cuz we are livin' in a material world

And, well . . . I am a material girl. I've been thinking and most likely in a previous life I was a Leona Helmsley or some other notorious rich bitch. I probably had a dozen servants waiting on me hand and foot, massive property, endless amount of spending cash for shopping sprees around the world and at least five homes in different countries. And I probably treated everyone like shit.

So, if one takes into account karma and past-life evil-doing, I can pretty much justify being broke ass poor in this one. (And true, you can never say you're poor if your rich in health.)

But every now and I then I do actually like to go participate in the art of consumerism. I don't do shopping sprees anymore, though.

This past weekend, my cousin and I decided to do something a little different than wine tasting at the vineyard up the street from my aunt's house or heading to Sonoma Square. We headed out past miles of rural country roads, cows, and vineyards into Petaluma.

I've never been to Petaluma, unless you count the Premium Outlets. It's an uber cute little town full of old buildings and a salon on every corner. They were in the middle of their "American Graffiti" Days. Not one of my favorite movies, but it was filmed there and it starred a bunch of famous people and directed by George Lucas pre-Star Wars. So, to celebrate, the good people of the town put on a vintage car show and set up some live music stages. It just makes me want to say "Go, Grease Lightning!"

Right. Wrong movie.

We did end up going to the outlets, but I was not impressed. Then we got pedicures and I was still unimpressed. (I've been spoiled by the place I go to in Hercules.) By the time we finally ate something, I was totally unimpressed.

That's not to say that Petaluma sucks. I'm just unimpressed with things lately. There was one redeeming moment, thankfully. We decided to get ice cream after dinner and the older gentleman who served us our waffle cones totally restored my faith in humanity just by getting my order right and not looking like he was going to spit in my margarita or pick the shit out of my toe nails.

But I was unimpressed the next day when I got lost in San Leandro with my good friend from back home. Didn't spend much, but apparently found out I have a case of Tourettes. I wonder what Madonna would have to say about that.

I've had her new single stuck in my head for the last week or so. I was talking about how awesome the single is with a couple of coworkers. Me: "I love the fact that Justin's in it." Coworker: "You guys are on a first name basis?" Me: "Well, I only call him JT in private." He did bring sexy back. See for yourself.

there's no such thing as global warming when you're having a green day

It was incredibly hot Thursday - as in 100 degree temperatures. Apparently there was a heat advisory in Livermore, which is pretty much as far east as you can go in Alameda County. (I don't even want to imagine what it was like in Pittsburg/Bay Point -officially considered the end of the East Bay.) It was hella hot in Emeryville and that's as far west as you can get. Plus, it was a "Spare the Air" day, which was perfect for those folks biking to work.

We're all very green and progressively environmental at my office, so it was only fitting that we throw a beer keg party at Rudy's Can't Fail Cafe for those people who actually rolled into their offices on "Bike to Work Day." Organic beer served in compostable cups makes me incredibly proud of the progressiveness of East Bay communities. Al Gore would weep tears of joy.

But as stoked as my coworkers were about working an outdoor event in that heat, they were even more excited for the make-shift after party. Or, the real party as some of us saw it.

I can't lie. I definitely have some awesome perks that come with my job. I handle the copy for club ads that run in our paper. So, I have contact with a few club promoters. It's mostly via email and I've never met them face-to-face, but they count on me to make sure the listings on their ads are correct. We were a bit passed deadline when the promoter from the Stork Club in Oakland called me in total excitement. "You have to change the May 15th listing. I just confirmed Foxboro Hot Tubs for that night!"

Ok, so, for those of you who have spent the last few months living in a cave somewhere in the middle of nowhere, Foxboro Hot Tubs is a Green Day side project. The only one with all three of the original members playing in it. (Plus two other guys who aren't Billie Joe, Mike or Tre.)

