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29 August 2004
I spent the day working and studying and making a big batch
of tomato sauce for the winter. I think I found a café (in the Castro) where I can study. The guy sitting next to me recognized
what I was reading; he’s a third-year student at the same school, and he said that the café was a favorite of law students
from all three schools in town. We’ll see.
More pleasantly, I went with some fellow cooks to a farm
in the Sonoma hills for a picnic on Saturday. The hosts provided the meat (braised lamb shoulder) and the chance to harvest
all the vegetables we wanted. After a tour, and a glass of wine, we each set off with a small knife and a bucket to gather
what looked good. Since it’s high summer, everything but the real winter vegetables were thick on the ground. We gathered
back at the farmhouse to decide what to make; some shelled the beans and peeled the peaches in the shade of the porch; some
played the piano; the rest of us worked in the kitchen, side-by-side, just as we used to at work. Since we’ve all catered
together, we took turns washing the dishes and keeping the kitchen tidy. We made: ravioli with a quail-and-nettle stuffing
as a first course, and then, as a second course, grilled striped bass (wrapped in fig leaves) with a chervil salsa verde,
and then the lamb with all of the other dishes: a salad of haricots verts and cherry tomatoes; leeks in a lightly bound (one
coddled egg) vinaigrette; blanched greens (kale, turnip tops, beet tops, chickweed) with lemon and olive oil; a grated beet
salad à la Marocaine (raw, with garlic, cumin, cinnamon, and lemon); a zucchini, escarole, and chard gratin (after Richard
Olney); a lovely potato salad (lemon juice, lemon zest, parsley, chives, and olive oil); and then four goat cheeses (local,
French, fresh, aged) and of course, a salad of mixed greens. Since the hosts like to cook, they have a ten-burner Wolf restaurant
range, copper pots, and all of the things you really need in a kitchen (lots of windows, a big mortar and pestle, Chinese
wire skimmers, proper tongs, homemade vinegar, a big sink, fleur de sel). We took a rhetorical pause while the ice cream was
being churned, and then we had peach pie and a Concord grape and plum tart. We drank French whites, local beer, and reds from
the vineyards the farmer tended, and a grand 1989 White Rock claret that I had been saving for a special occasion. 1989—the year I moved back to San Francisco, the year of
the earthquake, the year I came out to my parents.
What was idyllic about the day was the long drive (with friends
who like to sing in the back seat), the heat, getting a refreshing drenching under the sprinklers in the lettuce patch, the
smell of damp soil on a hot day, the crickets and frogs after dark, watching the full moon rise behind the oaks, eating
on two long tables under the wide porch, the two dogs and the puppy brawling at our feet, the little kids tumbling in the
dirt, good friends, the joy of making a meal together. The farmer thanked us all for cooking; we thanked him for growing it
for us.
24 August 2004
Well, I can see that school will keep me mighty busy. My
goal at this point is to have a more frequent posting régime than little minx. I don’t think I can manage paragraph development at this point, so I will just give an Adamic list.
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My torts class will be the biggest pain; the others (contracts,
civil procedure, and property) will be fine if not enjoyable. The torts professor is well-meaning, but the approach seems
quite wrong-headed. God will provide.
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I wrote out a list of goals for my time in trade school;
they include making the most of the opportunity and making some new friends (okay, that’s trite, but I’ve been
in a rut). I’m still trying not to feel disappointed for ending up there.
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I have a little crush on an inappropriate fox (26 and smooth,
no further description allowed in case my cover is blown); of course the wedding ring on his finger is not so much a red flag
as an enticement.
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My section has yet to divulge any kindred spirits.
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USC alumni are just as obnoxious today as they were when
I was in college. Something about that perky yet fully unwarranted aura of entitlement and achievement.
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I love the range of outfits: everything from authentic
Eurotrash slink, to t-shirts-shorts-and-flip-flops, to elaborate make-up schemes (I’m guessing 45 minutes’ worth
every morning), to khakis-and-a-blue-shirt, to surfer, to hippie, to pseudo-ghetto (but bought at the South Coast Plaza mall in Orange County), to nerd.
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I sat on the patio at lunch today and chatted with a group
in the “party” section. It’s also the section with all the hot guys. Coincidence? You decide. I think I
need to get to know them better.
20 August 2004
Last night before I went to bed I put the phone down nearby,
as I had a feeling I’d get one of those calls before morning. Sure enough, the phone rang around dawn: my sister calling
to say that our mother was back in the hospital. And so the day goes by. It’s most likely “just” pneumonia,
not congestive heart failure, but she’ll be there for a few days until they sort it out. I’ll be there tomorrow.
