Dorkbook

PWR, my blog muse, and I were sitting in a cafe. PWR is looking down at his phone.

A-L: What in heaven's name are you doing?

PWR: Being anti-social. I mean, checking Foursquare.

A-L: Is that a Pentacostal church locator?

PWR: No, it's like Facebook. I'm "checking in" so other users know my location.

A-L: Um, you've travelled halfway around the world to visit friends here in the Bay Area, and now you're squandering your valuable face-to-face time with them "checking in" on some web site, so the friends you left behind in Scotland know where you are?

PWR: Uh huh. And whoever checks in the most on Foursquare

A-L: Is the biggest dork?

PWR: Close. Is named the mayor.

A-L: Let me guess, you're the biggest dork.

PWR: And the mayor.

A-L: So, what's the idea?

PWR: The idea is that you can find other Foursquare members in the same location, and connect with them.

A-L: Instead of "connecting" with the person you're ostensibly there to visit?

PWR: Yes.

A-L: I liked it better when it was a Pentacostal Church locator.

Kitty: Already exists.

Q is For Kindergarten Homework

Every week, Annais's kindergarten class celebrates, if you will, a different letter of the alphabet. This week's letter is H.

Sister Maria: I'm not looking forward to week Q.

A-L: Pourquoi?

Sister Maria: Well, Annais has to find pictures that illustrate that letter, and write the word next to the picture. And Q is a tricky one. So during your magazine perusals, if you see a picture that starts with Q, please tear out that page.

A-L: I don't suppose Annais knows how to spell Quixotic.

Sister Maria: She'll learn. Did you find a picture that illustrates it?

A-L: Uh, I don't really know what it means. But I did find another Q image.

Sister Maria: Which one?

A-L: It's a picture of the Vietnamese jungle.

Sister Maria: I don't follow.

Annais: It's Q, for Quagmire.

Public Transportation

The joys of riding public transportation in San Francisco are many. Just yesterday evening I overheard this conversation:

John: My dad owns a metal working company, and he's just hired this guy who he worked with 18 years ago.

Jane: Really?

John: Yeah. But there's something not right about him. He worked as a dishwasher for a few years.

Jane: Your dad?

John: No, the guy.

Jane: Oh.

John: And I think he was in a gang for a while.

Jane: Your dad?

Folks, I couldn't make this up. And then this morning, on the N-Judah, embarking at the Powell Street Station:

Man 1: Don't push me.

Man 2: I'm not.

Man 1: Don't push me again. If you push me again...

Man 2: What's your problem?

Man 1: Don't push me.

And then there was a stare down, which got really uncomfortable. Namely because they were two software engineer(y) looking types, neither of whom would fare well in a fist fight.

Question: What's worse than two 30-somethings acting like 11-year-olds?

Answer: Two 40-somethings acting like 11-year-olds.

And then the 40-year-olds got off at the same stop and crossed the street to go into the Google building.

Matchmaking

I don't blog about dating, unless it's about the dating adventures of friends who are now married. Namely, my friend who shall remain nameless. When I met him, he was 36, or 34, and dateless. He casually mentioned that he owned a scale model of the Starship Enterprise. I suggested that he not tell prospective dates that. Ever. I also reminded him that, in order to own a scale model of something, an original must have existed. (He disputes that we had this conversation, and that he ever owned such a thing...now that he's happily married to one of my very funny and gorgeous friends. You know who you are. And so do your hot-tubbing raccoons.)

This weekend I told a bachelor friend - let's call him John Doe - this cautionary tale, of the scale-model-owning bachelor. He laughed. And laughed. And about three hours later, John turned to the attractive woman sitting to his left and said: "I've seen you before. Do you go to pinball?"

Adventures In Moving

I recently walked past a house where the owners were mid-move. They were moving out, which is never as satisfying as moving in. In the midst of a sea of boxes stood a frazzled 50-something couple that looked about 250 years old. Moving does that to you.

So I did what Irma would want me to do.