There was this whole hoopla when the singles started surfacing on the internet. Radio personalities were suggesting that the singer sounded a lot like Billie Joe and that it had to be them because Foxboro Hot Tubs is some kind of reference to something in Rodeo. (Not to be confused with Hottubs, a new wave chick band from Oakland, or the Hot Tubs in Berkeley fondly referred to as the "Soak and Poke" by locals.) Ahh, Rodeo . . . the jewel of Contra Costa County and home to the alleged Zodiac killer. The only time I actually go to Rodeo is when I stop for a latte at the drive-thru Starbucks on the way to Sonoma.

But for those in the know and I'm excluding the DJs at Live105 from this, apparently they've been doing this for a while. Green Day started as a small club punk group playing at places like the Stork Club, 924 Gilman and Ashkenaz. They were already huge the first time I saw them play at The Fillmore in The City. I think they were actually on their third major label CD at that point, but they still played like they were in a small club interacting with the audience, throwing beer, getting buck naked . . . etc. But Billie Joe still signed my girlfriends' book and gave us all Green Day stickers. What more could a 16 year old want? Plus, I think he might have winked at us. I heart rock stars that don't act like rock stars. So, I was very disappointed when i went to see them on the American Idiot tour at AT&T Park. It was decent concert, but it made me feel old because there were a bunch of teeny boppers with their parents waving their phones around as if they were lighters. It was incredibly depressing even though they put on an awesome show.

I think this is their way of playing the smaller venues without getting mobbed. And . . . I've also heard from those in the know that it's their great marketing ploy to test out prospective hits with a new audience. Oh, please, as if they need to worry about getting another hit.

The show itself was awesome. I got there early enough to not find a huge line to wait in. (Again, another reason not to trust the dumbasses at Live105). I only paid $5 - unlike the $20 they had advertised and broadcasted. It was probably the awesome East Bay Express wristband I was still wearing from the bike'n beer party earlier. I don't like to flash the fact that I work for the raddest (and only) independent alternative weekly in the EB, but I will, if necessary. I think I even scored some brownie points by inter-departmental guest list adding. It's good to make everyone happy.

The club was fucking packed. Luckily we all found the outside area to chill at for three hours. As chilled as one could get. If it was 80 degrees outside, it was at least 280 degrees inside. One of the "special guests" as I had put it on the ad sang some punk song about . . . you guessed it . . . Rodeo! After this they excused themselves to make room for "the next band". At this point the brave few of us that had stuck together practiced the fine art of throwing elbows -something I haven't had the pleasure of doing in a while. We nudged our way into a little nook between MacSweaty and MacSmelly. Imagine being fully clothed in a sauna full of belligerent hipsters, punksters, skinheads and motorcycle gang members blocking you on either side, sweat dripping from every pore of your body, holding on for dear life to the only source of hydration at your disposal. PBRs are exactly like H2O -but not as good when hot. I loathe hot beer and got even more pissed because my 40 oz. cans kept turning into hot water.

And then . . . finally . . . at 11 pm they came on stage and a tidal wave of terror and fear swept over me. Literally. Before I knew it I was being cast into the mosh pit. I'm not a mosher. The last time I was in a mosh pit was at the Vans Warped Tour during the Dead Kennedy's set. I remember almost getting an asthma attack but somehow being helped up by a cute skater boy and finding a $20 bill on the floor. I started flailing around drowning in the chaos until a hand grabbed me and pulled me back to safety. I love having tall coworkers - they're like body guards. My other two vertically challenged coworkers in front of me were not so lucky. People started pushing me around, so I pushed them back. It was a pretty tame pit for the most part. Five songs into the set sweat was dripping off my clothes and the coworker who saved me suggested we seek refuge in fresh air, sarcastically adding: "Congratulations! You now have hepatitis!" Awesome.

