Do it Hellgate, for Halloween

Well, I'm sure this is old news, but a friend alerted me to a late night Halloween bash this Wednesday, dj's and all.. and a live performance by muther-f'ing CHROMEO! Vice is putting it on, which should concern me (for the attendant crowd), but the shizz is free and there will be free (Tito's) vodka, Colt 45 and (mystery) whiskey.. while supplies last, of course.

RSVP here: http://www.viceland.com/hellgatehalloween

Do it now!

Cut was my consanguinity with humanity

Compost thyself!

To what do we owe this order of anarchy, this exclamation of frustration? Well, it was a sentiment - nice or not - overheard (by yours tru*ish*ly) a fortnight ago from a flock of frightening ruffians, a set of men and women discussing the ins-and-outs of a fabulous new pastiche-ology.. one of their own mishmashed and crooked construction; it was a difficult operation, for sure.

You see, I was required to overextended my senses, five and then some, in an attempt to follow relation-making between two, then four, and, after a while and a while, a score or more of literary devices in their collective mental possession. By that point, I was ready for their collective disposal (i.e. words and structure and bathwater be gone!); stuffing a bag of trash never sounded so good. And my comprehension of the situation was, for sure, poor, and, during the episode, my thought processes were stretched far beyond that which is needed for a normal tour of daily duty.. but who am *I* to say NO to such a set of thought experiments; this was surely science of the highest thespian order.

In fact, to the outside observer, I became a man with a 1000-yard stare, the dials of my regular binocular vision twisted so tight that my focus extended X-RAYS straight through the walls of the here-and-now and into the realm of a dark and personal singularity; cut was my consanguinity with humanity. In this way, I looked deep into the froth of my creamy drink, and before I knew it I was daydreaming of a man wishing for the power of phrenological flight; and that man was me, a man whose name escapes and escapes. Whose duty is it to remember these frantic things anyway; it's time for the loosely caped to walk the plank.

BANG!
BANG!BANG!BANG!

It seems that those within earshot - save me - shot themselves in a manner most deadly, indeed; and, at once, a morbid dance began synchronically: several separate and organic entities criss-crossed 'round the room and grew into a pile of spongy and pungent mulch. The directive of the day seemed to be, "Find your match made so-close-to-heaven; you may have already arrived into an ecstatic eternity (and a wet version at that)!" The BANGS I could not ignore, of course; so, my focus withdrew from my glass and returned to the floor. I know now, and I'll know it forevermore, that I've never seen reds so red and blues so foolish. And the insane make me uncomfortable, my truest thought of the day.

At no time did I turn fully towards the limp blossom of bodies; it seemed unnecessary and, even, uncouth, to do so. And as such, it was only appropriate to look down upon them at an obtuse angle and with an obtuse sense of justice. The optic engines of periphery ran the show, and they were overjoyed by the rustic opportunity; they provided me with the visual framework of everything I needed to know, and my starburst and ever-indecent sense of decency filled in the everything-I-WANTED-to-know details. Ultimately, I thought, "Congratulations are in order; you've bent to the will of the people!", and shrugged upwards at an unprecedented pace - how brave and bold of me - and with a force of several uncaring atmospheres.

In short, I saw that the original meme took on a life of its own - irony is a friend of the fierce - and I knew it was the right thing to do.

You won't believe, only four beers

You know I'm a man all about his beer, but I really didn't partake too much on this last trip to NYC. I suppose it was a combination of a couple of things, but the short answer is that I didn't make it a priority (like I did on my last two trips in the summer) and my usual NYC company isn't particularly into it, given a choice.

That said, I did make it over to Barcade in Brooklyn - just down the street from where I was staying - for a pint (or two); it had been on the to-do list for awhile. The place is large, and on a lazy - and warm! - Sunday evening in October it seemed especially cavernous (i.e. relative to the amount of people there). I'd be interested to see if/how the space fills up on a weekend night; I've read it can get crowded. The industrial garage-like interior is lined with a slew of 80's era stand-up video games (think Gauntlet and Tetris, not Street Fighter).. and, more of my interest, there is a bar area with 25 or so craft brewers on tap.

