My life in Hayes - Living and Breathing in San Francisco

North Beach by night

2009-11-15T14:58:00.000-08:00

Sean Penn was in Tosca last night.
Shame that he left just as we arrived.

PG rated?

2009-11-14T18:38:00.000-08:00

I don't understand why some people insist on bringing their babies to the cinema.
Even when we're talking Hotel for dogs - exactly how much is the nine month old next to me enjoying the movie? But today, not sure that the 2.05 screening of Precious was the right fit for an 18 month old.
Not even before she'd finished her Medium sized popcorn.

2009-11-13T13:52:00.000-08:00

Apparently, I subscribe to the Economist. It lands safely in my letter-box every Friday.
If I have to subscribe to something without paying for it, couldn't it be Grazia, instead?

Knit and purl, or knit and hit

2009-11-10T17:56:00.000-08:00

There is something about ladies who work in craft-shops, and I can't exactly put my finger on it, but they are either over-the-top nice, or they look at you as something that the cat dragged in. Often they can be hot-and-cold all at the same time, and they can switch moods, right there, in front of you, and you don't know what you've done wrong. It all takes me back to sewing-lessons in school, when teacher Gunny A taught the class how to knit. I was rubbish at it,I just couldn't make sense of the needles, and the yarn, and which finger to wrap it around, and how to pull the yarn through the loops - it was a mess! And as the tyrant teacher she was, she made fun of me in front of the whole class for the entire lesson, really viciously and spitefully mocking me, 9 years old, by calling me stupid, useless and pointing out that no good could become of a girl who didn't know how to knit. As homework I had to try to catch up over the weekend. As I have a mother who was a fairly decent knitter, I was lucky for a while. She not only taught me how to knit in one night - by the end of the weekend I had finished the whole damn thing (I think it was a Moomin doll...) and brought it back Monday, relieved, and not a little proud of myself.

Unfortunately, it only made matters worse. Gunny A was sure that a useless girl like myself couldn't have picked up the art of knitting over one weekend, it was impossible! There was only one explanation: I had gotten my mother to do the work for me. I had cheated! More mocking, more taunting in front of the class, and a time-out in the corridor, for the rest of the class (and man, that corridor where dark and cold, it being Sweden in the early 80's, and probably winter, too).

I'm at my local yarn-shop to get hold of some yarn for a top I am knitting for Holly. They are short one ball of purple yarn on the shelf, and I ask if they have more in stock. Nope. Can they order it for me?
- But we have this in a cherry yarn.
- It's not the same color.
She looks at me as if I don't really belong in her shop.
- We have 6 skeins if this right now, I mean.
- Aha. But my daughter really wants purple. She has chosen all the colors herself.
- I see! That's where we're going wrong!

To imply that I was in any way wrong is not the best move right now. Finn has been in a foul mood all day. He's played up in every imaginable situation, every minute of the day, so far. To push me, even with the tip of a finger, would equal mental break-down.
- Well, I do want her to wear it, when I'm finished, so the colors are kind of important, I explain in nicey-nicey voice.
She shrugs her shoulders.

Meanwhile, Finn is throwing his 27th tantrum of the day in a pile of yarns in a corner of the shop. It's only 1.30pm.

Yep - the "gyllene medelvag" is to split it down the middle, and somehow i still end up the looser

2009-11-06T15:02:00.000-08:00

.... I think. The guy from the garage calls me back. He tells me that he will only charge for the work I wanted to have done (which turned out to not be none, since they couldn't find any damage) and refund me for the work they did do, but that I didn't want done.
It works out that I pay about 75% of the total cost. And I still have to take it to another garage to have the tyres changed.....

Is it worth getting angry about? Not today. I'm too tired to get angry.

it's a strange thing when you pick up your car from the garage and they've fixed something you didn't ask them to fix....and still want you to pay

2009-11-04T21:56:00.000-08:00

It's been a long day, and I am really looking forward to tomorrow when I have to talk to the manager at Superior Auto about the fact that I shouldn't have to pay for work done to my car that I didn't ask to have done, while they neglected to do any of the work I actually needed doing.

Who said Swede's are dull people, eh?