I didn't get to see the encore. I didn't even get to see their faces. But the short coworkers who got swept away made it to the front to see and confirm that it was indeed the three dudes from Green Day. Suck on that Live105! All in all a pretty fucking awesome experience. Not only did I prove that I can still stay up late partying on a "school night", I can also brave the mosh pit. Best of all, I got to see the very first show in the very first Foxboro Hot Tubs tour ever. Friday they played Toots Tavern in Crockett before heading to Little Rock, Arkansas. Now, here's my geography lesson for the day: any idea where Crockett is? Dude, it's right next to Rodeo!

note to self: changing your hair color will not change your life

It started out raven black and has now turned into indigo. I feel like I should be wearing a bunch of tattoos and piercings. And I've been wearing a lot of black, which of course is slimming, but not necessarily great for 90 degree humid heat.

A lot of things can change in a week. Some for the bad. And some for the bad. And then there is a light at the end of the tunnel. I always like to say that things have to get incredibly bad before they can be right again.

The question is: exactly how much ugliness can a person take?

I've had a really strange week, which would explain the bad hair color decision. I picked up the wrong box out of duress. But, like anyone who knows how to make things in her life work out to her benefit, I've decided to "own" the blue hair.

Actually, its a new approach to life, in general. So, instead of shrugging away when the girl behind the counter at the gym asked if my hair was really blue, I should have boldly said. "Yes, it is!" It would have made a difference, I guess because she was all: "that's rad!"

I've decided to speak my mind these days. It's changed my life for the time being. It's made my life better at work and my personal life a lot more chaotic. I guess you can tell who your real friends are by how well they handle your opinions and criticism . . . and emotional breakdowns.

And for the time being . . . I'm rocking the hair . . . blue and all.

amster . . . damn!

Willie Nelson and Snoop Dogg in Amsterdam . . . cosi petite moment of the millenium!

restoring order and law

Ever since I got back from NYC I've sunk into some kind of depression (and utter chaos) that can only be cured by watching a lot of Law & Order. Lucky for me that's pretty much all they give on TV. I'm not as big a fan of the original Law & Order. But I will watch hours and hours of Law & Order: Special Victims Unit as well as Law & Order: Criminal Intent, especially now that they brought back Chris Noth as Det. Mike Logan. Um . . . yeah, he was on the original Law & Order back in like 1990 for like five years before being Mr. Big on Sex and the City.

So, needless to say, the cosi petite moment of my day was when my friend who lives on the Upper West Side called me at work in excitement. "I just saw Munch!" As in Richard Belzer from Law & Order: SVU. "Guess where I saw him?" By now, I've realized there is only one place where you can find Law & Order actors: Nice Matin on West 79th and Amsterdam. That's where we saw Paul Sorvino. (And she's seen Marishka Hagarty there too.) Nice Matin is like the Upper West Side hang-out. Like an upscale diner with quirky staff and famous patrons - sorta like Rudy's but without the punk edge.

I've had one question on my mind for almost 20 years: why do they call it Law & Order? Shouldn't it be Order and Law? I mean the detectives investigate the crimes in the first half of the show and then the district attorneys prosecute the offenders at the end. It's been bugging me for a while. Or is it that the cops carry out the law by arresting perps and then the prosecutors enforce order? It's completely trivial a question, but it still leaves me curious.

i love ny, but i'm not in love with it.

The most touristy thing I've managed to do during my time in New York City so far is a ferry ride to Staten Island. There isn't much to do in Staten Island that I noticed. So, I basically got on the ferry, took some pictures of the Statue of Liberty, fought my way around tourists and their progeny, got off the ferry and was herded back like cattle onto another ferry.

No, I didn't hear Carly Simon's them from the Working Girl soundtrack in my head. I just heard a bunch of screaming brats and German tourists trying to get the best shot.

I thought that I would just make my way up to Times Square and see what Broadway was offering in the cheap ticket arena. I didn't make it that far. Instead, I ended up getting lost around the Financial District.

But I was on a mission.

