Sunday, February 25, 2007

The Salvadoran muttered mira. He does this whenever he wants to show me something - with a sense of urgency. He murmurred el hombre detrás de ti so he'd be less obvious. I followed his eyes.

I was in line to the box office of the the Curran Theatre on Post St. trying to get tickets for the April 1 show of the musicale 'Jersey Boys' when I ran into KTVU's sportscaster Mark Ybanez. He's shorter than what I had imagined him to be. His face showed signs of acne during his younger years but that doesn't diminish his good looks. The Salvadoran and I agree that Mark is so much better looking in person.

In a city ten times smaller than most metropolitan areas, it is easy to run into someone who is well-known locally - or well-known period. I made sure I wasn't going to miss this photo op like the ones before. I asked the Salvadoran to take the pic using my camera phone. Mark was gracious and patient enough to pose and wait till we got our three (3) precious shots.

His name escaped me as well so I tried to get a simple conversation going hoping that his name will be brought to mind sooner than later. Everyone in queue at the box office was staring at us. Judging from their reaction, they must be from out of town. If they are local, they must not watch the evening news. Maybe they're just shy.

We've already walked a block from the theatre when we discovered the camera phone didn't take the shots. Mark, infact, walked with us for a couple more blocks. I could have asked for another photo op because I am sure the Salvadoran wouldn't mind taking the picture and Mark would probably say yes. Timidity already took over me so I just let another opportunity pass by.

I am sure there will be another time. I'm using a real camera next time.


(The photo above was taken after I enjoyed the last show of the musicale Legally Blonde at the Golden Gate Theatre. Thanks to my friend C, he was able to get tickets for a group of 8. It will premiere in NYC sometime in April.)

Monday, February 12, 2007

I could hear the rain from the skylights. It is cold in the living room. I feel a draught, probably coming from the kitchen window. Using a throw, I bundle up on the sofa. My feet resting on the Sumatra trunk. I feel like taking a nap after reading just two chapters. It is a very lazy, quiet afternoon.

I pick a random music. I like this song. Something I was drawn to at one time or another.

...porque fue suficiente / hablarle con los ojos desde allí / si en ese mismo instante / su vida era tranquila y feliz / la vino a revolver / con bollitos y miel...
...revolvió su calor con su voz / con leche y azúcar / se lo dio a beber/ bordeó el corazón la razón / con unos besos / de ron y miel / horneó con su aliento su pelo / y caramelo parecía al terminar / y quiso saborear / la masa de su pan...

For the first time in weeks, I have nothing to do.

(I guess Valentines is just around the corner. Taken around the neighborhood using my mediocre camera phone. Time and again, this camera fails to deliver. sigh)

Tuesday, February 06, 2007

I was splitting the corned beef hash into two portions when Mijo mentioned something about East coast and West coast newspapers.

When we go to a crêperie for sunday brunch we usually order two items, one savory entrée, normally an omelet or a corned beef hash and then a sweet crêpe for dessert. We split both, sharing the dessert last while reading the Sunday paper.

He explains how East coast people don't take West coast newspapers seriously for its lack of depth. This kind of opinionated statement generally leads to a healthy discussion. He continues by asking why most people prefer to read the Wall Street Journal over the local periodicals.

My concentration suddenly becomes fixated on the potato fries on his plate which he dusts with salt and ground pepper and then he smothers it with ketchup and a light amount of Tabasco. He only puts enough food into his mouth, takes his time to chew, sips coffee, wipes his mouth with a napkin and then continues with his point.

I continue to watch him intently while his well articulated opinion blurs in the background. The same routine, in the exact order. He does this in a well-timed manner that it almost creates a rhythm.

I move my gaze from his plate to his eyes and smiled. I just say “Interesting” in a yielding tone because I hadn’t been paying attention to what he was saying.

There was only one opinion on the table that sunday.


(The picture above was taken at Slanted Door during the Salvadoran's birthday dinner. By calling two months in advance, I managed to get us a 6pm reservation for two on a busy friday evening.)