Matt Forderer - you can paint stuff for me any day.

I saw this picture a week or so ago and haven't been able to stop staring at it. I even made it the picture on the desktop of my computer at work. I'm just fascinated by it. I think to myself where in my  house would be a great spot for this picture. I think it would complement my yellow and orange kitchen very nicely.

Hey Derya, what's with the roux?

I made another recipe from Ayla E. Algar's book Classical Turkish Cooking: Traditional Turkish Food for the American Kitchen.
This recipe comes from page 37; Creamy Red Lentil Soup.

To make this you cook some onions in butter (I used canola oil) in a thick bottomed pot, add lentils and stock and cook until tender.
The recipe says to push the cooked lentils through a sieve, throw away the solids and keep what you push through the sieve. I had a problem with this for two reasons - 1) I'm poor. Thowing away lentils that one can't smash down small enough is wasting food that can fill my belly and 2) I really really hate cleaning strainers. The food gets caught in the holes and I have to take a wire brush to remove everything, sometimes having to take a toothpick and poke holes through the dried up food. I try to avoid using strainers, in favor of using the collander or the hand mixer.
I ended up using the hand mixer and getting the lentils as small as possible, pushed the lentils through the sieve and then tossed the sieve. I hated that sieve, anyways.
OK, so after that you make a roux and put it in the soup. Then you take some milk, beat a few egg yolks in it and then add that mixture to the soup.

While the soup is cooking, the cookbook says to take some bread cubes and fry them in butter to use as garnish. I had a 2 day old loaf of Grace Pugliese. I cut it into cubes, tossed it with a bit of olive oil and stuck in the oven.

The soup plated up nicely. The toasted bread on top was a good complement to the meal. The soup wasn't really super freakin' fantastic, but it was good. Nobody had seconds, but everyone finished their firsts. The Girl chose to use the bread cubes as chips and the soup as salsa to eat her soup. The Boy didn't really eat any, but sometimes he isn't into dinner. Sometimes he totally chows on dinner, but that night he wasn't really interested.

I told Derya I made the soup. She said that was her favorite thing in the book. When I told her I didn't understand why the roux was necessary, what with the egg ... and she stopped me and said "Egg?, my mom never used egg."

Just like the Chicken Pudding, the Creamy Red Lentil Soup wasn't yucky, it just wasn't remarkable.

I think on Sunday I will try to make Manti, it's sort of like ravioli made with ground lamb.

Thanks Noah's

If you remember, last week or so I wrote about Noah's Bagels and their customer service shortcomings that I experienced one morning. If you don't, you can read about it here.

Yesterday afternoon I got an email from the district manager of Noah's in San Francisco. In it she apologized for the bad customer service I received and asked for my address so she can send me a gift certificate.

Thank you Noah's for your followthrough.

I look forward to receiving this gift certificate. I plan to purchase a pumpernickle bagel toasted with cream cheese, tomato and onion, and a medium Midtown coffee.

Is 6th grade the new 7th grade?

Last Friday was The Girl's last day of 5th grade. She tells me she's going into Junior High next Fall. When did 6th grade become Junior High?  Did it become so when 9th grade became High School?

See, where I come from, my Junior High started at 7th grade, went through 9th grade, then I started High School in the 10th grade. The High School I went to did have a 9th grade but not very many people availed themselves of it. If The Girl wants to refer to 6th grade as Junior High, I guess she can go ahead, but I'm not willing to let her grow up that quickly. To me, she's still in Primary School.

One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Ten!
What about Nine?
Seven Eight Nine.

Chicken Pudding - ACoLab #2

My friend Anika posted Theme #2 on her ACoLab blog.
Inspiration: Your bedside table

This one is a little more broad. Is there a book that inspires a song? Is there a photograph to inspire you to create something? A cookbook with a recipe you tried that held an interesting story to write about? I'll stop hinting at ideas and await your creation. Happy creating!

Here's my entry -

You Turkey! Oh wait, um . . . . I mean “You Chicken”!


