They're Here....

Traumatized at the mere age of seven during a slumber party in my own basement, the ghostly hand reached out from inside the static television and invaded the house with beastly spirits. Not my TV, the TV in the best horror movie of all time: Poltergeist.

For a few weeks now I have been dying to watch this film again, and last night my wish came true thanks to Netflix. My roommates and I gathered in our cold living room in front of our 90's television and popped in the DVD (which, by the way, has no previews or menu but goes write into the roaring MGM Lion - so old school). One of my roommates was as familiar with the film as I am, and the other two had never seen it, so I warned them that they were about to be pretty freaked out.

As the credits came rolling on the screen, we were delighted to be reminded that we were watching one of Steven Spielberg's first cult classics. We were distracted throughout the first half of the film, trying to figure out what fucked up town the film took place in (obviously it was filmed in California, but there was something entirely Midwestern about the setting). Also incredibly distracting: the disturbing little girl with white-blond hair - but if she wasn't disturbing the film would have much less horrific value. After re-watching this 15 years later, I noticed some things that I think I missed the first time around. For example, the parents get high in their bedroom on the first night of the thunderstorm. Also, the teenage daughter is reading porn in her room, and she later has a hickey on her neck.

I definitely jumped in my chair and screamed a little at several moments throughout the film:
1) When the hand comes out of the TV set and goes into the walls of the house
2) When the gnarly tree busts through the window and attacks the little boy
3) When Carol Anne gets sucked into her closet along with the rest of her toys and furniture.
4) When my roommate came back from the bathroom, opening the door to the living room quite abruptly.
5) When the guy sees the maggot meat and peals off his own face.
6) When the mom is doing laundry and she tries to open the door to the scary room and the people behind the door scream at her.
7) When the clown tries to suffocate the little boy.
8) When my other roommate came home from work, opening the door to the living room quite abruptly.
9) When the mom falls into the muddy pool and the skeletons start floating to the top
10) When the graves start popping out of the ground everywhere in the house.

I know the CGI is kind of old school and the little old lady's high-pitched voice makes you laugh, but god damn Steven Spielberg knows how to freak people out. There really is something masochistic about watching movies that you know are going to scare the shit out of you, which makes Spielberg a sadist.

Did you know that both the actors playing the little girl and the teenage girl die in real life? The same year the film was released, the teenage girl is murdered by her abusive psycho boyfriend in her own front yard. And during a filming break in Poltergeist III, the little girl dies of some freak disease that was never properly diagnosed. And the little boy never really got any work after Part II. It's a curse, I tell you! (At least Craig T. Nelson's career didn't suffer because he went on to receive rolls in such great films as Troop Beverly Hills, If These Walls Could Talk, The Incredibles, and The Family Stone. Oh yeah, and that TV hit "Coach" that my parents used to watch.)

I can't wait to get Parts II and III in the mail!

Ahhh, the Civic Center

When I tell people in SF that I work in the Civic Center, they assume I work for the state. What I mean to tell them is that my office is in the square that makes up the Civic Center. To which they reply, "oh, so you work in the Tenderloin." Then I tell them that I work at the Orpheum Theatre, to which they respond "oh! can you get me tickets to Wicked?" No, I can't.

My point is, working in the Civic Center/Tenderloin ain't as bad as it seems. If you can get passed the homeless people sleeping on top of the vent outside my office entrance, the crack heads yelling about Jesus, the panhandlers with creative signs that say "I bet you $1 you read this sign," the area has a lot to offer. And I must admit, the weirdos give it even more character.

As I have mentioned in a previous post, there is a wonderful farmers market in the U.N. Plaza every Wednesday. On Thursdays and Fridays, there is an incredibly awesome bazaar with really cheap jewelry (I'm talking two dollars for a beaded bracelet and a pair of earrings), black market cell phone accessories, a wide variety of beautiful pashminas, a hat stand... it's like a mini outdoor flea market. One day I had to buy some crystals for this window display we were doing for The Phantom of the Opera, and i bought 20 or so hanging crystals from a guy at the bazaar for like $10.

On sunny days, it's really nice to sit outside in the Civic Center plaza and eat your lunch and read a book. They recently put an outdoor soup stand nearby as well. And it makes for really good hobo watching. And if it's a rainy day, you can go to the Asian Art Museum for $6 with your old college i.d. or duck into the library and peruse the dusty shelves.