2009-11-04T13:15:00.000-08:00

http://www.thefuntheory.com/

Smile if there's anything you want, please tell me how it feels to live in a million dreams

2009-11-01T20:11:00.001-08:00

When I was a kid the worst time of the year was formal portrait picture taking time. My mother would dress me up in itchy dresses and the stupid photographer would stand behind his camera, shake a toy bird around while doing some silly noises and then shout: Smile! Smile!! with a fake, high pitched 'aren't we having fun' kind of voice. It was awful, and I never quite got over it. (I made a promise to never subject my own children to the same torture, and have stuck to it so far.) School photo day was equally horrible. My mother still has some of the portraits on her wall. Horse face with her rabbit teeth. Although I think I look marginally better as a grown-up, looking at pictures of myself as a kid still makes me cringe. How is it possible to look so completely goofy? (The customary Swedish fashion in the 70's, with orange corduroy and wool ribbed turtlenecks you could fold eight times around your neck didn't help either.)
The portraits came out a disaster, without failing. My big front teeth pushed their way out of my mouth no matter how hard I tried to pinch my lips together. My husband can vouch for this: my smile is not one of my most becoming features. Without getting to Freudian about the whole thing, smiling is not my default facial expression. If it has to do with my face or plainly because I don't always have things to smile about, I don't know, but there you go: I am not a natural smiler. I have huge front teeth.

So one thing I never could get used to during my ten years in London was the impertinent and condescending remarks from strange guys on the street like "cheer up, luv, it might never 'appen", "it can't be that bad, luv" and the various variations of it, as: "g'is a smile, luv", or, "what's with the face?". If you want to make someone hit you over the head with their hand-bag, this is the best way to do it. If you genuinely want someone to smile at you, you need to rethink. Trust me.
When I moved across the pond, I thought I'd never hear it again. Ever.

Today, I went to Andronico's supermarket to get some food for dinner and when I get to the fish-counter, I ask for scallops and prawn, and get this reply:
- You can. If you give me a smile first.
As clear as a bright blue sky on a summer's day. With a nod that tells me that he really will insist on the smile, or he will put up a fight before he parts with any such sea-related food products.
Part of me wants to just turn away with a:
- Fine. Suit yourself.
Part of me wants to demand to talk to the manager about his staff harassing innocent customers as they go about their weekly food-business after a late night trick or treating with the kids with an added promise of never ever returning to this food store ever again.
But part of me is just to damn tired to care, and so, by moving the corner of my mouth, I give him a half-way smile and as I do, I feel those big front teeth push up against the inside of my lips again, wanting to get out in the open.

He was just trying to be friendly. I know. As was the guy at the check out counter who once ruffled my daughters hair until she nearly started crying, because he liked her curls so much. They are all trying to be friendly. But I am Swedish. Personal space is very important to me. Having the right not to smile and still get my fresh scallops nicely wrapped in brown paper without hassle is huge thing.
It doesn't mean I'm in a bad mood or a rude person. It just means that I was scared for life when I had my picture taken as a kid, alright?

Halloween hang over

2009-11-01T15:43:00.000-08:00

After a late night spent trick or treating on Belvedere Road and eating pumpkin soup until midnight we're taking it very, very slowly today.
Super girl and Tiny Lion are both taking a afternoon nap, and I am struggling to come up with something to write, except that it was a very successful Halloween. The displays on Belvedere were great, as always.

When we first moved to SF I didn't really see the point of Halloween. Just another commercial waste of a reason to spend money and be silly. Good friends invited us to come out trick or treating with them at Belvedere, and we all immediately fell in love, immediately. Now we are lucky enough to live within walking distance of said street, and we have no reason to go anywhere else.
I hope to spend many more Halloweens here. Maybe next year, I'll even dress up myself, who knows...

Happy 2nd birthday, Finn!!! I love you very much xxxx

2009-10-29T20:11:00.001-07:00

Sometimes we need to leave them alone

2009-10-28T13:32:00.000-07:00

In Alta Plaza playground, there is a small play structure in the shape of a train. You can spin the steering wheel, sit down by a little table, crawl in and out of the cars, and so on. It would be a great hang out for the youngest kids if the grown ups didn't insist on standing around it and intervene in the games.
- Good job, buddy.
- Wait your turn.
- Let the other boy try first.
- Great spin.
For every toddler, there is at least one adult manipulating every interaction. It is a micro environment of how we treat, raise and 'curl' our children on a daily basis; how we shape their games for them, solve their conflicts for them and wait on them hand and foot.
I tend to go against the grain. I am the ignorant parent on the bench neglecting my child and his needs.
God forbid he should have to play by himself for two minutes.

IheartSpotify

2009-10-23T09:46:00.000-07:00

I love Spotify!
Where else would I be able to listen to these oldie goldies:
Reeperbahn - Venuspassagen
Eggstone - In SanDiego
and, hmmm....
.... Freestyle.
Need I say more?

Apropos Freestyle, remember that late night Cosmopolitan nights dancing in the kitchen to Freestyle and singing to Ratata?
One of my fondest memories of Muswell Hill, when the kids are sleeping and the husbands are either working late or travelling.
When you are glorified housewife you do need your girlfriends, that's for sure.

Preparations to meet a swine flu outbreak continues

2009-10-21T18:57:00.000-07:00

They call from Finn's pediatrician to confirm his two year check-up.
- Remember, they tell me. If he's ill, coughing or has a temperature you have to cancel your appointment.