As for school, it’s there. I’m trying to make
the best of it and keep an open mind. I volunteered something in class today, a first for me. In 35 months I will be done,
so that’s something to look forward to. On the other hand, I don’t want my negative expectations to become a self-fulfilling
prophecy.
In other news, I am no longer taking applications for the
position of Long-Distance Muse. That position has been filled by the ideal candidate. The Local Muse position is still vacant,
however, gentlemen.
18 August 2004
Tomorrow is the first day of classes. Today was a cooling-off
period after the fever of orientation. I had a moment (read: hours) of panic when I thought that my financial aid was messed
up and I was getting only a third of what I needed. I think all I need to do to sort it out is to prove that I am a California
resident. I did my homework after dinner. I think I’m ready to start the next phase.
Sometimes I wonder if my biographer will portray me as a
mustachioed dilettante, a ship without a rudder, someone with slow-phase attention deficit disorder, or whether some bigger
picture will appear: computer science major, English major, editor, caregiver, cook, private chef, technical and production
editor, cardboard box stuffer, project manager, pontificator, trade school attendee...
16 August
2004 - 10 PM
Well, I made it
through trade school orientation. I ducked out for one of the last sessions (the one entitled “Welcome to the Profession”—draw
your own conclusions) to lug home my $535 worth of books and to have a snack. My stomach still hasn’t recovered from
the explosive food poisoning I had at the Miami airport (I didn’t quite make it to the toilet; vomit sprayed all over
the door of the stall, and then, even when I was face-first over the toilet, last night’s dinner (still identifiable)
came out with such Exorcistic force that it and toilet water ricocheted on to the walls of the stall and the floor. I felt
sorry for the two gentlemen in the stalls on either side and for the janitor, and for you, dear reader, who are reading this
over your morning hotcakes. Even so, I remembered the words of a former roommate, who consoled himself during a similar episode
by repeating over and over: “It’s fantastically slimming. It’s so fantastically slimming”).
In other news, I
got to see my classmates, all 400 of them (median age: 25) for the first time. Since I don’t want to hurt anyone’s
feelings in the future, I will not paint a vivid word picture of the half-dozen who could be my future husbands. For better
or worse, none of them are in my section, the group with whom I will take all my first-year classes. I need a muse.
Not everyone seemed
to have paid much attention to what they wore on the first day of school, or on the impression it would make (or on their
ability to spot kindred spirits), but enough did to give rise to speculation during the welcoming speeches: the several young
women in miniskirts and knee-high boots; those in shirtdresses; the young men affecting a surfer-look; the bodybuilders; the
sensitive Before Sunrise types (with scruffy hair and artful stubble); those in slacks and dress shirts (“really, I
have no casual clothes besides this pair of pressed Dockers”); the pixies and the Ignatius O’Reilly types (of
both sexes); the tightly wound, slightly older, overly thin women (former presidents of their sororities); the probable Republicans;
the country girls; the blah, so on. I remembered the rule about wearing something new on the first day, but no one saw: bright
yellow underpants from H&M.
It should be an
interesting year. I have to break off now to focus on a little homework, something I haven’t had to do since early 1989.
I think I’m a little out of practice.
16 August 2004 - 8:18 AM
I’m back from Rio. I had a fairly good trip. It wasn’t
as life-altering as the previous ones, but I’m not complaining. I felt well-appreciated there, which is always nice,
and once a day someone said that they thought I was Brazilian, which warmed the cockles of my heart. I’ll write more
later. Orientation for trade school starts in 42 minutes, and I haven’t even showered or shaved (not to mention that
I’m still in denial about the whole thing).
11 August 2004
A
list of things, mostly of what I’ve eaten.
Pastel de Santa Clara (a little crispy pastry shell filled with an egg-yolk-and-sugar custard) at an
old fashioned Portuguese bakery downtown.
Fruta
de Conde (a lovely tropical fruit with a soft custardy inside: very sweet, perfumey, floral, tropical flavor. One of the nicest
fruits I’ve ever eaten. I don’t know the name in English.
A
perfectly tender, perfectly grilled flank steak (grass-fed beef! grass-fed beef!)
Pork
loin with a thin tamarind sauce with a side of farofa with corn kernels
Apple
marquise—a cake of very thin slices of apple, a few raisins, and a crumb topping with a hint of lemon.