While we have our fair share of fast food restaurants nearby (MacDonald's, Burger King, Carl's Jr., and my all time favorite: Subway), there are a bunch of mom-and-pop places to get your lunch fix too. There is a fantastic Mediterranean place that sells the best kebab wraps I've tasted outside of Greece. There's also a little cafe called Sam's that makes omelettes for those days I'm just too hungover to eat yogurt and berries. And a fantastic little "New York Deli" just up the street. I'm usually not a fan of places that include the words "New York" in them if they're in fact, not in New York, but this place is the real deal. And if I'm in the mood to throw down $14 for a gourmet salad, I can walk down the street to Urban Harvest where the woman behind the counter once yelled at me for talking on the phone and trying to use a debit card at the same time. We're friends now though, so it's chill.

All in all, even though I'm sure there are plenty of fantastic neighborhoods in this city to work in, some of which might be considered far better than the sketchy Tenderloin/Civic Center - there are many reasons (more than the ones I've listed) that I am quite content with my 8 blocks of eclectic lunch time activities. And if it gets to the point where I just can't deal with it anymore, BART is right downstairs and I can shoot on over to the mall and buy myself something pretty. Or take a short bus ride to Hayes Valley and pretend I'm on Greenwich Ave (the one in CT, not NYC). Or catch the J line to Dolores park and bask in the sun. The possibilities are endless!

I miss Blair.

The third Monday in a row will go by tonight that my roommates and I won't get to divulge in our weekly ritual of watching the best cheesy CW show in recent years: the one and only "Gossip Girl."

I don't care what any non-believer says about GG, because it's a fantastic use of an hour on any Monday night, especially when you're already reeling from the week ahead. While it is so totally OMFG (Oh My Fucking God - the show itself has coined this new amazing acronym), it also is completely entertaining and addictive!

It's not just a show about spoiled Upper East Side socialite teens with raging hormones (there's also a family from Brooklyn), but these kids have real issues other than which designer shades to sport on the first day of school. There's drug and alcohol addiction, relationship woes, high school drop outs, illegitimate half-siblings shared by a couple, money problems, homosexuality, and even murder! Okay, so maybe these aren't common issues, and maybe the drama level is blown a little out of proportion, but the point is don't knock it til' you've tried it. I guarantee you, after watching 8 episodes from Season 1 of "Gossip Girl" you will be hooked!

GG comes from that guy who brought us the missed but not forgotten "The O.C.", and while the shows are strikingly similar in their plot twists and the way the parents are featured just as much if not more than the teens, the character Blair Waldorf (Leighton Meester) is far more interesting than Summer or Marissa. And while Serena Van der Woodson (Blake Lively) has her Mischa Barton moments every now and then (and the wardrobe designer MUST have a thing for tits and ass because she is barely ever seen wearing something with a more than plunging neckline), you can't help but be jealous of her good looks. The men on the show are also fun to look at, but it's Chuck Bass (Ed Westwick) that takes the cake. What a WOMANIZER! Seriously though, I don't care if he's supposed to be in high school, any woman from age 14 to 60 would want to hit that. The other characters fall into place and make up a pretty good ensemble of pretty rich people with "serious" issues.

But it's all about Blair! Her obsessive antics, suppressed jealousy, need to succeed, poised fashion sense, and of course her undeniable reign over the other mean girls have risen to a level of art. I need my Blair fix! As my roommate so delicately put it, "I feel like the dirty escapades of Blair are merely a glimmer in the past, I barely know the show anymore. Wtf?"

So, if you're reading this producers and director of Gossip Girl: bring back the Blair! We don't even care about the other characters. If you wanted to do an entire episode featuring Blair and nobody else, we would definitely be cool with that. But if you make me wait another week, you may very well lose a valuable fan.

Polygamy: Not Just for Mormons

Although it has somewhat of a cult following, "Big Love" is one of the better shows on television these days. Not because the acting is superb, not because it teaches us about the realities of a modern polygamist household, and not because it's friggin' hysterical. All of these things are true. But the real reason it excels is because it illustrates the importance of dating multiple people (although, in the case of "Big Love" it's being married to multiple women, which I must say is quite an extreme and pretty sexist - but it still makes for a good lead in).

While monogamy tends to become a personal desire as we get older and want to find "the right person," it's important to play the field until you find that one guy or girl. How are you supposed to know what your favorite meal is if you don't sample everything on the menu? I'm not saying that you should whore yourself out and sleep with every guy or girl who makes themselves available to you (or your bed), but what ever happened to the traditional game of dating?