And here I was thinking that you go to the Doctor in case you were ill.

The times they are a-changin'

2009-10-20T10:04:00.000-07:00

It was really hard to find a parking space on Filmore Street when I took Holly to Johnny Rockets on Sunday. It dawned on me that I haven't seen that many people hanging out waiting to be seated for brunch and doing a spot of shopping for a long time. Things seem to be picking up again after a very long, dreary year for retailers.
The other day I went to Bloomingdales and again, the place was buzzing with customers. It's been such a rare sight for such a long time, I had to comment on it.
- Oh yes, said a make up demonstrator. And you know the best thing: they are spending money.

I am happy to see that things are picking up again. It's been a depressing state of economic affairs for such a long time. But I really do hope that we have all learned something from the crisis and think twice, even three times, before we spend those hard earned $$'s: how much are we spending and on what. And most importantly: can we afford it in the first place?

A change in climate

2009-10-19T11:21:00.000-07:00

My friend tells me about a recent incident where she was walking in the park with her young daughter and her dog. They come to a crossover and start heading over while a white van drives up, a little too fast, only to break sharply right in front of them. Unnecessary, rude and ignorant.
She turns around to the male driver gesturing with her arms in a "Hello, can't you see we're crossing? I have a small child here"- kind of way.

The guy rolls down his window and starts hurling abuse at her. Not only that, he drives behind them as the walk off, slowly, and keep shouting and cursing at her.

Big, brave, heroic man in white van intimidating and bullying a woman and a young child in park.
Gold medals coming from everywhere!

After a few years of absentmindedness, this is why I am turning myself in to a feminist again

2009-10-17T15:45:00.000-07:00

Imagine a woman who once deconstructed the feminist literary critique on Jane Eyre and who wrote her MA thesis on the androgynous concept of Virginia Woolf.
Imagine when her daughter, three months shy of being 8, says:
- You know how boys always know more than girls.
Not asking, but making a statement.
Car-crash, earthquake, anyone?
Or deadly silence.
- Do you think daddy knows more stuff than mummy?
- No.
As if it was a given.
- Well, there you go.

But it has started.
The inevitable decline of individual perception of self. I really have to do something.
I have to get to work.

Bad pick-up lines

2009-10-16T15:49:00.000-07:00

The best way to scare me away for ever is to follow me around the book-shelves in Borders and then come up and ask me where I am from and say: Oh, Sweden, I have been to Scandinavia. To Denmark.
And then start talking about yourself.

Not that I am available to be picked up, but take the advice:
Never chase a girl when she's injecting her monthly dose of literature, and never, ever think that you are that interesting.
Period.

It's a catch 22

2009-10-16T10:19:00.000-07:00

Getting hold of your Doctor is not easy.
I try to get hold of my daughter's pediatrician to talk to him about some test results and the receptionist can't find her chart. She has to call me back. When she calls me back she tells me the results are fine and that we don't need to do anything. I already know the results are fine. I found out three days earlier, when she did the test. The reason for my call is to talk about the next step, since the problem is still there. I am informed that I will need to talk to the Doctor about this.
- I know, I say. That's why I am calling. To talk to him.
- Well, he's not here, and will have to call you back.

The next day, having not heard from him I call back again. I'm on hold for a long time. When the receptionist comes back she says:
- Sorry to keep you waiting, but we are trying to find your daughters chart to see if he called you yesterday.
- He didn't call, I say. That is why I am calling. To leave a message for him to pretty please call me back again.
She puts me on hold again.

- He's not here. He will have to call you back.

This is what I'm thinking right now: will my life ever hit a point where I don't feel constantly hassled all the time?

2009-10-14T15:03:00.001-07:00

Time to hybernate

2009-10-14T09:55:00.000-07:00

That was a bad rain storm yesterday. Driving up Masonic this morning I am watching the naked trees and fallen branches on the street. Street cleaning are in for a long day today. Fall is here, everyone, time to dig out your scarves and gloves.

The Alembic on Haight - my favorite hang out ever!

2009-10-13T09:02:00.001-07:00

Our favorite waitress Angela has left the Alembic to go work at a breakfast/brunch place in the Sunset. This is such a shame because no one could match your cocktail with your food order like she could. During her stint at this dark and moody whiskey bar she also acquired a pretty wicked tattoo covering most of her chest and neck which just added to her already lovely personality. As you can tell, I loved Angela - she will be sorely missed - but Alembic will continue to be my number one bar and to live within walking distance of this hang-out is such a treat. Rest assured, are we ever to move, one of the criteria for our new home would have to be that it is no more than a comfortable stroll away from Haight and Cole because of the Alembic.

