewhat tired and rumpled but still kickin' are in the balcony. The septuagenarians sit nosebleed, center, and the kids and schoolteachers are in the wings. My favorite is with the fogies. No one looks around. When it's time for intermission, they're all looking at their feet.

Last weekend I met another new guy, thanks to my online dating service eHarmony. In 6 months of surfing profiles, I met two guys. They're both great. Maybe Dr. Warren is on to something.

I said goodbye to a disappointing love affair, finally.

Lastly, I'm interviewing for a new job. I've done my best to get along with colleagues and have done a passable job. I'd say I have one and a half head these days, Al. It may be that I'm not in the right sort of environment. I'm shooting for a product marketing manager job that would give me lots of new connections to other parts of the company and, with luck, a less political environment. There would be travel, to Phoenix, Atlanta, Boston, and possibly overseas to Europe and Japan. Oh, I bought a new suitcase, just in case. It is green.

Off now to meditate, have a swim, and meet the (long-suffering) Guy A for brunch. It's not clear if he saw me on the news or not, the night I canceled on him. He didn't mention it. He did however made me promise not to get sick again before scheduling a second date. Which in some ways is a perfectly reasonable request.

Aside: Guy B wanted me to meet his girlfriend for dinner. And some guy she has a crush on. It's all a bit too modern for me, so I passed. You really can't be too kind to yourself.

Oops

apparently, I appeared in a ten-second clip on NBC news last night.

Oops.

Good news: there is a Guy C.

the wild world of dating

I am back on the dating market. And I'm rusty.

For instance, most women would probably know instinctively that, if you cancel with Guy A because Guy B can only meet that same night, then it's probably better not to get interviewed for the evening news. Especially, um, if you told Guy A you were sick.

In my defense, I am sick. Just not sick enough to pass up meeting Guy B.

Here's what happened. I'm sitting in Bar Bambino with Guy B, and we're having a lovely time flirting. He's showing me pictures of his airplane on his iPhone, which has a pretty nifty feature of being able to blow up the photo with the flick of the owner's fingers. There is much flicking. We are drinking Italian pinot nero wine, eating wild boar salami, and fighting over the last remnants of the best cheeses I have ever had tasted, hands down. Then, the floor begins to move.

It was a 5.6 earthquake, centered in the south bay just after 8pm. Guy B thinks at first it's the underground BART train. He looks deep into my eyes and says, "Do you feel that?" and I think, um, yeah, right down to my toes, buddy. Then I do. The floor is rocking and tilting, more like an undulating aftershock than a sharp quake. It seems to go on forever. "60, 80 seconds," I estimate for the cameraman from NBC Nightly News. The real time was 15 seconds, but it seems longer. Maybe that's because your brain is grappling with the fundamental paradigm shift of 'ground is moving' along with the awful possibility of 'walls crumbling' and 'building collapsing' not to mention the horror-show image of 'ground opening like a giant maw to swallow you into the bowels of the earth.' Longest 15 seconds I ever felt.

The cameraman wanted to know what the earthquake felt like. I told him it felt like an earthquake.

I have had a crush on Guy B for 9 years. A good crush is like an acorn: you can bury it someplace and come back and dig it up later when you need a hit of excitement. No girl should go too long without a snack.

The date went well. It turns out Guy B has got himself a girlfriend already, however, so there won't be more meetings. (I do have scruples about some things.) That brings us back to Guy A, who graciously agreed to take me out for dessert, even though, technically, he won our bet: Beethoven's 9th is in fact his only choral symphony. That's true, however, only because Choral Episode is an opus. Who knew a piece of music had to have four movements to qualify as a symphony? I didn't. Now where's my ice cream?

Stay warm and well out there tonight, tricker or treaters. And let me know if I show up on the evening news.

Yay Debbie!

A friend of mine is doing relief work in Tanzania. A perk of the job is meeting celebrities, when they come calling, and Debbie got to meet Ben Affleck and Matt Damon and wrote about it in this article. Now what those AIDs patients really need is a couple of good action movies, to clue them in to the identities of their famous guests.

"Nous voulons parler Francais!"

