Da Bomb

Does San Francisco feel left out? No terrorists want to attack our city, no grandiose structures have been blown up, no planes have been miraculously landed in a narrow water channel, the only time we get National or Global media attention is around the subject of Gay marriage. Attention whores that we are, we had no choice but to blow up a gym bag.

As we proceeded with our run, there was a flurry of discussion about the bomb scare. After all, traffic was backed for miles in all directions and the bomb squad was busy at work. Despite the scare, we all went about our business, doing our 400 hundreds and 1600 hundreds, figuring we were safe enough. After all, "It's probably just a gym bag," said Steve (AKA "Fat George Clooney", AKA "Mr. Brown"). Then, to our surprise and maybe even a little delight, came the echo from the bullhorn: "Fire in the hole! Fire in the hole!" and a giant "BOOM", they blew up the gym bag, saving us all from an untimely encounter with a...workout?

That night, I googled to find details on what had happened and could only find a small blurb in a SF Weekly Blog. It commented on the activity but provided no detail on what they had blown up. I checked the same blog again today and found the humble admission that all of the precious city's resources had saved us all from the high level threat of a discarded gym bag. I'd like to think that a bomb squad would, first and foremost, be trained in identifying the difference between an ordinary bag and an imposing threat. Instead, all it takes is a bystander's observation that a bag was tossed out a window for it to qualify as a bomb. Personally speaking, I've seen better detective work on Scooby-Doo.

I have been noticing lately that bacon seems to be making it's way into sweet foods, as seen here in a muffin found at 4 Barrel Coffee. It was also on the dessert menu at Nopa, in a roasted corn ice cream with skillet bread and bacon brittle on the side combo. Personally, while I love bacon and I love sweets, I'm not crazy about the combo. Just like dousing chocolate with salt arouses my curiosity but not my appetite.

Interesting though...what's next? French fries with caviar?

Man on bike killed

Awful

Read the comments. One guy's solution is to avoid eye contact with every single person you encounter. "to do so otherwise seems to get you killed more often than not." A riveting commentary on crime in our city, "veryvermilion". I'm verysorry you don't have a higher IQ.

Introducing...Cooper

I recently said goodbye to my loyal companion, my Jetta, Leroy. It was harder than I expected it to be. I got him detailed, got the bumper touched up, but then I hesitated before posting the listing. While he was physically ready to go, I wasn't emotionally ready to let go. Finally, with my new car on the way, I reminded myself: it's just a car, and I put the ad up on craigslist. Less than a week later, he was gone. The first person to respond to the ad, ended up buying him for just under asking price. I think he went to a good home, a cute, young guy who needed a good commuting car. I hope he scores lots of chics and that Leroy can live out his golden years with some TLC.

And so I went to pick up my new wheels this week, the VW GTI whom I've christened (or "jewened") Cooper, after the car Diageo wouldn't let me buy. Now, sad as I am that I couldn't get a Mini Cooper, I must say, the GTI is pretty damn awesome. It's fast. So fast, I got a speeding ticket my second time driving it. And, no offense Leroy, but it's so much more luxurious. Heated leather seats, integrated stereo system, and various other cool doo-dads that make driving (and parking) an enjoyable experience.

Cooper's first trip to the country: Canoeing on the Russian River

Now, about that speeding ticket, does anyone know if it's legal for a cop to record a conversation without notifying you up front? This douchebag cop recorded the whole deal and didn't tell me until the end. Cooper and I feel so violated.

Air Guitar

Take one part pointless activity, a dash of sarcastic and biting judging, several bottles of proud sponsor, Cuervo Black, and a sprinkling of heavy metal classics. What do you have? A night of manic , hysterical amusement. Who needs the Olympics?

The $10 Blueberry

For a town that prides itself on intellectual curiosity and carries itself with an air of superiority, sometimes I really have to wonder about San Francisco and the people in it. Are we as smart as we think we are or do we just have hyper inflated egos? Do we wake up in the morning and put on compassion like it's an accessory?

A few weeks ago, a Farmer's Market opened in my neighborhood. The neighborhood association announced the grand debut with a twinkle in their eye, so proud that they were able to get Nopa on the farmer's map. On my way home from watching the SF Marathon this morning, I finally got the chance to peruse the market, on the corner of Grove and Divisadero. It's a small little gathering, about 1/2 block long with a modest assortment of vegetable stands, bakers, flowers, and various other non-farmed delectables.

