everyone needs a silent sentinel

Have you ever been really affected by a character in a
book or movie? How many women wished they were a call
girl just like Julia Roberts in Pretty Women? How
many men thought it would be cool to be Tom Cruise in
Top Gun? Many I'm sure. On my street, there is
someone who identifies with the Ralph Macchio
character of Daniel-San in the Karate Kid. Perhaps it
was the majesty of the Crane pose Daniel takes at the
end of the movie, to foil his foe, or maybe it was the
struggle of learning "wax on, wax off" that touched
him so.

The Daniel-San superfan wants to reinforce the magic
of this character by making his presence present in
every day life. How does he do it you ask? By
leaving an oh so haunting photo of Daniel-San in
public areas, watching over us like silent Karate
sentinel can do...look for Daniel-San photos in your
neighborhood, you'll see he's watching over you too...

US VS. BEASTS

The ingenuity of man...

It's what separates us from beasts - the ability to
communicate with whatever is around.

I have deciphered that the person that wrote this
message was asking for medical assistance. I think he
only had enough sauce to write S - ER - which I have
translated into "Send the Emergency Response".

I'm guessing his arteries told him he had one McNugget
too many...

Still wrestling?

There is nothing like a demonstration at lunch time in San Francisco. The crowd was too thick for me to get a good view, but my buddy Joseph gave me the lowdown.
A group of people set up a kiddie swimming pool filled
with Tofu and soy cheese. Cheeky chicks in bikinis were
wrestling in it. The group behind this vegan display was PETA, who
was asking the crowd if they were "Still wrestling
with the idea of Tofu?". If any of you knew me when I
was growing up, the Fisher family embraced Tofu like
no others....

I didn't have my camera with me unfortunately when I
was in the midst of things, so I ran back up to my
office and took a picture from the window before I had
to go to a meeting. Of course there was a tree in my
way- curses! The photo, while far away, gives you a
flavor for the escapade.

What didn't make it into the photo was a lone family
of 5, standing across the street with a sign up saying
"real families eat meat"

They didn't have a crowd standing around them.
Perhaps if they were in bikinis?

Dangerkitty

Irrational fear #27:

I worry that when my back is turned while transferring my clean clothes from the washing machine to the dryer, the kitty that lives in the "silence of the lambs" inspired laundry room in the basement of my apartment building, will climb into the dryer without me noticing.

I fear that I will turn on the dryer, and not notice any howling or wailing the cat may do. I imagine opening up the dryer to find my clothes covered in cat pieces and tufts of hair, yet still surprisingly "downy fresh"...

Signs of the Times

As you are all aware, we are bombarded by visual
messages every day. Some are witty, some are stupid,
some are irritating. Each morning whilst standing at
the bus stop I see the attached message. It's a sign
posted in the front garden of our neighborhood drug
rehab halfway house. I'm sure its an inspirational
reminder for all that stay there. However, for me, I
am not inspired, I just get annoyed. It's just to
much like a saying that one would find on a plaque
that could be purchased at "Successories" replete with
a photo backround of a sunset at the seaside with the
silhoutte of a seagull in the corner.

I think that they should put more signs around the
city like that - such as "if you put one foot in front
of the other, you will go forward". Anybody else have
any ideas for signs?

They are out there....

It was January 3rd, and I was at LAX waiting at the curb to check my bags in on the way back to San Francisco. I was in a fairly long line to check in the curb, but it was far better than the lengthy line serpentined back and forth inside the terminal. I was in my own zone, tuned into my i pod and watching the hillbilly girl two spots in line ahead of me flirting and fawning over the hot guy standing in front of me. I tried to figure out if he was someone famous, but based on the entertainment trivia I know he wasn't ringing any bells for me. I got bored watching the show between hillbilly girl and hot guy so I tuned out and looked around.

