Some bars to check out if you’re trying to get a head
After spending time in SOMA, I often ponder one of life’s greatest mysteries: why do so many bars in San Francisco have the same stuffed heads? The only logical answer is that hipsters love taxidermy. To wit: remember the anthropomorphic mouse craze? Remember the first time you stepped into Paxton Gate in the Mission?
I like macabre décor, and I’m from a small town in Oregon where huntin’, fishin’ and muddin’ are major pastimes. Because I enjoy a good dive bar with real taxidermy, I’ve captured a range of San Francisco’s many mounts. Behold the myriad local dives where you can gawk at large mammal heads.
Last week I went on a business trip to Humboldt County. Are you wondering what business I’m in? Arcata is a strange place but redneck hippies are a group I’m familiar with being from just up the coast in Coos Bay, Oregon. I had lunch my first day at The Depot, Humboldt State University’s food court. There were no cups anywhere. No cups allowed! I needed my Diet Coke fix so I asked for a cup and was charged $1!
Later that afternoon it was coffee break time and I asked my colleagues about the cuplessness. It turned out for the bargain price of $0.75, I could get a mason jar for all my beverage containing needs. Wow! That’s some hardcore environmentalist action, the likes I’ve never seen in Berkeley. Cal is trying to be greener but nowhere near as committed.
I figured this was just a hippie university thing but no. That night I went for nigiri to go and asked for a Diet Coke to drink while I waited. The hostess forgot and then presented me with my sushi and drink to take away in a soup container. It did not fit into my cup holder.
I like Albany’s Eugene. I don’t like it because of the food, drinks, or ambience. I like it because they named it after the city in Oregon (not the man’s name) where my beloved Oregon Ducks play. I have mad Oregon pride. Oregonians are some of the best people in the world.
I had an awkward brunch date at Eugene (shout out to my friend S who was randomly there and tried to save me). We only ate there because there were about 25 people on the list waiting for a table at Sam’s Log Cabin on San Pablo Avenue and it was about to close. I don’t like fancy breakfast unless you count silver dollar pancakes. Brunch at Eugene is fancy. There may have been a lot of polenta and kale on the menu but I forget.
My second visit to Eugene was to have a drink while waiting for a table at Little Star. I don’t like the chunky tomato stuff that they put on deep-dish pizzas but that’s another post. I ordered the Purple Rain cocktail, duh. It has gin, crème de violet, maraschino, chartreuse, lemon, and sparkling wine. It does look kind of like polluted (purple) rain water. All I tasted was lemon.
Poor Prince. First he has to die and then he has to have shitty cocktails named after him. Real charmers we Oregonians are, I know.
I used to go to the movies all the time. My first real boyfriend and I were in a theater every weekend. For years I happily went to movies by myself. I saw everything. I can’t remember exactly when my relationship with movies got rocky. I walked out of Black Swan because I hated it. I do however, remember my breaking point. I thought Gravity sucked. There was so much hype and so many Oscars. WTF?
I rarely go to a theater to see a movie these days. It has a lot to do with the fact that I’d rather be out interacting with people or home reading in my pajamas. It’s expensive. If I’m not going to see things blow up spectacularly (have I mentioned my love of the Fast and Furious?) or learn something (did you know the spacesuits in the Martian were 3D printed?), I’m not interested. Not even the surge of drinking theaters is enough to draw me in. I actually saw both Furious 7 and the Martian on iTunes so they don’t count as far as movies I’d see in the theater.
I was invited to an Oscar gathering last night, which I attended to see my friends dressed up and for the mini hot dogs and Chris Rock’s monologue. I left early. I was reminded that I saw Mad Max Fury Road in a theater twice. The first time I exclaimed, “This is so fucking cool!” after the opening scene and embarrassed my now ex boyfriend. We were in the Kabuki in San Francisco. That place is really nice. I don’t have to listen to 4 year olds snivel, “Why is that bear doing that to Leo daddy?” because some creepy parents brought their kids to see the Revenant (not something that actually happened to me, I wouldn’t touch that movie with a ten foot pole). I was happy that Mad Max won a lot of technical awards. I liked that the people winning those awards were cheeky Brits/women wearing pants.
I think the only other movies I watched in the theater this year were with my mom and my friend and my friend’s mom in Coos Bay, Oregon. We saw Inside Out (if only Mindy Kaling had played Lust), Joy (I love you JLaw but, bleck!”), and Sisters (T, you’re lucky you and I are still friends). I also saw Magic Mike XXL (I’d see that over Room any day, I read the book and exactly who the fuck thought it would be a good movie?) and Goodnight Mommy (I walked out) on friend outings. That’s it. If you like torture, go see a double feature of Inside Out and Goodnight Mommy.
Does anyone want to watch Spotlight or the Big Short on iTunes with me?
When I lived in Long Beach in my 20s, I went out with a comedian and television writer named Brian. Some dates in I brought him a Baskin and Robbins ice cream cake with my name written in pink frosting on it. Fail. In my early 30s in Oakland I made an advent calendar for Peter, a CEO with fascinating long form essays tucked away in 24 envelopes. Fail.
I once wrote lyrics from R.E.M.’s King of Birds in Sharpie on someone’s locker. I was on a radio show sharing the love letters I had written every week for three years. I made a scavenger hunt (not the creepy Gone Girl kind), which ended with a trail of candles leading to me wearing lingerie and a flashing heart necklace I’d picked up at a rave. There’s the Fallout sugar cookie plot I mentioned in my first post and the time I sent my underwear to someone residing in a Buddhist monastery. More than once on a 2nd or 3rd date, I’ve given out small jars of the jam my mother and I make in the summers with strawberries picked in her coastal Oregon garden. I learned to fold intricate origami penguins, craft a Sailor’s Valentine and mold chocolates shaped like a bird skull. Fails, except for the lingerie.
Recently, I read about the 5 Love Languages and how it makes a lot of sense to discuss with someone what makes them feel loved before donating a kidney (I possess both my kidneys). The question I have about the love languages thing is this: isn’t every guy’s love language physical touch? Sex before kidney donation?
To my question, I’ll share with you my 3 moves that work every time.
I’m the librarian type but I’ll sometimes wear colorful ripped fishnet stockings
On a first date if I want to get to first base, I’ll get up from the bar, plant one on the guy’s cheek, and let him watch me walk sexy like to the bathroom