BOB DYLAN BOOK. I got to Church and Market straight from work and twenty minutes earlier than what the Salvadoran and I had agreed to. I am meeting him with our friend E, who is also from El Salvador, for dinner. The hostess at Chow's wouldn't seat me until the whole group is present. She added my name to her list and then I walked to a nearby Aardvark bookstore and waited there instead. The bookstore is a couple of doors away from Chow's. From the sea of new and used books and magazines, I saw a paperback version of Bob Dylan's The Chronicles I as if the book has been waiting there for me. It was the last copy. I am no Bob Dylan fan but the first ten pages made me imagine his humble beginnings in glorious colors. I was immediately inspired. Hastily, I bought a copy. I managed to step out of the bookstore before the Salvadorans arrived with my impulse purchase hidden in my bag.FARMER'S MARKET. We were out of grapefruit. This is what we normally use for our breakfast juice. We also use navel oranges when they're cheaper and plenty in the market. I used to think that we only drink freshly squeezed citrus juices to justify my buying of a juicer. Just like tasting the difference between freshly brewed coffee over instant, the juice out of the juicer is definitely better than the bottled ones. The camioneta where we get our oranges this time of the year no longer park next to the Glen Park BART station. They get the oranges from the valley and sell them for $3 per ten-pound bag. That's a lot of oranges! For now, our only choices are the neighborhood produce stores or the farmer's market. To the Ferry Building we went on saturday. I couldn't remember the last time we were there. We couldn't help but notice that half the people who go there nowadays are camera totting tourists. The sweet tasting organic navel oranges cost us almost a dollar each. Our consolation prize were the fresh olive baggettes, the dollar and fifty a bunch of basil, asparagus, chinese brocollli, and fresh chesses from the north bay. But for oranges, I think I'll go to the Mission produce stores next time.DRAMA SERIES. I recently discovered the Audio Visual section of the Main Library. I generally checkout library items online to be picked up at the library's kiosk so I've never been to the physical shelves to leaf through the collections and look for the items myself. The AV section was not huge but big enough to contain cd, vhs and dvd collections Netflix might not have, especially rare classical music and foreign made movies. This is where I found Elizabeth Gaskell's North and South. It is a BBC drama series set during England's Victorian era and in the same league as the movies Emma and Pride and Prejudice. I had to watch all four episodes all over again to comprehend some scenes that I missed because of my ear's inability to hear the old English drawl.MEMORIAL DAY WEEKEND. Last year, we were debating whether to go to Montreal or NYC for a five day Memorial Day weekend getaway. We eventually went to NYC. This year, we were debating whether to go to Montreal or Mexico City. Mexico City won unanimously. Maybe Montreal for 4th of July?~ral(The photo above was taken 'discreetly' at the Ferry Building Farmer's Market on a sunny Saturday in San Francisco.)
It was unusually hot in the city that evening. He is usually sound asleep before he could actually finish his prayers, but not tonight. It was late, already past midnight. He couldn’t figure out if it is caffeine or the temperature that is keeping him up late that night. Caffeine has never been a problem for him so it must be the unseasonably warm conditions. Maybe not? His mind is clearly somewhere else.
A couple of days back, he had this daunting task at work which cleaned up a production problem caused by another core group at his work. He and a couple others in his team were told this is a priority so all the projects and other maintenance items he is working on will have to be dropped. If the group that caused this fallout didn’t seem to be overly concerned, why should his group care? Why should he care? It was a battle that is already lost so he didn’t bother objecting. It wasn't the right time to complain. Besides, he's supposed to be a team player and didn’t want to be known as defiant even though deep inside him, he is dying to refuse and say heck no.
The phone kept ringing in 10-min intervals and emails kept flying around which made matters seem worse than they really were. He knows the data pretty well but he didn’t know where to start his impact analysis. His aptitude, little by little, surrendered to panic. In misery, he just stared at his computer screen. Still, there we no results to show the member banks after four hours of working on the problem. The scope of the damage is huge too so they will have to wait a bit longer.
