Sand the enamel off the ends.

So I am ending the blog.

It was an interesting experience so let's call it a success. I was going to write a cliche-ridden poem to mark the occasion but I couldn't think of that killer rhyme for the "update."

If you read this blog, that's cool but I shudder to think about all the other similar things you waste your time doing online. Maybe you should look for a new job. If you didn't read the blog, fuck you.

All good things come to an end. But so does this.

This book is 100% hope.

A week full of wackiness. Only one school group came to the museum on Tuesday because of the preparations going on for the annual Exploratorium awards dinner. Since the kind of NSF grants that we apply for don't involve the science of killing people in other countries, we seem to have been getting fewer these days. So it's recently become even more important that we massage the egos of the rich in the hopes that they can help bridge the increasing gap in federal funding. They seem to like awards. As for the awards themselves, I never really got to see them but I hear that each one comes with a lemon wedge and a shot of Cabo.

Anyway, the museum was really empty, it was boring, and afterwards I biked to the ocean again only to forget that Shanghai Dumpling King is closed on Tuesdays. The next day, half of the field trip explainers went on a field trip of our own to the California Academy of Sciences, where John Muir established the Sierra Club in 1892. These days, you can watch the Academy feed penguins every 3:00, which we didn't actually get to see, but heck: we did start the day at Starbucks and kicked back at the Metreon for lunch. The genuine downtown SF experience. And not to brag or anything, but guess who won a Pig Buck--good for one free drink--for a second place finish at The Pig and Whistle trivia night?

I kind-of got offered to kind-of get hired to kind-of continue building exhibits as an on-call developer through the summer. You can imagine how thrilling such a firm commitment feels. But it's cool; it's the next step in my progression towards an underpaid underappreciated full-time position in a non-profit institution.

Welcome to a world full of discoveries

This week I awoke to the sounds of Irene Dillon chirping in my ear. Ross the landlord's bullshit was in full bloom. The Upper Haight briefly smelled more of tree pollen than of Humboldt weed and, just like that, spring is here in San Francisco.

Things were looking outstanding by Wednesday night, when after months of trying the museum crew and I finally earned the top prize at Pig and Whistle trivia night. That's right: first place and I am deeply proud, as if I saved a kid from choking. We have come close before but were always thwarted. A month ago it came down to the arbitrary tie-breaking question, "how many times did Fay Wray scream in the original King Kong?" to which we second guessed our winning response in the final seconds. We said 6. It was 78. Finally, though, fate was on our side and this week we drink pitchers of Newcastle Brown for free. The triumph was captured for the ages on cell phone :
















Saturday I taught a class at the Exploratorium. It was about weather and it was bad, though we did make fog in a jar.

As bad as my weather class may have been, the forecast for Sunday called for "abundant sunshine" and it was the first legit hot day of 2006. High of 86! The pull West is practically magnetic on days like this, so I got on my bike and found myself at the Pacific in no time. The scene there was enough to thaw even the cold soul of the great Russian tundra itself: the beautiful day had prompted a solid mile of insane kids frolicking in the surf, ecstatic puppies fetching all manner of spheroid, and flying disc competitors jockeying for prestige among the surf. Not bad for a beach that people usually write off as "depressing" (overlooking the fatality, of course). I took the opportunity to try and absorb as much of it as possible while I walked up and down the stretch, listening to one and a half Dylan albums.

Since I was in the area afterwards, spicy wontons at Shanghai Dumpling House could not be ignored. So I made that happen immediately....so fucking good. I rounded out the evening with a "The Sentinel" and "Inside Man" double feature at the Balboa theater, which is maybe my favorite picture house in the entire city. By midnight, the only thing awake in the outer Richmond was the ocean, softly churning in the distance as I biked home by the light of the ancient Golden Gate park street lamps. Maybe not the perfect day, but a pretty good one. At the very least, enough to get me sunburned:




















It's a shame that today was completely useless. And yes, that *is* a new shirt. Thanks for noticing.

Positive I.D. Required

yes, Yes, YES!

Experts are reluctant to discuss the problem for fear of giving terrorists any ideas.

A lady tipped me five bucks today after I did an orientation for her 5th graders at the museum. I really don't know how to feel. Flattered? Dirty? Coy? I mostly feel guilty because I think she took me seriously when I told the class that I accept tips. It's one of my best jokes. Here, in reverse order of funniness, are my others:

3. You can't go in the gift shop without a chaperone, but I gaurentee you that the rest of the museum is way better anyways. Batteries for $10!?! Honestly, We are just trying to rip you off in there.

2. There are two special water fountains inside the Exploratorium... and one of them is a toilet. [laughter] Now I don't reccomend that you drink out of the real toilets [laughter] but I sure can't stop you.

1. The flower dissection is all about sex--middle schoolers love it!

105,000 Mile Service

What's up? It's been two weeks since I got from Europe and wouldn't you know it: my mind is an uncaged baboon, galumphing around wildly, unable to process its new found freedom. Two weeks in fantasy land and I come back to what? Five silly jobs and a provincial art show! Fuck that, get me back to fantasy land. Either that, or an ounce of crack (the kind you can put under your tongue, though; the thought of actually smoking crack weirds me out).