This place gets busy at weekends, and they don't take reservations. Expect to wait for a table for at least half an hour, and if there is already a one person deep line at the bar, they don't even let you wait inside. They will, however, take your cell number and call you back as soon as they can seat you, and I am always happy to wait. After all, you're in the Haight - there are plenty of places to hang out for a drink or two before settling in.
This is a small plate-type of place, and every dish is carefully prepared and well thought through. Along with fried heirloom tomatoes, gazpacho, lamb or pork sliders and scallops they serve quirks like bone marrow (never on my order, but always on my husbands). The only unfortunate thing on the menu is the pre-order serving of popcorn which are seasoned with about fifteen different spices. It sent Richard to hospital with a severe allergic reaction once but it still doesn't stop him from trying to sneak a handful down every time we go there any way.

The cocktails are pretty special, and mixed by pretty special bartenders who know their s**t. Richard will always have a Sazerac or a Pisco Sour, sometimes finishing of with an Old fashioned. I will have the Gilded Lily for kick, or the Southern Exposure for comfort. They also have a "Take your chances" special on the cocktail menu, where you relax and let the staff do your bidding for you, and this is where Angela comes in. She never failed to get it absolutely spot on every single time. She didn't just match the drink with the food, she also had a knack for matching the drink with number of drinks already consumed so that each new glass was cranking it up a notch. This makes for a pretty damn good night out. So, as I said, Angela is gone, but so far, the rest of the staff more than live up to expectations as well and we will continue to miss out on many other good places because we can't seem to keep away from this one.
But then, why change a winning concept?

For more information, log on to www.alembicbar.com.

Swine flu

2009-10-12T18:23:00.001-07:00

All the toys and books are removed from the waiting-area at my children's pediatrician. They have also started to schedule healthy children in the morning, sick children in the afternoon.
They are gearing up for swine flu season.

pot luck

2009-10-08T12:06:00.001-07:00

With the new school year comes a new load of parental obligations and responsibilities, in the shape of volunteer sheets, soccer sign up sheets, annual school auction requests.... and the class social night in the shape of a pot luck that some poor parent agreed to host in their house.
We always fret about the pot luck, Richard a little more than myself, because you want the food you bring to be tasty yet easy to make, eclectic yet not too eccentric, and the finished dish shouldn't add on to the workload of the already stressed out hostess. Once it's out of it's Tupperware, no re-heating or ornamental presentation should be required. That pretty much rules out all the dishes we know how to cook (mine are too eccentric and none of Richards take under three hours to prepare).

We start strategies and bounce between a chicken dish and a salad. Maybe meatballs? Should we just go for sushi? No, we can't. That's not on. Bake bread? Or a desert. No one ever brings desert!

- Don't worry, I say after a while. If nothing else works, we just do what we did last year, and deny any knowledge of the un-eaten chicken and say we brought the posh quiche and the nice Pinot from Sonoma! Everyone seemed to believes us, it could work again.

PS: the other driver claims I reveresed in to him. that makes a lot of sense....

2009-10-07T21:42:00.001-07:00

There are limits to my patience

2009-10-07T12:24:00.000-07:00

So I get crashed in to - again - on my way to the school. I am stationary, the car behind me decides that it is time to go. In to my back bumper.
According to him, because his flip-flops make him slip on the pedals.
Nothing to do with the five reefers he must have smoked previously.
He also thinks I took his license from him.
I didn't.
He follows me to the school and keep shouting at me to give it back to him.
I turn in to the Hulk and give him a piece of my mind, right there, in front of all the nice, well-behaved, and softly spoken parents that are picking up children at my daughters school.
That was that reputation gone to pieces.

Not exactly related to the incident above, but drivers in SF has a very laid back attitude towards driving. They are in no rush to get from one place to another. Which is great if you are the one holding the traffic up, but not so great if you really need to get somewhere fast. I can live with that. But this attitude also means that driving in it self isn't deemed to be a temporary full-time occupation, but something you need to do while also doing other things. Like, text your mates, put on your make up, eat your cereal, read the paper. Driving isn't an action that requires concentration, it is more that you happen to hang out in your car when you are reading your paper, you get on with both.
Again, I am fine with this, as long as it doesn't affect me personally, my driving, and the safety of my passengers, which, ten times out of ten are my two children.
Or take time out of my day, which calling insurance companies, take car to garage for estimates, sort new car-seats out et al, does.
I am still in London mode when I drive. IE: you focus on your driving like your life depended on it (which, I guess, it does) and you keep one hand on the horn at all times. Never think twice before using it. Learn your hand gestures. Learn to shout through closed windows. It's a tough way of driving, but it works.
Out here, in the city of no stress, people look at you funny if you honk your horn. Beeping is for getting your friends attention when you pass them on the street.

To the stoned guy in the Mustang: change out of your flip flops and keep your eyes on the road. And, I didn't take your license. I wish I did 'cos you certainly don't deserve one, but I just didn't. End of.