One day Hubby brought home a cookbook. Not sure where it came from, how he got it or why he decided that this particular cookbook would be a good addition to our home, but upon one of our bookcases in the kitchen did this new cookbook take its place. Yes, we do indeed have 2 bookshelves in our kitchen filled with cookbooks and books about food.

The book was (and still is) called Classical Turkish Cooking: Traditional Turkish Food for the American Kitchen by Ayla E. Algar.

When we first got the cookbook I leafed through it. The recipes sounded delicious. One recipe caught my eye; Tavuk Göğüsü. It was a dessert made with chicken breast. In all honestly, I think it caught my eye because it sounded kind of gross. The rest of the recipes, however, sounded yummy. I decided that if the rest of the recipes were good, then this one, however weird sounding it was to my American tastes, it was probably good; either that or it was one of those things that one has to grow up with to enjoy like Marmite, Natto or Lutefisk.

The cookbook sat on my shelf for a few years, forgotten.

Flash forward to modern day.

I work with a woman from Turkey. Her name is Derya. Derya is very quiet. She doesn’t initiate conversation very often, but when someone else starts the conversation, she’s very friendly and has a good sense of humor. We often get lunch together. Sometimes we sit and eat it together, but a lot of the time we go back to our individual desks and eat while we work.

I brought Ms. Algar’s cookbook to work with me and asked her to pick out some recipes that I should make. She came back to me a week later with a list. On that list was Tavuk Göğüsü with a little smiley face next to it.

I made this recipe last Monday night. I don’t think it turned out as good as it could have and I get the feeling that some old woman in Turkey that’s been making this dessert her whole life could probably make it really yummy and beautiful looking.

The dessert called for -
The breast of a freshly slaughtered 3lb chicken – I used some frozen chicken tenders I bought at Trader Joe’s.
Milk – I used Horizon Organic Vitamin D milk
Rice Flour – I used Uncle Bob’s Red Mill Organic Brown Rice Flour
Sugar – I used C&H Sugar that had a vanilla bean inside of it for the last 6 months.

There are a few more steps involved than this, but basically you boil the milk and sugar, make a slurry out of some milk and the flour, combine, boil and then add the chicken and stir until thick.

From this point one can spoon into pretty dishes and serve.

The author also suggested putting the pudding in a heavy bottom sheet pan and put over a burner to gently burn the bottom. I tried this method. It made the house smell like burnt marshmallows and chicken. After cooling, I should have been able to cut the pudding into strips and then make sort of a jelly-roll shape out of it. That part didn’t work out too well. I guess I didn’t cook the pudding enough to thicken as much as it should. Also, the bottom didn’t get crusty enough. The whole dessert just looked like a giant mass of pudding skin.

We all took a bite out of it on Sunday night. Hubby and The Boy had some yesterday as a snack. The Boy liked it - he's 2 and it was sticky and sweet, of course he liked it. The Girl and I didn’t care for it very much.

I told Derya about my adventure in making it. She told me I did something wrong and that I shouldn’t have been able to detect the chicken in the pudding.

My question is why add the chicken? If it wasn’t supposed to add any flavor, what purpose did it serve? It’s not like chicken breast has any fat, connective tissue or collagen to speak of that would have helped with the thickening process. It didn’t seem to have a purpose other than maybe adding some protein, but if it’s a dessert, why would it need protein? One would assume the protein was contained in the main part of the meal. Why would it be in the dessert?
Anyhow, the process of making this dessert, my interaction with Derya, my fondness for blogging, my joy of cooking and feeding my family and my desire to enjoy foods in all its forms has inspired me to make the rest of the recipes Derya suggested. I’ll possibly write about those ones as well.

Noah's Bagels - We don't just like 'em stupid, we like 'em rude, too.

This morning I had to go to an off-site meeting in Napa.

On the way there I stopped at the Noah's Bagels by my house.
I stopped there for three reasons --
1- I forgot to make coffee last night so wasn't able to just press play before I hopped in the shower so I could have a hot cuppa joe ready for me after my shower
2 - I didn't have any cash on had so I couldn't stop at The Sea Biscuit Cafe
3 - Noah's coffee is generally pretty good and I've often made trips there for just coffee

A little background - The Noah's Bagels by my house has never been known to have the smartest employees. They've never been particularly quick-witted, but they've never ever been rude. There was one older lady that was a little terse, but she was fair, efficient and not stupid so she was OK. I don't think she's there anymore. Most of the time my order was slightly wrong but there was never, ever anything wrong with the coffee. It seems like they are now hiring both rude and stupid people, who don't know anything about coffee.