Women complain about dating in San Francisco because all the good guys are either taken or gay. This is a myth; and this myth causes women to choose to slut themselves out because they believe men will like them if they sleep with them. While this may be true for a lot of men, THAT'S NOT THE KIND OF GUY YOU WANT TO SPEND THE REST OF YOUR LIFE WITH. The kind of guy you're looking for doesn't want to sleep with you on the first date, especially if you're blacked out and can't control your own tongue. So I encourage you to be coy, flirt, go out for coffee or a walk in the park, give your number out, and kissing on the first date is okay but don't give away all your eggs! And never, ever Facebook friend some guy minutes after he sneaks out of your bedroom. That just screams "desperate stalker."

On the other side of the spectrum, most men are dopes when it comes to dating. Even though women like the chase, we still want you to call us! I realize that's a lot to ask because apparently in this day in age making a phone call is like sending a smoke signal. But if you like someone, take them out, on a real date. It doesn't have to be a fancy shmancy dinner, but something other than Starbucks would be nice. And if you like someone a lot, try to keep your emotions at bay for the first couple of weeks because no girl wants to date a sissy boy. And if you are intensely and unnecessarily emotional on the first couple of dates, you will be dropped and we won't be subtle about it. And if you really can't control your emotions, find a girl who is damaged and needs that kind of attention.

It's okay to date more than one person at once, as long as you're not exclusive with one of them (and you should know if you are because you would have had a D.T.R. talk - that's Define the Terms of the Relationship for those of you who don't like acronyms). And if you're worried about one of the people finding out and hurting their feelings, then a) don't go somewhere that you might run into one of them, and b) don't date people who are friends or who are connected by someone who likes to gossip.

If you need more advice, I'm available 9-5, Monday thru Friday. I don't charge, but I expect a drink here and there.

It's Market Day!

Every Wednesday there is a luscious farmer's market outside my office building. Not only does this make my weekly produce shopping extremely convenient and cheap, but I learn about unique vegetables and fruits that I didn't even know existed!

Last week I discovered the Japanese jumbo grapefruit, which is the sweetest and most delicious citrus fruit I have ever tasted. It's enormous, and it's best devoured when you cut it in half and eat the sections like you would a smaller grapefruit. They come in pink and white. I have yet to try the white, but I think I will be purchasing one today.

Right next to the grapefruit stand is a Chinese family selling live chickens. They stuff them into brown paper grocery bags, and people line up around the U.N. Building to purchase one of these live chickens! Can you imagine bringing that back to your office for the day?

Do you know the mushroom man? He is wonderful! A bountiful selection of shitake, oyster, portabello, browns, lions, these yellow ones that are good on salad. YUM! If only they also sold mushrooms of the magic variety.

Speaking of which, my favorite vegetable stand is these two hippie guys who always have an array of fresh and unique veggies, all of which are grown and picked by themselves. They offer every variety of greens you can think of. Yes, EVERY green. Do you get the idea? Only in California...

They also offer up unique recipes and different ways to cook or eat their veggies. One day, I purchased what I was told is a "wine cauliflower." They pour a bottle of wine into the soil where the cauliflower grows, causing it to turn purple and have a tint of alcohol in it. I was thrilled to hear this, bought it, and came up with a fantastic recipe where I stuffed the bottom with peppers and scallions, drizzled it with some oil, and roasted it in the oven for about an hour. I told everyone about the wine aspect of it, and everyone was in as much disbelief as I was. No wonder, it was a lie! When I went back the next week and told them about my wine cauliflower success story, he told me I should be their cheese cauliflower, which was tinted orange. To give it that color, they pour a can of cheese whiz into the ground. It was at this point in time where I realized I'd been had by my favorite farmers market boys.

Now if you'll excuse me, I must go purchase some spiky broccoli. I think it's crossed with cactus or something.

What goes around

It's that time of the year again, when everyone is sick and germs are being passed around like a joint at a Grateful Dead concert.

First it was my boyfriend with the runny nose and itchy eyes. His ailing turned into a dreadful sinus infection that, to my understanding, was comparable to someone banging a hammer on your eye lids.

Next, one of my roommates sends me a text late at night that reads "do i need to do anything drastic if i have a 102 fever?" I thought this was worthy of an in-person response, so I walked down the hall to her bedroom (where she texted me from) and found her, miserable, in bed and shaking. After bringing her a glass of water, I took a multivitamin and passed out.