A-L: I have a message for you, from my mother, who has moved 13,000 times. That message is 'Peace be with you.'

Haggard moving woman, with tears in her eyes: Thank you. Thank you.

What's my point? There is none. It's just that this Thanksgiving week I was looking for an opportunity to give thanks for the fact that I have not moved in almost two years. A near record, for the Frequent Flying Gypsy Sandstrums of Camarillo (formerly of Laihia, Inglewood, Compton, Helsinki, Granada Hills, Simi Valley, Somis, Heusenstamm, Mission Viejo, Los Angeles, Santa Monica, Portland, Salzburg, Camas, Burbank, Pasadena, Palm Desert, Coachella, Encino, Edinburgh, San Francisco - in more or less that order).

Which brings me to this somewhat related memory. When I lived in Burbank I had an Israeli roommate who worked for a moving company called "Let's Move It Right." And our other roommate used to tack on the phrase "this time" to the end. Took the words right out of Irma's mouth.

Shameless Advertising

I work at a book publisher. We publish a book called Bird Songs Bible which features recordings (from the Cornell Lab of Ornithology) of all the birds of North America.

I encourage you to introduce this book to an animal near you, because something super funny, like this, might happen.

Preparations

A-L: I can't wait for Turkey Day.

Sister Maria: We're having ham.

The Joke's On Me

Turns out my Jewish friends weren't joking around. It really is a table blessing. Google: "They tried to kill us. We won. Let's eat."

Potluck Blessing

The Seahorse Whisperer, downstairs neighbor Michael, the Dog Father (aka "DCB"), Calvin, PWR, and two new characters (roommate Aaron, and friend Dana) gathered together last night for a potluck.

A-L: PWR, as a emissary of the Church of Scotland, do you mind saying grace?

PWR: Grace.

A-L: Ok. Uhh, how about you, Dana? Can you say a Jewish dinner blessing?

Dana: There aren't any. Actually, there is one: "They tried to kill us. We won. Let's eat."

Aaron: I've never heard that prayer before.

Dana: Oh, I didn't realize you were Jewish. I thought I could lie to my little Lutheranish friend here.

Aaron: You can. But not about fake Jewish dinner blessings. At least not when I'm here.

A-L: PWR, what's that really unintelligible Scottish blessing you always say?

PWR: Here's tae us. Wha's like us? Damn few, And they're a' deid.

A-L: I think like Dana's prayer better.

Calvin: Grace. Let's eat.

Tattoo

There was a woman on the train this morning who had "Schadenfreude" tattooed on her lower arm.

I'm just sorry it was spelled correctly.

Mistaken Identity

A-L: Did you know Wavy Gravy's wife used to date Bob Dylan?

PWR: Really. Where did you read that?

A-L: On the internets.

PWR: Did you know Bob Dylan has a house in Nethy Bridge near Harris?

A-L: Was that news in the same paper that announced the bankruptcy of the First Lutheran Church in Camarillo? Because somehow I missed it. And who's Harris?

PWR: My nephew.

A-L: Oh, of course, Haggis.

PWR: But his real name is Robert Zuckerman, or something like that.

A-L: Haggis's real name?

PWR: No, Dylan's. What's the name of that Facebook guy?

A-L: I'm having a hard time following this conversation. Mark Zuckerberg is the name of the guy who "invented" Facebook.

PWR: Maybe I'm getting them mixed up.

A-L: Bob Dylan and Mark Zuckerberg?

PWR: Yes.

Ladies and gentleman, I couldn't make this stuff up.

Wavy Gravy

A-L: Let's do something totally absurd this evening.

PWR: I know, let's go listen to Wavy Gravy speak at the Beat Museum.

A-L: Who's he?

PWR: Come on. Everyone knows who Wavy Gravy is.

A-L: Did you?

PWR: Yes. After I followed the link above to Wikipedia.

A-L: Ok, so he's a hippie activist, and was the official clown of The Grateful Dead.

PWR: That's a bit indulgent. Did they *really* need an official clown? Anywho, let's go. It seems like an appropriately San Francisco thing to do.

