Mollyblog

My other roommate's a rockstar too

I was doing research on LoveFest today when I came across this article by my roommate, Cat. So I'm posting it here, just for further proof that all my roommates are badass, and that I, by association and proximity, am badass too.

So there.

Does it mean there's something wrong with me

if I think this is funny?

What's cracking me up this week

And by the way, here's where I've been on the web:

I can has cheezburger Although I'm not sure you can quite appreciate it without my cubicle-mate G.W. Schulz narrating.

What's funnier than Kitty Cat Vikings? (Okay, lots of stuff is funnier than this. But I like it, okay? Sue me.)

And this goes in the Who Would've Thunk It? category.

And it was all lellow...

It's my birthday. And here's what my mom sent to me on this, the first day of my 29th year of my life, in reference to what I was doing the year I turned three:

Just for birthday fun, here's some excerpts from my calendar of 1981:

1-1   Molly says "lellow" for "yellow"

2-3  Molly "pistapeered" for "disappeared"

2-7  Molly loves to make up songs

2-18  Molly decided to pee and poop in potty!

3-1  Molly really understands counting - counts objects to 12.  Knows about 5

            phoentic sounds

        Molly and I see Fantasia.   "How pretty it is!"

3-11  Molly uses the word "meanwhile" correctly

3-14  Molly matches tone just right.  Can also imitate 3-note phrases - in register

               and direction

4-3  Molly wants a yellow cat named pickle, and dog named Joe.

       Molly can read:  baby, cup, spoon, apply, Molly, Sally

5-20  Robin says to Molly  "I don't like you"

          Molly answers  "I'm just standing here.  You don't have to like me!"

6-23  Molly says "3 take away 1 is 2, take away 2 is 1"

8-10  Molly spelled "sauce" on her own... "sos"/  makes up songs using guitar

          Molly conversing in baby talk like it was a second language.

8-18  "Let's keep that little baby"  (referring to Sally)

9-2  "I'm lucky to have a sister like Sally"

9-3  "Mom, I love you always"

9-17  When Justin almost took a toy, Molly said "that was close!"

9-18   Taught herself to use an abacus

9-23  "You know what mom?  I really appreciate that you love me"

9-25  Molly decided not to be nice to me when I got mad at her

9-27   "Do you want a lunchbox when you grow down and be a little girl?"

9-30  "Valenheart's Day!"

11-2  "The sky is blue.  I trick or treat in the morning.  I have something good to eat"

11-7  When throwing up:  "Here it comes again.  Why am I doing this?!"

12-1  Counts to 100 with a book!"

12-8  Very interested in making her bed and does it well.

12-15  "on the 5th day of Christmas my mommy gave to me, six loving hugs..."

            (continued to make up verses about everything she got and who gave it

              to her).

12-31  "You want to say "oh, damn it," Sally?"

I made Romenesko!

For media types, this is a big deal. Basically, Poynter is the mecca of all things media-related, and most editors and reporters check it (or receive newsletters from it) regularly. Romenesko keeps a running list of links to important/interesting/relevant stories around the country, and also sends out a newsletter to the same effect. And apparently, today I made the top of the list on the newsletter with my SB Indie story on the Jerry Roberts roast. Not quite a Pulitzer, but not too shabby either...

Link to post on Poynter here

I could be wrong...

...but I don't think people in San Francisco like cars very much.

(seen on a sidewalk near Golden Gate Park)

My favorite myspace exchange of the day

A friend from high school posts about needing a haircut, and also about wishing someone would buy him both of these shirts:

"You're so goth it hurts," I write.

His answer?

"I'm so goth i enjoy the pain."

Free to be you and pee

I am known far and wide for my spectacular peeing abilities. Famous for my aim, the power of my stream, the depth of the holes I can make in playa dust, the duration. But there is something Savannah can do that I could only dream of: let

I have a special talent when it comes to peeing. I can pee long, hard and strong. I can sink cars if I pee on their tires. I can knock bottles over and put out small fires from 50 yards away. I can start peeing at sunset and not stop until the sky is a deep, dark purple. Give me a bottle of soda and ten minutes later I can piss the Mississippi River into the dirt.