Wadaya know, but I wake up coughing and sneezing. I down three glasses of Emergen-C at work, take some more vitamins, drink a lot of tea and one or two hot tottie's, and I still come down with a nasty cold that causes me to stay home from work the next day.

A week later, I'm not entirely better - still blowing my nose every so often, which if you know me sounds like a foghorn or kazoo. And to make matters worse, I've seemingly passed it on to my other roommate and my officemate. AND my other, other roommate has contracted an ear infection. WTF, germs?

Since all of us seem to have slightly different illnesses, I want to know where this sickness is coming from. If not from each other, then from the dirty bus rails? The utensils that don't get get a clean enough douse in our dishwasher? The exchange of dollar bills? Even if you use hand sanitizer like an OCD maniac, I guarantee you, you will fall ill with one thing or another some time between January 1 and March 31. It's the winter cold that we all dread every year.

Flu shots don't seem to help. Vitamins don't do shit, apparently. And even if Emergen-C is supposed to work better than the recently recalled airborne, it still doesn't do anything once you're already sick. When will we find a cure to the common cold? My uncle seems to think that smoking half a joint helps. My co-worker swears on some ginger-cayenne pepper-lemon-hot water concoction. Or does a shot of whiskey seem to be the cure?

I NEED ANSWERS!

Cilantro: the second most controversial herb on the planet

I hope you can all assume what the first is. I'll give you a clue. It rhymes with farijuana.

In any case, my lovely friend Allison sent me a fantastic article today about the communal hatred of my least favorite herb, cilantro. This article pretty much sums up everything you need to know about why some people hate cilantro. But I thought I would put my two sense in.

Ever since I was old enough to distinguish certain elements of taste in food, I've hated cilantro. It's just gross. When I scan a menu at a restaurant, I avoid anything that lists "cilantro" in it. If it's something I really want, and the cilantro is the only thing holding me back, I lie and tell the waiter I'm allergic so they won't put it in. When I go to CPK and order my favorite, Chopped BBQ Chicken Salad, I always say "NO CILANTRO!" and they usually get it right. Fortunately, I've never had an incident where I have had to throw my burrito across the room.

Truthfully, I can stand it if it's in something like pica de galla, I just won't eat too much of it. What I hate, is when it's sprinkled on top of my meal in some sort of effort to make it taste more "fresh." WTF? Just squirt some lime on that sucker.

My family loves cilantro. But they have been very understanding of the fact that I loath it. When we had family style fajita dinners, my mom would always put the cilantro in a little bowl on the side. My maternal grandmother also hates cilantro, which proves that it is genetics, and it is something we can't control. So next time someone says "is there cilantro in that?" don't look at us like we have five heads. Just be honest so we don't end up yacking your precious dinner all over the linoleum floor.

Dear Diary

Why don't people keep diaries anymore? And why is there such a stigma against the word "diary." I suppose because it has some sort of association with those cutesy Hello Kitty diaries with the big lock on them that you keep when you're 6 years old and the most exciting thing you have to write about is what you had for breakfast.

I've been keeping diaries since I was 7, and yes, the first one did have some sort of Japanese cartoon character on the front. That one is mostly filled with recollections of play dates with people I didn't like, secret crushes (which changed weekly), teachers that were mean to me, or something annoying my brother did (like steal all my silly putty and clump it together in one big ball - Thanks, Al). Eventually the little neon green book ran out of space, or I supposed I grew out of it.

I had some social issues in middle school (who doesn't?), and my nutritionist-turned-therapist suggested I start keeping a journal. A journal? Is that like a diary? Yes, she said, it's just like a diary but it's for young adults. So she handed me a hard covered journal with a wall-paper like flower pattern on the front, and a ribbon on the inside to serve as a bookmark.

It took me about 1 year to fill it, from 8th grade to 9th grade. When it was filled I bought another, and when that one was filled, I bought another. Before I knew it, I had a stack of 5 journals under my mattress. They were filled with thoughts on rocky friendships, casual hook-ups, drunken escapades, and of course first loves. I printed out AIM conversations, emails from people, pictures - and I stuck them in the pages. I wrote notes and phrases on the inside cover. They were filled with pieces of me, just as any journal should be.