Their selection is heavily focused on local brews (ex. Chelsea, Southampton, and Smuttynose brewing companies), and to that, I say: kudos! While part of me wishes that every good beer (née, every good everything) somehow finds it's way to the Bay Area, I can appreciate the need to actually go to a place - physically - to experience them (and other local charms, of course). That sounds like the start of another long blog entry (beyond beer), so I'll digress..

I started with a pint of HopDevil from Victory Brewing, a tried and true favorite of mine, but it was my first time having it on tap; and then followed with a Fisherman's Pumpkin Stout from Cape Ann Brewing Company. The latter was a truly unique beer and I hope I come across it again. It's very much a coffee-y stout from the start, but the pumpkin and its usual entourage of spices (cinnamon, nutmeg and allspice) provide a subtle undertone of warmth and evoke a holiday season je ne sais quoi.

Other than those, I only had two more beers of note over the week.

The first was this year's Harvest Ale from Sierra Nevada; it was the first time they'd bottled this annual brew, and it sure was tasty; I hope they keep bottling it. I'd read about "wet hop" ales for the first time only this year, but if Sierra's version of it is any yardstick for the rest, I'm going to seek more out before the season is done. In fact, there is a wet hop festival at the Toronado this weekend.. which I may or may not go to given how crowded every public event at the Toronado gets.. but at least they should have some kegs there for this coming week.

The last beer of note was the Schneider-Brooklyner Hopfen-Weisse (a mouthful, huh?) from Brooklyn Brewery. The only thing I can say is that while I understand it to be an exciting beer, given its lineage, it was a bit too sweet and banana-y for my tastes; and I didn't like the mouthfeel. To each their own, right? But the silver lining is that I had it on tap at a cool Brooklyn bar (and grill, apparently) named Maracuja; it is exquisitely decorated, with lots of dark woods and the right hues of (low) lighting to match. After two rounds of pool (if you're wondering, my friend slaughtered me), we finished our drinks out back in their canopied and trellised garden.. and basically had the place to ourselves the whole time, but I think that was a consequence of it being late on a Monday night, so it may get crazy on the weekends or something. Still, given all the pro's of the scene, I'm willing to take my chances next time I roll through town.. which is looking like November (frequent flier miles represent!).

Hopefully, at that time I'll still be able to get my hands on more great pumpkin treats; I've been obsessing on the pumpkin this year (who knows why). On this trip, I got both beer and bagels tinged with the flavor of this large orange benefactor, but I know there are more tasty devices in which to enjoy this holiday staple. And I say, bring 'em on!

ps. Barcade also has a full bar, which is uncommon, I think, for a place that has such a great focus on beer. But in (another) twist, they have offerings from micro distilleries like Dogfish Head Spirits along with the more common hard stuff.

Are you ready to shvitz?

It's one of those things I should have done while I was in Russia, but it was only this past Friday that, on a whim and with a friend, I went to a "Russian" bath house.. in Manhattan. The Russian and Turkish Baths in the East Village (about a block from Tompkins Square Park) are like a little time warp to the 70's, evoking both old school New York and Russia in one fell (and wet) swoop.

The place had a couple of saunas, a steam room, a cold! water bath, and showers, all with the stylings of a tight, Nixon-era, locker room. The only deviation from that motif was via the main Russian steam room, which drew upon its ancient, stone, lineage; references to a dungeon or tomb (and incredibly hots ones at that) would not be out of place. Hmm.. I'm not exactly selling these baths here, but I think the whole is more than the sum of it's parts. So, let me assure you that I'll be back; it was somehow charming, and the pleasurable physical effects (of hot and cold extremes, in succession) are real. In fact, I've been to similar (if newer) facilities in other countries, like Japan and Slovakia, and it's always worth it.