I made my way up the street, hoping to fill my fridge with a cornucopia of local, organic produce for the week. Instead, I walked away empty-handed and empty-hearted. The farmer's market has lost it's soul, it seems, and has become yet another example of price gouging that we all seem willing to passively accept as part of the price we pay to live in this fabulous urban jungle. But when we have the same feeling at the Farmer's Market that we have at the gas pump, I have to think that something is most definitely wrong.

Exhibit A:
"Certified California" is now a classification. Marketing crap 101: use the word "certified" to elevate the status of an otherwise non-pretentious object. Are we taking the Foster's Chicken commercial a little too far here? Are those pesky Oregonians and Nevadans masquerading their produce as Californian because they can charge more here? Obviously, this is a serious epidemic and must be regulated.

Exhibit B:
$7 for "Mountain Grown" blueberries. This is like paying extra for fish that comes from water. Words cannot describe how it feels to realize that I am being targeted as an idiot savant who might not know that blueberries are a) from mountains and b) grown. They must have seen me drive up on the short bus.

Exhibit C:
An extra $3 for the artificial flavoring on an almond. Tip for you shoppers: you can get the same crap at Trader Joe's for 1/4 the price. Try the Wasabi flavored almonds. Delish.

While there was a bumper crop of BS, what I didn't find much of at this Farmer's Market was the word "organic". It was strikingly absent and in it's place were a smattering of dazed shopper wandering around asking the vendors, "is your produce organic?". The dream is still alive, you see.

But there seems to be a complex array of forces working hard to destroy this dream. Do we care more about the cache of what a Farmer's Market implies than whether it's actually done right? And since when did farming become a marketing playground where consumers are dodging meaningless labels and fruitlessly searching for substance and truth? I want to believe in the dream, but I'm most certainly not paying $7 for a pint of it, even if it is mountain grown.

And here's the final proof that this Farmer's Market has lost it's authenticity. No hippies.

Gem in the Jungle

I was recently introduced to a little gem in my urban jungle: the Polo Fields in Golden Gate Park. The field has an inner paved track, which is good for cycling and an outer track, which is good for running. As a bonus, there's a 70's style circuit training that extends the perimeter of the track and let me tell you...it doesn't feel like much of a workout while you're doing it. But I could barely walk the next day. Which meant I had to go back for more.

On top of being a great space for getting the limbs moving, it's an incredibly serene and peaceful environment. The type of adrenaline you just don't find at the gym. The majestic oaks let the fog pass through their twisted trunks while the old eucalyptus dose the air with their minty aroma and protect from the wind. The sky is the ubiquitous summer grey and there's so much open area to stretch out and have a few moments of s-p-a-c-e in this otherwise crowded city.

Purse Snatcher

This evening, I went shoe shopping, running shoe shopping that is, down at Fleet Feet on Chestnut St. As I was walking back to my car, this guy comes bounding out of a restaurant, jaunts across the street, and yells at this older, somewhat innocent looking woman: Give that purse back!

The woman's eyes drop to the ground, the purse falls from her hands, and she quickly disappears into the crowd of Marina strollers, labradors and otherwise self-absorbed populace.

A small crowd had gathered as the heroic man returned with the purse in hand. People had questions like, "Was she really stealing the purse?" "Is that woman the purse snatcher?"

The funniest part was that there were two cops sitting in the window seats of the Noah's, with a clear view of the entire episode and nary a budge. They must have been lost in a moment of profound enjoyment of their everything-veggie-schmear. And by the time the witnesses alerted them to what had happened, the deviant little granny was gone.

I had some deep thoughts on the way home. I thought that for every act of wrong-doing, there is an act of good. And even in the Marina, there are people who take a look outside of their racing goggles and notice when something is amiss (but I'd like to believe that this guy was from Nopa).

When I got home, I did some research and found out that this purse snatcher has actually been at large in the community for some time. She's hit the Mission, the Castro (lots of purses there, ladies!), SOMA, and now The Marina. She takes purses that are hanging off the backs of chairs and then goes to Bloomingdales to buy...a new purse? Too bad the cops were in the middle of their afternoon snack; otherwise today would have been the day that we cracked the crime. For now, keep an eye on your bag and don't go anywhere without your own personal hero.