I tried to keep this up throughout college, but I was just too busy and I never wrote regularly. When I go back and read the entries (which is incredibly amusing and fascinating, especially with the earlier journals), it seems like I was always apologizing for not writing more often. But I realized that as I got older, I stopped caring about the things I used to write about. I became more comfortable with myself and I didn't need a journal to spill my guts to. If I was mad at someone, I told them. If I had a crush on someone, I acted on it. If I got drunk, I didn't remember enough to re-hash it out. Or, I did write while I was drunk and my handwriting was too sloppy to make out a complete sentence.

I still keep a journal, and I write in it every month or so. Most of the entries are just summaries, catching my future self up with my current life. I know that I will cherish these journals more than anything when I read them over and over on my death bed at the age of 107, but for now it's just comforting to know I have the option to write in something that nobody will see but me.

Twisted Like a Dread

Yesterday I got my weekly does of crack heads on the bus packed into one 25 minute ride on the 21 line. Who knew a Sunday afternoon could be so choc-full of crazies?

After a truly exciting experience of seeing Coraline in 3D at the Metreon (which you must go and see, and only do so if you plan on seeing it in 3D because it is extraordinary in a really trippy way), my roommates and I decided to catch the 21 line from downtown Market St back to our NOPA/Western Addition neighborhood. We should have known what we were getting into when we scoped out the other people waiting for the bus: en entourage of jersey wearing basketball thugs with missing teeth and facial scars, an older man dressed in his Sunday Best, a pregnant lady with a saliva issue, and best of all: a solo free-styling Eminem wannabe. He was crooning his little ditty from the time he stepped on at Market and 5th all the way to Hayes and Fillmore, where the majority of the collective bunch stepped off. It went something like this:
"Twisted like a dread... all up in my head.. reer reer chica reer head head head... reer reer chica reer in my head head head." Needless to say, this "song" got stuck in our heads for the rest of the afternoon.

At every stop, somebody - who was most likely distracted by the captivating show that was going on before their very eyes - would forget to get off and rush to the door to exit, mere seconds before the bus driver would get ready to take off again. All of the sudden everyone standing near the exit door (which happened to be all the crazies) would scream "BACK DOOR BACK DOOR" so the person was able to escape the loony bus. How thoughtful.

Normally this would be a situation where I just throw on my head phones and pretend like I'm not phased in the least by what is happening around me. But because I was joined by my two roommates, who may not be as used to the eclectic Tenderloin/SOMA crowd as I am (only because I happen to work smack dab in the middle of the 5x5 block area that the crack heads like to call "home"), I took advantage of this opportunity to soak in a pre-dose of the cluster fuck of people that are usually on my daily commute.

What a funny cast of characters we met last night

My roommate is a member of a climbing gym in San Francisco. Since she has become a member, she has encouraged a slew of other people to take up the sport of rock climbing and thus become members of said gym. Yesterday was "bring a friend day" for all members. You see, in order to efficiently climb you must attend with someone who can take turns belaying with you - so "bring a friend day" is a pretty profitable idea for all parties involved. Except of course for those of us that don't know what they're doing and have been roped in (no pun intended) due to the evils of peer pressure. Side Note: I would definitely consider climbing to be one of the more hardcore sports, especially for people who actually know what they're doing. But I can't help myself from giggling when I see a sufficiently hung member of the opposite sex squeeze into one of those awkwardly placed harnesses.

We spent about three hours at the gym, which is located in Chrissy Field with a beautiful view of the Golden Gate Bridge and Marin County. Unfortunately, this excellent location comes with the downside of being really out of the way from the rest of the city. While it's surprisingly convenient to get to, it's really a pain in the ass to get home especially if you're bikeless/carless. My roommate had the brilliant idea to hitchhike home and we were picked up by two non-homicidal climbing dudes (non-members like myself). The duo was a part of a larger group that was intending to reward themselves for their rigorous activities by dining at the In-n-Out restaurant in Fisherman's Wharf, which happens to be on the same path as several conveniently routed bus lines. Needless to say it was a pretty successful hitch, being my first and all (until of course we were forced to wait for lazy bus drivers on some sort of time code, but hey we got to meet a few crazy crack heads which is something I always enjoy). To the two guys that picked me and my roommate up: thanks for the ride, but I really wish you would have abducted us so I could have got a double double animal style.