Evidently the Quebecois wanted so much to speak French a splinter group kidnapped Labour Minister Pierre Laporte and left him dead in the trunk of a car. That group was dismantled, but the act of violence showed how high passions ran in Montreal in 1970 for a francophone lifestyle. Voila, a french-speaking haven for artists and revolutionaries was born.

Montreal is a wonderful city full of grassy parks, sparkly bodies of water small and large, and people sporting tattoos and tiny skirts, and sometimes both. The people are fit, skinny, scruffy and extremely hip-ly dressed. After NY and LA, Montreal is a clothing design mecca. Folks here stay out late, frolic to electronica music, drink excellent coffee and even better beer. There's art everywhere -- even the Metro subway stations. Sidewalks are calked with alien symbols, and graffiti is technicolor and semi-abstract. The architecture is either very old or very new and there is some freaky shit in the skyline. The most endearing quality of Montreal-ians: their penchant for free pools, none of which I've managed to hit yet. (sniff.) But if I hurry, I'll catch the latern-lighting at the Jardin Botanique.

Au revoir!

letting go and having less

First, a delightful thing: I had no idea I had comments on my blog. I was noodling around, trying to figure out how to link to friends' blogs (forgive me, fellow bloggers) and I discovered comments. How fun! Thanks to PW, Mr. and the Alster for commenting on my posts. Who knew?

My post today (since I now know I have actual readers) is about the painful topic of loss. In my case, it is about loss of possessions, and, um, my relationships with my family, which at the tender age of 38 I have finally come to realize are not ever going to change. So they are what they are and that's all they'll ever be. Oh well!

There's good news. The world is full of wonderful people who will tickle your funny bone (and maybe your bippy) if you give them half a chance. This blog entry is dedicated to all the wonderful people I am not related to, and one that I am, just a little bit.

Now, back to the stuff. What is it about trips that makes one have to get new stuff? In my case, it's a suitcase. Some shoes. 3 handbags -- hey I got a computer bag that looks like a purse -- cool! New flip-slops, a pair of flats. Silk shoes (it's a trip, after all). I would stop but I have coupons. So there's a chance of a new Timbutk2 bag, which actually would be great because mine is 14 years old and looks it. A baby could drool on it and no one would know the difference. So maybe there's some merit to keeping old things.

There is a time to move on, however. Like people, the world is full of wonderful things. You shouldn't keep your old things just because their yours, just because they're what you used to. You should try new things. You should throw away what's worn out, what no longer serves you. Or better yet, live without it and see how need feels. Or barter!

But back to the people. More to come!
Greg's website
Mark's blog
Al's blog
Alex's blog
Janice's site

French is sexy

I have been brushing up my French. And throughout my French 1 and French 2 tapes, I have relearned quite a bit about the French. Consider this: 3 of the first five lessons were about meeting members of the opposite sex and arranging to have drinks or a meal at one place or another. In one great exchange, a man and woman (because what else is interesting, really?) went back and forth about a lunch date, each naming a time an hour later than the other, until they agreed to have lunch at 11 at night. (onze heures chez moi). It was sortof like a cross between a booty call and my last relationship: we're not entirely clear what we are agreeing on. At least, if you're French, there will be food.

This weekend I voyager a Montreal. At least, I'm pretty sure I'm keeping my engagement to myself and having a working vacation. There is still a glimmer of doubt, as a friend is attending services this weekend for her father. It is a sad time in the great San Francisco Bay Area. And, as I am a femme libre, I can always fly another time.

So we'll see. Until I decide, there are all the pesky things of life to do: laundry, smog checks, cleaning, and a critique of a short story for a writing group member. Ah, the life of a (semi) creative (semi) professional.

Last week I underwent professional training. I learned Successful Communiation Strategies. Translate: how to get what you want using jedi mind tricks that won't offend anyone, unless they discover what you're doing. A fellow classmate tried out the "reflection" technique on his wife and she immediately yelled at him to stop it. You have to be subtle, especially if using empathy for the first time.

OK, I'm tired. Yesterday I swam in the Pacific, and evidently made a commitment to swim in the bay at the Dolphin Club early in the morning, which is great fun, if very very cold. At least there is a sauna.

Sleepytime.

a carrot and a beer

My title is what I ate for dinner when I got home. Technically I also had a small chicken burrito, but I liked the title better without it.