Beyond the general entry fee for all-day access to the baths, you can pay for additional "special treatments" like massages, salt scrubs and so forth. And so I did: I asked for a platza treatment - basically a mild beating - with a big ol' bunch of oak branches (with leaves intact) soaked in olive oil soap, because, well, why not? Really, you're there, so how could you *not* submit yourself for that sort of experience?

It's much different than I had imagined: you're not getting whipped with an individual switch, so you actually aren't getting lashed or anything like that. However, you do feel the mass of the branch bundle coming down on you, which is slightly uncomfortable for the times that it's happening on your chest. haha. But otherwise, it was definitely much milder than I thought; it was sorta like what I image being in a brushless car wash would be like (and I mean that in the best way possible). In short, it's not as much as a masochistic endeavor as you might think (so I'll need to find that fix another way).. but you still come out feeling so fresh and so clean clean.

A little bonus to the experience was that I got to use a few Russian words with the guy who gave me a platza treatment (to his amusement). Plus Colin Farrell was there; yeah, it was a real mix of clientele (and body types). Who would have thought; apparently, the baths transcend financial and cultural boundaries. So, basically, if you're thinking about going, all you have to ask yourself is:

Are you ready to shvitz?

The mullet that never was

Apparently, I've let the "let it be" experiment on my head go on a little too long. According to one of my bros here in NYC - and I'm paraphrasing more poetically than his initial observation would have it - I've let my hair extend far away from a trim central control and have arrived at a precipice overlooking mulletdom.

Well, if that is the case (let me assure you that the jury is still out), then let me say that the view from such a place, well, sucks. You see, I'm not a huge fan of the hairstyle on anyone, clueless hillbilly or not, but especially do not want to cross paths with it personally, given the fact it is a hairstyle that had been appropriated by hipsters circa 2000 or so. In other words, to be associated with the, um, tail end of a hipster trend is an unfashionable fate that I do not wish to endure (ever). And I don't care if it still cool in Spain or Eastern Europe (forever and ever) or wherever.

I know that on some level I shouldn't care one way or other - since I do not *actually* have a mullet - but, well, I do (care). haha. And, so, I have resolved to get a proper haircut once I get back to SF. More immediately, I received a few key snips around the nape of my neck from a friend last night; errant hair fell to the battered hardwood floor to be swept up later, though a few strands of it, I'm sure, escaped to mill about clandestinely - no stopping it now.

Well, my running self sure would like me to cut my hair to something approaching a military buzz, but I won't go down that route (again - though it's been awhile). Yeah, I'm sure we can balance that sort of practicality with something a bit more flattering. What to do? I'll just leave it in the hands of my barber; the fashion haven of a 16th and Mission barbershop awaits; $9 is not too much to pay to have a fine mane crafted upon my crown. hahahaha.

Black IPA or IBA?

Everybody loves Stone's 11th Anniversary Ale!

Let me count the ways:

1. Hot Knives
2. Hedonist Beer Jive
3. Beer Advocate
4. The Full Pint

It is a delicious Black IPA.. or, um, India Black Ale (IBA).. or Double Black IPA - I've seen it referenced and sorted in all of these ways. But by any measure (or name), it's still delicious; and, a rose is still a rose.

While I haven't had it since last time I was at Toronado a few weeks ago, I was reminded of it tonight when, at Whole Foods (here, in Tempe, AZ - on a work trip), some bottles winked at me; I'm a sucker for the good beer (and winks), and so I *almost* bought one. In fact, there was a pretty good selection there overall, so a couple of the brews were tempting me, including Dogfish Head's Pumpkin Ale.. something I can't seem to find back in San Francisco. Ultimately, my better judgment prevailed and I simply left WF with some wholesome goodies for dinner (and for tomorrow's breakfast); I knew I'd be doing plenty of drinking over this upcoming weekend in NYC.

Friends and art (and spirits - of all sorts) await!

In the meantime, if you have access to Stone's 11th Anniversary Ale - especially on tap, and, even more especially, with friends - I would say to give it a go; it'll be like nothing you've ever tasted before. It is #16, after all!