I guess I'm slowly coming off the travelling high. In six weeks the Explainer year will be over, I will be commuting to Berkeley, and the San Francisco summer fog will be enveloping all of not living on the Eastern face of Telegrapgh Hill. Despite that, there was plenty of stuff to come home to:

-The art show was not my first choice of places to be when I arrived home from Italy. I went right from the airport and was still setting up well into the opening. It was a lot like last time: a lot of people walking in and out, a lot of talking, and a lot of sitting around. My head wasn't into it but I'll mark it down as a success; while I was only marginally happy with my four new pieces, someone else was enthusiastic enough to actually buy one. So I actually made a sale! I didn't meet the guy at the show. He left me a note in my guestbook and the transaction happened last Saturday. It went smoother than expected (I expected nothing until the time the check was in my hand). I got to peek in his apartment and was flattered to notice that the guy had great taste in art (stuff a little like my own, but slightly better and more traditionally indie) and that he was at least ten times cooler than myself (spins at local clubs, has a cool hat). So.... cool, I guess.

-The Sonoma semester ended, as is becoming expected, with a final act of dramatics. Anika briefly turned back to the dark side. My comically inept supervisor quit/resigned/took medical leave? Most of all: a lot of rightfully pissed off students. The program is at such an unbelievably low point that its hard to imagine that they are still open for business. The whole semester started on a bad note as George produced a new schedule that he distributed to everyone but the instructors. When there are people literally flying in from Pheonix for a class that you aren't there to teach, how do you recover? Luckily, I think I came out of the semester on the right side of things.

I refused to take any blame for the administration's bullshit and just tried to get my students through it. Of course, it meant coming in an hour early, making my own copies (Sonoma college is unable to replace its toner cartridges within the space of one month, which is simultaneously appaling and funny), and honoring a million little bullshit requests. But that was the only way to get through it so I am tenuously proud of myself.

-Jury duty, again!?! What the hell!? I successfully avoided doing that just a few months ago.

-Nevermind that she got a near-criminal allotment of extra time, one of my students scored a 750 on math! The only thing my poor battered soul can hope is that, once at Princeton, she pledge her life to bridging the gap between rich and poor.

-Back to stupid fucking toilet paper. It's been about ten years since I saved up for something big I really wanted, but I might just start to casually check out the prices on some mid-performance bidets.

-Still living hand to mouth, thanks to my $867 contribution to the Democratic cash guzzling political apparatus. I have since withdrawn my registration from that particular party and joined my friends Chuck Moulton and the employees at Top Dog in supporting Michael Badnarik for president.

-My car survived 3+ weeks non use on the rough patch of Washington St. between Larkin and Hyde. Exactly as it should be.

[wrapping up my first sale, maybe a little sad about it]

at the compu

I'm in Amsterdam. I know it's been a while--some have even labeled feather two pixels sporadic. If only you all knew how strongly it's going in my mind. ...Sporadic! That hurts.

But anyways: yeah, Amsterdam. Nowell's second of three weddings happens in less than one week in Tuscany. Joe and I are taking advantage of the opportunity which has brought us to the beautiful land of Holland. And the Dutch are really with it. Almost too with it! They seem to all sit and make jokes while we bumble about, trying to make sense of their nonsensical city. Laugh all you want at me, tulip man, but at least Lady Liberty doesn't build her cities in a series of concentric rings. It doesn't matter how aligned you feel, you are never walking straight for long in Amsterdam.

We had a good day though. We rented our own set of clunky European bikes this morning (helmets are not even an option) and cruised around the whole city. Three of the four "high"lights actually happened to us today:

1. Didn't go to the zoo because it was too expensive.

2. Didn't go to the botanical gardens because it was too expensive.

3. Didn't go to the Windmill brewery place cause it was closed on Tuesday.

4. Watched a group sex show in which a 14 year old girl put a cobra in her vagina. Were encouraged to join in.

As you can see, its been a full day. I'm back at the hostel bar where there is no refuge from the endless assault of techno music that starts when one wakes up, follows one around all day, and pretty much puts one to bed here.

Tomorrow we take a train to Bonn, where Anna the German Explainer will host us for a night as we creep closer to our destiny in Tuscany, though I am a little disappointed to be away from SF for the 100th anniversary of the big quake.

As for what else has been going on, here is another list:

1. Worked my right index finger to the bone to finish up series two for the pretend art show on the 28th.

2. Slept in the TactileDome after the total solar eclipse that happened at 2:55AM in Side, Turkey.

3. Welcomed back Anica to Human Cross Sectional Anatomy II. She seemed legitimately reformed, though on the first exam she did cheat on every question.

4. Rain! Much has been made of SF's record 25 days of rain in March and it wasn't letting up at all as I left last Sunday.

5. I had 6 W-2 forms and it seems like everyone fucked up somehow. I owed $867 in taxes! In one night, I went from everything Milhous with 1700 in the bank to the gutter, covered in feces and sweat. It's enough to make a brother become a republican. Or at least a Libertarian. Maybe a librarian.

Navigates genres as well as taboos

A week of deteriorating health, mental and physical.

One of my gayer personal habits is a partiality for flowers in the house and so it goes without saying that daffodil season at Safeway is one of my favorite times of the year. Two bunches for $2.25, yo! So on last Sunday's shopping trip I got some and set them up in the dining room. In a seemingly unrelated anecdote, my breathing was terrible this week and I woke up wheezing in the middle of several nights. It wasn't until Friday that I made the connection between the two and promptly donated the flowers to charity.

What makes that mental lapse even more foolish is that I dissect flowers every week at the museum. I even ask who's allergic to pollen "cuz now we get to look at it up close and personal on the microscope."