I am now one and half sheets to the wind because the beer was a Delirium Tremens which clocks in at nearly 10% alcohol. Being tipsy, I am not afraid to tell you about my pending existential crisis.

Tonight I went to a Board meeting of the Hands On Bay Area foundation and I presented, with my team of compatriots, their new branding and marketing guidelines. It went over pretty well, actually. Something impressed me when I was sitting in the room, which was a conference room of Wilson Sonsini Goodrich & Rosati, 33 floors above the Embarcadero in downtown San Francisco. Actually, in the same building complex I work in, just one of the newer towers that goes much much higher, so the view's a lot more impressive.

I was impressed at how calm and excited everyone was. The board were all good people. Different backgrounds and opinions. Dedicated, intelligent, engaged. I thought, now where do I get me some of that?

Board members are cool. I got to meet the board members of the Long Now Foundation last Friday night. A friend gave a talk about his new book, Glut, at an event they hosted, and then they took us out to dinner afterwards. It was a slow start. I was gunshy because the board of Long Now includes Stewart Brand, Kevin Kelly, and, newly, Kim Polese. I am not good with celebrities. At best, I quip. At least I quip well.

During the discussion of freeze-dried DNA, I likened the process to creating jerky. When the founder of another startup wanted a specific skillset on the cheap, I volunteered the magic word in HR circles: intern. I did okay. It was great to be in a (private dining) room full of smart people, though, talking about ideas.

Once I was good with a celebrity. A couple years ago I had dinner with Hollywood producer Joel Silver. His wife Kathryn is the aunt of a guy I was dating at the time. I totally nailed it. I entertained Joel, hassled him about getting Producers tickets, like everyone else he knew, and generally walked the line between insouciance and charm. I was delightful. My boyfriend kissed me happily in the car afterwards. Then, I promptly forgot Joel's name. Once or twice I tried to name-drop, but all I came out with was "Joel something. The guy who produced the Matrix movies."

I have not yet told anyone I had dinner with Kim Polese over the weekend. At best, I told my sister, via cellphone, while I was on the bus. One person turned his head. It was like the white-hot light of fame briefly seared my flesh. But not really.

I think what's hard is tha tmy life hasn't gone anywhere. And it really should. I've got game. I just don't have self-control, professionalism, or discipline. Perseverance? No, it's really more like I can't make up my mind. So my blog is now dedicated to me making up my mind, finding my calling, and applying myself rigorously to some new path. Because believe me, corporate work sucks.

Simpsons Avatar

Yes, I'm joining the movie buzz.

Make your own Simpsons avatar by visiting the Simpsons movie site.

go figure: Prom Queen

Don't ask me how life works. I went in this morning shaky and anxious, convinced I would lose my job any hour. Then I proceeded to have an absolutely wonderful day.

Maybe it was because I'd only had three hours sleep. Or soaked up wisdom from a heady psycho-Buddhist self-help book I read instead of sleeping. Or gotten excited about my trip to NY tomorrow. Or maybe it was because I had just stopped caring so damn much.

It didn't hurt, of course, that I got a call and email from a recruiter from Adobe for an editorial management position. No, that didn't hurt a bit.

There's something of a relief when bad things actually happen. Like, people don't all like me. (Oh No!) The reality is not nearly as bad as the fear of having people actively dislike you.

It reminds me of the first time I rode a motorbike. It was in Thailand, and traffic was hairy, and I was convinced I would be killed because, you know, poeple get killed on motorbikes all the time. Then I laid it down on a gravel-strewn hairpin turn. And it really wasn't that bad. It wasn't nice -- I had a nasty road rash. But the lady at the roadside shop fixed me right up with bandages and antibacterial. Evidently it's a popular place to wipe our.

Here's my day in a nutshell. 1: The marketing dept went to an All Hands meeting in San Rafael, except new people like me who figured they could call in, which we couldn't (oops) 2: no one came back from the meeting because it's Friday 3: My archnemisis held a meeting, ostensibly to tell us about things they way they really are and should be on the web site, according to her 4: she made the mistake of inviting impartial outsiders, who were interested in my ideas about packaging and handling content and creating pathways with a strategy behind them
5: I had way more fun than my archnemisis did, because all her friends were gone and mine were around, fun, friendly, and loud (HA!) 6: the archnemisis caved. It was a little sad. She talked about how she didn't like working in a stressful environment, with tension. Can't we just get along sort of stuff.