Something caught my eye near the stop sign at the curb. It was a white sticker afixed to the pole of the stop sign. I squinted the best I could (which I hate to do - hello crowsfeet!), but couldn't make it out. I had to wait until the line crept forward so I could see what the white sticker said. Once I could finally read it, it was a black and white graphic of the face of Andre the Giant - undoubtedly the largest man ever to be a professional wrestler/actor. The sticker said that Andre had a posse. Now, as Andre is no longer with us, I was perplexed as to why there may be a posse out there. If there is then lets hope they are a positive posse rather than a n'er do well posse. I snapped a pic to commerate the thought and then moved on to check in my bags.

Fast forward to the first weekend in March. I was visiting in Minneapolis and was driving down Lyndale Avenue in Uptown with my pal Bud, chatting away. As we waited at a stoplight at the corner of Lake and Lyndale, my eyes were caught by a large black and white image on the wall of a building, above Big Mike's Sub Shop. I cried out to Bud "it's the posse!". Bud's head whipped around from side to side looking for a band of marauders (assuming I spied some sort of crazed group coming down the road toward us). What I was pointing to was the large face - about 5 feet tall - of Andre the Giant, the same picture that I saw on the sticker at LAX.

After seeing Andre's face again in Minneapolis, at first I was amused, then pensive. I'm still curious as to what this posse is up to...hopefully good - rather than no good.

If you experience a posse sighting - let me know.....

turn the light off when you leave the room, for the dog's sake

I have the tendency to fall asleep with the TV on. I like the noise, it distracts my busy brain so I can sleep. I normally wake up around 5 ish in the morning, lay in bed half asleep, kind of listening to what's happening in the world on the news and trying to will myself to wake up eventually.

This morning, I woke up a little more abruptly as it processed something that it heard on the news at 5 AM. Our creative Gavin Newsome, the San Francisco Mayor that brought you gay marriage (go Gavin!) and wanted to give the whole city free wireless internet (I wish...) has taken it upon himself to free our fair city from the dependence on fossil fuels and other countries to power our energy demands.

Gavin wants to harness the power of the puppies. Power of the puppies? Little dogs harnessed and running on treadmills in some sort of pet power plant? Nope. Not the plan. The plan is to collect the dog poo of San Francisco, allow it to ferment, and then use the resulting methane gas to power the city. The news report quoted that 4% of the garbage in San Francisco is dog poo!

Apparently waste cans will be put in the parks along with biodegradable bags so all the poo can be collected. For those of TFK readers out there currently looking for an employment opportunity in the bay area, I think some new poo collection positions will be opening soon.

Talk about working hard for your money. I'd like to thank in advance all puppy poo collectors as it could be one of the worst jobs ever. When I was on dog sitting detail for the ex roomie, dealing with what the dog did in the park every morning was a little more than I could handle sometimes.

Also - a little shout out to the dogs, hopefully a high fiber diet is all they need to be successful in this endeavor. Plus, if it's a success...will there be pressure for them to perform more often? You know how Americans can be. Something takes off, and we just want more more more. There could be some very exhausted dogs in San Francisco in the fairly near future. One may see a lot of pooches laying on the ground like the dear departed Ranger, the star of today's picture post.

but one more time with feeling. eeewwww poo.

Just add an extra vowel...no one will notice

As I strolled down the lanes in Brighton, England with my pal Amy, I came across a shop where one can fulfill all their rocker needs. What are rocker needs you ask? You know, the usual...skin tight jeans, leather studded accessories, Sid Vicious t shirts etc. As they were having a sale, I thought it was the perfect place (06 Christmas gift spoiler ahead family and friends) to pick up some lovely studded dog collars for all the girls, and some sassy leather studded cod pieces for the boys this holiday.

As I approached the shop, I noticed there were some challenges relating to grammar on the storefront. I was overwhelmed by the creative spelling of the word "closeing". It could be my my ignorance in the differences between American english and English english - you know color vs. colour, realize vs. realise. Or perhaps they have an employee outreach program for the spelling challenged, and they didn't know any better when they made the sign. I personally think it's because the "t" is missing from the sign above the shop - changing the shop name from the former Electric Rock to Elec ric Rock. I think they said "add an "e" to closing...maybe it will detract from the "t" that is missing in the sign".