This morning I went into my local Noah's. I was the only one in there.

Lady: "good morning ma'am"
Me: "Hi, can I have a large cup of coffee and a pumpernickel bagel toasted with cream cheese, tomato and onion?"
Lady: "sure, large coffee and pumpernickel bagel w/ 2 veg"
Then she walks over to an order machine - something that she puts the order into so it'll show up on a screen not 2 feet behind her. She looks at me.
Lady: "so you have what kind of bagel?"
Me: "pumpernickel"
Lady "what did you have on it?
Me "toasted w/ cream cheese, tomato and onion"
Lady: "ok, anything else"
Me: "yes, a large coffee"
Then she walks 2 feet to her right and re-enters the order into the cash register. I pay. A few seconds pass.
Me: "can I have my coffee cup?"
Lady: "what size was that?"

I go to pour myself some Midtown coffee. It's translucent. I decide to try the Soho. It's translucent. I go back to the register and tell the lady the coffee is wrong. She asks the lady making my bagel to go check out the coffee. The lady making my bagel gets a cup, fills the cup half way, looks at it, shows it to me and says "what's wrong with it?" I look at her and say "it's translucent". She looks at me with a puzzled look. I tell her I'm not supposed to be able to see through the coffee to the bottom of the cup. The lady at the register asks her if there is anything wrong with the coffee. She answers with "I don't know. I don't drink coffee."
Then, with a very loud "harrumph" she takes the coffee pot from its cradle and brings it to the back and tells someone to start a new pot. He starts it a few minutes later.
A few minutes after that, the first lady comes up to me and tells me she can fill my coffee. I tell her it's not done brewing yet. She said that there's enough to fill my cup. I tell her that while that may be so, what she'll be giving me is a super-duper strong cup of coffee and then the rest of her customers who got coffee would get a sub-standard weak cup of coffee. I tell her I'm OK to wait so all of us could have the coffee experience the higher-powers at Noah's would like for us to have. Her response was "but there's enough to fill your cup." I gave up trying to explain this to her and just decided to drink the super strong coffee and let the rest of her customers suffer by offering them compromised coffee.

After I got my coffee I tried to explain it to her again. She grabbed a pen, started doodling scribbles on a napkin, looked up at me and said "thanks ma'am, have a nice day".

I won't be going back for a while. The retention rate of this particular Noah's seems pretty low, however. I'll start going back in a few months when the next crop of short-term employees show up.

Gifts - and making Martin Luther a little pissed about those darn donuts.

Last Sunday was Pentecost. Hubby, Kiddies and I went to Church. We didn't go because it was Pentecost, we just went, and then realized "Hey, it's Pentecost. We picked a good day to go to Church."

If you're not familiar with what Pentecost is, click here. OK, yes, it's a link to the wikipedia's Pentecost page, but it explains Pentecost in a nutshell without sounding all preachy and stuff.

Anyhow, this day is frequently referred to as the Birthday of the Church. What do we get on our birthdays? Cake, yes. And what else? That's right, presents. Yay presents.

I grew up in the church. When I was a kid we went to church every sunday, rain or shine, sick or well. We weren't allowed to spend the night at our friends' houses on saturdays because we had to go to church on Sunday. We couldn't stay up and watch Fantasy Island because it was on too late and wouldn't be able to get a good night's sleep to be awake for church. We also had to go to 8am church. My mom didn't want to go to 10:30 church because she said too much of the day was gone. When we started going to Bethany, my two oldest sisters either said they had to work, or they didn't live with us anymore, and they stopped going. My sister who is just older than me and I still went every Sunday. They would make us go to Sunday School while they went out to breakfast. We were always late to Sunday School, and sometimes we'd skip it because we spent too long sneaking over to St. Cyprians across the street to get doughnuts, and yes, we spent all our offering money at the Catholic Church getting doughnuts. I asked my mom once (only once) why she and my dad didn't have to go to adult sunday school while we went to regular sunday school. She said they didn't need to go. As I got older I realized it was probably one of the only times during the week they got to spend alone together. With 4 kids, they probably didn't get to spend much time without a kid around. But still, they should have gone if they were going to make us go.