Italians do it better

"Italians do it better" - who knew?
(The scene at 1:08 is everything you need to know.)

If you want more proof, I'd recommend popping over to Aquarius Records and picking up the "After Dark" italo-disco compilation from the up-and-coming Italians Do It Better label.

Or just get yourself a tee shirt. If the style was good enough for Madonna in 1986, it should be good enough for you in 2007.

My optometric destiny (and beau monde)

Two weeks ago I had an eye exam at Eyedare in the Mission - not too far from my old place; and my eyes are generally healthy (hell yeah!), but I did need a slightly stronger prescription on my glasses. So, I submitted my, ahem, Prada frames to have the lenses replaced; a day and a half later I picked them up.

And they languished in my errand bag; I didn't put them on until the following day, when I submitted myself to fashionable cafe life (to do some work on the ol' laptop). But when I did, I entered a new - and uncomfortable - phase of existence (temporarily, at least - read on). Life was crystal clear; life was also vertiginous.

Can you think of a worse proposition?

You experience a familiar, yet faded, version of everything around you - insofar that you are distracted from "just being"; YOU ARE NOT ALL THERE. And so, why be there at all; you ain't that special to not give 100% (yo). Just think: in your hands, an instant infection of the swirlies. Do you dare indulge in them to experience the eyesight of an eagle? Is your desire for such a deliriously avian attribute so intense; is your prey that far away (and how would you catch it anyway)? You're at a damn cafe.

Give it time, they say. And I did.

Lo, and behold, I put on the glasses a handful of times over the next week or so - with the same, disappointing, effects. However, yesterday, at Russian class, eyes and brains aligned; I had - to my surprise - no problems whatsoever when my two fuzzed-out eyes became four border-crisping machines. And I felt the freedom of those who can choose their own optometric destiny (and beau monde).

And to that, I say, до днa!

The shoes make the man

They say the shoes make the man. And, for me at least, I'd have to agree.

You see, I picked up a new pair of running shoes - Nike Air Structure Triax 10 - a few weeks ago, and got myself back into the groove of running injury-free(ish); I'm back running 2-4 days a week now.. for maybe 3-5 miles at a time. In fact, my weekly total broke into double digits for the first time in years last week (which seems sort of pathetic to write, given that I've approached triple digits before - a lifetime ago). Still, my expectations have been reset and there's no where to go but up.

And shit-if-it-don't-feel-good. (It do.)

Well, I could stand to be a bit stronger, of course, but I'm enjoying the consistency. Just a touch of the running in a given day changes my whole attitude and outlook; I even enjoy the anticipation of a run I've planned for later. It's like whatever else I did (or didn't do) that day is all good.. because "at least I went for a run". Sounds like the old cliché about running being a drug and all that rings a little true here; forget your worries and just breathe in the contentment! For reals.

When I mentioned to a friend that I started running again, she asked, "What made you start?" To that I replied, "The better question is, 'What has been stopping me?'" In other words, I would run every day if I could! But I've had a string of injuries over the years which have held me back a bit.. and make for a whine-session I have no interest in recounting now; I'm at peace with respect to where I'm at (sport-wise).

As I mentioned, expectations have been reset; I still love to breathe, and I do it as often as possible. See you on the road!

UPDATE: On the walk over to the pool this afternoon, I remembered that I was also running regularly last winter, but didn't keep any formal training records; still, I'm sure I was getting in some weekly millage approaching 20 or 25. Man, that seems a long time ago..

The vodka was free; the crew was rockin'

It's funny where your picture ends up; it's the grand, global Internet:

http://www.drumandbass.ru/viewphoto20906
http://www.drumandbass.ru/viewphoto20835
http://www.drumandbass.ru/viewphoto20767

Man, but I need to get some news ones up now that I'm 10 pounds - of, um, muscle - heavier than after my 2 week Utah diet program in June (and subsequent Russia trip featured above). I mean, I don't want to give the wrong impression to those of you who haven't seen me lately. ;)

And if you want to know more about the Russian drum and bass scene, let me know, and I'll see what I can do to translate.. linguistically and/or anthropologically.

