A Bit Of A Photo Walk

Even though I don't really have a great deal to share at the moment, I was getting the itch to write (and as it happens more rarely these days, I ought to indulge it). Also, I didn't feel like letting the little, short month of February trick me like it usually does by ending so quickly and giving way to March before I'm ready.

I've been thinking a lot about photography lately. I'm considering taking some workshops and classes, more for processing and enhancement than composition and such, which had me looking through my pictures file on the laptop. I haven't posted any "just because" pictures in a while, so I thought I'd share some of my favorites from the last few months. I may have already shared a couple on Twitter, others I am certain I haven't but, really, how on earth can I remember? So let's let them have a home here for a little while, either way, and I'll tell you a bit about each of them.

This is one of my absolute favorites. It is, oddly enough, of a crosswalk in Los Angeles that just completely captured my attention. I really like geometrical designs and this really appealed to me. Even though orange is one of my least-favorite colors, it really worked here and was completely eye-catching.

Another one from the same trip to L.A., also somewhere along the same street, if I remember correctly. This one spoke to my childhood and I yelled, "Stop the car!" because I had to take a picture. Winchell's doughnuts were THE doughnuts when I was a small child in California (before I moved back to NY) and I was really sad to find out that they'd all but disappeared when I moved back as a much-less-small child. Next time, I want to get a shot of it at night, all lit up.

I have a well-documented love for Chihuly glass in this blog, and this is another example. This is part of the Fiori Di Como chandelier in the lobby at the Bellagio in Las Vegas, which I imagine many of you have seen. You could take me to Vegas, stick me in this lobby, leave, come back in a couple hours and still find me standing there, staring up at the glass in wonderment and trying to take pictures that capture its color and brilliance. Maybe if I ever splurge on a fish-eye lens I just might be able to do that.

Taken with the Retro Camera app on my Droid phone, this is from one of my favorite coffee and tea places in the area. The quality of the amber light from the setting sun was lost because of the filter this particular "lens" uses, but I still like the kind of haunting effect it had.

Not the best-quality picture you're ever going to see from me, but it was taken on my phone and while I was busy kicking myself for not taking my "real" camera along with me, I couldn't resist getting at least one decent shot of such an iconic sign. I wasn't able to get a single usable shot of the equally iconic Ferris wheel you can see a bit of in the background, but I like the slight grittiness of this one.

Ah, false spring in California. These cherry trees near my carport were throwing off the most intoxicating smell at the beginning of the month. The trees were just dripping in blossoms and, while it was difficult to get a really good shot with my phone (again, you'd think I'd learn), I just had to capture a little bit of their beauty to remember them by.

Thanks for indulging me and taking a peek in. Hopefully I can remember to use my better camera more and share some other pictures sometime soon.

A Moment In San Francisco

Not a half hour ago I was ruminating on how crappy I've been doing with keeping up on the lists thing, and with blogging in general. I saw another Listography book in the gift store of SFMOMA, which I'd just finished visiting for the first time, and I told myself I could NOT buy it because I'm not doing a good enough job with the one I have.

The thought of that was not enough to make me rush back to the hotel and do a post, but on the way back by bus something happened and all I could think about was, "I have to write about this." I don't even know why, other than it was just bizarre. I'm going to write it as I heard it, and you have to know that going in because the language is not what I would use myself. Read that as "WARNING, UNPLEASANT AND OBJECTIONABLE LANGUAGE AHEAD!" and do not bitch at me in the comments for it. (In other words, stop here if it's going to bother you, m'kay?)

I've been in and out of San Francisco all week and I've depended on public transit to get around because it's just too expensive for cabs, I can only walk so much and street parking is just a nightmare 95% of the time. So I've got a pretty basic handle on the system and feel comfortable taking it solo. In the back of my mind is always the recent spate of fights on the Muni system, recorded by omnipresent cell phones, that I've seen on the news, but so far, so good.

I got on the bus near the museum and was happy to find it uncrowded enough to grab a seat. The next stop, however, brought in what I immediately pegged (perhaps unfairly, perhaps not) as the Obligatory Bus Crazy Person and he set up shop right in the exit doorway, announcing as he boarded that we all needed to move because, "A black guy is getting on...and I've got a big dick. You all need to make room." You will perhaps understand my trepidation? Yes? Good, because it gets better.

He started complaining about the "nasty Chinese people" at the front of the bus who apparently wouldn't let some kids sit down. He continued rambling on, loudly, but apart from a few more "nasty ass" type things, I tuned him out.

