OMG THE LION KING

OMG YOU GUYS I WENT TO SEE THE LION KING TONIGHT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IT WAS SO AMAZING!!!!!!! I CAN'T EVEN BEGIN TO DESCRIBE HOW AWESOME IT WAS!!!!!

If I tried to explain it, it would be like this: “Oh my gosh, it was just so.... the dancing..... the costumes.... beautiful.... just... so... incredible.... creative..... so amazing...... I think I'm going to short-circuit.....” Throw that in with some hand-flapping and hopping, and you've got the real deal. Seeing the Lion King musical has been on my bucket list for years and years, like at least 7 or 8 years. And I was SO UPSET when I found out that it was coming to Wichita, but that I was leaving like a week before it arrived. SO UPSET. So when I found out that it was playing in the city, I hopped on my computer, found some good seats for a good price, and bought them without hesitation.

IT WAS SO AMAZING. We were on the front row of the second balcony, so we could see everything that happened on the floor, and we could see it in a different dimension that what one would typically see. I actually prefer it that way, I think. Then I can see all the stuff that's happening in the back row as well, whereas if I were on the floor, it wouldn't be as clear.

I just about exploded with happiness when “Circle of Life” came on and all the animals came out. THEY WERE SO CREATIVE!!!!! The giraffes and antelope were my favorite, but the elephants lumbering up the aisle were pretty cool, too. The dancing in “Grassland Chant” was really cool – it looked so real! But I think my favorite scene was actually the wildebeest stampede – the way that they staged it was just amazing, making it look like it was a really huge group of animals, when in reality it was actually like 12 people or something. Oh, it was just wonderful. The worst part about watching it though, was that I couldn't take pictures! I've done theater photography for so long that my fingers were twitching and my brain was whirring, thinking of different angles and exposures and framing and stuff.

After the first act, I was just overcome with excitement at seeing this musical. I decided that even though the sign said “no photography,” that I would just do it. My camera screen doesn't light up, I can put my shutter on a seriously quiet mode, and if I take pictures during louder scenes, no one except my immediate neighbors would even notice. So I did. And I felt so much better. So here they are. They're not up to my usual standards, but I wasn't spending as much time dicking around with my light and ISO and stuff like that. It was very much a “point-and-shoot” type of thing.

So that was my evening. It was amazing. I have officially caught the musical bug. “Wicked” is coming in mid-January, so if anyone needs Christmas ideas, now you have one. You might just want to check around with other people first... I only need one ticket, you know!

Turning away Jesus

        Usually, I feel really good about my job. I'm all like “YEEEHAW, I'M HELPING PEOPLE THAT NEED HELP!!!! I'M PROVIDING SOCIAL SERVICES, WOOHOOO!!!” And that's true. I help distribute food, maintain heath, and provide housing. Good stuff, always.

        But part of my job also involves turning people away, telling them “Hey, sorry, but we can't help you.” And that is just the worst. Today at the clinic, our therapist wanted to refer someone to us, because he's homeless and doesn't have a job. Unfortunately, he also has some mental and physical problems, which we are not equipped to handle. So I had to turn him away. Or sometimes someone comes to the door and says “hey, I just need a place to stay for a few days.” But that's not our mission, so I have to turn them away. Or a family comes and needs housing, or a single parent. Same deal. We don't have the resources. Or someone comes to our distribution line and says “hey, I need an extra box for another person that I'm taking home food for,” or “hey, I have to leave soon to take my mother to a doctor's appointment, can I jump the line?” And then I have to say “yeah, sorry, if I let you do it, then I have to let everyone do it, and I'm sure that your need is great, but I just can't let you do it, sorry!”

        It's just horrible, it really is. I hate not having adequate resources, I hate having to turn someone away, I hate wondering what will happen to them if we can't help them, I hate wondering what I could have done differently in order to help them, I hate enforcing our rules, and I hate not being able to provide desperately-needed services. I feel like one of the people in the Matthew 25 passage, turning away Jesus because I didn't recognize him. It's frustrating.   