I can tie a tie

I got a little duded up Saturday night and in doing so, had pulled out a bunch of my fancy pants, dressy jackets, and ties-so-nice to try on; one of 'dem fabulous Kitsune Maison compilations played in the background. In the end, though, I, of course, only wore one of each; the rest would be left for another night. So, on Sunday I looked at the mess of fabrics draped around my room (floor included), and dreaded the small chore of putting everything back on hangers, buttoned and pressed, for the next decadent outing.

And I did what anyone would do: I delayed the inevitable.

You see, I put on a nice Yves Saint Laurent shirt - one of the also-rans from the night before - and buttoned it straight to the top; a Countess Wara NY tie was pulled around my neck and knotted in a very standard Windsor knot. And it was cool enough outside to warrant the wearing of a Thierry Mugler 3-button jacket; and I did so - to stave off the chillies. The jacket is cut slim, with its arms at a nice length relative to my arms; such a ratio allows me to show off a nice silver-colored bracelet (which I had applied) or a French-cuffed shirt (which I had not).

In short, I was waaaay overdressed for going downtown and running a few errands (including one at the "new" mall). haha. Actually, I have been "dressing up" a little more lately - relatively speaking - for no real reason beyond just going out of the house. It's more than appropriate; I mean, the second-hand stores have been generous to me over the years (did you really think I was buying YSL new?), so why not put their, née, my, bounty of clothes to good use? I even had a touch of eyeliner on from the night before (that persevered through a post-Sunday-bikeride shower); how could I waste that fashion foundation? ;)

All that said, I love me some rolled up 514's, a cool tshirt and a no-logo hoodie; you're still more likely find me in that SF uniform more often than not. But it's nice to know I'm capable of other modes of presentation, right? See you on the runway..

ps. I cleaned up my room today; the clothes are back in the closet and waiting for the next time I do something exciting - like return a DVD at the library. haha.

Support for the craft brewer, regardless

The worst news I heard all weekend came courtesy of the Wall Street Journal:

Why Price Increases Are Brewing for Craft Beer
By David Kesmodel and Janet Adamy
Published October 5th, print edition

(Ignoring the overused pun in the article's title), the basic story is that the price of hops and barley has been climbing the past couple of months, and there is no end in sight. In fact, some craft brewers may not be able to afford any hops at all if they need to buy from the spot market (versus securing long term supply contracts now). There is even the possibility that some won't be able to find certain specific hop variants needed for a given beer recipe at all (or in enough quantities).

It seems that there are a couple of factors involved, including the weak US dollar, but the the main one is that many farmers have, over the past couple of years, switched over from growing hops to other, more profitable, crops (ethanol, anyone).

Well, I'm still going to be supporting my favorite craft breweries, especially the local ones, but I guess it's good to know where they are coming from if/when we see price increases from them in the coming year. Maybe it's time to start buying by the keg?

The secondary and tertiary effects of art

Looks like even folks at The Economist enjoy a little art exhibition now and again. And their latest trip took them to San Francisco to check out the Olafur Eliasson retrospective at the SFMOMA.

Spinning tops and frozen cars
October 4th, 2007; From The Economist print edition

While I haven't been back to the museum to reimmerse myself in the main Eliasson exhibition space on the 5th floor yet (as I said I would), I did roll through last weekend to check out his contribution to the BMW art car project on the second floor. It is no lie: the body of the BMV H2R hyrogen-powered car is made of ice; and you can get right up in its refrigerated home, but be sure to grab a blanket or two on your way in. And so, while there is a message here about automobiles and how we fuel them (and repercussions for our environment), this work follows Eliasson's usual directive, "I make art that creates an experience, not a representation." Here, the work is memorable; even if, at first, you only remember how cold it was - and it is! - hopefully that experience sparks at least a subconscious reaction (conscious would be better, of course) to connect the current implementation of our cars (and transportation at large if you really want to get into it) and it's secondary and tertiary effects.