Boy did I feel shitty by the weekend though. And it doesn't help that I've been drinking three times as much, thanks mostly to college basketball. Well, college basketball and my lack of cable that has necessitated near-daily trips to sports bars. An unwelcome reality of this new lifestyle is the fact that the only sports bar around that bothers to pony up the $49 a month (predictably unthinkable at Nob Hill Tavern) for satellite games is Green's, the most unpleasant of the Russian Hill thirtysomething bar lineup.

That all would have been fine, if not for Pitt's meltdown against Bradley in the second round of the NCAA tournament. The second round--they don't even have a zany name for that one. And it came after a near-perfect game in the first round win against Kent State (who eliminated Pitt from the tournament 3 years ago). *Sigh* It was a pretty good year for Pitt basketball, though. They only lost one game at home, played a lot of young guys, and got a lot of exposure. One day they will find a way to score points at the end of the season. This was the only good thing about the final game:










This is Jill:













On Friday night I joined her and a few of her friends at a fancy French restaurant to help usher in her 28th year of life. When I was making her a card, I thought about how amazing it is that (a) I have known Jill for almost 10 years and (b) we live in the same city. Doesn't sound so amazing to you, but in my world there are not too many people who meets those qualifications. Although she knows of its existence, it is unknown whether Jill is a regular feather 2 pixel reader so all other remarks have been stricken from he record. Instead, we now bring you this useful piece of advice: eating two and a half rolls at a $40 meal is moronic.

------------

feather 2 pixel flesh pocket update: In which we track the progress of the lump growing on my upper thigh.

Well, I spent the whole week off my bike, more because of rain and appointments than anything else. With nothing to irritate it, the lump has since decreased in size. Instead, I developed a blister on each heel from a routine Sunday walk to the park. I asked Jesus to send me a sign if he thought I needed new shoes, but now I am just confused.

----------

Other items of note:

-traveled with coworkers to Santa Rosa to watch another coworker perform in "Urinetown" in the decade's most overplanned social event.

-Tutoring the worst kid ever.

-Taught another members' class at the Exploratorium (remember the snails?) I am now proud to say that I have invented a brand new way to confuse kids about the phases of the moon .

We Reserve the Right to Limit Quantities

If interviewing for jobs is like taking a shit then I just took a big old constipated dump all over Sunset Ave. I was at meeting with three principals about a full time job teaching physics at a school near the Pacific Ocean. It reminded me of all my previous meetings with principals (mostly in middle school, with Mr.Evans): it went on forever and the longer it did the madder they got.

I'm pretty sure that as far as indicators of success go, increasing hostility of one's interviewer is a bad sign. At the end she reminded me that they are talking to a few other people about the job. Is that a gentle preparation for rejection or a common courtsey? Only Jesus knows. For my part, I feel like I came across as pretty fucking inarticulate and I surely said some pretty stupid shit, though I did accomplish my goal of not bringing up Jesus once.

Ultimately, I should have just gone to work and earned my $50 for the day.

I thought there was a good chance that the Big One might hit San Francisco on Friday night. The mood was perfect: not just rain and lightning coming down in San Francisco City, but hail and snow! How about that?

Luckily, I was shielded from the inclement weather by the nine foot-thick concrete walls of Nowell's SoMa loft--we wouldn't have even felt a 9.0 (though the gas pipes that casually criss cross along his ceiling would have surely killed us within minutes). Carly and I came over to help him and Sadie usher in his 28th year of existence with nothing less than an oyster, Dungeness crab, and micro-martini feast followed by an impromptu rave on the aforementioned concrete slabs. Except instead of E, we took Claritin D. Either way, when in SoMa it's damn hard to avoid high class dining and dance parties.

Feather 2 Pixel Lump Update: In which we track the progress of the lump growing on my upper thigh.

I felt like my lump was really doing well before yesterday. Not necessarily getting smaller, but aching less. But godammit if I didn't bike 6 miles across the city on Monday to see the best picture of the year as deemed by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. And I'm not saying "Crash" was bad per se, but not worth distressing any growth within two inches of your genitals over.

[Cow Eyeball dissection at the museum]

Enchanted Pillows Help Comfort Your Sore Nose Issue

Ok blog readers, you don't like me, I don't like you, and I can't tell you how much I don't feel like writing a blog entry. But you know what? I am going to do it anyways, purely for the sake of principle. And that's pretty much the difference between you and I: principles.

For some reason, it's hard to say what I have been up to in the last few weeks. Definitely not anything useful. I did injure my ankle pretty bad around the time of my last post. I was playing frisbee at work and landed on it awkwardly, suffering a moderate sprain that hurts but which is healing. I'm still not 100%. In fact, right now I am what Rich Kim from high school would surely have called a "hurt piece:"

-I have been very awkwardly hunching over obsessive, overcontrolled drawings for hours on end, resulting in unbelievably old-manish chronic back pain. It's even spread to my chest. It hurts to swallow, move my head, and lift my right arm.

-I've developed a hard little lump where my thigh meets my torso, right between two important private parts. It wouldn't bother me so much if it wasn't in just the right spot to be irritated by pedalling my bike. The more I pedal, the worse it gets. Did the pedalling cause the lump or did the lump cause the pedalling? These are questions only science can answer, but fuck going to see a biomedical professional. The last time I did that I was told the that lump on my balls was just an enlarged sweat gland. Total waste of an afternoon.

I have been watching lots of Pitt basketball. Too much one could say. The team fought through the majority of the year with a top ten ranking, but lost 3 of their last 4 regular season games. Despite the fact that there is no logical reason why it should affect my life in any way, I didn't take it well. The last game was particularly devastating (they ruined a perfect season at home as well as a bye in the first round of the Big East Tournament in a ridiculous loss to a very mediocre Seton Hall team) and I was unbelievably upset. To the point, really, where I temporarily lost all perspective on life had to sit myself down to disconnect from Pitt basketball.