On to our next adventure: a snazzy VIP party for the opening of the musical WICKED - a la, free green vodka drinks, 90's pop rap, drunk actors, and people that think they're important. What a prime destination for shmoozing and people watching! Some celeb spottings: Carol Kane (you may recognize her as the teacher in Jawbreaker), that evil guy from "Heroes" and some other crazy actors, including one who hit on me after he insisted we had met before. This older, ragged couple dressed in pleather and chains was slightly out of place. I wanted to see them get kicked out, but I lost track of them when I was verbally raped by this ridiculously drunk dude who asked me "where do your lips come from?" and I said, "my mother" to which he responded, "we must go find her and thank her!" That's when I excused myself to go to the restroom and left my roommate to fend for herself with the pompous art gallery owner. There were these other two guys that were dancing with us for a bit, and one of them seriously looked like a younger, Indian version of Jeff Goldblum. We were finally kicked out by the cleaning crew, only after stealing and chugging two beers.

As we were waiting for the bus stop my roommate and I started to drunkenly speak in French to each other, when we were interrupted by a curious, young-looking Swiss man. After sharing a short bus ride with him and doing some Swiss geography, we decided to invite him over for some French wine and a good ol' fashioned American game of Scrabble! I obviously dominated, but it was thoroughly amusing to watch this guy form words, especially after the splif. We later found out his name was Simon and exchanged numbers before sending him on his way. I hope he made it home okay.

All in all, it was an exciting night of random encounters with horny drunk nerds. Just another night in SF.

Barellas

We finally got some much-needed rain in SF today. It's supposed to rain for the next four days, which is great because apparently we were dangerously approaching the threat of a drought. In case you didn't know, droughts can lead to brush fires, dandruff, bad vineyard years, and very angry people who don't get the proper dose of fresh fruit and vegetables.

With rain comes one of the most controversial accessories: umbrellas. They seem convenient in the way they shield you from the rain, but in actuality they cause more frustration than comfort. What follows is a list of reasons why I think umbrellas are stupid:

a. if it's windy (and most of the time it is when it rains and especially in SF or Chicago and NY where most of my other friends reside), your umbrella is bound to turn upside-down on you, causing you to look like a fool who can't manage their own accessory.
b. they don't shield you from puddles.
c. most people don't have umbrella holders at their doorway, so you're left sticking your sopping wet umbrella somewhere that is bound to get other things wet.
d. they're bad luck if you open them indoors.
e. they break all the time... even the expensive ones are unreliable.
f. when it stops raining and you still have your umbrella open, it's really awkward.
g. even if you agree with all of the above, you're still forced into buying one because what kind of idiot doesn't own an umbrella?

Maybe my hatred of umbrellas stems from the fact that it was one of my brother's favorite toys when he was a toddler. He LOVED umbrellas. He called it a "barella." He would sit in his barella in the dark hallway closet with his glow-in-the dark action figures. He would watch movies in his barella. The Rescuers Down Under was one of his favorites (and mine too), because Bernard and Miss Bianca used an umbrella to transport down the Australian crocodile-infested rivers. He wanted to float in his barella down a crocodile-infested river, or at least the stream on the golf course. I ask you, how can an umbrella be more fun to play with than your totally awesome and infinitely more animate big sis?

I own an umbrella. It's black with rainbow polka-dots. I've used it twice since I moved here a year ago. It's small and it fits into most purses, but it generally rests on my bedroom doorknob. I also own a hooded water-proof down jacket that has outlasted my past three umbrellas. Thanks, North Face.

Like a Virgin

...Blogging for the very first time!

No seriously, why has it taken me so long to get into this fad? I love to write, I have plenty of spare time (sadly), and I like to consider myself a master at people watching.

A lot of "Follow That Nerd" will be about casual observations of the people and things around me, especially but not limited to life in San Francisco.

San Francisco is a very unique city. If you've never been here, I suggest visiting for a long weekend at least. You will probably find yourself moving here shortly after. It's an infectious culture of free spirit. I've definitely noted several changes in my personality since moving here from St. Louis/New York.

As much as people like to say how elitist this city is, filled with hipsters and trend setters, it's pretty damn nerdy too. Probably the capitol of dot.com, San Francisco is filled with some of the most intelligent people I have ever met. Artists, computer programmers, athletes, musicians... "free-lancers." I'd like to say that these nerds are the future leaders of our country, and some of them may be, but the truth is they're just pretty damn interesting to follow.

Signing off for now,
Kelsey


BTW (and yes, I will be using a lot of acronyms and abbreviations in this blog, so if you don't like it tough luck), "Follow That Nerd" is a direct homage to one of my all time favorite movies: "Follow That Bird" - you know, the one where Big Bird leaves Sesame Street and gets captured by carnies and they paint him blue? That's the one.