Get a taste - via video - of Eliasson's powerful use of ice (2 tons of it!) here. But you really should experience San Francisco's newest (and most frozenest!) microclimate for yourself; it runs through January 18th, 2007, before moving on to New York, Dallas and Sydney.

On a separate, but related note, I didn't realize it until reading The Economist article, but Eliasson was also responsible for The Weather Project installation (aka the "big sun") at the Tate Moden a few years back. I happened to be in London at the time, and all I can say is: "Dope". I've read some conflicted things online, but does anyone know if it is still up?

Fancy Footwork beside the toilet bowl

So I'm feeling a bit under the weather today - actually, I'm feeling more than a bit under the weather if me *leaving* the Anchor Brewing brewery tour today, just as it was starting, is any indication - and find myself watching an America's Next Top Model marathon on MTV (season 3, it seems). Yikes! It doesn't exactly ease the pain, but it has been a pleasant surprise to see Chromeo in almost every MTV-sponsored commercial, either in person or by way of their music as its soundtrack.

How did this arrangement come about? No matter; good for them (and good for new folks getting to discover them via the wider exposure).

I'm not sure how I first came across these funk-electro revivalists (and genre pushers), but their "Needy Girl" video has been one of my favorites for a few years now (and it is always easily accessible on my computer desktop). If you haven't seen it yet, you need to; watch it here (now). Among the many little details that promote this musical musing (and occasional what-the-fuckness) into music video genius, the addition of digital gold dust, flying about, highlighting this and that, takes the cake. Good stuff, sirs! And towards the end, you, deservedly, sit in your white suits on your white lounge chairs, and turn towards each other to lock gazes and raise fists in heartfelt celebration: you know you've created a delicious new world - a good and whole and 80's-inspired world, complete with croquet on the lawn and breakdancing in kaleidoscopes. Forced Exposure said it best (in their review of Chromeo Presents Un Joli Mix Pour Toi): "(Chromeo) puts a smile on your face and a rocket in your pants". Two of my favorite things; who woulda thought?

Of course, they have many other songs to enjoy, to get dancey to.. two albums worth, in fact (not including any remix work that they've done, like "Un Joli" mentioned above). And if you can hear them in person, all the better; check to see if P-Thugg and Dave 1 are coming to your town on their myspace page. Dave 1 also does a bit of dj'ing as well (mostly in the NYC area, I think), and I can personally attest that he rocks a good party; keep those ears to the ground.

In the meantime, merci et avoir une bonne nuit!

ps. My favorites never win America's Next Top Model (yes, I have favorites, at least while I'm watching a goddamn marathon of the show). haha.

You weren't there and I'm not you

I ran into a friend-of-a-friend at the climbing gym last week; we discussed a possible climbing trip. And, at this point, our only path of communication (or so I thought) was through my flickr account. So, the other night I headed over to the site - it had been over a month since my last visit - and, while there, started looking through photos from my sabbatical time this past summer.

I click though 20 pictures, then 30 to 50 and more; I finally just look at the overview thumbnails of each of the main sets (BOSS Field Course J-65, Russian Massive, Traveling Kyrgyzstan) and choose several favorites (or forgotten memories) to meditate on. And while I always start the procedure with a smile - at least, one internal - it always ends with butterflies in my stomach and maybe some misty eyes. What's going on here?

And here you thought - if you've heard me tell some stories from those places en vivo - that maybe any glassy eyes (mine!) was just the beer leaking through, but I can assure you that that unflattering look comes from something much deeper (and natural), no chemicals needed. Still, the feelings - good and bad - are not always something I can tap into off-the-cuff; that is, I'm very likely to give you a one or two line summary if you ask me "how was the trip?". But if we get to talking, if we have the time to let me ramble a bit (and you have the patience), stories will flow.. and - what the hey - a good drink helps them to do so. I will admit, however, that they may not all be entertaining, per se, or at least in a given retelling, but I guess that's the case with anyone's travelogues; the proper words - or words at all - are hard for me to come by sometimes. I mean, the phrasing and framework of the scene I'd like to recreate doesn't always have to be perfect for you to get the gist, but sometimes it feels that way - or, rather, I'd like you to find yourself with more than a fuzzy understanding of what I'm talking about.. which leads me to the real question(s) of the day:

How can you know what I'm talking about at all; how can we share the experience (if you weren't there, and I'm not you)?