The next stop brought in a flood of people and pretty much maxed out the bus. As people filtered back, it got crowded and two guys ended up next to the OBCP. One of them must have gotten that little bit too close because OBCP started making more noise and telling one of the two guys to move his ass. The young man, who was Asian American, was startled and asked if he was talking to him. "Yes, I mean you. Move yo' ass! I don't wanna be bumping asses with you, nigga! If I wanted to touch yo' ass, nigga, I'd reach out and grab it." Grumble grumble grumble.

I glanced over at the Asian woman sitting next to me and she kind of smirked back with shared amusement briefly, before turning away to distance herself from the situation. The young Asian American man moved as much as he could, smiled at his friend wryly and said, "I love the bus."

OBCP didn't like that. "Yeah, you love the bus. You love ass. Don't you bump asses with me nigga. If you was a white bitch, I'd do it. But you ain't, nigga." Grumble grumble grumble.

I realized that my stop was coming up soon and OBCP was between me and the exit. I wondered if I should say, "A white bitch wants to get off, please," but decided that wouldn't be all that wise. I stood up as the bus was coming to a stop, and the other young man moved aside for me. I quietly said, "Careful, you don't want to bump asses!" while smiling my thanks. He smiled back and let me step around him.

Just as I moved past him, OBCP saw me and it was like someone flipped a switch. He went from slightly crazy black man to a proper Southern gentleman. "You gettin' off here, ma'am? Here you go, sister." He moved aside and continued, "God bless you, ma'am, you have a nice evening." Astonished, I replied, "Thank you, sir, you too." (Sir? Sir!? Where the hell did that come from?) I moved down the stairs and off the bus, and as the doors shut behind me --  not letting anyone else on, much to the annoyance of the waiting riders -- I was just flabbergasted at how his demeanor had changed and how surreal my (otherwise dreaded) exchange with him was.

I walked away toward the hotel, thinking, "I have to write about this!" the whole time. I guess you never know when a blog post is going to hit you right between your normally-Politically-Correct eyes.

Get Thee Gone to the Windy City

See all those ladies over there to the right, underneath "Mo-mmy Blogger Lovefest" in the sidebar? In a mere 24 hours from now, I will be under the same roof as almost every one of them. And, at long last, I'm excited about it!

I've had a lot on my mind and haven't really had much time to spend thinking about it or getting geared up, mentally, to go. I've done what I needed to do -- make hotel reservations, get a roommate, book a flight, get transportation set, order calling cards, request time off -- but it has seemed so distant and I did all that on kind of an autopilot. But the time is here and I'm "there" now; I can't wait to get going and hit the ground in Chicago to soak up the experience. I'm not in the least bit anxious about actually going or nervous about meeting people, but I do wonder if it will live up to my expectations.

Since no one has ever asked me about the title of my mini blogroll there, I assume that either a) you get it, or b) you don't care. (I suppose there is an option c) you never even noticed it because blogrolls are "so four years ago." I don't care. I like them.) No one can deny that "mommy bloggers" rule the roost in blogging these days, and the vast majority of my online female friends fall into that category.

Sometimes I feel a little lost as a non-mom blogger in the mix. The fact that I go my own way and don't really fall into line on the way other bloggers seem to feel you "should" do things (you know, like post more than twice a month) probably doesn't help. Then add in that there are simply some things my friends encounter and feel are things that I will never encounter or feel because I'm not a parent. It means that not only are our lives really different, but our blogs are vastly different, too. Not that that's a bad thing, it just leaves me wondering where I fit in sometimes and I'm curious as to whether that's going to be more apparent or less apparent this weekend...or make no appreciable difference whatsoever. I started thinking about it when reviewing the panels that will be at BlogHer, as a whole bunch of them revolve around mommy bloggers. The good news is that the panels I choose to go to will likely be a little more lightly attended!

But don't go expecting that I'm going to come back from it all full of vim and vigor, bursting at the seams with all sorts of great bloggy ideas and such. This is me, after all. If I get around to posting about the conference, that will be one in the Win column. You can come here after reading everybody else's post-BlogHer wrap-ups and maybe I'll tell you all about the mommy bloggers behind the scenes, once they've really let their hair down. "BlogHer Exposed: When the Squeeing Ends and the Drinking Begins."* Photos will cost a little extra. Send bribes to my nonexistent Paypal account, m'kay? See you on the flip side.

*Yes, that will be the only time the word "squee" ever appears on this site.

Hitting the Road

Hi, blog. Just thought I'd drop in and say howdy. Make sure you weren't feeling too lonely. It's hard not to, I know, believe me.

