Perspective

My godson was ecstatically showing me everything Santa had left for him on Christmas morn. Included in the stash was an acoustic guitar. He gingerly lifted it out of his case.

“Nouna, check this out.”

“Woooooowwww. That’s sweet!” I replied, impressed by how attentively he was handling it.

“I gotta be real careful with it. It’s really old. It’s a 1996 model.”

I laughed to myself. I guess when you’re only 10 years old, something made in 1996 is ancient.

Definition, Please

Another jewel from September Glamour, “66% of women in one survey believe a one-night stand can turn into a long-term relationship.”

Defies the definition. Unless a long-term relationship can happen over the course of one night. Now there’s a thought…

Glamour Don’ts

While trying to rest and recuperate from some nasty flu-like virus I’ve contracted, I’ve caught up on a lot of reading. Someone from work donated several back issues of Glamour for my BART commute to and from work each day; I’ve now plowed through all of them. Interesting reading, Glamour is.

There’s one particular feature called “Glamour asks, men answer.” Each month, a question is posted to men (not sure where the sample comes from) and they answer. The answer is always accompanied by the name and age of the respondent, and often a photo as well.

September’s question was, “What secret from your past do you dread your girlfriend discovering?”

Let’s think about that for a moment. If I were a guy, and this question were posed to me, my first reaction would be not to answer. That’s kind of the whole point of a secret. Not to be disclosed. In addition, the guys pictured look like they would be the type to have Glamour-reading girlfriends, yet another reason not to answer. Unless this is a Jerry Springer-esque plot to confront a loved one with information here-to-now known to no one.

Some of the secrets seem rather tame – the “I met someone on the internet,” the “My childhood nickname was …” But others, well, I could imagine a girlfriend, seeing her boy in Glamour, then reading his secret, getting a little upset. More of the “I made out with my best friend’s girlfriend” variety. That’s just wrong. The “I had a threesome with a married couple I didn’t know.” Hmmm. Might pique her curiosity about what else has been going on. Or the “The number of women I’ve slept with – it’s so high.” If that discussion hadn’t come up before, it surely will now. Secret’s out, loverboy.

Why I Love Craigslist

Since I’ve lived in the Bay Area, I’ve used Craigslist in many ways. To buy furniture. To sell furniture. To give things away. To get things. To find a place to live. To find a job. To meet people. It’s the one stop shop for all and any of your needs.

Today I discovered my new favorite band, indirectly, through Craigslist.

Recently, I received a table wrapped in miles and miles of bubble wrap. The stuff that’s fun to pop and snap and step on and, occasionally, wrap breakable items in to mail. After I unpackaged the table, I began sorting the bubble wrap. I made piles of 12″ x 12″ squares. I rolled sheets into tubes. And more tubes. And more tubes. My kitchen was full of bubble wrap.

I posted to Craigslist. Bubble Wrap – pop, pop, pop! Free.

Within minutes, I received an email. From Justin. He needed bubble wrap. I called. We talked. In 15 minutes, he was at my door with a friend, ready to cart away all my bubbles. Before leaving, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a cd, and said, “Here. It’s our cd. That’s why we need the bubble wrap, to mail them.” Always interested in supporting local artists, I asked, “Where do you play?” Very modestly, he answered, “The Red Devil Lounge, Tongue N Groove.” I was surprised. I’ve visited those place often, but had never heard of his band, Ten Mile Tide. I thanked them, they wished me a Merry Christmas, and I closed the door.

I turned the nondescript cd, washed in red, over. The song titles were mildly interesting. What the hell. I tore open the plastic protection, popped the cd into the player. And was blown away.

Intricate melodies. Haunting fiddle. Strong beat. Smooth as silk vocals.

Thanks, Craigslist.

