this macchiato tastes like dickens

m. from local 123 - dirty, gritty, used, literary tasting

this is a macchiato.

it’s earthy and oakey and antique like. it tastes like an old book.

i’m serious.

the blue serving container seems like a hardbound bookcover.

the inside like yellowed pages.

the foam on top, is like a really amazing enticing, delicious, startling opening sentence, or paragraph or chapter.

it’s more like a novella. shorter. smaller.

and more like a scroll. older. worn.

the flavor makes even a dickens novel seem modern.

i was going to order a fancy coffee, but the barista said she had gotten into macchiatos lately. gotten into. like you get into a good book.

it matches your shirt. she said.

(and it did)

the shirt was second hand too. recycled. old. with history. with substance.

it seems to be the lay of the land here.

hunger strike? or just waiting for the slow (dog) food movement

meme may be on a hunger strike - or has she developed a more 'discriminating' palette?

this is meme.

she’s a min pin. she’s had somewhere between 30 and 50 pups. she has 9 nipples. i thought she had 8 but a little girl in the neighborhood the other day counted them and informed me she had ‘an odd number’ of nipples. she meant odd – not even. but anymore than 2 in my book is just plain odd. the little girl however, had two mommies. so i have no idea what she thinks is normal.

anyway. meme.

she isn’t eating. she has stopped eating the dog food. since we got to berkeley. rather, she hasn’t started eating. she’s acting funny.

she’ll eat fresh food. she’ll eat vegetables (avocados, green onions, olives, acme bread). she’ll eat whatever i am eating. but meme has always had a stubborn streak.

now, she also has a refined palette. apparently.

so when i bought the fancy dog food the other day at pet express (the whole foods of dog food grocery shopping) i thought that she was just wanting something more how shall we say upscale.

but she won’t eat that either.

i had not heard of alice waters before i moved here. so maybe meme hadn’t either. and maybe she has now heard of her and wants her food to be the slow food movement.

maybe it’s true that berkeley is the birthplace of protest. maybe the fact that we live near protest park has rubbed off on her. maybe she’s really a rebel. maybe she’s protesting the oakland police shooting of oscar grant.

is she protesting the move? the war. or just my food choices. maybe she’s just waiting for some good ole’ local, organic seasonal dining to appear in her bowl?

either way. i’m not worried.

she’ll adjust. she’ll adapt. and certainly she has enough extra pounds on her to survive. and as long as there’s a lap (a nap) and a treat or two nearby – and the local neighbors continue to love and adore her, she will be just fine.

lucas: live at nomad

lucas (the freshest husband in the hood) performs at nomad cafe in berkeley

this is lucas.

i first heard him play in the wee hours of the morning when i lived in the guest house behind his house. his music room was just in front of my living room. in la, i left the french windows open and with the morning light streaming in, i would hear what i thought was old time radio, or a 45 from 1945. strings. mandolin. whimsical music. from a bygone era. i didn’t know it was live. i certainly never guessed it was lucas.

but i quickly learned it was what he calls practicing. while i was meditating each dawn, he was using music to meditate. both of us drinking fine coffee.

we discovered that we were both early birds, and he asked me to tell him if it bothered him. ‘we could close the windows.’ or he could move to another room or practice, more quietly, or differently. he offered. but the truth was, i opened the windows wider. i wanted to hear it. his sounds became part of my morning meditation – a perfect mix of nature, birds, wind, morning imaginings, and soulful song.

for a year.

yesterday, was the first time i actually heard him play. perform. non practice anyway. it was sunday. one week anniversary of his and karen’s bride and groomness. we were hanging at nomad, where lucas was playing a gig. they invited me to come and i wasn’t sure if i would until i drove by the small unassuming (read: hipster central) cafe and realized it was less than 1/2 mile from my place.

i could walk there, stroll there, crawl there. heck, i could ride curious there.

he’s good. it was as if i he had been practicing the entire past year for this one perfeormace. it’s also his first performance as a husband. i met karen and a few of her friends and we listened and watched; ‘lucas gonze at the nomad.’

the lines were for coffee and snacks, but people lingered to listen as they discovered him and his sounds grew louder, his voice more confident, his sweat more obvious. and he was in his element. and it was a performance and a backdrop. and i looked around and i realized that something has happened to all of us, together. we stopped practicing. here we were, in life. life is in session. and lucas, too, that day, like all of us, were live.

a-live.

and it was good.

and the coffee wasn’t bad either.

no truffle left behind

this is dinner. well it was dinner. it’s truffle ravioli, on a bed of greens, olive oil, fresh fancy olives, a few plums from the tree outside the kitchen, a tiny bit of garlic sauteed in butter and drizzled over the whole thing. i made it myself. i’m only slightly concerned that this is turning into a food blog. but i’m going with it for now. it was consumed while watching charlie rose interview the filmmaker of the new movie ‘the kids are alright’. which looks pretty grand.

i bought the ravioli at a place called market hall in the rockridge oakland area. i met karen (she’s getting married on sunday in big sur) for a bon voyage coffee at peaberrys. they sample lots of stuff there and it’s hard to leave without buying something fantastic.

oh, the total cost of the meal $5.38. and that includes the gas to get there from my house (1.7 miles).

no leftovers.

but the photo and memory lingers.

nick in the city

this is nick. he’s my friend from los angeles. he moved to san francisco (frisco; san fran) quite a few years ago. i miss him.

but here’s the good news. now he lives in the lower haight. this summer we are going to have dinner-y (that’s dinner-ish) every thursday night at a new place – and i’ll report back on it here.

we cheated last night, we went to aplace we have both been. but it was full of goodness.