An Oakland Catholic Worker Thanksgiving

       Yesterday was Thanksgiving at the Oakland Catholic Worker. Today was also Thanksgiving. I am pretty Thanksgiving-ed out, to say the least.

       We were closed yesterday, which means that we didn't prepare or pass out any hot meals. This was because there were like a jillion churches and organizations who were making Thanksgiving dinner, so our absence would not be noted. Instead, a past resident, Carlos, spent the day making a turkey. He filled it with onions, green peppers, apples, oranges, pears, and (inexplicably) hotdogs. It smelled delicious.   

I made pumpkin pie, sweet potatoes with marshmallows and brown sugar, Jell-o, zwiebach, and cranberry sauce from a can. The pie was square, because all the pie dishes were too shallow – I like my pumpkin pie filling! It's really hard to roll out square pie dough, by the way. Oscar Romero helped me, though, so it turned out ok.

        The Jell-o was old and also full of fruit, so it actually didn't set until this morning. The zwiebach was delicious and worked out perfectly. It probably helped that I was Skyping with my family (well, actually mostly just Grace and Dad, since Natalie and Mom got bored and left halfway through) while making the zwiebach, so they could walk me through it. Ben helped too. He came around about noon and let me teach him how to make zwiebach. Yay, our first Thanksgiving!

 Nom nom nom...

        We were expecting a couple of extra guests, so in addition to the four of us that were already in the house, I made food for about eight people, just in case. The guests never showed, so it was just the four of us. We had a lot of food left over. It was also the quietest Thanksgiving ever, with the least amount of fanfare. Usually everyone is all talking at once, at least at the celebrations I've been to. This one was almost completely silent. And there was no “Johnny Appleseed” or “Praise God from Whom” to start us off! It actually felt incredibly weird. So after the meal, which was over almost before it started, we cleaned up, and then Ben and I hung out downstairs and listened to the screaming demon children playing next door.   

        Today was my day to serve food to people on the street. It was also the day that a bunch of people from our Board of Directors were supposed to come to eat a Thanksgiving meal with us. So I made a hot meal and served about 30 plates to people on the street, all the while wondering when exactly I needed to put the turkey in. Carlos, the guy who made it yesterday, was supposed to come at 11, but by 1, when he hadn't showed, DP and I made the executive decision to shove it in the oven.

        Around 1230, this lady stopped by and wanted a plate of food. So I gave her one. And she wanted seconds, so I gave her another. Later on, someone rang the bell and then just left, so I gave her that plate as well. Then she asked for another. She had already had 3 plates though, which is kind of our unofficial limit. So I told her that we always have food available and that she could come back tomorrow if she wanted some more. ALL HELL BROKE LOOSE. Suddenly, I was a selfish evil bitch who lived comfortably in a house, denying “nasty-ass,” uncooked food with hairs in it to poor people who lived on the streets, and if they had it any other way, they wouldn't come eat my “nasty-ass” food, they'd go to McDonald's, and if I was any kind of person at all, I'd give her more plates. Sometimes people just need a sounding board to get all their frustrations out on.

           So after I finished serving food and cleaning up and fielding some concerns about some fundraising events this weekend, I started in on supper, making some more sweet potatoes and cutting up bread and setting out plates for 15 people. We weren't really sure how many people were going to come, but there are 6 people on the Board, and sometimes they bring their wives or families. At 6, one guy, Chepe Zavala, showed up. At 630, he was still the only one there. So we had a meal with just him and the people in the house. I made enough food for 15 people, and only one showed up. I guess I wish they had at least RSVPed or something. That sort of thing tends to make one feel a bit under-appreciated.

           So that was Thanksgiving at the Catholic Worker. We have lots of leftovers, to say the least.