Another Surreal Day in San Francisco

I was enjoying my walk through the city when it began to sprinkle. Not deterred by a little moisture, I continued along my route, down Market Street, past the Ferry Building, along the Embarcadero to Pac Bell Park then return. Except, that by the time I was walking back up Bush Street towards my apartment, the little moisture had turned into a steady downfall. Enjoying the wetness, breathing in the cleansed air, I proceeded cautiously, careful not to slip. At Bush and Battery an older gentleman passed me in the crosswalk, whispering, “Good morning, beautiful” as we crossed. More amused than anything, I smiled and continued my trek.

As I passed Montgomery a dark-haired, dark-eyed, twenty-something hipster smiled at me and purred, “You are a beautiful woman.” Again, I smiled, even more bemused, because I was feeling not beautiful at all, imagining myself to resemble a drowned rat.

As I neared Kearny, a gentleman who appeared to be homeless mumbled, “Pretty.” I walked a few more steps, stopping at the corner, waiting for the light to change. I felt a light touch on my shoulder. I looked over, and there was the homeless man, his big, sad brown eyes staring into mine. Hunched over, he pointed to the bouquet of wildflowers, dripping, in my hand. “Pretty,” he once again mumbled, fumes of alcohol wafting my way. “I’m really a virgin,” he continued, wobbling a little on his feet, “but can I have a quarter anyway?” I shook my head no, said goodbye, and walked as the light turned green.

Could You Use That In A Sentence?

While running my spellcheck today, the word “we’m” was a suggested replacement for “I’m.” We’m. We’m. We’m. My mind immediately wandered. When would that ever be acceptable? How could I make use of this new suggestion?

We’m going to the movies, yes we’m.

Em’s coming over then we’m gonna get a Christmas tree.

We’m making holidays bright, won’t you’m join us?

Street of Auto Parts Business

“Around Myeongdeok Negeori (Jct.) some body shops opened business for auto parts sale and car repairs in 1968. And then in 1978 when roads were expanded in the area, more businesses of motor vehicles gathered to the area to form a special street of 50 body shops.”

This excerpt arrived in today’s City of Daegu newsletter, the e-newsletter for English speakers living in Daegu. It’s been over a year since I’ve lived there, but I still haven’t unsubscribed from the mailings. I feel a strange sense of familiarity when I read about the highlighted tourist attraction (I remember stumbling onto the Street of Auto Parts Business and feeling as though I had entered the Twilight Zone for broken cars – you could buy nothing but auto parts for several blocks) or read the “Korean Korner” phrase of the month. Today’s phrase was “You’ve got the wrong number.” Normally the caller simply deduced that from the continual exchange of “Hello?” “Yob-a-sa-yo?” “Hello?” “Yob-a-sa-yo?” “Hello?” “Yob-a-sa-yo?” “Hello?” “Yob-a-sa-yo?” until one of the parties gave up, and hung up. Ahh, Korea.

Not Exactly The Holiday Spirit

I stood on the crowded street corner, waiting for the light to turn, surrounded by holiday shoppers and party goers. Suddenly, from behind, a voice bellowed, “And could you explain just how the hell I’m considered hostile?” Thinking it a joke, I turned. It wasn’t. A rather belligerent man had been escorted out of a bar, his friend trying to console him with shared profanities and bummed cigarettes.

While Shopping

“Ooh, girl, I *love* these pants. Check them out!”

“Mmm. Yeah. They your size?”

“Girl, don’t matter. Pants stretch.”

Not 6 sizes, I thought to myself.

Why, Thank You, Sir

I finally decided to deal with my car today. I called AAA and explained the situation as succinctly as possible. Basically, I needed a jump. Because a thief left my hazards on. “Oh, so you left your hazards on?” asked the helpful AAA lady. No. No. No. *I* did not leave my hazards on. The inconsiderate thief who ripped out my car stereo (which didn’t even work) and strew dismantled car parts all over my front seat left the hazards on. Note that please.

The AAA man arrived. I popped the hood and heard him exclaim, “WOW. You have got one clean engine…”

Even though I had nothing to do with the cleanliness of the engine, even though I had no idea to what he was referring, I felt a sense of pride.

“Why, thank you,” I purred.

It wasn’t such a bad day after all.