Monday, April 27, 2003

Sugar in their vitamins?


Wednesday, April 23, 2003

I spent too much money on a lousy olive oil, and words fail me. It's bitter and lifeless. It seems everything I touch these days turns to burnt toast. Yeah, I have no idea what that means either. Easter dinner was good, but my salad dressing sucked. And the master chef was excellent even though he did manage to let the hollandaise sauce curdle. But after reading about making hollandaise last night, I've come to realize that that shit is hard to make. Very hard. It's like making mayonnaise -- in that the egg needs to hold the fat -- but a much more delicate process. There, you've learned something new. Lucky you.

I need a better kitchen and better equipment. I also need a Bi-Rite or Whole Foods on my block. I'd gentrify the entire Mission for the option to buy organic tomatoes within a 50-foot radius of my apartment. No, not really.

Also, I'm using the passive tense too much at work, which I'm not supposed to do. And, like, isn't that the first thing they teach you in college, not to do that? Maybe I need to start taking my vitamin shots in the ass.


Monday, April 21, 2003

Judah -- one of my oldest friends, dating back to more youthful years spent behind the Orange Curtain -- is here to help. Check out his new site, if you will. Oh, wait -- you don't think you need any help? Well, just take look in the mirror, lads, because you're a total mess.



Wednesday, April 16, 2003

Tim Robbins and Susan Sarandon. Agree with them politically? Maybe. Gigantic hypocrites who are currently getting what's coming to them? Yes. Why? These two publicly assisted in the boycotting (and subsequent censorship) of one radio-faced Dr. Laura Schlessinger. Now, they're puppy-dog-eyeing to Salon about free speech. Bah. May their children inhale all of their high-grade blow.

Oh, not that I even care. And not that I mind hypocrisy, mind you, as a girl does have the right to change her mind.


Tuesday, April 15, 2003

10PM and I'm up doing my taxes with help from the world wide web. On the IRS' site, they use the following as an example of a password reminder, "What is the name of my pet ferret?" Shocked, I sat there thinking about the IRS promoting illegal pet ownership, which morphed into cheating on my taxes, and finally hitting on a desire for a goddamn vicodin, which I fucking put here somewhere.


Anyway, that's all. Two hours until deadline, and I'm almost done. Why, I might just have enough time for a glass of wine and a couple of cool cucumber slices over my eyes before calling it a night.


Friday, April 11, 2003

Wrong again, I am, as Brian Weaver rebuts:

[I] would like to point out that with the area freed up from the demolition of the Fell St. off-ramp, there will be room for construction of new buildings...furthermore, the demolition of the Fell St. off-ramp is merely phase one of the new Octavia-central project. This project will include a new off-ramp as well as the new Octavia Boulevard, which will include 'four lanes for freeway traffic, two lanes for local traffic, tree-lined medians, sidewalks, ornamental lighting fixtures and benches.'

Phase one? Benches? Lovely.

I mean, I'm still kinda wistful for a freeway overpass above Market Street, but compromise is something with which I am familiar. What joy! And to all you Midwesterners, I apologize for the generalization. Well, not really. But still, I'm titillated about the progress waiting patiently in the green room for the city by the bay. See for yourself.


If my taxes wanted to be filed, they'd ask politely.

And April's blogs are in shambles. Shambles! If I were my mom, I'd go into its room, throw things around, and make it clean up the mess. It's a sty in here! What I need are scrubbing bubbles, or pre-moisten lemony wipes with dirt-catching pockets. Yes, that would make everything much better. Much better.

See, I'm not mad at you; I'm mad at the dirt.


Wednesday, April 9, 2003

I'm upset over the demolition of the central freeway. Fucking hell. San Francisco is a city, a metropolitan area. If you don't like urban areas, then, please, don't move here. And if I ever see Tom Ammiano, I'm going to step on him. Twice. And along those same lines, I'm going to ask that liberals from the Midwest -- who come here for all that San Francisco has to offer with its San Francisconess -- not move here but then demand the same quaint-ish aesthetics that they were used to back home. I like freeways. They're a city's modern river of concrete and glass.

And that, my vertical market, is my sweeping generalization for today.

Also, I've been robbed of a decent winter. Shucks.


Monday, April 7, 2003

OK. The Dixie Chicks link (see 4/4 entry) is a fake. Bha. I guess I should sharpen my fact checking and newly found leftism. Man, do I feel dumb -- retarded, in fact.

Bad weekend. Everyone's a big ol' meanie. Poo poo. Want to crawl into a hole and chew on xanyx.

Also, I had about two gallons of dairy today (in sundry forms, anyway. I'm not sure how dairy is measured in both milk hot fudge sunday and cheese forms.) So, for the next couple of days, I'm plan on mainlining pears and bran. Look out.


Friday, April 4, 2003

I'm going to run out and buy a Dixie Chicks CD.

Look at me trying to be all political. Even I don't buy it.


Thursday, April 3, 2003

I'm kinda, really, very excited about Easter. I'm thinking either Paas swirly egg decorating or brunch at the Ritz. Maybe both? Maybe both. The options are endless. Or I could affix Bean with plush rabbit ears in hopes that she'll hide Cadbury products around the apartment. Hee. Yeah, that would be cute in theory, but cruel in practice. What I really want, though, are those tiny chocolate eggs with the candy shell coating. That shit is taste.


Tuesday, April 1, 2003

I want to start out by saying how unhappy I am with my deficiency of entries, but that would be a lie. Concerned -- I'm more concerned about my lack of entries. I don't think it signifies anything in particular; I'm just being more lazy than normal. It is my lilt, that fancy-free spring in my skip that's poking its head up through the dirt of winter that's doing it. It's spring, folks. Nothing to worry about.

What I am worried about, though, is the ass HTML of Bean Tails. Won't somebody, anybody help me figure out why the text is veering flush left? I swear it's not a liberal political statement. I need my careful, tempered box of text. Neat, perfect. Borders do breed creativity, so if anyone has an idea, do let me in on it. Fuck if I know.

People are divided into two categories: those who walk up the left side of the escalator, and those who selfishly stand on the left side of the escalator. I hope there's a liberation of the left side of escalators very, very soon.

It's all hot here in SF. And, no, I won't take off all my clothes. (Heh. Yeah.) Lots of sun this weekend. Lots of people trying to get me to go out in the sun. Lots of people trying to get me to get malignant skin cancer. It's true. And I find muggy warm weather amusing for about, say, one hour tops. After that, it's superfluous. I moved up here -- from the glamorous life I was leading on the sandy shores of LA -- to get away from such fervor. It's simply too much to bear for this wilting orchid. Alas.