I'm sure it was a Brit that stole the "t" - you know how much they love their t(ea).

Man. I crack myself up.....

Hard Rock Hotel...I really expected more

As I looked through photos on my computer for blogging fodder, I came across a photo I took while in Las Vegas last fall. I was staying at the Hard Rock Hotel. If anyone has ever stayed there before, one is well aware of the tremendous amount of musical history memorabilia that graces practically every surface of the hotel.

One spot that really doesn't have memorabilia is the elevator. It makes sense, it's a small space, plus with all the antics that go on in those elevators with the youthful clientel that frequent the hotel, it's just putting the memorabilia in danger. To give the elevator that rock and roll feeling, they are carpeted with leopard print carpet and quotes from songs of various rock acts.

As I hit all the elevators at one time or another, I felt a connection to one more than the rest. Which one you ask? Why, it's the one that has a Prince quote posted. Why that elevator - why the connection? I don't know...maybe because I'm from Minnesota? Maybe because I used to hang out at Prince's club Glam Slam when I was in my 20's and used to see him there, prancing about in high heel boots, lace jumpsuits and sucking on tootsie pops? Maybe because I memorized all the words to "Purple Rain"? Not sure. Whatever the reason, it caused me to take a photo of the quote in the elevator.

As I prepared to post this picture to this posting, I wondered - what song is the elevator quoting? I went through my mental library, humming the songs I thought I knew the words to. When my brain failed me, I turned to the internet, going to a website devoted solely to the lyrics of Prince songs. As I searched through all 360 songs, I finally came upon the song where the quote comes from. It was "Let's Go Crazy". Imagine my surprise, as I thought I knew the words to all the songs on that album - it was a pivotal release during my sophomore year in high school - if you were anyone - you knew the words to that album.

According to the website the song lyric is "Are we gonna let de-elevator bring us down" not "don't let the elevator bring you down" as illustrated. I don't know who to believe. One would think the Hard Rock Hotel would be accurate in quoting a pretty famous song. But maybe the website is wrong? Prince lyrics can be hard to translate some times, heck, my sister in law thought for years that "little red corvette" was "pay the rent colette". I don't give her too hard a time - she grew up in Canada. Needless to say, this disparity is rubbing me the wrong way. I'm not sure what I should do.

I know what most would say: "get a life Missy - and get over it"

Let me give you a hug-a then a slap-a

Mission: Get 2 bottles of wine to share with my boss, winding down from a stressful week with the big heads of the company

Location: Sheetz Mega Convenience Store, Raleigh, NC

Time: 11:30 PM, Thursday night

My mission was simple. We had just finished dinner with the Global CEO of our company, and with the President of our region (North America). It was quite the week, with bad news, with good news, lots of meetings, lots of things resolved. My boss wanted to do a late night post mortem, and get it all out of our system. I offered to get the fixings to aid in the post mortem - a bottle of red, and a bottle of white. I stopped at Sheetz to buy the wine. It's a convenience store like no other I've seen. Hi tech - almost space age - which is shocking considering the locale.

I got two bottles and then proceeded to look for a cork screw. This store has everything one could imagine, except for a cork screw. At least from what I could see.

I went up to the counter and asked the guy manning the register if they had a cork screw. He was about 23, olive skin, kind of short, quite cute. Once I spoke to him, I realized he was an Italian transplant, I'm guessing in the the US for a couple of years. Still had that stereotypical Italian accent i.e. "mama mia, givea me a bigga meat ball"

Me: do you sell corkscrews?
Him: What?
M: do you sell corkscrews, you know, wine bottle openers...to open wine
H: what do you call-a them?
M: corkscrews...
H: oh no. We don't have-a those
M: Oh, bummer. i guess I'll have to make another stop
H: You can come-a home with-a me, I'll help-a you to open them *wink*
M: Oh my stars, you are a cheeky monkey. ha ha, thanks for asking, but I'll have to pass
H: if you change-a your mind...
M: I'll just take the wine
M: how much do I owe you?
H: $35. I'll need to see-a your I.D.