New High Heels = New Blisters

        OMG YOU GUYS MY BIKE IS THE GREATEST THING EVER. I cut my commute time to see Ben by 30-45 minutes (dependent on BART and how long it takes me to push my bike up the 3 block hill near his house). There are two downsides to the bike. The first is the rock-hard seat. My bottom probably has bruises on it. The second is the amount of time it takes to chain a bike to another bike and a pole while riding around the city with Ben. It takes like at least five minutes, two U-locks and a chain. You have to get all the wheels wrapped up, plus wrap the frames and anchor it all down to a post or something. It takes way longer than you think it might. But it's so worth it to be able to go whizzing around town. Some of the stoplights are even timed for optimal bike speeds, which is super cool.

        When I left the CW house on Friday, it was sprinkling lightly. When I got off the BART in the city, it was pouring. I had wrapped my two bags up in Wal-Mart plastics, so I looked like a homeless person, but at least it kept my camera and clothes dry. I can't say the same for myself. By the time I reached the VS house, my hair was plastered to my head, and my pants and shoes were soaked. I looked like a drowned rat.

         Nora and her boyfriend Phil were already in the kitchen making sushi for supper. I have never had sushi before, so I was kind of apprehensive, but it was really delicious – avocado and imitation crab. I'm glad they didn't do anything weird, like raw fish. I'm not sure I would have been able to handle that delicately. We didn't do much else that night, just stayed in and hung out.

         Saturday was spent on bikes, flying around in the Mission. It's a lot hillier than I thought it would be, so I was huffing and puffing a lot. Ben, with his long legs and larger bike, had no trouble at all. We visited Dynamo Donuts (!!!!!) for apricot, vanilla, maple/bacon, caramel apple, and caramel de sel donuts. They were all delicious, but my favorites were the apricot, vanilla, and maple/bacon. Then we went to a coffee place that Ben had heard was good. There were a lot of hipster kids on their laptops, writing screenplays and listening to obscure bands. We sat in a corner and Ben taught me fundamental principles of trigonometry, which I had somehow managed to skip right over in high school and college. He was very patient. Our final stop was ThriftTown, a huge and fantastic thrift store. I found some nylon pants and a windbreaker for rain gear, a cute knit dress, black heels to replace the ones lost in the Castro, a long-sleeved shirt, and a backpack to carry it all in. Ben found a bunch of VHS tapes from his childhood. That night, we had some wine and watched the A&E/BBC version of “Pride and Prejudice,” a film that we had both watched multiple times as kids. I texted Grace, telling her what we were doing, and she replied that we were far classier than she, because she had just watched “Breaking Dawn” and was now eating cookie dough with a spoon. HA! 

            Sunday morning was spent at church. I wore my new heels to church, which turned out to be an incredibly bad idea. ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS break in new heels before you walk a mile or two in them. I made it four blocks before I had to stop and take them off and go barefoot. We found a Walgreens and bought some large bandages, which kept the shoes from rubbing off subsequent layers of epidermal tissue, but did not prevent agonizing pain. After church, I barefooted it home, which is not a good idea because people pee on the sidewalks all the time here. Around the middle of the afternoon, I suffered a bit of a mental break, mostly because I realized that I won't get to see friends and family until after Christmas, and that I've been away from them for longer than I ever have before. I was pretty upset, thoroughly disgusted with living in a noisy, crowded, claustrophobic city, and having only like, 10 friends. But Ben listened quietly and figured out what I was actually mad about (mostly just hitting the “three month valley,” when all of the exciting newness wears off and reality sets in), without getting frustrated or allowing himself to get sucked in to my swirling black bad-mood vortex. He's a good guy.

           Then we cooked some Pad Thai for supper while I continued to stew. But then Bon Jovi's “Livin' on a Prayer” came on, and you just can't be in a bad mood for that song. The house watched “The Kids are All Right,” then I headed home. It took 10 minutes to get to the BART! 20 fewer minutes than usual! Love the bike!

