January 2016

Well, yes, after a flirtation with Google Chrome, i’ve returned to using Firefox as my Internet browser, so of course their notices of their new Private Browsing feature have come to my attention, and i’ve tried it.

And i’m usually too lazy to do two extra clicks to get to the private version of the browser.  After all, i’m so thoroughly outed in every possible way, not to mention having been for years a vociferous critic of the NSA and all the rest of our layers and layers of citizen surveillance, that i really don’t feel like i have much to lose, being so old and sick and all.

But still.  While ago i ran across one of the finest ads i’ve seen in years.  Do sit back and enjoy this thing.

Meanwhile, Petaluma has a population of only 58,000, but this doesn’t mean that we lack the sophistication of the city.  No indeed, we have something for everyone here, including this facility for those who now and then need a little cage time.  The listed hours are the permitted departure times.  For the full experience you’ll want to arrive shortly before 4:00PM on Saturday.  Might want to bring a jug of water and a pail.

Don’tcha just love it when you discover an excellent new website?  Well, i did a couple of weeks ago thanks to a link in an excellent old website, SAR.  The new website is Aeon,  a digital magazine with superb essays and breathtaking videos.

I lean strongly toward the written word as my source of information, but occasionally i’ll grit my teeth and watch a video.  Today’s featured video on Aeon is nine whole minutes long, and you really do need to watch it all the way through for the point to come crashing home.  But take nine minutes.  It’s worth it.  Click HERE.

Meanwhile, the Alhambra Theater on Polk Street in San Francisco:

Imagine how much safer we’d be if everyone routinely carried a loaded handgun.

I drove back to the city to have lunch with Sybil, and she led us to Eatsa at 121 Spear Street.   What a delightful adventure that was.

Eatsa is certainly the most high tech eating experience i’ve ever had.  It’s located in the Rincon Center, positioned to ambush you on your way in to Yank Sing.

Just inside the door, you stop at one of the terminals, order your meal, and pay with your credit card.  No cash. No waiters.  The menu is short, just six bowls to choose from – all vegetarian, all featuring quinoa, and all $6.95.  The only sides available are their own porcini-dusted potato chips, quacamole, and about a half dozen non-alcoholic cold drinks.

Step away from the terminal and almost instantly your name appears on a screen high on the wall above a bunch of cubbies in the next room.

In no time at all, literally three or four minutes, you’ll notice that your name has reached the top of the list with a cubby number beside it.

Sure enough, your complete order is in that cubby, piping hot…well, if it’s supposed to be.

Tap twice, and the door opens, allowing you to remove your order and take it to the countertop running all along the wall or to a table on the patio.

I had the Burrito Bowl, consisting of Guacamole, Salsa Fresca, Queso Mexicano, Asada Portabello, Grilled Corn, Warm Lemon-Herb Toasted Quinoa, Tortilla Chips, and Seasoned Pinto Beans.  It was quite tasty and the portion was more than adequate.

What a strange experience.  The sole visible employee was a guy at the door whose only function seemed to be to answer questions from newbies, not necessary for Sybil, she being an old hand.

Would i go back?  Ummm, yes, if i happened to be right there and hungry and since i’m a bit curious about a couple of the other bowls.  Most likely, the reason i’d go back would be to take someone there for a wonderfully strange dining experience.  Well, or to take a photo of the artfully arranged bowl with the lid off.

Thanks, Sybil.

Something light to begin the new year, a tale from my last visit to Germany in January, 1988.

In Berlin i stayed at Toms Haus, a Kreuzberg B&B owned by a Swiss emigrant named Kurt Ettler until his death and its closure in the late ’90’s.  It was conveniently located, just a few blocks from the KaDeWe with its legendary food hall for my daytime entertainment.  It was also within walking distance of three gay bars for my nightime entertainment.

But this is about Kurt.

He was an entertaining conversationalist, enough so that we were having too much fun talking for him to make many interruptions to correct my grammar although he did at one point break down and mention that the one thing i could do to make a dramatic improvement in my German would be to please, please, please always remember to stick the subject after the verb in dependent clauses because my frequent failures to do so were painful to the German ear.

He also extended my vocabulary by pointing out that since i wanted a pair of Bundeswehr Springerstiefel, i could find an excellent price for them at a motorcycle shop across town, and while i was in there i could pick up a replacement visor for his motorcycle helmet.  That was an entertaining expedition since the guys at the shop knew absolutely zero English but had a sense of humor and were able to laugh with me over my talking around words i didn’t know in German, which they then supplied.  Alas,  while the visor they supplied Kurt fit perfectly, my jump boots never got comfortable.

Better yet, Kurt gave me a chance to rise to the occasion, and who doesn’t love that?  Well, if you’re successful.  In this case, one evening near the end of my stay he knocked on my door in a panic because he was cooking dinner for friends and suddenly his oven had gone off and wouldn’t relight.  I asked myself what made him think i was the most practical of his guests and then wondered, hmmm, do German ovens use the same sort of safety measure that American ones do?  A device that shuts off the gas supply if the pilot goes out and requires holding a button down while you insert a match to relight the pilot and let a thermocouple get hot?

So i got down on the floor and pried off the protective panel at the bottom of the oven, and sure enough, there were all kinds of wires and tubes in there and something that looked like it might be an extinguished pilot light.  And yep, a knob with three positions just like in America – on, off, and something else that by default had to be “pilot”.  And yes, a conveniently accessible red button.  So in a couple of minutes he had his oven going again, and in another minute an explanation of how the system worked so he could relight the oven himself if it ever failed again.  Great fun and besides, the pleasure of feeling competent.

I told about my having picked up a new visor for his motorcycle helmet, but now’s a good time to mention that Kurt was the most complete leather fetishist i’ve ever met.  Head to toe. Seven days a week.  Hell, maybe even 24/7 since i would not be surprised if he’d had leather pajamas.

My favorite memory of him, though, was his travel tales, most of which involved thwarting obnoxious officialdom.  Like the time he was going through customs on a visit to this country and had an encounter that started out rather badly.

See, when he’d opened his suitcase, the agent was highly interested to see that it contained little but leather, and seeking to embarrass him, started holding items up for everyone to see and inquiring loudly, What is this?

Dis is a pair of leder pants.

And what is this?

Dis is a leder shirt.

And what is this?

Dis is a pair of leder shorts.

And what is this?

Dis is a leder jockstrap.

And finally, Why do you have all this leather clothing?

Becauss i am allergic to silk.

At which point, the audience patiently waiting behind him during the show gave such a roar of approval that the agent, seeing he had lost the game, slammed Kurt’s suitcase shut and waved him in.

Meanwhile, who says PG&E lacks a sense of humor?