I fumbled around and found my ID. I presented it do him for his inspection so he could finish the sale.

He looked at it, then he looked at me. He then said: "I didn't think you were THAT-A old"

I was a little taken aback. My eyes opened wide and my response was "Thanks. I feel pretty and special"

He blushed and looked ashamed. He bagged up my wine, and then said "Thanks-a Ma'am"

I rolled my eyes and left.

My roomate, who is a southerner, assured me that it is beaten into everyone's head in the South that every woman is a Ma'am as soon as they hit 15. "With maturity comes the title "ma'am" she says.

At the moment, it didn't feel good to be called Ma'am. I moved on to the Kroger grocery store, and picked up a wine bottle opener. I toyed with the idea of picking up a bottle of Geritol, but figured I could wait until I return to SF. When it came time to check out, I had the option of doing the self serve register. I figured that the self serve register was low risk option that wouldn't try to pick me up, and then insult my age.

Boy, I love the south - not.

A family of killers?

"We are having something new for dinner tonight" my mother said.

It was 1982, and I was 14. Meat and potatoes was the staple of our household at dinner time. Deviating from the norm was quite exciting, so we all sat down at the dinner table with great anticipation. My mother proudly served up dinner to each of us, and once she sat down we all dug in. What did we dig into? It appeared to be Beef Stroganoff, which in itself would be new for the non adventurous, homogenous Fisher clan, but at the first bite, one knew that it wasn't beef. My mother's creation that night was Soy Stroganoff. It was the beginning of the years my roomate has now touted as the "Fisher Family Soy Project" after hearing me reminisce of past soy feasts. My mother had just become a distributor for a soy foods company that made a variety of meals from all over the world. There was a Mexican meal, an Italian meal, Pizza with soy cheese, pudding, hot chocolate, breads, brownies, - the food options were endless, and all tasted a little bit the same. Why did she do it? Because my parents are health nuts (you should see them now, they are extremely spry) and because it was good for the environment, and cruelty free. We were a soy family for 6 more years after that first fateful meal. It was a hard path to follow sometimes, especially during my formative teen years. When friends came over, they always questioned if they were eating something part of the "project". They were never initiated into the project, but I do admit that sometimes I miss the soy years.

Unfortunately, my soy memories were recently tainted, after being faced by the graffiti I came across near my apartment.

Who would have known soy kills. My catholic guilt nags at me whenever I walk by. To all those that have died at the hand of the Fishers and the family soy project, you have my sincerest apologies.

A feel good gulag

I work for a company that loves to get behind a campaign. We are against animal testing, we support community trade with indigenous peoples, campaign to protect human rights, promote self esteem and last but not least, recycle . Our newest kick is doing everything with PASSION. Posted all around the office are various posters telling us to get through life with PASSION - work, laugh, shop, live, dream and so on and so on. The passion messages are relentless, there is no where you can escape without one in your line of vision. One may think that the ladies room would be a safe haven, but they even get you there...as illustrated in today's picture of the day. When the posters first went up, I imagined that I felt much like a citizen of a capital where the government was just overthrown, and a new dictator has papered the city with his image to acclimate the inhabitants with the idea that he is the new guy in charge. My work environment could be considered an "up with people" work camp, with much better benefits.

Wondering what passion poster is in the men's room?

AIM WITH PASSION....

Don't mess with them

I would guess that the priests of Saints Peter and Paul feel like real bad-asses when they are hanging with the other priests of the archdiocese.

"Yeah, that's right. Our address is 666..."

Tales from the #15

My mother instilled in me the importance of taking care of one's skin. I think as a result from her careful guidance when I was a young girl, it led me to my career in the skin and haircare industry.

As I rode home on the #15 bus one day from work, I saw another mother educating her daughter on the ins and outs of skin care. Her teaching method differed drastically from my mother's. This woman chose to teach her daughter about blackheads by having an impromptu extraction session whilst riding on the bus. Her daughter, who was about 12, sat with her face to her mother, as her mother used her fingernails to squeeze offending pores on the poor girls face. I couldn't tell if the daughter was horrified, but if she wasn't, I was certainly horrified for her.