It really makes no sense. My fandom exists in a complete vacuum, even more so than the other parts of my life. I don't associate with other Pitt fans. I don't go to Pitt games. I experience all of it through a virtual reality of newspaper articles, chatrooms, and television broadcasts. For all I know, the game of basketball doesn't even exist. And yet there I am, at Green's Sports Bar in San Francisco, ready to rip apart the bulletin board in the bathroom in response to a simple series of photons that interacted with my retina moments before.

I continue to interview for jobs that I either don't want or won't be offered, mostly for sport I suppose. The latest is a series of teaching positions at independent (aka private) schools. I don't know what I would do if I was actually offered a full time teaching job at a Catholic school, but I guess a part of me is perversely interested. The exhibit developer job at the Exploratorium didn't work out because they decided to hire nobody. That's really the best outcome I could have hoped for. Hooray for deficits.

Slowly, slowly, slowly I build my online presence. Get ready for feather2pixels.com, world.

And somewhere in between all those distractions, I am getting ready for an art show. Remember the back pain? Well, it will all pay off when I get to showcase all my new work for the three people who make it to the back wall of the Art Explosion studios during our spring show on April 28th. Now that's exciting.

For all my spinning wheels, Carly has been one busy little bee with 19 credits worth of all nighters and last minute papers. I'm glad she is busy though (although not too busy to miss the pretty model show). She has even been waking up before me 3 days a week, something which of course isn't a contest, but for those who are counting, starts to close the 80,000-15 lead I hold. She tires to make up for it by cheating me at Scrabble with 47 point "words" such as "ZAS." Hasbro might let that shit fly, but Gloria Fischer didn't raise no fools.

Cheer on Team USA

my ankle hurts

Such misrecognition is a normal feature

What a wild, wooly week its been, feather 2 pixels fans. And I'll just start out by saying that if you could see me right now, you all would be justified in transmitting your clenched fist right through my face. I will tell you why: I am sitting in a Nob Hill coffee shop called "Nook," blogging away on my laptop, blending in perfectly with the five other white people in here doing the same exact thing. I am now a complete parody of myself, folks!

Not that justifying myself on a blog doesn't make the whole thing twice as disgraceful, but while my apartment is a lovely place to eat and sleep, it is a fucking cave and I can't get anything done in there. And if getting more done means logging on at "Nook," so be it--I will swallow my pride. So last week I bought a laptop on Ebay on here I am. That was a big step for me. Plane tickets and psychotherapy notwithstanding, I don't buy anything expensive.

The Exploratorium retreat was indeed ridiculous. So much so that I felt bad for my two bosses. A lot of people got completely wasted, which of course is OK, but I couldn't believe how little self-control was displayed. I'm serious. I usually defer judgment of others to the good Lord Jesus Christ, but there were people puking over other people's shit and people leaving early because they felt too sick to work. One girl (from Germany, interning with us for a few months) blew me away. Real nice person, but it was as if she was eight years old. She seemed to make no connection between all her drinking Friday night and her complete inability to move on Saturday. She woke up at 6AM and puked on Dizzygirl's sweater, which she never even mentioned. It was only later that week that we found out it was her. Not only that, but for some reason she hadn't thought to bring house keys with her to the retreat, so when she refused a ride home from her boyfriend who had come to get her the next morning, she was stranded, crying in the Mission for the whole day. A helpless little puppy.

As for me, I was too focused on an intense series of games to get too loaded. At some point, I was embarrassed at what I play when I am handed a guitar these days. Dizzygirl quietly downed the better part of a bottle of Jack, which seems pretty normal for her, and we sat in the kitchen till 6 writing a song. Fascinating.

And there was much profusion of feelings, including my least favorite activity of "describing this experience is one word." God help me. I realized, though, that there is a good possibility that my two supervisors are the coolest bosses I will ever have. They lay the West Coast ham and cheese on thick, but I look up to them and respect their intentions. And to a large extent, those intentions are achieved. The retreat reinforced that for me. That weekend probably didn't go as smoothly as they would have liked, but the mere fact that they have trained a pack of such obviously disturbed baboons to willingly advance their educational goals on a regular basis for $13 a hour is amazing.

Speaking of wild baboons, Monday night was the semi-annual Ivy West recruiter appreciation event in the Venice of the Bay Area, Foster City. (A great thing about working at Ivy West is frequency that we are being appreciated). The event is held just for office staff and a handful of others, like me, who help recruit and train the never ending flow of new tutors shuffling in and out of the thug life that is Ivy West Educational Services. Anyways, the boss has been away on maternity leave for a few weeks now and I think its starting it's starting to show. Not that producing the world's longest rubber band at is in any way a waste of time--I'm just envious that I am not more a part of the slow collapse of all order at headquarters.

But I did get to karaoke with a select few after dinner at Millbrae Karaoke House, which is as great as it sounds. It was my second job-related karaoke experience in two weeks which is an experience that I now highly recommend to every employed person in the developed world. Nothing brings you together in quite the same way and its a surprisingly revealing activity.

We will catch up on the rest of the week at a later date.