In any case, I keep *meaning* to post some random stories from Utah or Russia or Kyrgyzstan.. just some funny slice-of-life sorts of things (ex. rocking shitty camping gear in Kyrgyzstan), if not some more heavy-hitting material (ex. like my first time slaughtering an animal). But, again, tonight's not the night; the to-do list perseveres unscathed (and mocking its owner, over and over).

My use case is amiss

My cell phone has been on the fritz for a few weeks now, turning off whenever it felt the electronic need - even during a call. Not dropping calls, mind you, but turning totally off, like a sleepy shepherd after his animals are packed in their pens for the night; but, here, even the break of dawn (or wolf attack) could not rouse my phone for a full day of activity. You see, I could turn it back on immediately (or, at least, when I realized it was off) - the battery indicator icon still showing me full strength - and proceed on, but it sure was becoming a hassle; it would turn off again at least once before the day was done. I mean, this sort of technology is just supposed to work; it is supposed to enable me to participate in the norms of social interaction and information gathering (and exploitation).

But, as of Friday night, the phone does not turn on at all; the technology has failed me fully. And, actually, it's a little bit uncomfortable. haha. I should clarify:

I'm not someone who's on the phone all day. I'm more likely to be walking around the city looking up at the forgotten tops of buildings than chitchatting (fyi: even many of the shitty shops downtown on Market Street are actually in some interesting old buildings.. you just need to train your eye above the first couple of floors). And unless there is a good reason (i.e. anticipating a call to do some sort of coordination), I am probably one of the few people that doesn't answer their cell phone if I'm in someone else's company.. which is a behavior that is, for the most part, appreciated, but I've also been called out on it (by jilted callers). haha. I guess the norms around cell phone use aren't set in stone, and vary with the players involved (or not involved, as the case may be).

So the issue of (my) uncomfortability does not stem from a need for constant contact, but, rather, from a need for instant access to people (and visa versa) when I do want it; I've become used to this ability (and so have you). And with no real house phone (save for skype), I'm feeling a little isolated. haha. It's funny how fast we get used to something so relatively new as ubiquitous communication, but I guess that points to how useful or, at least, desirous, the ability is.

For example, I got a bit ancy this past Saturday night, waiting for a friend in front of The Fillmore (to see Girl Talk and Dan Deacon - be sure to check these guys out in your town); you see, the plan - via email - was to meet there at 8:45pm, but my friend didn't make it until 9:15pm or so. Usually this sort of thing is not a big deal; a quick txt or phone call would let me know my friend was running late. But without the means to receive such a message, my imagination got going and thought about him not being able to show up at all, or missing him, or whatever; he had my ticket. Yeah, so even though I knew that it was all good - folks run late all the time, myself included - I'm used to getting some sort of heads-up when plans change.

At this point, we're used to the fact that *everyone* has a cell phone, and, as such, this infrastructure has enabled new modes of social operation; last minute planning or changes in plan can be accommodated much more easily then they used to be. Our days can be optimized in terms of time management therein. So whatever you've scheduled for yourself - last minute or not - it's at least easier to "fit it all in".

I could expand the discussion to include economic or sociological theory with respect to our information society - the more the better (if you know what to do with it) - but I'll digress. Well, I got the clearance from work today to order a replacement phone and should have it by the end of the week. And at that point, I'll have forgotten anything was amiss; the technology - and its fabulous use cases - will be back in place (for me). Until then, feel free to send me an email, or, if you're feeling the need for something more physical (or nostalgic), send me a postcard of handwritten origins (yours). And if you catch me in the street (I may not see you; I may be looking up), say hello; I'll be sure to give you a hardy handshake; it's been so long since we've talked.