My cohort thinks perhaps the archnemisis is not behind the smear campaign. I'm not convinced.

Well, here's life in corporate politics/court intrigue. I'm sure next week it will change. For now, I'm going to stick with not caring so much and see where the cards fall. Toodles!

corporate road kill

I wish I could say my new job was going well. Alas, it is not.

If marketing writing were a profession like, say, acting, than corporate Web work would be in the vein of television work. The money's good, the work is steady, and you work with a team that all aspired to be somewhere else and aren't. Journalism, or freelancing, is closer to film acting: you go from project to project, so the financial risks are higher, but so are the potential rewards. You could write an exceptional article, or land a lucrative contract, and reap the benefits of self-determination and creative license. Writers with literary ambition are like Broadway actors -- the odds of success are long and the pay is terrible, but there's the potential for recognition of your innate brilliance, social prestige, and the chance to work with truly gifted people.

In this scheme of things, to stretch a simile to the breaking point, my current gig is something like a sit com with bad ratings and a cash-strapped network. The gist is that the person who created our little Web editorial team was fired, and now management seems confused about why we exist. We occupy territory uncomfortably -- several on our immediate team also wish we were not around. And now we hear that the viewers are not excited about our show, either. It's hard to see a happy ending for this story. For now, I'm taking the money and running.

Quite literally. In two days I am off to New York, where I will work remotely and call into meetings. I am hoping this time will give me some distance from the brutal political warfare that I have blundered into. Needless to say, as a new employee with a couple powerful enemies, I am not guessing I will be on the winning side of this equation.

Which is too bad because, to paraphrase a colleague, I like my job. The location is great. The people, except for those offended by my ongoing presence, are friendly, smart, and competent. And the company's makes interesting products for a wide range of users. It's cool.

What's happened? Today I found out that my entire team of 3 has been branded as "difficult to work with." There has been an attack, and it has stuck with our management. Which makes ya wonder if it was unanimous. Ideas like these make it hard to go into work without a lot of paranoid thoughts. We'll see how I do tomorrow!

I hope you're life is going better than mine. At least the weather is gorgeous!

an expensive parking place

Today was one of those days where nothing went right.

I got up early and went to the SF Zen Center, but forgot to call a friend. I ate delicious Zen soup and salad, and learned how to be a doan. I met the friend (hours late) at the Ferry Plaza Farmer's Market, bought beautiful and incredibly expensive food -- and got a $50 parking ticket for an expired meter. Was late to meet another friend and we went for Thai food which I didn't eat. I just drank cup after cup of tea. Then we wandered to Green Apple bookstore, which is great fun and has wonderful book islands for browsing and I had to pee and there was no bathroom. (Get the gist? Nothing worked right.) Then I made carrot soup, added $4 worth of gorgeous tomatoes, but used too much lemongrass in the soup stock so the whole thing had the aftertaste of vomit. To cheer myself up, I tried to go buy fabulous purple-blue sheets, only to find they were out of the bottom sheet. They ordered it from another store, I bought pillowcases and a top sheet, and will have to go back in a week.

So basically a day of wandering in circles and almost, but not quite, getting lots of things done.

At least the weather was nice. And nothing really lousy happened.

It's been ages since I've blogged. Life has been busy, mainly with the new job and trying to keep up with people and hold myself together. I've been taking a Math Refresher class the last four Sundays, and there's nothing like algebra and geometry homework to put a damper on a social life. So far, the job is going all right. Learning to work with people -- really closely with the same people over and over again -- is a skill I admire in anyone who has it. I do not, so learning to become a collaborator, a "meeting person," a team player is like trying to grown another head. I'm working on it. If you see a newspaper story about a woman with two heads, you'll know I've succeeded.

It's nearly 11pm and I have not done this week's homework. I have a friend coming into town tomorrow and my apartment isn't really clean. Most of my bills are paid. I have $7 in my wallet. And now I have to write a really big check to the DPT. I hope they spend it wisely.

