A scene from Dolores Park that happened a couple of weekends go, when the weather was very warm. A group of inebriated twenty-somethings lounged about on blankets overlooking the park.
Guy #1: That girl with the hoop? She’s hot.
Girl: Her? That is what is called chubby, loose and gross. You should be disgusted right now.
Guy #2: That girl? That girl is chubby?
Girl: Yes, she’s gross.
Guy #1: Oh. (Turns his gaze from the hooping girl.)
I wanted to confront the body snarking girl who felt the need to dictate what kind of bodies her friend should find attractive, but I couldn’t find the courage. But, seriously, fuck her.
The incredibly talented and kind Julie of Tangobaby shot me for one of her projects. She did so with a camera, in the Mission, after painting my face and adding false eyelashes.
The shoot was for her internet project I Live Here: SF. There she photographs and profiles people who live in San Francisco.
I am incredibly pleased with the results. Julie made me very comfortable, talking to me throughout the shoot, never making me feel awkward or self-conscious. She just chatted and clicked, and I tried not to squint.
Now that suburban housewives in Missouri are letting their thoughts be known via Twitter, it’s as if writing itself is thought to be under attack, invaded from all sides by the unwashed masses whose thoughts have not been sanctioned as Literature™.
In many ways, I’m reminded of Truman Capote’s infamous put-down of Jack Kerouac: “That’s not writing, it’s typing.”
So there seem to be quite a lot of assumptions at work here, with so many class, political, and even gender implications for who is allowed to speak, who we are meant to listen to, who can write, how they are permitted to do so, in what social contexts writing is meant to occur, and what topics can be legitimately addressed by others, that I’d hope a much longer discussion about this might someday take place. Until then, we get Maureen Dowd.
I played frisbee golf for the first time last weekend. The course was a gorgeous, but very difficult one at Stafford Lake Park in Novato in Marin County. After sucking super hard on the first hole (twenty or so tries and I still couldn’t get it in!), I gave up and just putted the rest of the day. Fine by me, because the views, they were stunning.
A tiny poppy seed muffin and a little paper cup of Turkish iced tea sit nestled into an egg crate that was cut down to fit this miniature meal. The few bites and several sips cost $1.
The poppy seed muffin is sweet and moist, with just the right amount of pop between your teeth when you bite down on the flecks that color the pastry. The Turkish iced tea is slightly sweet, a tad bitter and a perfect breakfast beverage a sweltering day in San Francisco’s Mission District. Thanks to a Murat, otherwise known as the Amuse-Bouche guy, Mission dwellers can now have these itty bitty delights almost daily. The rogue pastry and tea vendor has been selling his bites for a buck for about a month, and his popularity is quickly rising. He has fans on Bay Area blogs, and he’s watched his lines grow over time.
Yesterday BART police asked Murat to leave his normal post at the 24th Street station as he did not have a permit. But Murat was back again today, sans permit, to peddle his pretty little pastries to eager commuters. I spoke with him about his operation. When I arrived he has a long line of customers, as two buses had just dropped off loads and a train let our passengers just below. The consumers seemed pleased with the warm weather day substitution of a Turkish iced tea for the typical chilled chai. Murat has recently added tarts and quiches to his repertoire, which cost $2 and $3. They are denser, bigger (not technically amuse-bouche) and take more prep time, but the addition has been a boon for business.
Below I speak with Murat about whether or not he’ll seek a permit, whether or not he intends to expand, and just where he learned to amuse-bouche:
