Someone Told Me It's All Happening at the Zoo

I awoke to another sunny day in San Francisco this morning and met my friend for brunch in Hayes Valley. (Note: this summer has been so cold. We're talking 50's. Last week we had a heat wave for a couple of days, and then it dropped back down to the 60's. So when I wake up to sunshine on the weekend when I can actually enjoy it and I'm not sitting behind a desk in a dark room that faces a pigeon-filled alley way, I get a little excited.)

After brunch, my friend and I wanted to take advantage of this sunny day and do something exciting in the city. So we eagerly decided to take the MUNI across town to the San Francisco Zoo, a place neither of us had ever been since living here. The MUNI ride was a little sketchy. There was a foul BO stench for the majority of the ride (not unusual) and we rode the L line through parts of the city that I didn't even know existed. Such as, Forest Hill: SF's very own Stepford community.

Once we arrived to the Sunset District where the zoo is, I realized that my outfit of shorts, a tank top and a short-sleeved cartigan - an appropriate choice for brunch in Hayes Valley - was a very big mistake. Had I known we were going to the foggiest neighborhood in San Francisco, I may have opted to wear more clothes. After checking out the $40 oversized zip-up sweatshirts in the gift shop, I decided to buck up and stick out the weather and the dirty looks from old people who were offended by my bare skin in a family place.

We then realized that we overlooked the fact that the zoo is a place for small children. Though children in a zoo can be incredibly obnoxious, this made for amusement at times. Especially at the primate exhibit when we overheard a seven-year-old boy say to his father, "I'm really bored." Apparently so were the animals, because with the exception of the galloping giraffes, most of them had their backs turned to the spectators as though they were trying to punish us.

Many of the animals seemed very sad, and it made me second-guess the idea of viewing caged animals. Lots of them had very little space to roam, and many of them were in areas alone with no other animals to mingle with. I did enjoy the penguin feeding, and the man who was caring for this injured bald eagle was quit interesting, in an awkward eye contact kind of way. We encountered a very relaxed kangaroo, and I chased a roaming peacock around for a couple of minutes until it got frighteningly territorial.

Everything else was sort of just eh, and the foggy weather wasn't helping my disposition. Maybe I have grown to expect a lot from zoos since my vast experience consists of consistent trips to the San Diego Zoo and the Wild Animal Park (now known as the Safari Park) when I was growing up, but I really wasn't impressed by what the San Francisco Zoo had to offer. I think what excited me the most was the gift shop filled with fluffy stuffed animals. I love stuffed animals.

Tout Seul a le Cinema

One of my favorite things to do by myself is to go to the movies, especially if it's a movie that might make me cry a little. There's something about it that's so liberating and calming; watching and thinking and quietly crying to yourself in a dark theatre surrounded by strangers.


So this past Saturday, I awoke at 9am (internal alarm clock sucks) and showered off Friday night's festivities. Then I picked up a bagel and iced tea at the corner cafe and hopped on a bus to the AMC 14 to see a 10:50am showing of The Kids Are All Right, a film I have been wanting to see since I read rave reviews from this year's Sundance. Though I probably could have found a few people to see it with me, I was tired of waiting on the agendas of friends. And I knew it was the perfect movie to see alone; whereas if I had seen Inception without the party of five that joined me, I would have been utterly disappointed when I had nobody to debrief me on the timeline of dreams.


When I walked into the theatre there were about fifteen people already seated, most of whom were in groups of 2 or 3, but a few solo viewers like myself. I settled into my seat, lifted my feet to rest on the seat in front of me, and silenced my phone - normal things one would do when attending the movies with friends. Fortunately, the previews weren't too enticing and nothing I hadn't already seen so I didn't feel left out when I had nobody next to me to whisper "I want to see that!"

Now, on to the film itself... You may have heard some ignorant folk describe this film as "the lesbian movie" - so wrong. Yes, there are two lesbian women in the film who play the role of the concerned parents, Julianne Moore and Annette Bening. They worry that their son might be getting into trouble with his crude friend, they're proud of their daughter's high school accomplishments but sad about her going off to college, and they work hard on keeping their marriage successful - with regards to sex, social activities, and of course playfully picking at each others faults. Sounds like "normal" straight parents, right?


This is not a family film, but it is certainly about family. When Joanie, the daughter played wonderfully by Mia Wasikowska, turns eighteen her fifteen-year-old brother, Laser (Josh Hutcherson) - who is longing for a fatherly relationship like the ones he sees with his pals and their dads - begs her to reach out to the sperm doner who is seemingly an integral part of their family. After some thought, Joanie reaches out to the sperm bank and gives permission to be reached by her doner, Paul (Mark Ruffalo). Paul is a motorcycle-riding, successful farmer/local restaurant owner who we later find out dropped out of college because it "wasn't his thing" to pursue his passion for cooking. Needless to say, the moms aren't thrilled to learn of their kids evolving relationship with Paul, but they try to embrace it for the sake of their children. Paul is more than happy to acquire his insta-family without the real burdens of fatherhood, but he soon learns that parenting is a lot harder than it seems - or does he?

Without giving too much away on the plot, I will say that there are some unexpected turns and folds that will leave you aching and tearing up, making you feel as though you're a part of this onscreen family. I cried. Twice. It felt great. Julianne Moore and Mark Ruffalo are outstanding as their characters, and Ruffalo may even get a Golden Globe nod. Wasikowska shines once again, proving that this is only the beginning of what's going to be a tremendous career in acting, but the real show-stopper is Bening. Her portrayal of a tense, worrisome mother who balances running her house with her demanding job as a doctor, indulging in the more than occasional glass of wine to calm herself down (that description sounds eerily like my own father) - is exquisite and outstanding. The film was a truly wonderful and eye-opening viewing experience, and I recommend it to anyone who does or doesn't know a thing or two about family - I think that includes all of us. And if you can't find anyone to join you, catch a weekend matinee... tout seul.

Einstein and Petit

"The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and all science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead: his eyes are closed."
-Albert Einstein

My boyfriend shared this quote with me last night after we watched Man On Wire, a film we both have been wanting to see for quite some time. We agreed that while the scientific part of the quote was represented by the Great Albert Einstein, the artistic element fit well with the life outlook of Philippe Petit. Both men shared the seemingly effortless ability to challenge ideology; I'm sure they would be great friends if they had ever crossed paths.


What struck me most about the film was the reaction of those who were close to Petit at the time he crossed the twin towers. They were frightened for him, but much more than that they desperately wanted to see him succeed. His girlfriend at the time, Annie Allix, was interviewed for the film. Years after they parted ways (shortly after Petit walked across the towers), she still had this look of awe on her face as she described the beauty she felt when she was watching Phillipe on a wire.


Like Einstein, those who didn't know Petit thought he was crazy for taking such a risk. But the documentary reveals the world inside Phillipe's mind; it shows the viewer the inspiration and the mystery behind the man.

"To me, it's really so simple, that life should be lived on the edge. You have to exercise rebellion. To refuse to tape yourself to the rules, to refuse your own success, to refuse to repeat yourself, to see every day, every year, every idea as a true challenge. Then you will live your life on the tightrope."
-Phillipe Petit

My Own Personal Hell

DMV, Department of Motor Vehicles - the worst form of torture that exists.

I arrived at the San Francisco DMV yesterday at 8:50am. There was a line of people out and around the building, waiting to receive paperwork to begin the process of obtaining identification. Behind me was a guy who was kinda wacked out, missing some teeth; he wanted to "get his life back together", which meant getting a photo i.d. In front of me was an inpatient teenager and her annoying mother who chatted on the phone nonstop. Other line attendees included a short, angry Spanish man who had an affinity for the word "fuck", a woman who thought she was a stand-up comedian, and a young thug with ice in his ears who was trying to pass his permit test for the third time.

The majority of the people who arrived after me were just as baffled as the line, and thought it somehow didn't apply to them. I found myself thinking, why is everyone so surprised? It's the DMV - of course there is going to be a long wait. But I had no idea the hell that was brewing around me...

After an hour of waiting outside, I finally reached the desk and received paperwork to apply for a California Driver's License. Once I filled it out, I was given a number: G123. I looked at the current number in the G sections (there were also numbers beginning with E, H, I and J in the mix) - G034. Fuck. Bookless and ipodless, I wanted to go to my nearby apartment and wait it out for a while and come back with my number in an hour or so. But I stuck it out in fear I would miss my number being called. It was kind of nice to sit down for a while and raise my braced leg up on one of the chairs. But then my back and my ass started to hurt because I sat there for about two and a half hours.

When G123 was finally called, I gathered my belongings and locked my leg brace and marched up to the teller at counter #7. This is it, I thought! Done, finally! Wrong. After spending about five minutes with the teller filling out necessary paperwork, she pointed me in line to wait to get my photo taken. Another 15 minutes, not so bad. 1, 2, 3, smile, flash! Then I was pointed to wait in line to receive my written test. With only two people working the front desk and another at lunch. A mean woman was checking people's tests and giving them their temporary license, and an awkward man was providing paperwork and numbers to people arriving. There wasn't anyone to pass out tests to the people waiting, so our line was at a stand-still for the first 20 minutes I was standing in it. There was a lag in people checking in, so our line started to move about, then came to a halt again when the awkward man had to attend to the other line. In all, I waited 45 minutes in a line of 12 people to receive the written exam.

I got the exam, hobbled to a test taking counter and knocked it out in under four minutes. By then, the line inside the test-taking area to hand in your exam was about 25 people crammed into a 20x10 space with other people taking their tests. It was pretty cozy. I had been standing for over an hour at this point, and my leg was starting to stiff up. I told the person I was behind to save my place in line so I could rest at the handicap seat for a little bit. Just when I was starting to get the feeling back in my knee, I'm tapped on the shoulder by a woman with a Polish accent who looked about 7 1/2 months pregnant. "Ma'am, can you please stand up so I can sit down and finish taking my test?" (Earlier I had seen this woman cheat the system by demanding a lower number so that she could be seen quickly.) I was speechless. Did she see my leg brace? Did she understand I was more "handicap" than her? It's not my fault she got herself knocked up. You didn't see me cheating the system because I had a bum leg, I waited it out with all of the other able-bodied people. But of course, I got up and gave her a mean glare as if to say "I hope your baby looks like a monkey." No more than ten minutes later, the preggo woman gets up and marches to the counter, skipping everyone in line, and hands in her test. If I was running the DMV, I wouldn't have tolerated that bullshit. Even if the woman looked like this:

My total wait time: 5+ hours. Did I get my license? Yeah, and I got a 34/36 on the exam. I'm now the proud owner of a California state temporary driver's license. We'll see if they actually send the real one.

Makeover!

I was inspired to give my blog a makeover today when I came across the blog of my friend, Emily. I was getting kind of bored with the old orange layout, and I needed something that was more "Kelsey" - I think this is a pretty good fit.

This was a nice distraction from reading the California DMV handbook all day long. With the week off to recover from my knee surgery, I decided I would finally get my CA license tomorrow - after nearly three years of living here. Apparently it's illegal to drive in California with an out-of-state license if you've lived here longer than six months and are registered to vote. I'm hoping I can somehow keep my New York license for nostalgic reasons, but I have a feeling the DMV won't let me. I wonder what top I'm going to wear for my license photo....

Redecorating my blog was also a nice distraction from the mouse in my house that has been taunting me all day. Not only did it enter the corner of my room - TWICE - but it somehow managed to escape from a crevice in the bathroom that has not been plugged up with expanding foam. Tricky little bastards, aren't they? And what the hell is it doing in the bathroom? Shouldn't it be looking for food in the kitchen? Am I dealing with an anorexic mouse? My roommates are not fans of deadly mouse traps or extermination, so I've decided to take matters into my own hands. I placed a sticky trap on the floor of the spot that the mouse keeps returning to. I figure I can do what I want since it's my bedroom. The only downside is that I will have to dispose of the paper/mouse if I actually manage to catch it. Gross.

In any case, I hope you like the makeover!

Rehab

Yesterday was the date of my long-awaited ACL reconstruction surgery. It's hard to believe that it was a whole six months ago that the tear occurred while skiing in Lake Tahoe - and I've been walking around in boots and heels since then (no doubt, with a drunken fall here and there) with little to no pain. And now I am laying in a cozy bed in my mom's room at the Hotel Monaco with a huge brace over my leg, and Vicodin, Toradol, water and crackers by my bedside.

Those two nubs sticking out of the top of my brace are for the cold therapy unit that I use 6 hours a day, provided by Liberty Health Services. (The unit costs $200 and is not covered by insurance, so essentially I own it. I'm not sure if I'll find any use for this afterward, but I guess it's pretty cool - no pun intended.) I fill a cooler with ice and water, which is hooked up to a tube that clips into the openings under the nubs. The ice water is then dispensed into the packets surrounding my leg under the brace. It's basically a quick and easy way to provide continuous icing to the surgery location.

I also have to use a CPM machine 4 hours a day, also provided by Liberty Health Services and covered by my insurance plan with a small co-pay. I can use this at the same time as the cold therapy unit, or separately. The CPM helps move my knee, so I can gradually bend it from 40 degrees to 100 degrees. It's actually pretty comfy (though, very heavy), and was delivered directly to my mom's hotel room by a nice man named Chase.

By the way, the actual surgery went pretty smoothly! After checking in at the CPMC Outpatient Center, a young volunteer brought me into the pre-op room and told me, "I've never done this before so I'm not really sure what happens next." I think he was in high school, maybe. I told him he should probably refrain from telling his patients that he was clueless. After that a nice nurse named Mercy came in and taught me how to use my crutches (which I'm a pro at) and hooked me up to my IV. I was worried about my IV because in my wrist surgery two year ago, it took the nurse four tries to find a vein that was big enough to hold the IV. But Mercy got it in with one try in a vein below my left wrist.

At noon (my scheduled surgery time), a murse brought me to the OR area of the hospital. He brought me into a meeting room where I would discuss the procedure with my surgeons, and plugged a tube into my hospital gown that blew in hot air. My surgeon, Dr. Lesley Anderson came in and met with me and signed my left leg with her initials. Then the extremely good-looking anesthesiologist, Vince, came in and told me about the nerve blocking option in my femoral artery to alleviate pain after the surgery (I'm allergic to morphine). He was so good looking that I just agreed to whatever he suggested.

The last person to come meet me was Nurse Olivia. She brought me into the operating room, which was filled with bright lights, TV screens, lots of big machines, and 7 or 8 doctors. They started to hook me up to various machines and cover me up. Vince gave me what he called "an appetizer" through my IV - a small dose of pain meds that calms you down while they're poking and prodding you with needles. He numbed the crease in my upper thigh and shot me with the nerve block. He explained that I was going to have muscle spasms in my leg, and that meant it was working correctly. It definitely felt weird, but I was glad it was working. Meanwhile, Dr. Anderson was looking for a vein in my arm to draw blood for the allograft. Of course, she couldn't find one and so she decided to wait until I was asleep. Then Dr. Vince told me to think of my vacation spot - I obviously chose Bora Bora - and I was out before I knew it.

When I woke up, Nurse Susan was helping me manage my pain. She brought me down from a 7 to a 4 with a little bit of Demeral. We talked about the Yankees and Broadway as I drifted in and out of lucidness. Once my pain was managed, she brought me to the recovery room where my mom was waiting for me. They gave me some saltines, water, graham crackers and apple juice and after about an hour of rest, I was able to get up with my crutches and use the bathroom. Go me!

All in all, it was a very successful surgery and I feel much better than I thought I would. Although I can't move around all that much, I'm not complaining about being stuck in a hotel room with TV, room service and my mom.

Eating My Way Through NOLA

New Orleans: the city of bourbon, bistro, and Brandon!

This past weekend I went to visit my close friend, Brandon at his new home in New Orleans. Brandon moved to NOLA from SF a few months ago, and I've missed him dearly. When Brandon was living here, we spent most of our time together shopping at the farmers market, cooking dinners, drinking wine, and exploring new hot spots in San Francisco. I have not since found a foodie friend to replace him, and I am currently accepting applicants.

The last time I had visited New Orleans was when I was seventeen-years-old - a senior in high school - visiting my older friend at Tulane as a prospective student. Needless to say, this time around was an entirely new experience. Not only was it my first visit since Hurricane Katrina, but saw the city from the perspective of someone who lives in the French Quarter, dines with local farmers in mind, prefers Trefethen s.i.n. Rose to Pat O'Brien's Hurricanes, and has a car.

I arrived at New Orleans airport at approximately 11:15pm. This was after two legs of flight in first class (thanks to American Airline miles), 3 large glasses of wine, and a vodka cocktail. Read: I was pretty drunk already. Brandon picked me up and we drove back to his spacious and beautiful studio apartment on Royal Street. After changing into something more appropriate for the thick 90 degree heat, we opted for a drink at the Carousel Bar in Hotel Monteleone. One drink was clearly enough, as I was already drunk and the room was spinning (literally, the bar spins in a slow circle as you're served drinks), and it was a Thursday night so Brandon had to wake up early for lunch.

The next day I was on my own for the morning. With a key to the apartment, a flowing skirt and tank top and a mission to shop, I was off in the French Quarter!

I didn't get very far down Royal Street before Brandon called me to tell me to grab an umbrella before meeting him for lunch since the sky looked like it was about to open up and release buckets of rain. Before heading back to the apartment, I did manage to purchase a few small items like spices, a magnet, measuring spoons and some Hanky Panky thongs (my favorite). I met Brandon on the corner of Canal and St. Charles and he whisked me away to lunch at one of his favorite spots, Cochon Butcher. We stood in a long line waiting to order, then took our seats at the bar - according to Brandon, "we would get better service" at the bar. We sipped on homemade iced tea and waited for our lunches to arrive, about 5 minutes after we ordered. While he delved into the brisket special, I feasted on the pastrami sandwich - a Creole take on the Ruben. YUM!

Brandon told me that this place was the kid brother restaurant to the larger and more fancy Cochon next store. Both use practice sustainability and specialize in Cajun dishes. And Brandon was right, we did get better service at the bar. We exchanged stories of the East Coast with the servers and talked about food in New Orleans. It was a lovely first meal experience in NOLA for me!

Later that evening, Brandon took me on a drive through New Orleans' Garden District and pointed out the homes of Sandra Bullock and John Goodman, as well as some other historical mansions. We had dinner at Lilette, a new-ish Creole Restaurant on Magazine Street, and one of Brandon's favorite spots to dine. We shared a bottle of Grüner Veltliner - my pick - and ordered some appetizers to start. Brandon got the beef short ribs with cucumber and lime-ginger vinaigrette, and I ordered the Braised veal cheeks with baby greens and horseradish vinaigrette. Both were delicious, but my entree took the cake: Paneed red snapper with Israeli cous cous, leeks, tomato and ver jus mussel butter. Even Brandon was drooling over it, though his grilled Mahi Mahi with braised escerole, leek puree and satsuma-basil butter was almost as perfect as mine. We happily agreed to skip dessert because we were so pleasantly full, and to outsource the calories on the many bevvies that were to come.

Our next stop was Columns Hotel, an old Bed & Breakfast that boasts various large rooms with high ceilings and tables outside and inside to sit and enjoy a drink. We waited for his friend to meet us, and the three of us had three rounds of drinks consisting of mint juleps, bourbon and coke, and vodka and soda. We decided it was time to hit the next spot just a few meters away at Delachaise. I ordered a whopping double vodka and soda and we sat outside on the patio, making plans for the rest of the weekend. We headed back downtown where we separated from Brandon's friend and made one more stop at Bar Tonique, which was a near split image to one of my favorite bars in San Francisco, Alembic. I nursed a strong gin drink called The Last Word (gin, lime juice, green chartreuse, and maraschino liqueur) while Brandon sipped on a Pimm's Cup. A delicious end to a delectable night.

Saturday we slept until 10am and got dressed for brunch in the Bywater district. Brandon took me to Satsuma, a hippy-dippy organic place with five staffers, a small but affordable menu, an assortment of tables outside and inside, and of course free wifi. Are we in San Francisco? Brandon later explained to me that this neighborhood was in fact the more Bohemian area of the city, with brightly painted houses and small cafes and shops, and if you turn the corner you may find yourself in the Ghetto - a lot like the Mission district in San Francisco. After brunch, Brandon gave me a tour of the Lower Ninth Ward, the area of the city that suffered the most devastation after Hurricane Katrina hit five years ago. First he took me to the Doullut Steamboat Houses, two very special and historic homes in New Orleans, one of which Brandon's friend owns and lives in.

We then drove through the area that Brad Pitt's company has been rebuilding. The houses were very modern and interesting looking, all on stilts to protect them from floods. While the seemed to solve the issues of flooding, they don't look very much like typical New Orleans homes. But kudos to Brad for using his money and fame to make better homes for people in need!

By this point, it was so damn hot outside and Brandon's car AC only worked when we drove fast, so we decided we best sneak inside one of the hotel roof deck pools in his neighborhood for an afternoon swim. I was so worried that we would get caught, but we slowly realized that nearly everyone who was sitting by the pool were locals who must have got their bright and early to claim the pool deck chairs. We even met one girl who claimed she was "not a fan" of San Francisco, and the people were "snobby and uptight." Mmm hmm. Go back to your Rickys and Ronnies. We left the pool shortly after to dine on some creole tomatoes, mozzarella and fresh basil from Brandon's balcony planters - and of course the Trefethen Rose that I trekked across country. Our buzz and heat exhaustion called for a much-needed nap. When I awoke, it was pouring rain with thunder and lightening. This lasted about 30 minutes, and then the sun came back out. At least I got to witness at least one of NOLA's infamous summer afternoon storms.

Later that evening, after we were well-rested, showered, and dressed for dinner, we headed back to Magazine Street to eat at Bistro Daisy, a small American bistro restaurant featuring seasonal and local dishes. I ordered a heaping glass of Duckhorn Decoy Zinfandel and we selected our appetizers. For me, jumbo lump crab and gulf shrimp in aioli with artichokes, new potatoes, petite croutons and chives; for Brandon, grilled sweetbreads with lemon supremes, fried capers and toasted pinenuts in a browned butter. Both were fantastically prepared, with all of the flavors melding together in every bite. For my entree, I chose the lamb with risotto and tomato-mint reduction while Brandon dined on the fish special (which I can't remember because I was so immersed in my lamb and Zinfandel). We again opted to skip dessert, but were pleasantly surprised when we were brought a dish of homemade ice cream - for free! It was literally the icing on the cake.

After dinner, we went back to Brandon's house to change into our evening clothes. After enjoying some bourbon and coke drinks at the apartment, we took to the streets to enjoy some live music and Bourbon Street entertainment. We stopped at DBA and Mimi's, and from here it gets kind of fuzzy - in true New Orleans fashion. We finished off the night with a stop at a taco stand, a five block cab ride back to Brandon's house (apparently I refused to walk), and an expensive faux New York hot dog that lead us to loudly imitate/mock the New Jersey accent for the next 30 minutes or so.

Fortunately my flight on Sunday wasn't until late in the afternoon, so we were able to nurse our hangovers and enjoy a homemade breakfast while watching one of our favorite movies, Sleepy Hollow. Once we were motivated enough to leave the house, we spent some more time walking around the French Quarter doing window shopping at antique stores, history shops, jewelers and a very small but entertaining sex shop. To ease the beads of sweat dripping down our face, we stopped at a small Popsicle shop owned by a woman from Nashville. I highly recommend stopping in this place if you find yourself in the French Quarter on a hot day.

I could not have asked for a more pleasurable experience during this trip. Not only did I get to spend time with one of my best friends, but I got to see a side of New Orleans that I didn't know existed. Special thanks to Brandon for one of the best weekends this summer will bring me!