But my talent doesn’t compare to Savannah’s. Because once I start peeing, I can’t stop. The flood gates are open and cannot, under any circumstances, be closed. And herein lies the shadow side of my great talent: what if I don’t want to sink the car whose tire I’m peeing on? What if I don’t have time to spend fifteen minutes squatting in the dirt? What if the bottles I’m knocking over are spaced so far apart that I can’t hit them all in one urination session? If only I could start and stop at will, saving up my pissing powers like a secret weapon, a precise and highly useful tool.

Savannah can.

We go out to the street and she dribbles a bit on a tree. Another couple blocks and she sniffs in the grass, lets out a stream for a second, then keeps walking. Several yards away she christens a trash can, then a bush, then a pile of dirt. After each one she digs into the ground with her back paws (as though to cover the dribbles, though she never actually does), then looks up at me with a look that can only be pride, satisfaction and a little bit of smugness. “Yup, I’m a bad ass,” she seems to say. “What can you do?” And then she promptly takes a shit and watches me pick it up.

Smart and talented.

Damn dogs.

I can’t tell if Savannah just has an endless supply of urine that she can dispense at will, or if she has the ability to space out the emptying of her bladder in increments. Either way I’m jealous.

Of course, I do get to wear cute underwear. And walk on my hind legs. And vote.

So I guess there are trade offs.

What up, human?

I am not a dog person.

This does not mean that I don’t like dogs. Dogs are just fine. Nice enough, I guess, with that commendable quality of loyalty that so few people even possess. I can even learn to love certain dogs, if they’re mine (like the mutt named Emily I had as a kid) or if they belong to someone I love (Oh, Billy, who knew I’d ever let you lick my feet so thoroughly with that warm, scratchy, smelly tongue? Rest in Peace…). But as a general rule, I find dogs annoying, smelly, needy, troublesome and too damn big (unless they’re the small dogs, in which case why the fuck have a dog when you could just have a guinea pig in your purse?)

This means I don’t have a whole lot of contact with dogs. I don’t allow them in my car. When my dog-owner friends come around, sometimes I’ll pet ‘em and sometimes I won’t, but I’ll never get down on the ground and roll around with them. And though my former roommate is a professional dog walker, I never once went with him on a job.

So it was with some trepidation that I took on my dog-sitting job last weekend. I met Savannah, a beautiful black medium-sized dog with a friendly disposition, ahead of time. And I liked her. I scratched her head while I talked to her interesting, friendly owners. I didn’t mind when she jumped up on me. I figured this would be a piece of cake.

But when I came back a few days later to be alone with her, I realized something: I don’t know how to walk a dog. I don't know what to do when she bites into a tube of sausage so moldy it looks like newspaper and won't let go. Or when she finds a stale doughnut in a bush and swallows it whole. I don't know if I'm supposed to let her off her collar and play ball in the park, like the other dog owners who clearly love their dogs more than I love mine, or if that is a surefire way to get her in some dog-on-dog fight (as Savannah loves humans, but not other dogs). I don't know which roads in Golden Gate park are dog friendly, or whether it's okay to walk Savannah along Haight.

Of course, I eventually figured it all out. Even got good at it. Even started fantasizing about having my own dog someday (but one genetically engineered not to shit).

But on those first few walks when I was all nervous and awkward, somewhere between being on a first date and taking my first babysitting gig, I couldn't get over the feeling that every time Savannah looked at me, she was saying with her eyes,

“You fucking amateur."

I'm so tired, Part 2

Which brings us, of course, to my arrival in the city -- and what I've been doing ever since.

On the Job

I started my job as Assistant Culture Editor at The SF Bay Guardian the day after I arrived - a classically Molly move that actually turned out okay. The building, an old candy factory in Potrero Hill, is amazing. My coworkers are kindred spirits, especially my immediate supervisor, Marke B. (whose duties I'm taking over so he can focus on the web) and my friend Steven T. Jones, who I met at an AAN conference several years ago. And the work I'm doing is fun and challenging. Since being here, I've already edited most of the stories in the special Sex issue, assigned stories for the upcoming dining pull-out, blogged a bit on the company culture blog, had after-dinner drinks with Steve (and sometimes his lovely g.f. Alix) several times (most notably at Bloom's Saloon (pictured left) which has a fantastic view of the city out its back window), and had lunch with Marke B. at the strangely named Thai restaurant up the street from the office, San Francisco Bar-B-Que. I come in around 10:30 or 11. I leave around 7 or 8. I take cigarette breaks on the roof, with a 280 degree view of the Bay, or downstairs, where I look at the mural painted on the side of the building (pictured right). It's pretty much my ideal job.