My trusty guidebook - the one who's fold-up subway map got me incredibly lost underground on my way to the Upper West Side from JFK - told me that I was quite near John Street where I would find Les Halles. According to my guidebook it's the restaurant where famous chef "Anthony Bardaine" got his start. I was appalled. Who the hell edited this book? This is, after all, the book that gave me a list of neighborhood walks that include stopping at Starbucks for a relaxing cup of coffee. (There must be nearly 300 on the island of Manhattan - 20 of them right around the corner to the flat I'm staying at.)

But this is truly appalling. Shocking. How can someone misspell a famous writer's name. Bourdain, for crying out loud! What next, they're going to suggest that it's fashionable to wear a hair scrunchie in public?

This would have been fine except for the fact that I was wearing four-inch espadrilles that cut into my pinkie toe. This apparently makes me an easier target for being hollered at. Yet, somehow they're a bit classier here in NYC than in Oaktown. Here they actually look at you once (not twice) and then make eye contact and smile before shouting out: "Hey, beautiful!"

I ended up somewhere around Wall Street and remembered that my father had warned me to stay away from the street. "Crazy economic times!" Nothing much was happening. So, I just took pictures and kept walking eventually coming to a subway station.

After wandering up John Street I finally found Les Halles. It was already 3:30 pm, way past the lunch crowd. But, I'm still on Pacific Standard Time, so it was lunch for me. The lunch specials are $13 and up. And I've noticed that unless you're going to Subway Sanwiches, every restaurant in Manhattan starts at that price. I think it's a small price to pay for a really good meal with tons of food. They serve enormous portions everywhere I've been to. I had the French dip. I believe even my dad would approve my trek through Wall Street for this.

I never made it to Times Square - and wouldn't mind if I didn't make it there at all this trip since I stayed there last time. I claimed my seat on the 1 train and didn't get off until West 79th Street and Broadway right in front of Zabar's. Ah, Zabar's. Nosh heaven. I ended up going to their little cafe earlier in the day for a $2 ham and cheese croissant after learning the H&H Bagels across the street didn't put schmere on their bagels. GET OUT! I had also purchased a bottle of Poland Spring water in the cash only line. Hehe. Cash only - as in "You've Got Mail".

That evening after sitting on my friends stoop enjoying my latte from World Coffee down on West 80th and Columbus, we had made plans to grab dinner at CraftBar in the Union Square area with my two girlfriends from back home. Top Chef host, Tom Colicchio has like four restaurants within blocks of each other. Craft is the haute cuisine one and Craftbar is less expensive, by NY standards, I guess. I don't especially think that paying $17 for 3 salty ravioli is affordable.

We all walked back down to Union Square. I had hung out there the day before sipping my Venti Ice Tea Lemonade from Starbucks (yes, I know, I succumbed)and enjoying the warm 80-degree weather. I thought there would be a farmer's market, but instead there was live music and a bunch of people sitting and enjoying the city.

People in New York enjoy their parks. I love that. They sit outside on warm days and nights listening to street performers play jazz or drums, or whatever it is they're doing.

And then it started to rain. So, like sewer rats we scurried down to the subway, which is a good thing because when it rains the city smells like garbage and piss. We got on a crowded train that kept stalling. Switched lines a couple more times. By 1:30 a.m. I'd had it. My feet hurt, I had the stench of piss in my nostrils, I was wet and sweaty at the same time. And some homeless jerk called my friend a "white bitch". I'm pretty sure I shouted: I HATE NEW YORK! at this point and said fuck it, we're grabbing a cab.

Grabbing a cab in NY, I've noticed, is hit or miss. You can get a really nice and decent cabbie, or a bastard that tries to overcharge you. I have to say that I didn't exactly know the proper way to hail a cab until a couple of Boricuans in East Harlem taught me how.

I'm glad I had a chance to have some NY style pizza at Big Nick's Pizza and Burgers on Broadway on the Upper West Side after helping one of my friends move from Spanish Harlem to West 80th. Then we all headed up to West 82nd for some Yolato! Gelato.