Mom, thanks for never squeezing anything on my face - especially in public.

It's freaky

A pal of mine sent me a link to join a VOIP. I had no clue what it was, but I downloaded it as directed. It was a website that allows you to call people over the internet and talk to them for free. He called me from his computer, I answered, and found out that I can talk into my computer and use it as a phone. It was really quite interesting. He then called a friend of his in London, and the three of us had a conference call for free.

The sheer weirdness of this sort of communication development had my very simple brain reeling. One can only imagine where we will be in 5 years time.

I remember when it was a big deal in 1974 when my parents bought my brother a calculator for his high school graduation present. It was well over $100 I believe, and the only functions it provided were multiplication, subtraction, division, addition and percent. It weighed about 5 pounds and came with a snappy leatherette case. It was a magical contraption, and I, being 6 years old at the time, was enthralled. My brother, being protective of his newest piece of technology always kept it out of reach from my childish butter-fingers. Eventually, I too became the owner of a calculator, except mine had about 30 buttons on it and did practically everything except actually write the answers on my schoolwork. By this time, my $15 scientific calculator that I used at school daily had rendered my brother's 1974 calculator obsolete. It eventually was relegated to sitting in the pen drawer in my parents kitchen, and my mother would use it to balance her checkbook. One thing that can be said for that calculator is that it continues to be a useful tool at my parents house, 30 years later. The Fisher's are old-school when it comes to adding and subtracting...

I.G.S

Early this morning as I walked my temporary canine charge Ivey, I decided to switch up the usual morning walk to Washington Square Park with a walk up to Coit Tower. I figured Ivey could have access to a whole new world of things to smell, and I could check out the view as the sun was just starting to come up.

Ivey and I marched our way up Telegraph Hill. Once we were up there, we took in the view. I should really say I took in the view, and Ivey intently smelled all the things that dogs tend to find fascinating. As we walked the sidewalk we came across a flock of pigeons feasting on leftovers from an Italian restaurant. The pigeons were picking and pecking at old Lasagna in an aluminum take out container. As they pecked at the layers of cheese, the mozzarella would get caught on their beaks and would stretch into a webby, stringy mess, catching on their feathers and wrapping around their necks. One big pigeon seemed to be a bit more adept, actually gulping down it's gullet big chunks of cheese. Seeing it consume that amount of dairy, it made me think of my mother, who tends to lament about lactose intolerance whenever she overindulges in Dairy Queen blizzards. My mother can combat her pain with medication, where this pigeon didn't have access to modern pharmecuticals. I wondered if there would be a bout of IBS for this little guy from his feast. After careful consideration I decided it would be IGS that would haunt him today(irritable gizzard syndrome). I hope it wasn't too horrid - I bet his pigeon buddies steered clear of him till it passed, or perhaps till he "passed".

Bitchin' Beemer

I stood on the corner of Powell and Filbert, waiting for the #15 bus to pick me up so I could spend a beautiful Sunday afternoon in the office preparing for my week of vacation. As I waited, I spent my time people watching as I live in one of the more popular tourist areas of the city.

As I watched some German tourists disrupt traffic while trying to take a photo of St. Peter & Paul's church from the middle of the street, I noticed a very large, sleek BMW ease it's way into the intersection, ensuring it would make the next traffic light. I looked into the car and saw what must have been an aftermarket addition to the car to enhance the beauty of the luxurious leather interior.

What was the addition? Why it was some lovely white lace crocheted headrest covers. Puzzled by the covers I checked out the driver. The dude driving the car seemed like he was in his mid thirties, and the car certainly didn't look like it was his mother or grandmother's car. I imagine that he is married to a woman who was a former corporate bigwig but now is staying home to raise the kids and rule the household. As a means of maintaining her idea of a productive lifestyle, she has taken to doing crafty experiments to become the next Martha Stewart. Unfortunately the fruits of her industrious new hobby has spilled over into her husband's very expensive automobile.

I just wish I would have leaned in closer to see if she had made a parking brake cozy too.....