Uncool and undead

Along with every other girl aged 15 and up, I’ve often used Halloween as an excuse to dress extra provocatively. Once I got boobs, gone were the days of being a shampoo bottle or a refrigerator. Instead, these costumes were replaced with Slutty Devils and Sexy Tigers. I was not just a pirate, I was “Captain Hooker.” I was not an angel, I was a “Fallen Angel.” I was not just a mime, but a “Mime Whore.” (okay, I made that last one up).

So, after 15 years of sexing it up for Halloween. I decided to do things a little differently. Combining two of the ugliest things possible, Stephanie came up with the idea of Zombie Nerds. With a tropical shirt and culottes from Thift Town and some very scary make up, we actually left the house looking like this:



This is why Stephanie and I are no longer friends.

I’ve never got so much negative attention from boys. I would forget what I looked like and start chatting a guy up at the bar, and then be shocked when he ran screaming until I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.



Or looked down at my feet.



Shockingly, my roommate Brian, the Raver Geisha managed not to pick up either.



Note to self: next time, wait to dress up ugly for Halloween until you already have a boyfriend.

Thrill them out of Iraq

Today was the “Thrill the World” dance in Dolores Park in an attempt to break the Guinness World Record for the Largest Simultaneous Dance with Michael Jackson's "Thriller."

It was also a giant peace rally. At the same time, at the same park.

Poor planning if you ask me. I mean, not that Zombies and hippies can’t get along. But eating people’s brains is anything but peaceful.

Needless to say, the people-watching was highly entertaining. We saw women carrying anti-war signs saying “You can’t go to college in a bodybag.”

Ah, unless you’re undead that is.

Seashore

I discovered yesterday that I can ride my bike to the beach in under 30 minutes.

This fact is key to my happiness in San Francisco. In less than half an hour I can be amidst the fine white sand, the sound of breaking waves, the view of jagged rocks and ankle-deep in the ice-cold water that we Northern Californians put up with.

For all you folks on the East Coast, here's a little peice of California. Very pixelated and off-color because this video was shot with my phone.

Pornacopia

Monday night I was reunited with my bizarre running group. Though the members are mostly insane, there are enough cool folks there to make it worth my time and it was great seeing all my old friends. Not to mention that Monday was the most beautiful and clear night San Francisco has seen and the views from every hill we ran over were breathtaking.

How is this running group different from other running groups? Well, aside from the fact that we drink during the run and sing dirty songs after the run, there are other quirks, like the big suitcase full of porn at the run’s finish. This is not a regular occurrence, but a one-time addition from one of the group’s weirdest members. Apparently this pile of old VHS tapes belonged to his late father (uh, creepy) and were mostly in plain white covers with a black and white printed labels showing through the window.

I’m not particularly interested in watching porn from the 80’s, nor do I own a VCR. Still, I rifled through the lot with the specific intention to hide a couple videos in my roommate’s room in the hopes that a random girl will find them if he ever brings one home. I ended up with two videos that are now carefully tucked among the books on my roommate’s bookshelf.

I cannot wait until someone happens upon them. I can already picture the poor drunk girl… waiting until her one night stand heads to the bathroom before snooping through his shelf. She knows not what she has gotten herself into when she finds two videos with plain white covers. "What are these?" she demands of my roommate as he returns to his room. And she holds up with disgust the two tapes labeled “Cooze Cruise” and “Squirts till it Hurts 2.” Hehehe.

Califuckinfornia

I miss the East coast, I do. But when I’m driving to Stinson Beach on the most beautiful day of the year. Hugging each curved cliff in a Porsche convertible as the breeze kisses my face. I can feel nothing but grateful that I live in such an amazing part of the country.

Grouchy about the couchy

What luck, we thought when we saw the posting on Craiglist this weekend. Is it possible that we found the matching loveseat to the couch we bought last week of Craigslist? I mean, seriously, what are the chances?

So after a harrowing drive in Stephanie's borrowed car and some major lifting and cramming...



We discovered that the chances are actually quite low.



The couches don't match at all. The new one is taller, darker, and doesn't even fit in the space.



My roommates and I took one look and the two couches side and side and just busted out laughing. Whatever, they're both comfortable. We may try and do something creative with throw pillows.

New headline

Thanks for all your suggestions. I've decided to go with something very simple and straight to the point. "New York City through the eyes of a Californian?" "California through the eyes of a former New Yorker?" Why define ourselves by arbitrarily designated state lines. Can't we all just get along? (Except all the stupid folks in the middle of the country).

Kidding, kidding.