After two, three, four days, twenty five hours of working overtime, break-outs evident on his face and an excruciating neck pain, the clean up is done. The customers happy, so were his superiors. He and his teammates were just glad it was finally over. He told himself he'd rather be on this same side of the coin - be the clean up guy rather than the one who created the mess. He made a promise to be extra careful with his code from that day on. Eventually, he was given a night-on-the-town for his diligent work on the cleanup.
Since he couldn’t sleep, he got up the bed and decided to search for a couple of books in Amazon. He uses Amazon as a tool to search for great books and then he checks the main library’s online catalog if they are also available there. He finds satisfaction in maximizing all the freebies his city offers and this includes the rich collection at the city library. He sent the request for each item so they can be picked up at the Main Library’s kiosk when they're ready. He felt good that he did something worthwhile rather than stare at the ceiling.
His eyes are finally getting heavy. Another morning is breaking.
(The photo above was taken inside San Francisco's Main Library located in the Civic Center area of the city.)
Friday is a telecommute day for me. Friday is also the only day during the week when the Salvadoran and I can have breakfast together. I consider this a nice treat since not every couple in the city has time to sit down for breakfast on a work day unless both are artists, on a holiday, own their business or both have flexible hours at work. We both start work very early the rest of the week so breakfast is usually a bowl of breakfast cereal, a bagel, or a banana with a cup of yogurt. If we don't feel like cooking at home on a Friday morning, we go to our favorites - Boogaloo's on 22nd and Valencia Sts, Liberty Cafe on Cortland and Bermington Sts or our neighborhood crepe place called Higher Grounds Coffee House on Diamond and Chenery Streets to name a few. All within a couple of miles from our house.
Today we went to Boogaloo's. Whenever we come here, it's almost predictable of me to order Polenta-n-Eggs, which consists of grilled polenta cake, eggs over easy, fresh tomato salsa, black beans and cabbage salad with a side of andouille sausages, a coffee cake and a small orange juice. I have my favorites in each breakfast place which I order almost automatically. I'd like to think I am adventurous with food but I tend to be predictable when I am already familiar with the restaurant.
I ordered Chorizo-n-Eggs on impulse. I am not sure what lead me to suddenly change my mind while our waiter was taking our order. Subconsciously, it must have been my second choice to Polenta-n-Eggs. The Salvadoran was quite surprised to hear of my choice. No side order of andouille sausages and no order of coffee cake but I stick to my splenda and turkish-roast coffee.
We always find something to talk about. Work, politics, food, news, our friends and family, the church, the house, home movies, the weather, anything. Today we talked about recursion in programming where he beams when he told me about his plan to rewrite one of his routines in .NET and to make them recursive. It can be done in C, Assembler and Rexx. I wonder how the Cobol compiler will react when it encounters a recursive function?
We must have been hungry because we finished our food right away. I noticed a group of folks to my right. Discussing, laughing, talking. How I miss getting together with my friends! We used to do this a lot until, one by one, they started moving out of the city to become bridge and tunnel people. Some even moved out of the area.
I mentioned about my friends who got laidoff at work. More layoffs according to rumors, in the hundreds. I suddenly thought of my Plans A and B in case I am one of those lucky pawns waiting to be sacrificed for cost cutting's sake. I've survived six major layoffs in my six years in the company.
After another round of free coffee refills, the Salvadoran asked for the check.
I am glad it is Friday again.
~ral
(The photo above is the 'eye' of the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art on 3rd Street between Mission and Howard Streets. One of it's current exhibitions include 'Picasso and American Art' on display through May 28.)
The Salvadoran asked me if I'd like to order wine even if we had already said no when the waiter asked for our drinks and starters earlier. I didn't want to have wine alone. He didn't want to have alcohol that night because he had to resume working after dinner. Wine makes him mellow, relaxed, and diminishes his focus. I suddenly thought about the bottle of Edna Valley chardonnay we uncorked last night and how great it tasted paired with my nouveau chicken adobo.
This is the third time we've been to Gialina since it opened last winter and it is starting to be our favorite. Being less than a quarter of a mile from where we live also helps. We try to support anything local especially those neighborhood and mom-and-pop restaurants and cafes. Besides, we are not really a big fan of branded and chain restaurants.