Here's a new strum

Spring is by far the busiest time for field trips at the Exploratorium. Within a few weeks, 2000-3000 kids will be a regular day. Compared to what we usually deal with, that's a lot. In reality though, it's still a pretty easy job. The fact that people start to freak out about it to me underscores some of the more ridiculous aspects of being a field trip Explainer. Last week, for example, we received a little foreshadowing of things to come in the form of some massive school groups and a 2000+ free day (first Wednesday of every month). This is almost too boring to get into, but long story short: on one of the days it rained and employees were getting very agitated about the mass of kids eating lunch in the cafe, which they arent supposed to do unless they make a purchase. Shouldn't be a big deal, but it gets escalated to an unnecessary level.

...And thank goodness there is the Friday afternoon meeting to hash it out in insufferable detail. Somewhere along the way my big mouth got me a reputation in the group for having no patience for the specific issue of lunch bins, which is to me the quintessential non-issue made issue--the discussion never ends. What they don't realize is that (a) my intolerance only just begins with lunch bins, yet (b) overall I don't *mind* any of it. If I am in a good mood, its just funny. Unfortunately, I am never in a good mood.

Anyways, quickly approaching is the event that takes it all to a whole new level: the annual Explainer retreat. Be afraid, be very afraid. Again, don't get me wrong, I think it will be a fun time, but it will take about a week to mentally prepare myself for 10 hours of such activities as describing with one word how I feel to a circle of people. Worse yet, any redeeming "retreat" value is being compromised cause we are having it at some girl's house in the Mission district. At least last year we were in a cabin by a stream. At any rate, you can expect feather two pixels to follow coverage of this important event as it unfolds.

My anatomy class gave me the collective cold shoulder after Saturday's class. I gave them an exam that they thought was hard, which was enough to kick off a big old long face procession. And fuck that. I happen to like this group quite a bit, but its so off putting to see a group of grown adults act like a bunch of fucking babies. I am constantly aware of the fact that many of these people have not been in school for perhaps decades and the fact that most have no post-secondary academic experience, but sometimes I feel like it crosses the line from empathy to bullshit. Beyond that the fact the exam is curved, open note/open book, and anyone paying any semblance of attention will get a good grade in the class, its just a little ridiculous to be acting like a child to your 26 year old teacher as a 45 year old man.

And speaking of foreshadowing, I got an email that sent a little shiver down my spine:

Date:	Mon, 6 Feb 2006 16:58:48 -0800 (PST)
From:	anica
Subject:	anatomy part 2,when does class begin
To:	"Jonathan Anatomy"

I just would like to know when Anatomy starts in march

so I wont miss any classes. I know it starts around

march but what date

(Obviously, she failed last semester so we are going to have another go at it)

What saved me that afternoon was the very thing I was not looking forward to at all. I had to go back to the Exploratorium to teach a class to 4th and 5th grade children of museum members, which I passionately did not feel like cashing in my afternoon for. But somehow when it was over, my faith as an educator was for the time being restored. The kids were great: so idealistic, uncorrupted, and hilarious. Our class was on snails, which I had about forty of from someone's garden (One girl told me she couldn't participate unless we didn't harm them). We basically did a long quasi-scientific investigation and the kids totally bought it. They were so curious and excited to show me what they were learning, it practically made me cry. When we were making a list of snail questions, one little boy suggested "do snails make love?" Best of all, there were visual aids produced. Here, with some astute observations, is the best one:




















That's right, Thing 1 likes ham.

And finally, the Superbowl. A few people from work met me at the Nob Hill Tavern, which I really thought was going to play it ultra-stingy by offering patrons just the one large bowl of cheap tortilla chips they set out for the first half. It's something they would do (Which is one of the legit reasons I like it there: a sustained commitment to pretty much not giving a fuck about the customer is hard to find these days). A little while after we ordered pizza from down the street, though, the Tavern came through in a big way with enough baked chicken and mashed potatoes to feed an armada.

And how cool was it to see Pittsburgh win it? I don't know if I have ever seen Bill Cowher look so happy. Or happy at all, for that matter. The west coast vs east coast dynamic was a nice touch, too. I actually felt a little like a fraud because there a lot of suspect Steelers fans that mysteriously precipitated out of the San Fran woodwork, and being from PA (West coasters do not identify the fact that Philadelphia and Pittsburgh are disparate cities) I was portrayed as more of a Pittsburgh fan than I really am. Like I said, it was great to think of the atmosphere in the Burgh as they won it, but even the totally routine Pitt basketball game that morning had more meaning to me than the Superbowl.

And all kind of strange coincidences later that night at the karaoke bar down the street. Not only did the aforementioned Louise show up, completely unexpectedly, just minutes after we did, but one of her friends was somehow linked to another Exploratorium person we all know. It blows my mind when shit like that happens. San Francisco is a small city.

Today the tradition lives on

It's 8:30. By the time I finish this, it will probably be close to the end of the night. I will go to bed having only really accomplished the authoring of a meaningless blog post and the useless cycle of the universe will continue.

Here is a list of other useless things I should to tonight, for my reference so that I don't forget:

-Produce rent check(s)
-Write up an Ivy West teachback
-Email Louise my availability for next week.

I had my "Exhibit Developer I" interview on Friday at the Exploratorium. It took place during the end of my Explainer shift so even if they don't offer me the job, the joke is on them cause I was paid either way. Ha! who has the power now, museum? I certainly hope you find me qualified for your position, suckers, but do make sure to let me know the next time you want to donate $6 to the campaign to get Fischer loaded.

The interview went alright, but I don't think I will get the job. I just didn't get the impression that they recognized my inherent greatness. Instead, they asked me such inane questions such as "do you have experience welding?" Do I have experience welding? Correct me if I am wrong but that's just melting two pieces of metal together, right? Jesus, these people had no idea who they were talking to. In my opinion, the whole thing was way too bogged down in insignificant details.

