I Have Arrived, or, The Bitch is Back

Bonjour monde!

After a twelve hour flight next to the most insane American ever created (I will blog about this in greater detail later. I have pages and pages written about it in my notebook), I arrived in Paris at midday yesterday and then spent a very long time waiting for my bag to arrive at the baggage claim (if there's one thing that American airports are slightly good at sometimes, it's getting all the bags there in one go, rather than sending out a steady drip of luggage) and then waiting for my Laotian cab driver to believe that I wasn't Italian (Es tu italien? No, suis americain! No! Ouais!)

I met my parents at the apartment and we wandered around the Eiffel Tower and the Champ de Mars. There is a Christmas Village (Village de Noel) up at the foot of the Champ de Mars right now. I have taken many photos of all of this, but I forgot to bring my Compact Flash reader so there will be no photos until I am back in the United States.

My brother and his fiance arrived at 10 last night, and so we got a late start today.  I was the first person awake today, at 10:30, so I made us a pot of coffee and put out our Parisian breakfast spread: bread, cheese, jam and ham. I was not allowed to buy fig jam at the marche yesterday ("Gross!" my father said), but this morning Nathan and Emily wished that there were fig jam. Stuck between a rock and a hard place I am.

We are going to take a stroll through the 7e visiting Les Invalides and go through the Pletzl to end up in the Latin Quarter. If we have time we will take my mom to Ile St Louis where there are a lot of little craft stores.

I'm Leaving on a Jet Plane

While those of the Christian faith celebrate the birth of my homie Jesus, I am figuring out what to put in my carry-on for Air France Flight Number 83, San Francisco International to Charles De Gaulle, leaving later today. As those readers who have the pleasure of spending any amount of time with me know, the family has decided to forgo the usual Christmas voyage nearer to the equator (most recently Hawaii and Costa Rica) to brave a slightly northern lattitude and the decidedly non-coastal pleasures of Paris.

The last time I went to Paris, I arrived dazed and confused in the morning, looking something like this:

That is, in fact, exactly what I looked like. I took that photo on the RER from CDG to Gare du Nord  on my way to meet my friend Rebecca at our hotel near the Bastille. As you can see, I was quite tired and wearing a blue hoodie, which was once a staple of the Seth wardrobe, but now unrecognizable to most. I also had a lot more hair going on back then as was the fashion at the time. But that was in July, when Paris is muggy and prone to thunderstorms. We were there during a then-record heat wave, and it felt more like a California summer than anything else.

How/Why I Flirted With A Gay Man

A week or so ago, I flirted with a gay man.

Details of my foray onto the "other team":

I had rushed to the Banana Republic from work on a Wednesday night because I had been given an awesome coupon: 40% off any one item on that day only.

I got to the store around 7:00 and went through my customary BR routine: Walk around the store and grab anything that remotely interests me, then get into a dressing room where I immediately become overwhelmed at the amount of stuff I've accumulated. The next 30 minutes were spent sequestered in the dressing room, working my way through the pile of cardigans and khaki.

I finally emerged from the dressing room--with a problem. I couldn't decide between two items: a navy and red plaid shirt or a grey half zip sweater. For the life of me, I couldn't decide which of the two I liked more.

I ended this dilemma by deciding to buy both items (which is exactly why BR created this coupon. Who goes into BR and buys just one item? No one, that's who.)

So I get to the checkout counter and here's where the magic happened.

Before I go into detail into my interaction (flirtation?) with the BR associate, a quick fact that one must know about me that comes into play in this story: I'm a friendly, midwestern guy who has the ability to strike up a meaningful conversation with just about anyone. This gift enables me to meet interesting people in most environments. This weekend I even befriended a regular at Molotov's--while dressed as Santa. For anyone not familiar with Molotov's, this is the equivalent of a duck hunter being invited into a PETA convention.

I strike up a banter with the BR associate, hoping that I can eventually steer the conversation onto how we can stretch my 40% discount over both my items.

I started the conversation with a healthy dose of commiseration, thinking that taking his side ("You must be ready to get out of here. It was probably a real busy day, with this coupon and all.") was the best strategy. I was right on the money, with conversation immediately flowing freely between associate and coupon-conscious customer.

A couple minutes into this exchange, I began to realize that the associate was taking a lot of care in making sure that I had found everything I was looking for and that my "shopping experience had been enjoyable." It was somewhere between him asking me which salesperson had helped me and gingerly placing my expertly folded clothes into a BR bag that I realized what was actually going on: Oh shit, I'm flirting with this guy.

The realization should have hit me much earlier: the intelligent banter, kind smiles being exchanged, etc. To a casual observer (maybe a casual observer more adept/experienced in interactions between gay men) it probably would have been obvious that I was flirting with the guy.

It was at this point that I consciously decided to keep doing what I was doing. I figured that I had the best chance at success if the sparks were still glowing when I pulled out my credit card.

Sure enough, almost on cue, upon handing over my coupon my (lovestruck?) associate lowers his voice and whispers that "he's not supposed to, but he can apply the 40% discount to both items." Clearly, a coupon/flirtation win (receipt below).

Funny the things that happen when you live in SF for over a year.

Evolution Of The Hipster 2000-2009

It looks like Paste Magazine was inspired to chronicle the San Francisco hipster as well. Maybe we have readers who are also Paste Magazine staffers?

Evolution Of The Hipster 2000-2009: "This spread in the November issue of Paste Magazine shows the evolution of the Bay Area hipster through the noughties from Emo to the Meta-Nerd."