While waiting for our salt cod cake and portobello mushroom pizza, I looked around the crowded place and I noticed that there must be around fifteen tables inside. Everyone had ordered wine, well, except us. Perhaps the Salvadoran didn't want to be the exception and is probably the reason why he asked me more than once about ordering wine. The queue of people waiting outside seemed longer than the last time I checked. I'd like to think they're from another neighborhood. The pizzeria was crowded considering it was a Tuesday evening.
Before we finished our last slice, I thought about something. Glen Park is not a popular city neighborhood when it comes to shopping, dining and touristy stuff. It is more sleepy than hip, more village than city. This is one of the city neighborhoods to go to if you want to observe San Francisco locals in action. I think people outside the city have only heard of the name Glen Park because it is another stop on BART and MUNI, between the 24th St Mission and Balboa Park stations to be exact. A neighborhood cheese store, a taqueria, a crepe place, and a good restaurant called Chenery Park are probably the only reason why people come here but I think that is changing.
Judging from the wait time in this restaurant, Gialina is probably going to put my sleepy neighborhood in the city map once and for all.
~ral
(The picture was taken during an early morning flight out of San Francisco International (SFO). The day started out rather gloomy but the blanket of morning fog was slowly burning off as seen in this picture.)
Umulan nang bandang umaga hanggang tanghalian nung Sabado. Ganito talaga kapag tag-sibol, di mo maintindihan ang panahon. Minsan maaraw, minsan malamig at maulan. Nagmamadali kami ng Salvadoreñong lumabas ng bahay kanina kaya di na namin naisip na magdala pa ng payong. Ayaw kasi naming mahuli sa musical na Altar Boyz na ang simula ay ika-dalawa ng hapon.
Tatlo na lang ang natitirang pagtatanghal ng Altar Boyz. Lilipat na sila ng ibang lungsod pagkatapos ng ilang buwan nilang pamamalagi sa San Francisco. Maraming nakasulat tungkol sa musical, maraming naibigan ang kantahan at marami din namang hindi. Maraming nagsasabi na kakaiba sila - di ko lang mawari kung maganda ba ito o hindi. Napanood din namin ang Jersey Boys at Legally Blonde kamakailan lang at pareho naming naibigan at mga ito.
Di pa kami nakalalabas ng Civic Center station nang tumunog ang cell phone ko. Nag-text sila Team Russia na mahuhuli daw sila ng sampung sandali. Nagusap kami nung isang araw na magkikita kami sa tapat ng Orpheum Theater sa baryo ng Tenderloin ng ala-una y media. Nagusap din kami kung ano ang susuotin namin kaya napansin kaagad ni D, pagkadating na pagkadating nila, na hindi itim ang raincoat ko gaya ng una kong sinabi sa kanya.
Maaga-aga pa kaya di agad kami pumasok sa gusali. Habang nagkukumustahan kami, napansin ko na parang ang konti ng tao sa labas ng gusaling pagdadausan ng musical. Marahil nasa loob na ang ilan. O di kaya't dahil sa maulan ang panahon? Agad kong naalala na baka maraming lumisan ng syudad dahil sa Mahal na Araw. Bigla tuloy akong napabuntong hininga at naisip ang Mahal na Araw sa Pilipinas.
Halos limang minuto bago mag-ika-dalawa ng hapon nang nagsimla kaming pumasok sa teatro ng Orpheum.~ral(Ang larawan sa itaas ay kuha sa distrito sa San Francisco na ang tawag ay Glen Park. Ito ang tanawin sa kalye ng Diamond at Bosworth.)
Io spendo molto quando viaggio perche mi piace comprare molti cose stragneiri. I answered this time with a stern face. In the Beginning Conversational Italian class ITAL10A, I tend to fictionalize some of my answers, which are entirely rehearsed, to make them more interestingly funny, more vibrant. This often creates a cluster of laughter from my classmates which in return feeds my ego. But when I was asked to use perdere in a sentence, I got mixed reviews judging from the faces that were looking at me. Forse io sono stanco? Perhaps I was just tired? Or maybe I’m getting bored of this class for not getting what I think I should be getting out of it?