Friday night, I somehow ended up in Critical Mass. I don't know that Critical Mass is quite the "global people's movement" that self-important left coast shitheads like to call it, but one thing it is, is very fun. One of the best times I've ever had in SF, actually. Hundreds of people got on their bikes and rode all over the city for three hours, disregarding red lights, suspending traffic, and being generally obnoxious. What a fucking spectacle. It was like being in a late-night marijuana-festooned parade. And the same streets I ride along every day seemed so different. My friend Hannah described it like riding around in a dream. feather two pixels has employed that simile before, but it perfectly describes the experience.

Speaking of dreamlike experiences, power went out on the top of Nob Hill for the second time in two weeks. Predictably, Carly was in the bath doing Sodoku; she was very alarmed when the lights went out. I, on the other hand, was secretly happy to have an opportunity to inaugurate my new flagship 3-cell Mag-lite--the last one got taken in our latest burglary--as well as my new mini Mag-lite. Both performed impeccably.

Finally, Nowell and I grow close to the completion of our "San Francisco postcard project" film thing. The film doesn't actually have a proper title yet, but we have somehow managed to finish editing 60% of it already (that's a lot), and at this point the project has a momentum of its own. As Nowell put it: it's been like pushing aside sand as it gently falls to the velvet ground (A little embellishment there). Now I'm not suggesting that the rest of the world will like it, but last week when we watched a test DVD on Nowell's home theater, which I believe actually converts a signal to the next generation of video standard that has not been invented yet, I was very excited. More details as they come.

Things at the art studio have been decidedly less easy. I'm mostly in the drawing phase and when you aren't that great at it, drawing can be the most frustrating thing in the world....of me. Why can't I just retire from art now and live off the glory of my eight previous pieces? Kubrick didn't have many more than eight proper films, did he? It's not that I can't produce a good drawing; I'm just not that good at it. I will sit down and draw for weeks and it might all be shit except for one piece. At least after I am done the drawings, it gets a little more fun. Anyways, these pieces follow similar themes, too pretentious to mention here, of my previous open studios shit and the San Francisco postcard project film thing.

I was talking to Ben last weekend about promotion. It's been on both our minds recently. For him it means spreading word about his adult comedy show, for me I think it means that in the medium term I finally need a real website. Then I can finally leave fucking Blogger and all of you assholes for good.

A survival guide for American families

Here we go: interview time again. Round and round I go, what underpaid, disrespected job I end up at, no one knows!

Actually, I am generally overappreciated and overpaid, to which my 2005 $21,000 gross adjusted income doesn't speak very well. I also get a full benefits and a paid lunch break during my 9-1:30 shift at the Exploratorium.

My interview for Exhibit Developer I is on Friday afternoon, during my real job at the museum (I'm not sure if I should wear my orange vest). And I really don't mind interviews but I am not looking forward to the process in which my life is indefinitely put on hold while I try and do things like plan a Spring trip to Italy and find work for the summer. In reality, though, this truly is a dream job so I will endure the delay and heartache and give it my all. Unless of course they want me to work past 1:30. This brother don't work no 5 hour days.

They asked me to bring a sample of my artwork to the interview, which was intriguing. It was also a good reason to finally finish mastering the digital proofs of my pieces from the show last October. I cleaned up all the images up and went to Kinkos down the street to print and bind a little portfolio. Our 24 hour Kinkos is a hidden perk of the mid Polk Gulch area of San Francisco. You never know when it will come in handy. On the other hand, fuck Kinkos--two portfolios cost me more than $50 to make.

In between intermittent fighting, Carly and I managed to attend two Sketchfest performances. The three troupes on Sunday--including the amazing Will Franken...see him now--were great. The "emerging sketch artists" we saw yesterday are, well...as Carly put it: emerging very slowly. But we support them! The pecking order of the comedy world seems like a big a food chain, with bigger acts devouring lesser ones and shitting them out as parodies of themselves. At the top sits Will Franken, my new God, transcending all.

In distressing news, last Thursday a girl was killed on her bike by a hit and run who ignored a red light. Sarah Tucker was hit at an intersection that I ride through almost every day, she was 26 just like me, she worked at a science museum just like I do, and she was coming from the karaoke bar that I karaoke at! Not only could that have easily been me, but its almost as if the universe spent a few minutes deliberating over which one of us to take.

The really distressing thing is that I was back to taking my whole life for granted ten minutes after these thoughts passed through me.

Help a child start a small garden

Sunday afternoon at tutor headquarters. I am here to conduct what's known in these parts as a teachback, which is the final stage in the blossoming of each beautiful new Ivy West SAT tutor. Speaking of work,

But what's this? I am home now. Pretty impressive, no?

This time, it seems, fate has saved you from another tutoring anecdote.

...Which reminds me of something that's been on my mind recently: blogs are weird things. Some time ago, Partha at Ivy West discovered feather two pixels. I'm still not sure how, exactly. But now everyone at the office knows about it and a few may even read it. In principle, I have no problem with this. On the other hand, it feels like there should be something strange about the people one works with having access to a written record of things like how you carried drugs into a police station.

...Which begs the question, what's the point? Why exactly is anyone anywhere writing to, theoretically, the whole wide world in a blog instead of to themselves in a journal? Actually I do have a journal. On the rare occasion that I can force myself to update it, everything I write turns out too embarrasing to describe. So the pathetic fact is that I need the detachment of an audience to say anything about myself that I don't hate. What a mastubratory habit. Not unlike masturbation. And my point is that whole thing makes even less sense in light of the fact that, ideally, nobody I know would ever read my blog. But you can't have it both ways in this world.