Anyhow, back to the presents.

Growing up I was taught that God gives us gifts, special talents. These gifts serve two purposes. One - they serve as proof that God exists, Two - using these gifts praises God.

Growing up I was always really pissed off that I didn't have a gift. I don't play any musical instrument with any particular skill - I used to play the flute and I strum on the ukulele a little bit but I'm no Herbie Mann or Jake Shimabukuro. I like to cook, but I'm not the best cook ever. I can sing without breaking glasses or making dogs howl but I won't be making any gold records. I can hula dance, but most of the people I dance with are way better than me. I can acquit myself well on many things, but I wouldn't say that any of these things are my gifts.
The pastor on Sunday talked about a type of gift I hadn't realized. It falls under the first category of gifts - they serve as proof that God exists. He said that anyone can learn how to play the piano and they can become quite proficient if they practice for 6 hours every day.  Anyone can accomplish just about whatever they set their minds on. It doesn't mean that that one thing is their gift.  It just means they practice a lot. That's not to say it can't be their gift, it just means that it might not necessarily be their gift.
A gift, he said, can be sprung upon you at any time in the form of showing courage at a time when it is really needed or having the gift of debating someone when you aren't really known for making great arguments.

So, I'm still waiting for mine. Maybe I have it already and I'm too stupid to see it. Maybe it's just germinating inside me and it'll pop out of the soil soon. Maybe it'll be sprung upon me at a time when I need it most.
I'm cool to wait. I'm paid by the hour.

Anika's project.

My friend Anika started a great new project. I'm proud to have gotten in on the ground floor of this one. She posts a theme, a picture, a thought, etc. and invites anyone who comes across her blog to create something arty that reflects the theme of her chosen project. It's called ACoLab.

The first theme she presented was this. It's a picture of the cityscape of Manhattan.

To view my entry go here.  Then, make sure to take a look at the other entries.

Theme #2 requires a bit more thought, but boy do I have a good one.

Stay tuned . . . . .

It's better to lose track of a spider than to kill a spider.

I spent part of last week at a Napa hotel for a company-wide meeting.

As I was walking back to my room one night the biggest spider attempted to cross my path, but stopped short when he saw me. Its body was about penny in circumference and about quarter-size if you were to account for his legs. He had a big round abdomen shaped like a black widow but he was kinda brownish/black with lots and lots of yellow dots all over him. He had come out of the low lying flower bed and it looked to me that he was attempting to cross the walk-way and go into the adjacent low-lying flower bed. I tried to take pictures of him but all of them just looked like a blurry thumb.

He was pretty cool looking. I tried to find a picture of one of his bretheren online to figure out what he was. All of my research, which consisted of searching for about 10 minutes, came up with this. I think he's a variety of an Orb Web Spider.

(I have to note that looking at spider websites to find this spider made me feel really creeped out and now I'm all itchy.)

Anyhow, the next day I boarded a coach that was going to take me to various winery and vineyard locations for a day of education. There were two people, a man whose name I don't remember and a woman who works in my office named CV, sitting behind me that were talking just about the whole way there and back. 

The woman told the man this story,
CV and her Hubby used to live in  this one house. Her Hubby has the reputation for taking exception to the killing of our arachnid friends. A spider had taken residence in an unused corner of their house. I'm not sure where in the house but let's pretend it was in their living room to the right of their sofa, and it had a pretty good view of the outside world, and an even better view of the TV. The Hubby didn't want to kill the spider, and it didn't really bother CV so they just left it there. Once in a while they would prune the web so it wouldn't get out of control but for the most part they left Mr. Spider alone.
Then the time came for CV and her Hubby to get a new house. Don't know why they moved from one house to another but for the purposes of this story it doesn't really matter. It dawned on the Hubby that once they moved the new occupants of their former home would probably kill the spider, not knowing the spider's history and the good mojo that surrounded it. Feeling a connection to Mr. Spider, the Hubby put it into a jar and transported it to their new home hoping it would find the same happiness it had found at the old house. Soon after, they lost track of the spider. I'd like to think that the spider crawled outside to enjoy the bigger world, scurried off into the sunset and died a happy spider. I'd also like to think that CV and her hubby think about the spider from time to time and smile.