Two, three, four. I actually lost track how many students have dropped out since the midterm exam. These folks appear to be the serious, studious types but they disappeared from the class one by one. I ran into a couple of them the past weeks so I got the scoop why they stopped coming to class. Somehow the Italian class kept coming up no matter how much I tried to evade the subject.
Maybe folks are getting fed up because of the class schedule? We get a 15 minute break after an hour and a half of lesson and then we do another hour and a half working on our listening comprehension by watching short video clips in Italian. Some of our classmates do what la profesoresa calls ‘italian break’ which means skipping the second half of the class. Like my first teacher in Italian, la profesoresa is from the old country but she’s more Americanized in thinking and in the way she acts - and she sticks to the timetable and prefers the 'american break'. We don’t get out of the building until 10pm, long after the rest of the students from the other evening language classes have long gone. I am extremely thankful I only get to do this one evening a week.
Stories about a black cat, about a city called Lucca or her back problems get recycled almost excessively. This is somehow considered cultura italiana. Accounts of her childhood, travels, and family stories also get thrown in the mix. I must admit they are great stories to hear the first time but I'd rather have more time in class speaking my modest Italian. This is a conversational italian class after all.
After last night’s class, I may be heading on the same direction as the others who stopped going to the class. The Salvadoran already missed two meetings. Maybe I’ll skip next week’s? This is like SPAN10C all over again.
~ral
( One of my favorite cafes in the City, Cafe Trieste. Taken around the North Beach neighborhood of San Francisco.)
It was the Frenchman’s idea to go to the SF Asian Film Festival. In my years of living here, it is one of the several local events that I haven’t been to. Even though it has been around for 25 years and I’ve heard great things about it from the local media, it never really appealed to me. The Salvadoran kept insisting I should go to these events to keep intouch with my heritage. The closest thing for me to attending a film festival was seeing an Italian movie as a class activity in my Beginning Italian last semester. Since the Frenchman lives just a block away from the festival’s main venue, he took the liberty to get three tickets for the last screening of Ang Pamana – one for him, one for the Salvadoran and one for me. Unfortunately, my friend E who is the Frenchman’s significant other, couldn’t join us because of deadlines at school.
The Frenchman was already in queue for the movie when the Salvadoran and I got to the AMC theatre at 9:15 p.m. I could hear Ilocano, Visayan and another incomprehensible language while waiting in line - probably Indonesian or another Filipino dialect. People would look our way and then smile whenever my non-Tagalog-speaker friends try to say Ang Pamana with a Spanish or French twist. I give them an 'A+' for trying.I also ran into a friend from church who’s into anything Filipino and he’s not even Asian. I am sure I’ll hear what he thinks about the movie when I see him in church on Sunday. On the far left of the theater, there were folks seated on chairs with a yellow sign marked ‘reserved’. We assumed they must be one of the organizers. We found out after the movie that one of them is the director who looks fairly young from our angle.
Ang Pamana is a horror film and makes effective use of Filipino age-old folklores that were passed on to me by relatives who live in the province. At first, I thought this would probably make more sense to Philippine-born audience like me. I was worried that the Salvadoran and the Frenchman wouldn’t appreciate the story even if it is told from an expat’s point of view. The film is in English and with English subtitles whenever Tagalog is spoken. The Frenchman would turn to me, with an inquiring look, whenever the actors speak in their thick Filipino-accented English. With years of hearing Tagalog-accented English, the Salvadoran was just fine. There were times I wish I could pause the movie so I can explain better what was happening. Other than a question by the Salvadoran about the kapre – I gathered they were able to follow the story and enjoyed the scenes so I have nothing to worry about.
On our way home, the Salvadoran asked me if I had seen a kapre before. I said not really but I asked him if he remembers the big mango tree on the vacant lot across the street from my mom's house in Quezon City. He said yes. I told him there are tales that a similar creature once lived there. He paused for a deep breath and then responded by telling me that I am so gullible. I looked back at him and smirked. I think deep inside he's not as feraless as he seems.
~ral
(The AMC Van Ness theaters are located on Van Ness and O'Farrel Sts and is the main venue of the 25th San Francisco Asian Film Festival's screenings. The facade and the interior were renovated and the theater reopened in the summer of 1998.)