Morbid fascination

This is the beautiful antique chandelier that hangs over my bed. Sometimes when I can’t sleep at night, I lay there staring at it, pondering all the ways it could kill me in an earthquake.

I’m thinking impalement. Or maybe from a blunt head injury. Fire is also a possibility.

Isn’t living in San Francisco fun?

California through the eyes of a Californian?

People have asked me if I’m changing the name of You Nork. Perhaps to something more fitting of my current location, something like “Fran Sanfrisco.” The answer is no, I’m not changing the name. Number one rule of branding – if the brand is working, don’t change it. It’s bad luck.

However, I do need to come up with a new summary line for this blog, since I’m no longer a Californian living in New York. Maybe it should be something like “California through the eyes of a Californian who once lived in New York.” That’s a little long though. I’m open to suggestions.

Change of Address

It’s official. Today I went through and changed the location from Brooklyn to San Francisco on my Facebook, Myspace AND Friendster accounts.

What’s sad is that I still have yet to change my address on my bank, insurance and credit card accounts. Eh, minor details. At least my online profiles are managed in an accurate and timely fashion. I wonder if I should put that on my resume.

Caution: vegetarians, shield your eyes

I wonder why my stomach is all pissed at me today. Maybe it’s because of the delicious dinner I had last night at the Vietnamese place downtown.



They’re not kidding. Seven. Courses. Of beef. But I’m pretty sure there was no high fructose corn syrup.

Moving mess

Moving into a new house is extremely stressful. I don’t like doing it. And yet, I find myself doing it fairly often. Of course, there’s the excitement of a new home, new neighborhood, new local hangouts. But I’m not sure it’s worth the effort it takes to rent the U-haul and spend long days wielding heavy furniture down stairs, around corners, through doorways.

My back is killing me.

But last night I spent my first night in my new octagon-shaped room. I find the idea of an octagonal room very charming, but it is in fact, very difficult to decorate. Here’s how I’m doing so far. What do you think?

Why I moved home

Yesterday I got to hang out with my grandma. I'm not sure how much I've already written about her, but she's pretty much the coolest lady alive. And she's 95, so she knows way more than most people I've met.

Talking to grandma is a grab bag, you never know what story you're going to get, but it's sure to be entertaining. Whether she's telling me about her childhood in New York, her short story reading club meeting last week, or the dance class that she taught earlier that day, I'm amazed at how much detail she remembers from each occurrence. And I love to hear the way in which she looks at the world.

Then there are the newspaper clippings. No visit to grandma's is complete without receiving an envelope filled with articles from the Chronicle that she thought I might like to read. I think she keeps a dozen envelopes on file labeled for each of her children and grandchildren in her scribbled capital letters. My envelope inevitably holds the articles detailing the latest San Francisco singles' club or a new online dating site. Grandma has many great traits, but subtlety is not one of them.

Getting back in shape

Blogging is sort of like exercising. When you do it every day, it makes you feel good – you get in the grove and when you skip a day, it bothers you. It eats at your conscious and makes you feel lazy. But if you skip a few days in a row, days turn into weeks and you don’t feel bad. You hardly even miss it. w

That’s what’s happened to both blogging and exercising for me in the last few weeks. I’ve gotten real lazy. But to be fair, in the last month I’ve been in New York, Japan, Northern California and Oregon. My brain and body are understandably a little mixed up. I can’t even remember what day it is anymore.

Read

I spent the afternoon yesterday browsing through Powell’s Books in Portland. I could spend endless happy hours in a good bookstore. And in the “world’s biggest new and used bookstore,” I could spend endless happy days.

But there is something that depresses me about being in the presence of so many books. It’s the brutal reminder that I will never be able to read all of them. It’s the vast world of knowledge stacked on shelves that will never enter my consciousness. The percentage of facts that exist in the bookstore compared to the percentage contained in my brain is such a large fraction that it crushes me.

I bought five books yesterday. Gotta start somewhere.

Crater Lake

I apologize for my lack of blogging. And my lack of general contact. I’ve spent the last 24 hours in Crater Lake, a beautiful national park...



that has absolutely no cell phone or wifi reception. I know, what kind of city girl am I? We even went so far as to ask the front desk of the rustic lodge in which we were staying if they had a “business center” with email access. Quite a question for an institution that doesn’t even have TVs or phones in the rooms.

But I think this escape time was good for me and Stephanie. We hiked around the lake. We read our books by the fire. We played Scrabble. We eaves dropped on other travelers’ lives. We were in bed by 9:30pm. We woke up refreshed the next morning, ready to rejoin society in Portland, and check all our voicemail messages.