Since I really don't have much to say, I thought it would be a good time to mention that I'm going to BlogHer '09 this July. Many of you reading this already know that, but it's a good excuse to put up the nifty badge that BlogHer so thoughtfully provided:

I'm still not thrilled with the idea of being in Chicago in the hottest part of its year, but I really want to go, so I'm going. I've already told people that if it's super hot I literally may not leave the hotel the entire time and if there's a brownout or they lose A/C, I am outta there! I think they may not believe that I'm serious. Let me assure them, I am. Even though that hotel is going to be swimming in alcohol, there is not enough alcohol in the city to keep me there if it gets sweltering.

I've traveled quite a bit this year. A bonus of this particular trip is that, with it, I will finally earn my first free ticket on Southwest. I've been a part of their Rapid Rewards program for years, but I've never flown enough in one year to earn a free ticket. (And, before that, when they would stamp your card and you had longer than a year, I could never keep track of the damned card long enough to add them up!)

I haven't yet planned a trip that will utilize the free ticket. You may now commence the entreaties/begging to convince me that I should use it to travel to your area this fall. Any bribes should contain chocolate, cupcakes, bacon or, preferably, all of them...just not necessarily together.

Since You Weren't There

These are some of my favorite pictures from my little roadtrip last weekend. The page may take a while to load, but hey, it's the weekend; relax and enjoy it.

Mining for Edible Gold

I think I might very well have had the best meal of my life tonight. If not, it was damned close to it. I certainly can’t remember one that I enjoyed, end to end, any better. And it was in one of the last places you’d expect to have a life-altering meal.

OK, life-altering might be a slight exaggeration, but it inspired me to do two things I don’t normally do: write about it on a weekend (note: I can’t post it tonight, but I’m writing this on Saturday) and go back the next day for another meal.

I’m spending this weekend in California’s Gold Country, which, if you’ve never been here, I highly recommend you visit the next time you have a chance, especially in the spring. I’m a little early for the riot of flowers that pop up here every year, but their promise is in the air already and the daffodils are poking their heads up.

I’m staying in Angels Camp, which is famous for being the setting of the Mark Twain story, “The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County.” Nearby is the town of Murphys, which I’ve been to a number of times and I always enjoy coming back for both the familiar and the new. It’s a small town, so the landscape of shops and restaurants does change each time I visit, which can be both a blessing and a curse. This time, it was a blessing.

I strolled up one side of the main street and down the other, popping into various shops, window shopping and helping the economy a bit. It was too early for dinner, but I wanted to scope out where I would be eating because, hey, you just can’t leave these things to chance. As I came out of a neat tea shop, I noticed that there was a new (to me) restaurant called Mineral right next door. It was set back off the street a little, with patio seating in front, but they had a sign out front with a review from the paper of a nearby city that gave it five stars; not something you see every day. It said that it was a vegetarian restaurant, but not entirely vegan, and that it didn’t limit the deliciousness. I was intrigued, but a little disappointed that there wasn’t a menu out there to peruse. But five stars? Yeah, I’d consider it.

When I was ready for dinner, nothing else I’d seen had interested me as much as the promise of Mineral, so back I went. It was still pretty early and I was the only person there, which was fine because it’s a really small place and who doesn’t love a little personal attention when indulging in a good meal? I checked out the wine list first, and was happy to see that they had Prosecco by the glass, as it’s my preferred wine with bubbles.

When I opened the menu I was surprised to see it was really pretty short: a half dozen small plates, two salads and three large plates. As there are a lot of things I can’t or won't eat (and, okay, some people might call me “picky”), I was a little concerned that I wouldn’t find something I’d want. When I really looked, though, I saw that while I wouldn’t be in to everything on the menu, what I was into looked promising.

I started with a small plate of white bean hummus that had just the right amount of olive oil and paprika around the edges, with olive "dust" sprinkled on top, and was served with a trio of things to scoop it up, each one better than the next; sourdough baguette slices, thin toasted croutons and even thinner, super-crispy, almost translucent potato chips. The hummus was smooth and just garlicky enough, with a little kick from the paprika. The chips were nothing short of amazing and combined with the hummus they were divine. I’m not ashamed to admit that I ate almost every smidge of that hummus (that I could get to without picking up the dish and licking it clean) and then wished there were more.