Now, I've never met the Hubby, and I've probably only had about 7 conversations with CV, mostly having to do with the weather or how our weekends were, in the 4 years she and I have worked for the same company but I've always thought she was a friendly person and I liked the chili she made us all try when she was entering some chili cook-off competition. Hearing the spider story, though, made me like her a little bit more.

Shimmy in the Chimney

I had a dream about Sir Paul McCartney.

Sir Paul McCartney and I were walking down Geary St. Sir Paul McCartney was wearing an Ice Cream Suit and I was carrying a digital camera. Sir Paul McCartney wanted me to take his picture inside the chimney of some sort of meeting hall on the south side of Geary Street located somewhere west of Park Presidio and east of 23rd Avenue. We got to the entrance of the meeting hall and it was full of people. The entrance was a big D shaped lobby with two conference rooms breaking off from the top and the bottom of the curve of the D. There was a fire place on the straight side of the D. The people in the dream, who all looked like Farmer Hoggart's wife from Babe, went into the conference rooms. Sir Paul McCartney climbed up into the chimney. He wanted me to lie on my back in the ashes of the fireplace and shoot up the chimney while he did what ever it was he was going to do. People started coming out of the conference rooms so I couldn't get in the fireplace to take Sir Paul McCartney's photo so I just stuck my arm inside the fireplace, aimed the camera up and snapped as many pics as I could. Everyone thought it was weird. I left before they kicked me out, leaving Sir Paul McCartney in the chimney. I never heard from him again.

I Like Hot Butter On My Taca, Taca Taco Bell.

I had a dream last night -

I was working at Taco Bell in Long Beach, the one on the corner of Sterns and Palo Verde. Not the one that's there now, though, the one that used to be there before Tom's Liquor was razed. I wasn't very happy I had to work, and was even unhappier I had to work there. It got really busy. They had me working on the register but I didn't know where any of the buttons were and I was super slow. I started working the line but was really slow there, too. I wasn't as fast as I was in high school (yes, I worked at Taco Bell in high school). I was trying to stir the meat to make sure the orange grease-juice was incorporated well but there were big chunks of hamburger in there. Then some kid came up to me and started yelling at me that the meat wasn't "bready" enough. I assured him that there was plenty of filler in the Taco Bell meat and even went to the back to get a bag of the instant meat product to show him the listed ingredients to show him that I was right. He still didn't believe me. I thought I was off work at midnight, so at 11:55 I drained the water from the steam table and made myself a taco wrapped in a burrito. I took a bite and then the manager came in and told me that I wasn't off work until 1am (except he said 13 o'clock). I told him that was stupid and bogus. Tons of customers started coming in so I had to refill the steam table with more water. Then Mike from this season's American Idol came in. He was sweet on me. I had a crush on him too but was hesitant because, y'know, I am married afterall. I left work telling my boss "Eff this noise, I'm going to Mike's house." We walked to his house. He lived on Vuelta Grande St. His house was huge with lots of patios and wicker furniture. His mom came out and handed me a bunch of clothes and said they were hand-me-downs and I was welcome to them. Mike and I were hanging out on the couch and my co-worker/friend KQ, who in real life is blond, really pretty and swears like a sailor made "Isaac from the LoveBoat Guns" at me and said "I don't mean to brag, I don't mean to boast but I like hot butter on my breakfast toast" and then left. I told Mike I had to leave because I was married and so I did and he was mad.

One Hungry Chef made me Hungry.