Rainy Day Day Dreaming

It's raining cats and dogs in San Francisco, so I am camping out in my pajamas and staging a bed-in against the weather. This inevitably reminds me of my childhood, on those days when we would make pancakes and play Super Mario Brothers and never leave the house until late in the afternoon. The artist Vasco Mourao also reminds me of my childhood, of late nights spent poring of David Macauly books about castles and cathedrals. The endless line drawings of complex architectural patterns is burned into my visual memory, and Mourao is taking it to previously unforeseen dimensions and complexity.

AWKWARD MOMENTS ON CHAT

I’m a person prone to awkwardness, especially when it comes to communicating with others. Even though I constantly strive to avoid clumsiness in my interactions with others, I oftentimes fail miserably—across all mediums of communication.

The most recent place that I’ve noticed an intrusion of awkward moments is while on Gmail chat, a place in which I spend a significant portion of my day.

Awkward Gmail Chat Moment #1: Dual Conversations

Conversation is cruising along steadily on one topic, with both participants actively discussing the topic at hand. Suddenly, while Person A is typing (and thanks to the infinite innovation that is Gmail chat, you can actually see that this person is typing), presumably about to continue on the current topic of conversation, Person B suddenly asks an off-topic question or comments on something completely out of left field. Person A then hits enter, thereby continuing the conversation around the original topic.

Both people are now the proud owners of an awkward dual conversation: a concurrent, two topic chat.

If the chatters are experienced, the topic of lesser importance will eventually die off (usually after a couple of lines). But sometimes, the dual conversation can linger, with both people trying to comment on both topics at once. Personally, I find maintaining dialogue on two topics at once confusing and unnatural.

This dual conversation, once extinguished, can also be ignited later in the conversation, should one of the participants remember something relevant that they’d like to share. It’s like never-ending birthday candles, persistent to the point of annoyance.

Awkward Gmail Chat Moment #2: Long Pauses

Any time there’s a long pause, it can get awkward. Just think of the last first date you were on, remember when the conversation slowed?

The same goes for Gmail chat. In fact, it’s even a more obvious when there’s a long pause because of the time stamp. If you’re the last person who’s typed something, the time stamp gives you a physical reminder of how long you’ve been ignored.

Pauses are sometimes necessary. When I’m being ignored, I often look to the person’s status. If I see that they’ve gone idle, I know that a bathroom break or mtg has taken them from their computer. If they’re red, I realize that something’s come up that they have to focus on.

I start to feel neglected when the person has stayed green, but hasn’t changed their status or typed anything to me for a while. Because if they’re still green without changing a thing, that means they’re chatting with others and ignoring me.

Only thing worse is when I’m at the office and can see that person sitting at their desk, hammering away with Gmail open and my most recent ping flashing at the bottom right of their screen.

Awkward Gmail Chat Moment #3: The Grinding Wind Down

Often preceded by the Long Pause, the Grinding Wind Down is the point at which both participants have nothing left to—literally—chat about.

You can feel it: your conversation has been forced by both parties for the last couple minutes, each of you quickly running out of things to say. That's when the Grinding Wind Down hits, usually taking the form of one word responses that don’t spur additional conversation.

What can you respond to someone who just typed “haha”? Answer: nothing.

Unless, of course, there’s another topic you can chat about.

It's Fitness Time, Homies

We all ate too much at Thanksgiving. For some it was mashed potatoes, for others it was Chinese food. But the important thing is that we did not work out. And now we are entering the most important time of the year to have a firm butt: Corporate Holiday Party.

Nothing says opportunity like spending a night with gainfully employed singles in a venue surrounded by colleagues and superiors. Which is why you must make every accidental touch count.

"Oh, was that a table or your ass?" you might hear if you get to work and lunge, and squat, and run toward firming those muscles and sucking in that gut.

If you need inspiration, well, there's a man above who's willing to give you some.

Image from http://www.towleroad.com/2009/11/get-your-hot-squats-and-thrusts-here.html

Time Lapse Mushrooms: The Art of Phallic Imagery

This is just awesome. Mushrooms growing from mere babes to towering giants, with a delicate, muzak soundtrack. 





via http://whatweretheskieslike.blogspot.com/

You know you've left San Francisco when...

Taxi drivers have no desire to talk to you.

In San Francisco, it is hardly uncommon to discover that your cab driver holds a Phd. I remember one ride where the driver effortlessly flipped a discussion of Marina bars into a lecture on Malbec wines. He followed with a postmodern analysis of Nietzsche's Will to power that went miles over my head. But thanks to BlueTooth headsets and New Yorkers' congenital disinterest in stopping and smelling the roses (hey, they get shit done), New York is different. As I sat in the taxi from JFK at 1AM, I was not welcome in the immutable conversation that was taking place on the other side of the plastic divider. Though I couldn't understand the language, I was intrigued: "Who on EARTH is this guy talking to!? His mother? Ever since she learned how to text, my mother has texted me three times a day saying how much she loves me... And even she would have hung up on me hours ago."

They call it Silicon Alley.

Everyone j-walks.

It has always astounded me that no one ever pays bus fare in San Francisco, but walking across the street on red is almost as bad as being caught throwing a recyclable bottle into a trash can. Not the case at Astor Place.

You're more likely to incite a brawl with a Boston fan at a Knicks/Celtics game if you're wearing a Lakers jersey.

You're ordering burgers and your friend wonders, "Animal style??? Like a sex position? Oh... you mean like we saw those people doing in that park when I visited San Francisco!"

A couple Jews from Berkeley make the best burrito in town
Seriously, congrats Oliver! Check out Dos Toros

Bar None doesn't suck

I lied. Never went because my friends said it sucks. I guess some things never change!