The New Job

Two weeks ago I started a new job. I am now a Senior Web Editor at Autodesk, which reported yesterday it made more money last quarter then ever. (I paraphrase.) Having a job is really nice in one way: security. My first day HR took us through the many benefits we will enjoy as Autodesk employees. They are numerous. For instance, I have access to legal software to allow me to write up a simple will, name a health proxy, or complete a no-fault divorce. If I have a pet, which I don't, I can access pet medical insurance. Gym membership is $100 a year. Yesterday I learned I have two vision coverages which can be used independently, leaving me to consider just how many pairs of glasses one woman can have. (If you're my friend Cynthia, that number is 8.)

So far, so good. I'm still me, I was chastened to realize the first time I ran my mouth in a meeting. But so far the other folks seem to be putting up with me well enough, and my manager is overjoyed. My work is extremely similar to what I was doing at Sun, with a less lofty title, which is fine with me. It's remarkable how many of the issues are exactly the same from one company to the next. My first projects here are identical to my first projects at Sun: look at the Web style guide, write edit guidelines for new components in a redesign, look at feature story layout ideas. At least it's all familiar, with a new cast of players and a rather different culture.

First, Autodesk is much smaller than Sun. And it is profitable, wildly, actually. It does only software, so there's only one type of product to market. The office I work from, in downtown San Francisco, is mostly Marketing types, so there is a lot of interaction, which is quite novel to me. They have a lot of meetings. You can tell how popular you are by how many meetings you get invited to. There is also a lot of drinking. The folks I sit near have many ways of discussing their favorite pasttime, whether it's noting the time as "beer-thirty," or talking about where they go to drink, what they drink, how much they drink, or who they drink with, and how often. The boozy focus seems to extend just to the small group around me; I have noise-cancelling headphones on order.

To cope with new job jitters, I am getting up early in the mornings and joining the 5:25am meditation session at the Zen Center. I make it about twice a week, and the affects of mindfulness practice seem to last throughout the week. A friend has begun to go with me. It's good for what ails you.

Last night I went to a lecture at UCSF by a research psychiatrist and it was super groovy. Sophia Vinogradov talked about Mixing Memory and Desire: The Interplay of Brain and Mind. It turns out, they are two different things. She studies physiology, and took us through some basic freshmen topics like memory encoding, left-brain, right-brain attributes, and emotional processing.

Gotta go. Tonight: seeing Lama Surya Das speak, and helping him sell books. Go Lama!

bumpy roads, new endeavors

Last week I ate dinner with a friend at Jeanty at Jack's, the San Francisco restaurant of Philippe Jeanty. We were underdressed, and it was late, but the maitre d' graciously seated us and then they proceeded to stuff us so painfully full of excellent French comfort food that I wasn't sure I was going to make it home. The city roads are rough, and every time I hit a bump, the stays of my already distended stomach stretched just a millimeter more. I was not sure I would survive. The coup de grace was dessert: chocolate mousse brulee. Asked whether it was more fluffy or creamy, the waiter, without missing a beat, said "creamy. Yes, more creamy." He was wrong. It was both.

What they had done, those dastardly French, was place a layer of chocolate mousse over a layer of creme brulee and top the entire mebob with melted sugar. I won't say it was wholly successful. The mousse was flabby and the brulee too chilly. It was delicious, but also sortof wrong, like a pig-dog of the confection world. But we ate the entire thing with hardly any conversation between us. Ooo, dang.

Yesterday I went to see the Dalai Lama, compliments of my almost-ex-boyfriend, who couldn't use the tickets because he had to move to NY and start a new job. It was pretty amazing. I am not one of those people who believes in "transmission" or gurus or karma or reincarnation, but, well, he had me. His Holiness, tiny on a stage surrounded by thousands in the sold-out Civic Auditorium and huge on the video screen flanking the stage, emanated calmness and clarity. I have never seen anyone speak with so much traction. It wasn't conviction per se, or certainty, it was more a sort of tightness between what he meant and what he said that bespoke of integrity. This man knew what the heck he was talking about. Maybe authority is the right word. He talked a lot about compassion, of having a flexible mind that does not label things good, bad, or better than. He talked about caring for others, and of being warm-hearted.