A
lovely guava bought from a street vendor
Palmitos
de pupunha (palm hearts from the pupuphna; the grocery store carries about a half-dozen types of palm hearts, all identified
by name)
Summery
bean salads with bits of white cheese
Cooked
spinach with strips of cheese
A
tabooleh salad that was mostly tomato and cucumber
Strawberry
and coconut sorbets (one of the world’s best combinations). The coconut sorbet had a nice herbal flavor
A
spit-roasted beef roast larded (in the technical sense) with thick strips of a white cheese (in texture like mozzarella, but
with a stronger flavor)—one of the most delicious things I’ve eaten in a long time.
More
açaí than I ever expected.
Chocolate
toothpaste (!)
Maracujá-flavored
Trident gum (passion fruit!)
A
bolo de milho (sweet cornmeal cake) that I made myself
Caipirihnas—just
cachaça, lime, and sugar—the best hot weather drink ever, and so much better than margaritas.
Other
sights:
The
itinerant brush man walking down the streets of Leblon calling out his wares
Hearing tales of penguins (!) that appeared in Rio earlier this winter
Finally
making it to the beach, where of course I ran into a couple I know from the gym
Another
escapade (an exhibitionist, probably married, this time)
Today:
A trip to Botafogo to drop off a letter, maybe the Museo do Indio, and then the beach.
9 August 2004
It rained all day yesterday, so I had to find something indoors to while
away the time... Brazilans--the world's best kissers.
And then later, while tossing and turning, I thought that perhaps I'm meant
to be alone.. I've forgotten what it's like to sleep in the same bed with someone. Ambivalence--you follow me everywhere.
7 August 2004
After 32 hours on the road, I'm finally here in Rio. This convinced me
that there's no point in trying to get a place here unless I live on the East Coast. The apartment is fine, if noisy. I'm
near the corner of Rua Rainha Elisabeth and Avenida N.S. de Copacabana, for the Riophiles. The plane from Miami was delayed
nine hours, so we spent the night in a hotel. Fortunately, I had a great book (The Towers of Trebizond by Rose Macaulay, 1958)
to while away the hours. As soon as I got here, I went to the corner grocery store to stock up. $12 for a dozen eggs, bath
soap, dishwashing soap (coconut-scented, natch), butter, cheese, a cake, beer, a bottle of passionfruit juice, bottled water,
and a few other odds and ends. It gets dark early here (5:45PM), but it's still warm. I'm off to find dinner (Bofetada!) and
maybe some touching. My friend won't arrive until Tuesday, so I'm quite unsupervised. I'm not sure how much I'll want to update
this while I'm here--there's no English spellchecker, and perhaps it would be good for me to have an unmediated experience,
or at least one where I'm not always thinking of what I'd write about it while I'm doing it.
Ate' logo.
4 August 2004
Maybe it’s just the weather, the relentless cold, the
wind, and the lack of sunshine, but I’ve been in a foul mood all week. Grumpy grandpa. And then yesterday, after a callously
expensive dinner at the Lark Creek Inn ($90 each and not worth half that), I spent 45 minutes trying to find parking in my
neighborhood. I should be looking forward to my trip and to trade school and to finishing my job, but then, of course, the
terror “alert”: I couldn’t be the only one who worries that our Reichstag will burn down come October.
I’m ready for something new; I’ve lived in the
same neighborhood on and off for over ten years. At least twice a day, on my way to work or the gym, I pass by the building
where Steve and I lived until he died. I still haven’t found a “third space” (i.e., not home or work) where
I can go regularly and hang out. The gym no longer serves that purpose; I don’t feel that most of the guys my age there
are my peers—too many of them are Gay or more devoted than I to the cult of Mammon. Café Flore—not what it was.
Samovar—pullulating with the breeders now living in the Castro. Peet’s on Market—blowhards and Gap
shoppers. That quiet place on Noe—once the twelve seats are taken for the day, you’re out of luck. Momi Tobi’s—loud,
screechy music, wobbly tables. I need a place where I can find kindred spirits, where I can read a biography of Stendhal (by
Johnathan Keates, 1994, excellent beyond compare) or a primer on economics and not seem showy.
It’s the fog that makes me so self-pitying.
2 August 2004
Cunégonde’s Consumer Tips: Beyond Seven condoms: oh
so nice. I had never used them before, because, frankly, I don’t come close to needing them, but they’re great.
Check it out. That’s all I’ll say about that. Otherwise a quiet weekend.
Lots of reading. A little cooking. Plenty of sleep.
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