A few days ago I read this post from OneHungryChef.com. I like reading this guy's blog. His pictures are beautiful. His writing is engaging and his recipies are delicious sounding. I first stumbled upon him back in October when I wrote a post about BLTs.
Anyhow, I made one of his recipies, kinda. One of his recipies inspired me.
I made Cod cooked in Parchment Paper, Oven roasted tomatoes, roasted asparagus and roasted potatoes. We enjoyed our dinner with Drylands Sauvignon Blanc. It was pretty yummy. Hubby made the tomatoes. He cut the tomatoes in half and sprinkled salt, pepper and olive oil on them and popped them in the oven for a few hours. The asparagus was done pretty much the same way but it only spent about 20 minutes in the oven. I like my asparagus to be firm. Mushy asparagus is yucky. I put the fish on a bed of lemon slice, sprinkled with herbes d'provence and wrapped in parchment paper. I sliced the potatoes, gave a toss with olive oil and salt and pepper.

It turned out pretty yummy. Thanks One Hungry Chef.

Good Day Sunshine!

What a nice afternoon.

Hubby was on an errand. Not super certain what we wanted to do but knowing full-well that I didn't want to drive I suggested to The Girl that we put The Boy in his stroller and walk down to Java Beach for an ice cream. Java Beach is a great place; free wireless, Guiness and Sierra on tap, hot chocolate, sandwiches, right across the street from the SF Zoo, and only a 10 minute walk from my house. I think sometimes they may be a little too busy for their staff to handle and their sandwiches and service is not always consistent, but they are a friendly neighborhood place. Every time I go there I see a familiar face from The Girl's school or the neighborhood.
Anyhow, we got The Boy in his stroller and walked over to Java Beach. Thankfully there was a table (most of the time there are a lot of campers there taking advantage of the free wireless, not buying anything and taking up a table for hours on end). The Girl got a cone and The Boy and I got a cup to share. He stole most of it and I only got a few bites, but no matter. It's not like my ass needs a lot of ice cream to rival  The Grande Odalisque.
We also got an iced tea to share but it wasn't sweet enough to The Girl's liking so she went and got a lemonade to put into the tea - sort of a guerrilla Arnold Palmer.
Hubby finished his errand and met us at Java Beach. By that time we had found an even better table outside. We hung out for a while and then decided to walk down to Ocean Beach to throw rocks in the water and play on the sand.

It was a perfect San Francisco Day at the Beach. Ocean Beach, for my Southern California friends and Family, is not the kind of beach where one can play. It isn't like Huntington Beach or Seal Beach where one can jump around and play in the waves all day and still expect to be alive at the end of it. Ocean Beach is an angry bitch beach filled with 50 degree water, rip tides, cross currents. Ocean Beach is good for experienced surfers and fisherman. If you aren't either one of those, stick to playing in the sand and only getting your toes wet; which is exactly what we did. The Boy loved the water. The waves would come in, get his feet wet and then rush out. He would laugh and laugh and laugh and scream. When the water would recede he would get super pissed off and demand that the water come back and make him happy again. It would, and he would laugh his little heart out, and then again, get really offended and angry that the waves dare recede. His sister, The Girl had fun digging up sand crabs and then letting them go in the surf.

It was a great afternoon. We walked home sandy, tired and happy.

No Serenade for the Fire Brigade - Dream on 4/19

I had a dream this morning.
 
I was in some kind of loft. I can't tell if it was work or home but I definitely knew my way around the place.  I don't know who I was with but in my dream I knew them. 

We heard a loud constant noise outside. We looked outside and way in the distance we saw a big helicopter, the big military kind that transports troops and gear; the kind with propellers on the front and the back. What are those helicopters called? Chinook, right? Anyhow, objects were coming out the back but we couldn't tell what they were. They were being unloaded one by one in a line. When they got closer we realized they were really buff firemen wearing metallic silver uniforms, sans shirts, riding motorcycles. They landed safely and lined themselves along the street side by side on each side of the street. Upon landing they draped themselves with silver blankets, like the kind that they use in Star Trek -The Next Generation.. 

Then the music started. 