The theme of the talk was Creating Positive Change. He had two short pieces of advice: have full self-confidence, and work hard. He talked for a long time about how mental states are often more powerful than the physical world, aka reality. He probably wasn't saying anything that was radically different from what you can pick up in a Buddhist text or a garden-variety self-help book, but from his lips the messages were somehow irrefutable.

Funny thing was: I was not bored, but he promptly put me to sleep. I was not the only one. The guy in front of me conked out, and two kids were felled across the aisle. My theory: the tremendous sense of calmness and well-being just put me out. It was relaxing, like being held in the arms of a really good parent. Hats off the the Lama.

My life is about to change. I have taken a new job. The offer letter is due to arrive today, and without much ado I have agreed to go in-house at Autodesk to be a Sr. Web editor. They have a rather fabulous downtown office, right across from the Ferry Plaza, with free drinks and an espresso machine and their entire marketing department. I will commute there and be close to friends and excellent lunch spots and the farmer's market on Tuesdays. The city has a new website, Nextmuni.com, which tells you how soon the bus will come, which will ease the public transit angle a bit. It's part of a new system which also broadcasts the info on electronic signs in the bus kiosks. Nothing like a little information to take the sting out of public transit unreliability.

I hope to spend my last week of freedom seeing friends, shopping for clothes, getting all my ducks in a row, and getting pampered. I'll let you know how it goes.

the rant against plastic continues

A Canadian friend sent me a copy of Azure Magazine, a big glossy design mag with fantastic ads. In it, incongruously, is a great article about plastic, Water to Go (Sept. 2006), mainly as it pertains to bottled water. Here are some high points.

North Americans drink bottled water for fear of contaminants in tap water. Europeans drink it because of the taste -- they have a palate for the mineral content. Plastic is the dominant packaging, but the article points out that phthalates, additives to plastic such as polyvinyl chloride, "are known to leach into water and are considered hazardous."

Then, they give the resin codes and breakdowns.

1 PET (polyethylene terephthalate, a member of the polyester family) is the most common plastic used in bottled water. It leaches the metal antimony, a suspected carcinogen, over time, according to a University of Heidelberg study published in Journal of Environmental Monitoring in 2006.

2 HDPE (high-density polyethylene) used for containers, bags, piping, and so on. It's "relatively safe."

3 PVC (polyvinyl chloride) leaches Bis(2-ethylhexyl)phthalate, which adds flexibility to plastic, should be "avoided at all costs." It contains an endocrine-disrupting compound that is hazardous to boys and young men, according to Dr. Frederick vom Saal, a biological science researcher at the University of Missouri.

4 LDPE (low-density polyethylene) is a soft, pliable plastic used in plastic bags and food containers. No info.

5 PP (polypropylene or polypropene) used for food packaging, textiles, automotive components and reusable containers of various types. "Relatively safe."

6 polystyrene is a hard plastic used for CD cases, and can be expanded by heat ("extruded") into foam, Styrofoam. Which, oops, is toxic.

7 other: hard, glass-like clear plastic made from acrylic, polycarbonate, polylactic acid, nylon, and fiberglass. Usually not recycled, this plastic does not need to carry a number on teh bottom, but if it's hard and glass-like, it's probably in this class. When heated, polycarbonate bottles "release biphenol A (BPA), a hormone-disrupting agent linked to reproductive and developmental problems and cancer." Originally, the material was researched as a birth-control chemical.

As I read this, I realize I must give up my Brita water filter. It is hard and glass-like, so most likely polycarbonate, and it's aging, so it's leaching BPA more rapidly than a newer pitcher. There are also dangers, I read, of the charcoal filters "leaching accumulated chemicals", and it incubates bacteria because I keep it at room temperature. (I dislike cold water.) The problem is, it's relatively inexpensive and I like the taste of the water that comes out of it. What about lead? I live in an older building, which likely have lead solders on the pipes. Is leaching and incubation worse than lead poisoning? It's like the old Joe Jackson song: everything gives you cancer. There's no cure, there's no answer (refrain). I'll toast to that. Even the water cooler at work isn't safe. Those big bottles? BPA-leaching polycarbonate.