           On my way home from BART, I saw twelve prostitutes in two blocks. That has to be some sort of record.  

BIKE

      I HAVE A BIKE!!

      Before today, if I wanted to visit Ben, I had to walk out my door and down the street for 16 blocks, which takes at least half an hour. Then I hop on the BART – add another 20 minutes, if I time it perfectly (another 40 if I miss the train by 30 seconds, which happens like all the time). When I get off the BART, I have to walk another 40 minutes to Ben's house. It's almost straight uphill, so it seems more like an hour. BUT NOW I HAVE A BIKE. 30 minute walk turns into ten minute bike ride. 40 minute walk to Ben's turns into riding a bike for 10 minutes and pushing said bike uphill for 20 minutes... so I don't actually save much time there. But the downhill trip back to BART will be much improved.

        Here's the story of how I got my bike. Like most of my stories, it is kind of ludicrous, but mostly because I'm sort of dumb sometimes.

        I'd been looking on Craigslist for a week or so, trying to find a smaller-sized roadbike that was in good condition and not too expensive. Also a bike that was lightweight, since the one at the Worker is made of cast iron, and is a DOOZY to lug up two flights of BART stairs at Civic Center, and I don't want to have to do that with a new bike. So my parameters were fairly narrow. I found one, though, listed for $180, but I talked the seller down to $130. Go me. Unfortunately, it was located in Sunnyvale, which is at the bottom of the Bay, and on the SF side, at least an hour's drive away. Cue driving-related panic.

        I Google-mapped the address and wrote down the exact directions. Confident in my ability to tell the cardinal directions apart without the use of a compass, I hopped in the van and headed down to Sunnyvale on the 880, happily blasting country music and NPR, and 45 minutes ahead of schedule. I made it to Mathilda St. in Sunnyvale before all hell broke loose. My directions said to turn left and go for two miles until I hit the Evelyn Street ramp. I drove and drove and drove and drove and did not see Evelyn Street. I figured my ability to accurately judge distance might be a little off, since counting mile roads at a constant velocity is a lot easier than counting erratically-spaced city blocks in stop-and-go traffic, so I drove a little more. When I reached the outskirts of Cupertino, another town that is south of Sunnyvale, I decided that I probably had missed the turnoff. Good thing I still had about 30 minutes to spare!

         I figured that I had probably just been trying to identify a pretty tree by the side of the road and accidentally missed the turn, but I decided that I should call Ben to see if he could tell me how far out of the way I had driven, just to be on the safe side. He told me that I should turn around and head back north, and just drive until I hit Evelyn Street, which is just what I thought I should do. So I did. I drove and drove and drove. I drove until Mathilda Street turned into Caribbean Drive, which was definitely not where I wanted to be. So I called Ben again, slightly panicky because my 30 extra minutes had almost expired. He was such a great guy about it too, even though he was in the middle of work, which for him is just a constant state of crazy. He told me to backtrack and drive to California St. and then call him back, so I did. Then he proceeded to stay on the line and listen to me be like “Umm... I don't see the street... don't see the street... where the hell is the street.... OMG THERE IT IS!!!!!!!” for several different turns while he walked me through the entire set of directions until I made it to that damn Evelyn Street. He was pretty much my hero today, because otherwise I would have had to ask some scary gas station attendant who may or may not have been some know-nothing teenager or who may only have a basic functional grasp of English.

         So I finally pulled into the parking lot of the storage place where I was supposed to meet this lady, and I got my bike, and everything is ok now. It's a red road bike, and it seems nice. A little rusty on the frame, but otherwise in good shape, I think. I know next-to-nothing about bikes, so it actually could be about ready to fall apart and I wouldn't know it.

         Well, anyway, moral of the story is 1) Ben is my hero and 2) I HAVE A BIKE.

Here is a picture. It's the Craigslist-posting picture, not mine, that's why it looks like that.  