In more exciting news, there is a tar kettle in front of my building.




















The Steelers are in the Super Bowl? Wow, good for them. There's actually a Steelers bar a few blocks from my place--named after a ninteenth century inkeeper who was said to have drugged and kidnapped men to make them work on ships--and a few blocks of Polk Street briefly resembled Station Square this afternoon. Good for all the people I know who will be esctatic that the Steelers made the championship. Good for me that I will have a team to root for. But the downside is that a 15-1 Pitt team going virtually unnoticed. I mean, I think I understand Pittsbugh well enough, but there is plenty of room on our bandwagon too.

And the last item that I have the energy for this evening regards the San Francisco Accordian Club. My friend Christina plays and invited me to the monthly meeting. And yes, the thought that it would be a good thing to write about in my blog crossed my mind when I accepted the invitation. The experiement influences the experimentor--this is why I didn't make it in science. Anyways, she tricked me into thinking that she herself was playing, but watching the semi-professional acts instead was kind of a treat. Best of all, the meeting took place in a cavernous auditorium in the South San Francisco Senior Center. I was the youngest person in the whole room and I could have won a bottle of champagne.

"I'm getting the (stuffing) scared out of me"

I passed a pair of beautiful Fisher speakers yesterday. They were large and solid, the kind you saw in stores before the idea of the home theater was giving 18-45 year old American males wet dreams about the carpeted room at Best Buy. I stopped to look at them quietly sitting at the bottom of my block while I was walking home late last night. Despite the fact that pretty good shit, occasionally great shit, is often left on the sidewalks of San Francisco, these surprised me. For a moment, I toyed with the idea of hauling them up for deep storage in the apartment. But our horde is already on the verge of ridiculous--and includes plundered speakers-- so I decided against it.

Today I was walking from the opposite direction, up the east face of Nob Hill, when a man stopped me in the middle of the street. I couldn't tell if he was a typical neighborhood guy or more of a transient. He asked me if I had seen the speakers. I told him that I had but they had been gone by this morning. He was very visibly dissapointed and stood there for a while, as if in shock.

I grabbed something from my car, which was parked a little ways down. When I came back the man was still standing there looking sad. I felt I should say something. "That's the kind of shit that if you want it, you gotta jump on it right away, " I said.

froggy - "hol dis"

So I thought I would take a little time out and let myself recognize what a great week it's been. That's a healthy thing to do, right? It's a little disturbing how easily good things can pass under the radar while I spend so much energy fussing over every little insignificant detail. At the very least, it seems important to document a few good times to fall back on for the moment at which I hit that ineveitable low.

I started out the week in the art studio feeling pretty uninspired. I was pretty happy with what I put together for open studios and I knew I wanted to move forward with my ideas. But it had been more than two months since the show and I still didn't have much in the way of a definitive direction. At one point I went outside to clear my mind. Somehow, that became a magical hike up Potrero Hill and it changed everything. I retured totally inspired, ready to go with a full creative tank. I fleshed out some ideas for my next project and that was it--I think I am off to the races. It took two months, but I found inspiration in a little community garden off San Bruno Ave. I love San Francisco.

That night, I ate these incredible spicy wontons at a dumpling house that I stumbled across way out near the ocean a few weeks ago. The wontons alone are reason to be happy about life. They are large and doughy and served hot in a tasty red oil sauce, mixed with onions and scallions. They fucking rule. Anyways, since finding this place by accident I've gone back twice in the last week. On Monday, I was in the neighborhood to catch The Best of Youth at the Balboa theater. Beyond my own embarrasing, self-congratulatory take on sitting through a six hour movie, it was an outstanding film. It made me happy.

By the time I returned to the museum on Tuesday morning, I was still feeding off all of it. It was one of those low key days in which I kept seeing the same kids, who kept me updated on what new discoveries they made every hour (I got them started by sending them hunting for the water fountain toilet). And at the end of the day, I handed in my application for what can only be described as my dream job: Exhbit Developer I. Now as feather 2 pixel afficionados know, we have been through this before. Recently. But I'm not getting my hopes up, and, really, could there be a job that would be more perfect for me than inventing interactive learning tools for science eduation? I gotta go for it. I think, on paper, I am a pretty strong candiaite and should get an interview. But beyond that it's a long shot.

That night Jill and I innagurated the 2006 tennis season at the secret lighted court near the Diamond Heights Safeway with a 6-0 trashing of me, but I came back strong to win the next set. Then, for some reason, I drove down to the Castro Safeway and picked up some really nice Dill Havarti cheese, among other things.

And tonight Nowell and I finished up the super rough edit of our collaberative video project, whittling 4+ hours of footage down to 30 minutes (with a ultimate goal of 3-5 minutes). I think we've both been real happy with the photography, and tonight the very first indications of project's final form started to materialize and it was totally exciting. The best part about it is that it's real loose and kind of has a life of its own now. Nowell is probably willing to reveal more than me (I say that if you aren't Nowell or I then don't expect much), but here is a little peek at what we are up to.














That brings us to... right now. Loose is one thing my writing has not been; a few paragraphs and it's already 1:30AM. I need to get up in a little while! This little euphoric 3 day stretch is going to come crashing down in a gruff morning haze. Thanks for nothing, blog.

A companion website offers an abundance of resources

The other day I was biking up Larkin street on my way home. Usually I bike up Polk Street, which has a kind of unofficial bike lane, but this street is pretty much a biker free for all. At about O'Farrell Street, I caught up to a guy who was riding pretty slow, but for some vague reason I liked the cut of his jig and decided that I would get in line with him and let him set pace up the hill.

