Flora in the City

If you ever want to be reminded how blessed your life is, I suggest a quick jaunt through the Tenderloin of San Francisco. The people there are poster children for down-and-out. Splayed out on street corners, yelling at each other or simply at shadows, buying/selling/smoking crack, or all three. It's a great reality check. As I recently decided that if I'm to truly love San Francisco, I have to love all of San Francisco. This is the only San Francisco that some unlucky folks ever see.

One of those unlucky folks is Flora, the dog I volunteer walk every Tuesday.

The Tenderloin is the only home she knows. And it knows her. As I walk by, completely conspicuous with my designer yoga pants and my cell phone in hand, the crackheads smile and say hello to Flora. There's something about a beautiful dog that seems to unite everyone.

I'm starting a photo essay I call "Flora in the City." Here are a few highlights:

Heating up

It's the second installment of YouNork's feautre: "Parts of the house that Audrey thinks look like a penis."

This week: the knob on my heater.



Okay, so to be fair, it doesn't just look like a penis. It is a penis. A plastic penis whistle to be exact.

Why is there a plastic penis whistle in my heater, you ask? Because the original knob was gone when I moved in, and I spent all last winter turning my heat on with pliers. Until a few months ago, my friend, David, was over and noticed the plastic penis whistle from a recent bachelorette party sitting on my dresser. I told him about what a pain it was to turn on my heater with pliers, and he put two and two together, as they say.

And what can I say, it works perfectly. A little weird to explain to guests, but if it keeps me warm in my old, uninsulated house, it's worth it.



Here's to a toasty winter.

College essay tutoring

Today I had the opportunity through 826 Valencia to help local high school seniors edit their college application essays. The most important thing, the teachers informed us, is that we kept the essay in the student’s voice. We were not there to completely rewrite the essay for them.

As my job is to rewrite other people’s writing, I found this to be incredibly challenging. Especially when the student I as paired with sat down and presented the most poorly written, unfocused, rambling essay I’ve ever read. But I could tell she had some really strong ideas that were just aching to get out on to the page.

“Okay, I’ve finished reading your essay. Tell me in your own words what the point is that you’re trying to make.”

“My essay’s about growing up in a Mexican family and the opportunity I had last summer to go to Smith college with my afterschool engineering program and how that made me want to go to college.”

“Okay, so what you’re trying to say is, your essay is about your struggle to break free of the male-dominated Latino culture and how this inspired you to pursue an education in engineering, a male-dominated industry.”

Blink. Blink.

“I mean, isn’t that what motivated you to get involved in your female engineering club in the first place? Your struggle to find your voice as a Latina woman?”

“Actually, it was because my sister joined and my mom said I had to.”

“Uh huh. So here, in this third paragraph, you can draw a parallel between your challenges as a woman in an oppressive Mexican family to the hurdles that your mentor overcame to be the president of the water treatment plant! But, like, in your own words.”

“What’s a parallel?”

After three hours we’d written an entirely new, entirely brilliant essay. I think UC Berkeley is totally going to accept me. I mean, um, her. Accept her.

Imagi-knit

One of my favorite yoga teachers, Rusty, holds a class in the Castro every Tuesday and Thursday morning from 9-10:30. On the rare days I can actually get myself out of bed before 8:30, I go to his ass-kicking class. I always leave that place sweaty and spent, feeling like I’ve had all my limbs ripped off and thrust through the part of my brain where I experience emotion. It’s common for his students to cry in Shevasana. It’s awesome.

It just so happens that my favorite knitting store, Imagiknit, is also located in the Castro. And, as a special treat for putting brain and body through Rusty’s class, I reward myself with the some new knitting supplies – a skein of yarn or some double-pointed needles – ya know, something really exciting.

The problem is that it only takes me about 15 minutes to get toweled off and changed after yoga, so by the time I ride my bike down to Imagiknit, it’s only 10:45. And the place doesn’t open until 11am. Which means that there have been more than a few mornings when the woman arrives to open up her knitting store and finds me eagerly waiting for her to unlock the doors.

Who waits outside a knitting store for it to open?

Audrey, that’s who.

A truly digital age

I've just been alerted that my mother and father are friends via the "live news feed" on my Facebook wall. Then I was able to express my approval with a thumbs up. Isn't that sweet?

A weekend of self-expression

Halloween remains one of my favorite holidays. Beyond the candy and the partying, it’s a chance to truly express yourself:

Whether it’s through a creative costume that reflects personal interests (this guys was a line of cocaine):



Or though politically motivated haunted house decorations (gotta love my mom’s Berkeley neighbors):



Or though my interactive Lego costume that let people build whatever they want on my person:








I put together a Flickr album to show how my costume morphed throughout the night. Check it out here.