A free drink and lost shoes

        This past Friday was the official Day of the Dead. There was a celebration and parade in the Mission, starting at about 6. So I headed down to Garfield Park to look at all of the altars that people had built to honor loved ones. There were some pretty neat ones, very intricate, and participatory. I left Seth's name on one of them. Gosh, I miss that guy. I mean, even if he were still here, I wouldn't be seeing much of him anyway, since we wouldn't be going to school together, but knowing that the possibility doesn't even exist anymore just really sucks.

        Ben and I wanted to stay for the parade, but they were really dinking around, so we left before it really started, because he had gotten me tickets to see LP, which is this super awesome singer that I really enjoy. You can see her most popular song right here:  LP - Into the Wild.  She was playing in the Cafe du Nord, which is like a million miles away from the parade site. So we walked and walked and walked, and then stood in line. When we were almost to the front, Ben was like “do you have your ID?” And I was like “.................................... I need my ID?” I hadn't brought it from the house, so I was up a creek. The guy at the door was like “Yeah, this is a 21-and-over show, so, sorry, we can't let you in.” We found out that LP wasn't headlining until 11pm, so we had almost two hours to go back to the house and figure out a game plan.  We decided that Alyssa and I looked most similar, so I borrowed her ID for the night and memorized the information on it, just in case. The guy remembered me, which I was hoping wouldn't happen, but that's his job, I guess. He let me in, which was great, because on closer inspection, we don't look anything alike. I was just about to walk into the club when he was like “hey, hang on a sec,” and I was like “Oh no!” but then he said “Hey, I want to buy you a drink, for being so cool about this whole thing.” HA! 

 It was super cool to see LP perform live. I think she is a very good musician, as evidenced by the fact that I annoyed the heck out of my mod last year because I was constantly blasting her music. Sorry Emilie! She's got some SERIOUS pipes, though, I can't help it! And the place she was playing was a small venue, because she's not that popular yet, so we were able to be there with only about 80 people, so that was really cool as well.  

       Saturday was spent doing a whole lot of nothing. We went to the Mission so I could get a haircut at the cosmetology school. They did all right, but Allison Yoder is way better. Then we walked up and down Castro street, where I saw my first naked people. The people you see naked in public are never the people you want to see naked in public. They were old and saggy and very hairy. We had a late lunch at Cafe Flore, a nice little place at the intersection of Mission and Noe. I had mac and cheese, which may not sound like a big deal, but it was DELICIOUS. Nice cheese (not Velveeta) with breadcrumbs and BACON on top. Oh my gosh, it was tasty.

        In the evening, we went with the VSers to the East Bay, for a housewarming party for Emma, Rosanna, and Hannah, three girls from church who recently moved into North Oakland. Pretty much everyone from the young-adult group at church was there, which was really nice. We played a few games and talked about the election. It's coming up in a couple of days, and we're all a bit panicky. It's hard to accurately predict what's going to happen when you spend all your time in a little Democratic bubble, where everyone you know is like “Well, YEAH, of COURSE Obama will win, anyone with half a brain would vote for him!” But in reality, there are lots of people with whole brains who will vote for Romney. We'll see.

        Ben and I went to church with Alyssa on Sunday. I had brought a pair of heels from the house and packed them in my camera bag so that I could change from my Toms once we were in sight of the church. But once I got there, I realized that I only had one shoe in my bag! And I can't find it at home or at Ben's house, so my hypothesis is that somewhere in the Mission or Castro, there is a lone black size 6.5 high heel lying forlornly on the sidewalk. Too bad. I liked those shoes.

        After church, Ben and I hung out at Dolores Park, where I watched the dogs and took a nap. I also made a clover chain, which is something that I did almost every day during recess in second grade.  Then we went back to the house and he Skyped his parents while I read a book on the evolution of the English language and took another nap. Then he joined me and read his book while I took another nap. We cooked some supper, cleaned up, watched “Limitless” while giving backrubs, and then I headed for home. It was a nice, chill weekend.