Happy Birthday, El Norte...you fucker.

Of course, my first day at my fantastic job wasn't enough excitement for one 24 hour period. Oh no. My friend Michael Northen (pictured left), the nanoscientist/TV host by day who is a Wild and Crazy Guy by night, had to turn 30. And celebrate. In Style. We got crazy at Crazy Sushi. We transferred the party over to The Transfer. And then the night turned a corner into one of those fantastic, dreamlike, nocturnal adventures that takes days to recover from but lives forever in our minds. Basically, a North-style event. If only Jodey and I hadn't both had to work first thing the next morning. Nothing like a cracked-out second day of work, right? (I was sure this city was going to kick my ass. Luckily, I've discovered that it's just North who is going to kick my ass. The city actually moves at a much slower pace than he does.) See more photos (nothing too juicy. sorry.) from that infamous night here.

Raw: Another Night With North

I should be fair to North. Though he has the potential (and stamina, and endurance, and constitution) to go longer and farther than most people I know, this is true in all capacities: hard work as well as partying, commitment as well as chaos. He's sweet, compassionate, intelligent, interesting. He's a good friend. And his name shouldn't necessarily be synonymous with Capital T Trouble. In fact, I didn't get into any trouble at all when I met up with him a few days later. Rather, I enjoyed a delicious raw meal prepared by Dar at Kristian's house, before climbing under Kristian's electric blanket for a short disco nap while he and the others ate (drank?) raw chocolate shakes. I dragged my tired ass to Mezzanine, where I ended up happy to dance -- and also happy to leave. Then I went home and went to sleep at a decent hour. See? Not so bad at all.

The Marathon

Part of the motivation, of course, was having something important to do in the morning. My friend Jodey was running a half marathon as part of a charity effort, and a few of us decided to meet her at the finish line. (It was the least we could do, right? I mean, it's not like we were going to run.) We approached the course smoking our cigarettes and wearing our black rocker-wear just in time to see Miss Jonsey come around the bend. And just in time to take her to Cole Valley for Bloody Marys (bad) and Poached Eggs (good) at Zazie. (More photos from the marathon here.)   

The Office Party

The rest of my week was busy busy busy. Looking for houses. Finishing a story on All That Remains for Revolver Magazine. Driving to Car-Free Happy Hour (yes, I see the irony in that). And then the Office Party.

And by "Office Party," I do mean "a party in my office:" A DJ. Three beer bars. A wine bar. An Irish Coffee bar. A table set up by Good Vibrations. Pans of free Indian food. City councilmen and cityslicker hipsters. It was, hands down, the best Office Party I've ever been to. And definitely the first one I bartended at. After the party, we all went to a bar up the street, and then another in the Mission where our Art Director was spinning. A few hours and whiskey shots later, many of my coworkers were spinning too (in a different way, of course). And Friday morning, when I arrived at   

1:30pm (I'm using the term "morning" loosely here), the place was desolate. A couple reporters upstairs, a couple sales people downstairs, a heap of bottle caps outside the back door and streamers strewn across the carpet. All our work was already done. Everyone had partied the night before. And everyone understood that both were true. Passionate about work. Valuing play.

I am so in the right place.

The Rest ... (but still no rest)

And after that? Seeing house after house. Packing and unpacking at all the various homes where I've occupied couches or spare rooms (thanks to Siobhan and Eddie, Marcus and Linda Lou, Jen and Dan, Blaine and Blaine). Moving my car before I get a parking ticket. Shopping for Tiger Bars and instant soup cups. Visiting Mighty Galleries with Mighty Marina, stopping by the Opel Productions Valentine's Ball with Siobhan and Eddie, seeing more and more houses, eating breakfast at the strangest restaurant in the world with Jeff (who came up for a friend's birthday party last weekend), buying a gorgeous brown suede hooded jacket I can't afford (even though it was only $30), and stopping by a Guardian-sponsored Campber Van Beethoven show at 12 Galaxies (where I hung out with Siobhan, Eddie, and Scott from the tech dept.)

And now. Waiting til late at the office because we have early deadlines (thanks to Monday's holiday). Then Karaoke with the music dept. Then houses houses more houses. Dog sitting for the editor's best friend. Siobhan and Eddie's housewarming. More houses. More houses. Dinner with Ms. Laurie McMazer. And then? Back to work again.

Sheesh. No wonder I'm tired.