Sunday was what I like to think is a typical NY day. Although, I'm pretty sure it's not. Nevertheless, we woke up at noon and headed to brunch at Nice Matin two blocks down on Amsterdam and West 79th. There's nothing like having brunch at 3pm and waiting out the morning rush. The Salmon Benedict was delicious. I remember asking my friend if this was the sort of place one might see celebrities. And much to my surprise as we were sipping the rest of our coffee, I noticed an older gentleman sitting by himself in the corner. Sorvino? Paul Sorvino? The guy that was on Law and Order and Goodfellas. Mira's dad.

Ok, so, I'm not sure if it was him, but who cares. As far as my friends and I know it was Paul Sorvino. I had my NY celebrity moment. I'm still hoping to see more since the Tribeca Film Festival is happening right now. I'd be happy just seeing DeNiro. That would rock.

I think we're heading out to Fairway Market soon, so I'll continue this later.

Until then . . . I have left my heart in San Francisco but I still Hella Heart Oakland.

True Centralist

I found myself traveling east today on Highway 4. No end in sight. I can't remember the last time I was in Stockton. Probably 20 years ago for Thanksgiving? Yet, here I was driving my own ass through the California Central Valley to enjoy a feast of roasted lamb and Delta grown asparagus in the middle of a walnut orchard.

I consider myself a city girl . . . or, suburban, at least. For me, going to "the country" is going to visit my immediate family in Sonoma. That country has a swimming pool, though, and feels more like a resort than "the country". That's probably because technically, Sonoma is within the Greater Bay Area region. Stockton, on the other hand is smack-dab in the heartland of California - full of farmers that actually grow their food to sell at markets.

It was a beautiful Easter Sunday and a great excuse to head out to what seemed like a million miles of one-lane roads with draw bridges. I don't think I've ever made it out to the Delta. Yet, here I was passing through miles of levees and inland freshwater estuaries. And . . . miles of blooming cherry trees everywhere.

Considering how far it always seemed to me as a kid, I've realized that now I really don't live that far away from the agricultural center of California.

Then again, that's the beauty of my state . . . pretty much anywhere you go something's growing. Artichokes on the southern coast by Salinas, strawberries in Watsonville, pumpkins and squash in Half Moon Bay, pears in Lake County . . . and not to mention cherries, almonds, walnuts, oranges, peaches, nectarines, alfalfa, tomatoes . . . and all the different grapes varietals spread from south to north for each of the "wine countries" throughout the state.

I actually learned something new today. We had some delicious asparagus at dinner. They were so good I barely needed any mayo with them. Organic and fresh, of course. (That's to be expected in farm country.) Apparently, because they are grown in the Delta where the land is moist they tend to take on a sweeter taste compared with the asparagus grown on the coast by Salinas where the earth is drier.

I remember heading up to the Capay Valley (west of Winters) with the BFF on a day trip and stopping at local farm stands. The aroma that came from those tomatoes was incredible. Sweet and earthy. You just can't get that at the super-market. I usually put olive oil, salt and oregano on my tomatoes. But those I ate plain because they had so much flavor.

I have to admit that being raised in a city environment I'm more prone to eating processed foods. Sad but true. Thanks to my office receiving fresh, local, organic fruits every week I've gotten more into the habit of eating produce. But I think this summer, I'm going to make it a habit of doing my grocery shopping at a local, organic, artisinal farmer's market full of fresh produce, baked goods, dairy products and meat.

It will definitely be healthier, reduce the amount of carbon footprints, support local farmers and might even prove to be cheaper. I think if you buy less (and just what you need) it proves to be a win-win situation for everyone. Plus, now I also incredibly inspired because of the delicious veggie quiches my aunt made from a cookbook she gave me for Christmas. It's time to try it out. And . . . make good on all those carbon footprints I left behind on I-5 and the bugs that met their demise on my windshield. Maybe I'll even bake a pie like the one I brought for dessert today.