A-L: Will I be allowed in?

PWR: Why wouldn't you? Because of your shrill laugh?

A-L: No, because my parents voted for Reagan. And Nixon.

PWR: Uh, I don't think anyone will find out, unless you're wearing your "My parents are the only two people in America who don't love the Kennedys" t-shirt?

A-L: That's in the laundry. So is my "Iran Contra, Iran Shmontra" sweatshirt.

PWR: You're safe then. Just don't laugh. Too loudly.

Vocabulary

PWR: What did your friend mean when he said he's "nearsighted"?

A-L: What do you mean "what did he mean"?

PWR: Was he trying to say he can't see the future?

A-L: Precisely.

PWR: Well, that's a bit short-sighted if you ask me.

Welcome

Former flatmate Paul from Scotland is staying in Oakland for a spell. He goes by the moniker "PWR".

A-L: What brings you to the Bay Area?

PWR: A cat.

A-L: You didn't bring Kitty with you, did you? I've tried my darndest to make sure she doesn't find out where I'm living.

PWR: No. I'm cat sitting for Gregor and Caitlin.

Kitty: Those are funny cat names.

PWR: For their cat Astrid.

Kitty: An even funnier cat name.

A-L: That's a long way to travel for a cat sitting gig.

PWR: I'm a professional.

A-L: I thought you did something with computers? Aren't you the one who programmed Kitty to be passive agressive?

Kitty: That's from my mother's side of the family.

A-L: Your first mother was a Chinese man, named Su, who was not passive aggressive.

PWR: But you digress. I'm here for three weeks

A-L: Excellent. I need blog material.

You'll NEVER Guess

Public Safety Pete: You'll never guess who I saw yesterday.

A-L: You're probably right. Give me some hints. Where were you?

PSP: On Sunday morning? Take a wild guess.

A-L: At a motorcycle rally?

PSP: I was at church. It was my turn to usher.

A-L: Is "usher" Latin for "stand in the narthex and gossip through the sermon"? Or is that Yiddish?

PSP: You'll never guess who was ushering with me.

A-L: You're right. Give me another hint.

PSP: Well, you know the First Lutheran Church in Camarillo went bankrupt?

A-L: Umm, not unless it was on NPR. Or was posted at the bus stop in San Francisco. I guess I'll take your word for it. What's the upshot of their financial troubles?

PSP: More Lutherans for our church.

A-L: Ah, of course.

PSP: So I was talking to this other usher...

A-L: You weren't listening to the sermon?

PSP: It was between Acts. And this guy started telling me that he used to live in Simi Valley.

A-L: He's from the bankrupt church?

PSP: Yes.

A-L: The suspense is killing me.

PSP: And he was our milk man when we lived in Simi Valley! Can you believe it?

A-L: That we had a Lutheran milk man? Or that we lived in Simi Valley? Or that you were socializing during church?

Kitty: All of the above.

Retirement

PWR: My dad just retired.

ALS: From what?

PWR: His job.

ALS: But he's a minister. They can't ever retire, right? Aren't they always in the Lord's service?

PWR: Not in Scotland.

ALS: So who's the new minister in Elgin? And how are you going to keep up with the town gossip?

PWR: They haven't replaced him yet. They just formed a committee to choose a committee to find a new minister. So they send out a call to available ministers, and then they listen to them preach.

ALS: So it's like a pastoral audition?

PWR: You could say that.

ALS: So they hear them perform, and then pick the best one?

PWR: Uh huh. The process takes about 6 months.

ALS: So who's preaching in the meantime?

PWR: They have some travelling preachers that fill in.

ALS: It seems odd to me that didn't have a replacement ready for when your dad retired.

PWR: That's just the way they do it. I guess it gives them time to reflect on what they're looking for.

ALS: Like they might go with a project manager instead of a minister? And how are you going to keep up with the town gossip now that you can't listen in to the parishioners spilling their family secrets over the pastoral dinner table?

PWR: I'm subscribed to a web site that alerts me to all the gossip.