It was probably a good thing there wasn’t, though, because next up was an entrée from the heavens. Now, I will be the first to tell you that I am not a mac n’ cheese girl. It wasn’t something I ate growing up and I’ve never had a taste for that fake cheesy taste of the stuff out of the box. But in the last few weeks, I’d heard a bunch of people talking about wanting to have that when the weather has been so cold and it made me wish I liked it. So when I saw it on the menu, I figured this was as good a place as I was ever going to find to try it…and I was right. This is what macaroni and cheese should be. It was made fresh with aged white cheddar and garlic butter, then topped with just enough toasted bread crumbs. I swear, it melted in my mouth and I believe I whimpered just a little bit when the cheese hit my tongue. I got a half order (a really nice thing for them to have available) and while I really wanted more of that, too, it was actually just the right amount for a single serving. It was incredibly satisfying and not the least bit heavy, and it felt really decadent to enjoy it with the Prosecco.

I was glad to see during my entrée that some other people were filtering in to the restaurant. This is a place that should be filled every night. Since there was no rush, however, and I wasn’t stuffed because the portions were just right, I decided to go ahead and get dessert. Perhaps not surprisingly, on such a spare menu, there was only one dessert selection but it sounded fascinating: Indian Spiced Fried Chocolate. I know! Fried. Chocolate. I had no idea what to expect but there was no way I could resist it. What came to the table was a small plate of four small, golden spheres, resting on an espresso port reduction and sprinkled with a touch of gray sea salt. The server, who is also one of the owners, said that the best way to eat them was to roll them in the sauce and pop them in your mouth. That was a little daunting because the “Indian Spiced” part gave me a little pause -- with something like that I usually want to taste a little first before going all in. But sometimes only the brave are rewarded, so I did exactly what she suggested and went for it.

Oh. My. God. The fried exterior was just thick enough to contain the chocolate, a little crisp and not at all greasy, and when my teeth broke it open there was this luscious ooze of almost bitter chocolate, with just a hint of spice and sea salt, that mixed with the espresso sauce and made love to my mouth. Four times. I then had a food-induced “little death” and passed out. The End.

19 hours in LA

It was a mission of mercy. B²W³ (my brother -- I'm tired of writing out "Best Brother in the Whole Wide World") had driven to SoCal for work, days before, and was coming back Sunday. It's a long, boring drive and we'd tossed around the idea of my driving there with him then flying back, but it hadn't worked out. But the reverse would work and, really, I had nothing better to do.

Saturday I left cold, drizzly NorCal and flew to cold, sunny SoCal, landing at the Bob Hope Airport in next to no time. (I had waited in the San Jose airport for my departure time about twice as long as the duration of the flight. Of course, since I'd gotten there early, the security checkpoint was a breeze.) B²W³ picked me up and we were off to beautiful downtown Burbank, which was my only condition of going -- hey, I grew up on Laugh-In.

My evidence (click to enlarge):


We found a place to watch the big Patriots-Giants game over dinner and I got to immerse myself in LA culture. I know I was sitting next to someone in "the biz" at the bar, but I still have no idea what he did. Later, while driving around soaking up still more culture, I was astonished to see that they have CVS pharmacies down there -- I had no idea there were any on the west coast. Growing up in New York, CVS was just about my favorite place to shop (this was pre-Target, people) so I had to visit for old times' sake. We went to one later that night and luckily we didn't pick a 24-hour one, since B²W³ almost had to physically drag me out at closing as it was. Good times.

Speaking of shopping, where else can one truly observe and absorb the culture of a place more than in its malls and shopping centers? After the game ended, I had a nice time walking around the Valencia Town Center for a while, wishing more stores were open but glad that some were open that late. It definitely didn't feel like home, but I couldn't say whether it was better or worse, or exactly how it was different; it just was. The only observation I have to share is that some of the store personnel seem even more indifferent to their customers there than they do here.

The most notable thing on the mall directory was something that it hadn't occurred to me I'd be able to indulge in, though it probably should have: Pinkberry. This is yet another place I've heard a lot about but which I'd never been to since I hadn't been to LA in years. It was on my mind because I've seen the AmEx Plum Card commercial featuring them almost every day for the past two weeks or so. I have to admit, I like the phrase "swirly goodness." That shop was closed by then, but we decided we'd get there this morning. While looking up their hours, I came across a blog wherein the blogger makes it very clear how she feels about Pinkberry's product. I'm not one to just go on one person's opinion, though, so I was still determined to sample it.

I tried a smidgen of each of the two flavors to see which I preferred, and I went with the green tea. I don't agree with that blogger - it was definitely a very different, very tart, very yogurt-y taste, but it wasn't bitter. At $4.50 a pop with a topping, I probably won't be a regular customer when they finally get here...as I'm sure they will...but it was definitely a refreshing treat.

All my goals and shopping needs being met, we headed back north in the B²W³mobile, gratefully. There's really only so much new culture a person can take, and 19 hours was just about enough.