The blankets flew off and the firemen, still silver and sitting on their motorcycles started clapping over their heads to the beat of the music then started chanting

'rise up gather round rock this place up to the ground burn it up go for broke watch the night go up in smoke rock on rock on drive me crazier no serenade to the fire brigade it's pyromania' over and over again.

My boy singing and watching cows.

My Project - Something to do on Muni. Won't you join me?

I've been blogging for over a year now. While still new to the blogging scene I've noticed that some regular bloggers have a weekly theme. Some people only show pictures on Wednesdays. Some bloggers have weekly contests and give-aways. Some take a special day out of the week to have a guest blogger on.

I've always wanted to have a weekly feature and I think I've come up with a good one.
I hope it catches on.

I crochet a lot. Most of the time I crochet to keep my hands busy and don't really make anything useful. Sometimes I find a project, am all gung ho about it until I'm about halfway done, then I get bored and start something else. Sometimes I really like what I'm crocheting but the project gets a little bit too big for me to take on Muni so I give it up and start something else.

Here's what I propose - lets hope that by writing it down it sticks:
Every Thursday (or every Thursday I'm ready to start a new project) I'm going to post a crochet pattern. It will most likely be something I found in the free section on Ravelry or Crochet Pattern Central. My goal will be to start the item on Mondays, crochet through the week and show you what I've made. I will do most, if not all of the crocheting on my commute to and from work on Muni. I will invite everyone who reads my blog and rides Muni to join me in this crochet endeavor. Projects will be small, fast and easy. I will choose patterns where one can choose one's own yarn, gauge, size, etc.


I've always thought that a lot of national retailers (like The Gap, Levis, Target, etc.) kind of miss the boat when it comes to Summer in San Francisco. Most of these places sell only summer clothes. They forget that in San Francisco it can get a bit chilly.

In honor of the upcoming Summer in San Francisco, for my first pattern I've decided to do make this scarf using a very cheery summery color. I plan, however to turn it into an infinity scarf and not just a regular scarf.
I hope you can join me.

Here's a picture.

Dreaming of Muni -

I had a dream about Muni last night / this morning.

Hubby and I were going to catch the F-Market from our house to go to work. We got to the platform and I realized that my fastpass wasn't in the little pocket of my purse where I usually keep it. It was in the jacket pocket, and of course I had left that jacket at home. Being that we're way too poor to pay a fine should a POP officer request to see our POP, we decided to not take the train to work, but rather take the train home. While we're on the train two things happen. 1) my mom is on the train 2 seats ahead of us, notices us and gets all mad that we didn't ride the train with her in the first place, and 2) we realize how stupid we are riding the train because we don't have POP and it doesn't matter that we're going home to get my fastpass instead of going to work. Sure enough the Fare inspectors get on the train. When they get to Hubby and me I explain to the nice POP lady what happened, and thank her for not being my least favorite fare inspector who I'm sure is out to get me, and I ask her where my favorite fare inspector is, y'know, the really large friendly lesbian with a crew cut - tough but friendly and fair. She smiles and walks away.
No ticket for me. Thanks dream-inspector.
Hubby and I get off the train and I don't remember anything else except for a weird stairway, some kids playing lemonade checkers and my mom giving me crap again for not riding the bus with her.

Cows Cows Cows

For some funny reason that I can't figure out, my boy loves cows.
Today he woke up from his nap totally cranky and unhappy. This is what Hubby played over and over and over again to make him happy.

They're totally related, aren't they?

Totally Related. Am I right?

Fire Marshall Bill

and

Nancy Pelosi

#40 is so Stupid - No More Chanting. No More Chanting.

Yesterday Hubby and I took part in the St. Stupid's Day Parade.

I worked half the day then met Hubby at Birley's Sandwiches for one of their yummy cheese sammiches. We then joined a bunch of Stupid People, listened to Grand Marshall Lowell Darling then marched marched marched through the FiDi.
I got to wish Frank Chu a belated 50th Birthday and get my picture taken with him. I saw no less than 9 naked men and Wavy Gravy offered me a Bacon Flavored Gumballs from the back of the Doggie Diner Dog-Head truck.

Here are some lovely pics from the day.