at a place called frjtz. truffle fries happened. then we had ice creme at 3 twins. maybe we’ll both review the place like siskel and ebert. maybe not. maybe we’ll just keep the goodness to ourselves. anyway. i had the goya crepe. he had something really cheesy and meaty. and it didn’t stick with him to well. no further details available here.

we celebrated this: he got promoted but it came with a pay cut. welcome to the world. he’s now salaried architect.

i bought him a teensy lemon cookie ice creme to celebrate. we walked back to his house. he gave me some origins foamy face cleanser – the scent of which that he finds unappealing.

we gossiped for a minute. hugged goodbye and in fifteen minutes i was across the bridge (with an astounding and nearly ludicrously beautiful view)  home in berkelely watching charlie rose with curious and meme, thinking about truffle fries.

all is good.

everyday is day one

i live at the corner of martin luther king and king (as if you didn’t get the significance the first time) around the corner is malcolm x high school and the main cross street is alcatraz. if you go just a little further down you are at ashby street – which i’m certain is honoring hal ashby – one of the best filmmakers of all time – from there you get into the gourmet ghetto. affectionately called for it’s fodocentric.

but all this talk about ghetto. hasn’t got me worried. it’s got me interested. yesterday at 4 pm the verdict was announced in the oscar white case – the one that caused riots last year. it’s  the case of  a white cop shooting to death a young unarmed black man. the city was up in arms then and so everyone was braced for a riot yesterday when he received practically a not guitly charge – involuntary manslaughter.

i was having a coffee in the gourmet ghetto streaming the verdict. and here near the campus of berkeley, the hub of human rights and the peace movement, there was no movement. all was still. in the city of oakland, there were peaceful crowds gathering.

but then nothing.

like the firecrackers that didn’t go off on the fourht of july. impotent threats. firearms, firecrackers. firegrilled pizza. we are more convernd with food, then fighting. the environment than the …

when i rented this place, sight unseen, i was warned. it’s ghetto adjacent. it’s the ghetto. i didn’t know what htey were trying to tell me. is that a good thing, an interesting thing, a dangerous thing. which ghetto? what is ghetto.  i’ve lived in ghetto’s before. this morning, a birthday party erupted at my quiet and yummy barkey on the coenre,r with lesbians. all hights and weights (well, really just one weight) sizes and shapes, with children. many children. little lesbians in training. am i at a lesbian ghetto.

i’ve lived in gay ghettos, screenweriters gehttos. my place in silverlake could be called a hipster gehtto. isn’t beverly hills a ghetto of sorts. it’s an ugly word. it mean isolation. it’s means community. it means both.

when i was hiking on ruyon canyons a few days before coming here. i was overheard saying i’m moving to the ghettooooh. two black women hiking starting laughing, cackling acutally. then stopped in the middle of the hike and proceeded to instruct me on he correct pronunciation of hte world. apparantly my accent was unghetto ghetto. as if i had stolen a word from them. i explained my understaning of hte word. we had a lively healthy disucssion about it. and as it turs otu they were not really interested in the word of the coveraation, they just wanted a good exuce to stop and catch their breath ont he way up the hill. we agreed that we both wanted to live in chattau ghetto. in the hollywodo hills.

this is day 8 of my exercise program. and i don’t really care about you or this converstaion, but thanks for the break. she was breathing heavily.

then something came over me, perhaps it was the chit chat or maybe it was the exercise or altitude or years of self help ghetto. but i said it.  it’s day one really.

she paused. questioning eyes. sweaty brow. willing to wait another 10 minutes for the anaser. in no hurry to conute up.

i said it again. everyday is day one.

we were all hit by the moment. it was true. we are alwyas just starting over. every day is a new day. a new chance to be healthy and loving. to be bigoted and ghettoed.

i thought about htis last night as i drove across the brigdge from san francisco to berkeley. i was thinking this is day 7 since i’ve been living here. counting the days. shouldn’t i be settled or finsihed, more porgress or less anxious. couting the days and judging myself by some makeshift calendar.

as the sun was setting and the baby was showing off – a mound of magic in the distance. even alcatraz looked beauiitful and picturesque. i have never been here before. i have never seen this ther wer no riots there was no conflict.

everything was just as it was meant to be

and then i thought maybe this is it. maybe after all of mlk’s conflict and the fight for our own space, our own siolated ghettos. maybe this was day one of peace.

maybe. maybe not.

well. it was. day one is every day. and here i was smack in the middle of the human ghetto.

happy co-dependance day.

this is how an explorer, a curiator, a zen master, or just a couple of rescued reservoir dogs from los angeles look on the first day of their summer vacation. it’s happened to be the fourth of july, so there’s a little independeance thorwn in, if dogs understood such a thing. i think everyday is freedom and if anything they celebrate co-dependence. to be reliant upon an owner. a master. in this case, someone who continually uproots them. i often joke that my next dog i’ll name instead of curious, i’ll name her serenity or calm. but if she chose her owner, i’m sure she wouuld choose someone who sits still, in one place. SIT. STAY. but alas, this is not our joruney. our joruney happnes to be a journey. and here we are again.

we arrived in the east bay, berkeley (see unclehollywood.com for our vacation post) on the first of the month. mary drove up or down or over (not sure yet) with us. and we arrived evening time. the bay was beautiful and calm and the light was falling like a curtain being drawn on a town, a city and a chapter of life. at our exit, the dogs sat up and started looking around. they were more aware than i was i think that this was something good ahead.

i had lost – or misplaced – my curiosity for the moment and was in fear and deperession and the fog of transition even thicker than the fog of the marine layer that turned the sunset from the smog orange of southern california to the pink purple shades of the bay area. which one i wondered was the real one. maybe both are real, but i would soon wonder, which was healthy.