That worked out OK for a block or two, but then he really started slowing down. There was minimal car traffic so I moved over and assumed passing formation. When he caught me out of the corner of his eye, he immediately noticed I was white and sped up so I couldn't pass him. As soon as he did, I noticed he was black and so I tried my best to overtake him. We zipped up the hill together at an unnatural speed, him setting the pace and me right on his tail. Eventually he made a right and I continued up Nob Hill. But I felt happy that we had challenged each other for a few blocks.

It is both funny and frightening

2005 was an alright year. I enjoyed it.

...Well OK, I will come clean and admit that right now I don't actually remember a single thing that happened last year. Wasn't there some kind of tornado? Eh, forget it, it's useless. At some point, I am going to make an effort to do some research, consolidate my thoughts, and maybe come to some conclusions about last year. For now, though, I will begin this year as I began the last: with meticulous procrastination.

Speaking of procrastination, the last time we talked was Thanksgiving. Then the holiday rigmarole set in and it all fell apart. Wow, that was a long time ago. Let me tell you what happened since.

December got real busy real quick. The steady rock in my life known as the Standardized Achievement Test reared its head again in the form of a new tutor recruiting season. So I was called in to tutor headquarters several times for the momentous job of math training. Usually, they send me "the signal" by directing to the skies an enormous spotlight in the shape of my profile. This time, though, they just phoned me and I have to say that it was much more convenient.

New recruits persevere remarkably well through ten hours of SAT training primarily because they are excited about the job. Also, headquarters is a little corporate, so I think that scares many of them into submission. It's all a lot like joining the Marines; we need to break your body and mind into mush before we can properly remold you in to a score-raising commando.

Anyways, they all put on their best face and the whole thing usually runs very smoothly. Now once in a while we get some deviants, which are dealt with on a case-by-case basis with various degrees of violence. For example during this training, one girl wore a tight shirt on the second night, exposing her nipple rings. True story; they were staring at me like two 6-cell Maglights for three hours straight. It's the hardest part of my job, but I'm sure you understand why ripping them right out was entirely necessary--how would you react if you were a hard-working upper class family expecting a dependable SAT tutor but at your door stood some do-nothing floozy? I like to think of myself as a moral filter of sorts.

San Francisco got its worst rainstorm in ten years. At least according to Ross the landlord. Keep in mind this is also the person who bet $700 on Monday Night Football because of a passing comment I made to him. But I believe him; for the last few days he has been running around the building, attending to a series of leaks, cracks, and other water related damages. For our part, the floor in the map room has actually started extruding upwards due to some underlying beam damage. It's like having our own little mogul in the middle of the apartment. It all makes me wonder how much worse the damage is everywhere else because we live on top of a hill. At work, Dizzygirl claimed that her whole apartment flooded and half her stuff was ruined.

And then there was the trip home. Unfortunately, my short schedule didn't overlap very well with my parents', but it was a relief that I didn't have to spend days rotting in their house alone. I did have enough time to grab a Pudge's cheeseteak with Danny (complete with an impromptu Valeri sighting) and to enjoy a home cooked feast with 4/5 of my family--my mom got it in her mind that we should have Thanksgiving dinner together since I wasn't around in November. It was a success. It's hard to go wrong with thanksgiving dinner.

I also made it out to New York City for a visit that will be remembered for the emphasis on walking that the MTA strike made mandatory. Banished from their tunnels, New Yorkers took to the avenues and the streetlife developed a new level of intensity, not so much because of the increased volume as much as the completeness with which the strike enveloped the city. The tabloids featured pages and pages of mean-spirited accusations, network news devoted entire broadcasts to reporting the latest developments (or lack of), and as Ben noted, New Yorkers were once again united and he loves them all. In San Francisco, the opposite philozophy prevails: we say we care about everyone but, as a general rule, avoid unnecessary interaction.

Walking a lot was not a big problem for us. I met up with Ben near Penn Station and we walked to the production company where Joe makes a living editing TV spots and seducing young receptionists. (Some of the details are different, but many things haven't changed through the years). The three of us eventually embarked on the trek up to Joe's place in East Harlem, which actually ended at the Dallas Barbecue on 71st street. We got humongous dinners and Margaritas garnished with test tubes of tequila, which really was the perfect dinner solution after thirty blocks of bumbling around midtown on an unfocused quest for food. And the entire New York trip unfolded a lot like that: the strike always in the background, somehow directing our fate. And that was OK. I got to check out Ben and Aimee's new place and a little bit of their new neighborhood, Greenpoint in Brooklyn. We played Kismet. We listened to music. We watched R. Kelly.

The strike ended the morning we left and that night the entire crew in its legitimate entirety got together in Blue Bell, where Nowell unveiled the long-awaited Budget DVD project. Much can be said about the Budget DVD, but to summarize, it archives pretty much every video project we have produced since high school on an immaculate 4 DVD set. It was a joyous occasion and so, naturally, we headed to the local wafer processing unit manufacturing facility, smoked at the loading dock, and watched the DVDs in the conference room.

Sometime after that, I came home and the ensuing week alone passed in a haze of mindless errands and, of course, rain. I cannot believe how long it's taken me to just complete this entry, so at this point I think that I am going to thank my 2.5 readers for checking in, be happy about rebooting feather 2 pixels for 2006, and save the backlog of half ideas swirling around my head for another night, not too long from this one. Welcome back, baby.