Moose in the Kitchen

I don’t know who died, but the Baptist church across the street from my apartment is hopping. Cars are double-parked on one side of the street and blatantly in the street-cleaning zone on the other. (Do the orange funeral stickers exempt cars from parking tickets legally or just morally?) (The $500 in parking tickets I paid last year – half deserved, half really not – buys me the right to say that meter maids in San Francisco can be complete dicks, so I hope the answer to that question is LEGALLY, BITCHES.) Lots of black women in big hats and men in striped suits are wandering around, along with a healthy selection of teenagers. Standard fare for this church, at least until a white stretch limo pulled up and the selection of teenagers got a whole lot healthier as they crowded the street and screamed their fool heads off. Three police cars pulled up and now six officers are roaming around and everyone outside my window is going absolutely nuts. Why aren’t they in school (funeral pass?) and, really, who died? Whose limo incites major ruckus at a funeral? I’ll just stuff that in my Glad I’m Not That Interesting Because Gosh, What a Pain file and move on.

Discoveries, Recent

Montara Beach on a Wednesday afternoon.

I had to take a picture of it. This is investigative journalism at its finest, folks. Diligent research of the burning question, “Does the beach really exist in the middle of the week when no one’s there to appreciate it?” I am happy to report that it does. The tide  continues to ebb and flow, whether most of the population is at work or not. Happy to relieve your mind on this point.

When I’m having trouble getting done what I think I should get done (see, possibly, taking pictures of the beach on a Wednesday afternoon), I succumb to my bad habit of beating myself up about it. My unstructured work schedule is forcing me to figure this issue out, and I consider it a growing experience. When I’m not considering it a panicking experience, that is. Because you know what doesn’t happen when you’re busy applying the mental horse whip to your metaphorical shoulders? Work doesn’t happen. Deciding what color the hair shirt should be today – Furious Fog or Petulant Puce? – takes time, people. Growth is slow, but measurable. If you have a very large microscope. Someone with a PhD and access to a world-class lab could probably see my growth.

Questions, Recent

I’ve gotten a few queries about number six, re: Pulling a bunch of cash and a monkey out of the clear blue sky. Well, here’s my secret: You decide what you want. You tell Twitter. (Because Twitter is MAGIC.) You forget all about it. And BLAMMO. Cash and a sandwich-stealing monkey, courtesy of the IRS and Kristin’s photos from Africa. (I was opening the envelope to the unexpected refund as I was poking through her photos. THAT TOTALLY COUNTS.)

As games go, this one is really fun. You should try it. Treat Twitter like your personal wish-fulfilling genie and report back. I’d love to hear what you ask for. And, of course, whether or not you get it.

Related posts:

1. I’d Like to Buy a Clue for $200, Pat
2. I Detect Hints of…Bubblegum*
3. Elk Don’t Serve Onion Rings
4. Pasta Pop Quiz
5. Things That Have Amused Me This Week