We can make antimony-free polyester; the article suggests the same process could be used to manufacture antimony-free PET, so the plastic industry can continue to help me meet my food-containing needs. Problem is, there are no safety guidelines for BPA or antimony ingestion, so there's little oversight or demand for change. So I guess that leaves me with Sig water bottles and tap water. Cheers!

exercise: better than drugs

I got on my bike last week, rode downtown, took a train to work in Berkeley, then in the evening rode to Noe Valley for my therapy appointment, and then topped steep hills on my route back home. Exercise is amazing. It was better than drugs.

How much better? Much better. The high from exercise lasts all day. It relieves stress, is good for the skin, and makes you smile. It also has many benefits to your heart, lungs, and muscles which I doubt crack can deliver, although I'm sure no studies have been conducted.

San Francisco makes a big effort to support biking. We have a good network of bike lanes, drivers are pretty aware of us, and even local transportation (BART, Muni buses) allow bicycles. There's even free secured parking at the Embarcadero bikestation, which is extremely handy if you can pick it up before 7pm.

There are none of these amenities provided for crack, heroine, or any other hard drugs. Unless you count our new municipal potties, which I understand are often used as private places to take drugs, and to defecate everywhere but the toilet. City workers hose them out regularly with big hoses of hot water, and the spray smells of bleach.

In sum, I'd argue the greater merits of exercise for the following reasons:
* its salubrious effects to the physique
* relative lack of expense
* civic engagement and support for local transit
* non-polluting and emission-free
* encouragement of recycling of all empty soda containers

OK, time for a run. I fly to Las Vegas tonight for the IASummit conference. I dislike Las Vegas. I had a bad experience there once, and I don't like to gamble. Gambling, someone famous once said, is like flushing your money down the toilet and expecting it to come back.

burning down the house

I came home last night to a stinky apartment. It smelled bad, real bad. I'd been out with a friend for dinner and a talk by Joel Cohen, lead writer for The Simpson's, and got in around 10. Mr. Cohen had many interesting things to say about the popular TV series, now the longest-running TV comedy in history. Currently, the show has just one female writer, which of course got me to thinking. They have the largest writing staff (15) of any show in history, and the writers are predominantly white, male, and Harvard graduates. Still, I'm sure I have a chance. Fun fact: Many elder male characters' voices are patterned after U.S. presidents. (Monty Burns=Ronald Reagan.) Fun!

But back to the smell. Where did such a terrible, smokey smell com from? Why, my charred comforter, of course. Yesterday afternoon, while I was at work in Berkeley, innocently editing catalog copy and ferretting out instructor bios from the trady and infirm, the temperature dropped. That triggered my thermostat, which is normally set to zero because I don't usually heat my apartment. But it had been a cold night and I forgot to turn it off. Oops!

All of this would have added up to nothing more than a warm apartment when I got home, except for one thing. I'd just rearranged my room, which when you live in a studio apartment, can have some exciting consequences. In my case, it put my bed, mit blakies, right next to the heater.

I don't really understand why it didn't catch fire. My duvet and comforter cover were both cotton, but only blackened at the corner, scorching about twelve square inches. And generating that terrible smell of burnt feathers. It was like a satanic cult had invaded my personal space and spent the aftenroon immolating chickens. In any case, it smelled bad.

Needless to say it shocked the hell out of me. It's not like I have a lot of stuff, or much that's valuable, but just trying to think about facing life without underwear threw me for a loop. So I bought renter's insurance. And wondered about my secret dark destructive urges.

It took about four days for the smell to air out. By then, I'd already bought a new comfroter (much warmer) and disposed of the evidence. Except the duvet cover, since it's Calvin Klein. It, I cut up into inch-wide strips, and am using it as "yarn" and knitting a rag bathmat. So far, so good. And Allstate just got a new customer for life.

home-buying, writ small

I have a dream of buying a house. Today, that dream looks something like a plot of land with a tiny prefab house on it and, if I'm lucky, electricity and running water. Happily, there are kinds of cool prefabs to choose from these days.

Here are a few from an article in today's NYT.

Alchemy Architects does the weeHouse
Bluesky Mod in Toronto (pay Canadian!)
Cavco Industries in Phoenix
Cusato Cottages in NY
Modern Cabana here in SF
Tumbleweed Tiny House Co. here in N. Cal.

Sears kicked off the big idea a hundred years ago with their Modern kit houses. They fetch top dollar these days by collectors, or you could build you own using the plans posted online.

Now, where is there affordable land in California?

toilet troubles

It's Valentine's Day, and I've got toilet troubles. It's been acting for about, oh, seven years now, and I've had it. I begged the handsome Russian building manager to get me a new one. He seems sympathetic. The plumber comes tomorrow. Tonight I will dream of polished white ceramic scentless basins and the noble chrome handles that control them with precision and dexterity.

All is well in San Francisco. (I mean, seriously, when aren't they?) Today I am home, cleaning my apartment, hanging pictures, and picking up my dry cleaning. And working. The sun is shining. And did I mention how handsome my building manager is? He was wearing a cute retro leather jacket over a down vest because, apparently, Russians are always cold.

Tonight I will cook a simple dinner for some friends, drink wine, and avoid the thronging crowds of happy couples. VD is a rather cruel holiday for singles, and we're in the majority these days, at least on the female side. Maybe we should get our own saint, who champions love of self, interdependence on friends and community, and self-fulfillment through pursuit of knowledge, hobbies, and service. Our day could be sponsored by Good Vibrations, great take-out places, and NetFlix. Ah, what a day that would be.

I am having fun, figuring out what to do with my life. Last night I spent two hours online, and finally purchased a car stereo (Mine was factory-installed in my Honda Civic in 1992. What a bargain!) and a digital camcorder. I am officially launching my media training business. I'm working on a brochure and planning a mailing to local PR agencies. It turns out this whole entrepreneurial thing is not that difficult to do. Next there will be professional associations to join and hobnobbing to do. Then maybe when I'm done working at UC Berkeley in April, I'll have more interesting work waiting for me.

OK, off to read more pages of the summer 07 catalog. Yippee!

the end of the world

Yesterday was cold and gray in downtown Berkeley. Just outside the BART station, a local crier hollered to the commuters coming out of the station: "The world will end tomorrow at six o'clock."

So we have that to look forward to.

Maybe he read the NYT article on Tuesday about the Doomsday Clock. Its keepers have moved the time up, to 11:55 from midnight, because of the threats of global warming. The time doesn't map to anything official--at least not anything they're going to talk about publicly. But some have put an actual timetable to the end of man's rule on earth. Doomsayer Martin Rees gives humanity a 50-50 shot at making it past 2100 in his book, The Final Hour. He publishes his bets on longbet.org, along with a bunch of other bright lights in the tech industry like Freeman Dyson and Mitchell Kapor. Interesting reading.

stuck in place

I am growing my hair. This is big news in these parts.

My new stylist insisted. He showed me how to stick my bangs in place with gel, so I could handle the growth without going bonkers. He also flipped my part, which threw me for a day or two. "Some days, you will hate yourself," he told me, "but keep going."

Ah, the New Year. I sit working on a story for a yet-to-be-launched website, my straggly hair tucked into a hairband. A cold knocked me out for a week, and I am behind. My best-paying client has had to wait. I hate it when that happens.

Yesterday I tried on a pair of seductive green eel-skin pumps. They were so soft; a friend rubbed them on her cheek. What did they do with the rest of the eel? Sushi, perhaps. The same store also stocked fish-skin pumps in bright colors, scales and all. San Francisco rocks.

My parents may have sold their house in upstate New York. This is great news. Change is constant. It seems like change always has to do with loss, but maybe it just depends how you look at it. In this case, loss came with a full-price offer, which you can't really beat. A friend finished a screenplay. Someone's divorce got finalized. And what, I have to wonder, am I doing with my life?

Well, the winter practice period begins at the San Francisco Zen Center in a few weeks. It will also be Chinese New Year on Feb. 18, which is better than regular new year because restaurants don't jack up their prices and most of the irritaing people stay home. The parades are better. And we get a new mascot: a boar (pig). Face it: the Chinese have been at this longer than we have. It's 4704 on the CHinese calendar, which is pretty impressive.

Speaking of time going by, I have another story to get to today. It's cold here in California -- they even predicted snow a couple nights ago. But the sun is shining and the sky is blue. I think I'll wear a hat to brunch.