emptyage

On Vox: iPods, you have failed me.

I fly with three iPods. God, I am a prick.

But there, tucked away in my haute green birthday manbag, down by my feet, I keep an iPod, nano, and shuffle. I need all of them, truly. First, both Harper and I may want to listen to music on the flight (iPod, nano). Second, we both may want to use one while exercising upon our arrival (nano, shuffle). Third, I mean, it is my beat. And finally, I am a prick.

I like listening to music in mass transit situations, as it allows me to not speak to people and mask my indifferent contempt with plausible obliviousness. Thus, I came back from the airport yesterday with a manbag full of iPods.

This afternoon, when I headed to South Park, I glanced in my bag and saw two of them -- the full size iPod and the nano--stowed in their neat little pockets. Harper had the shuffle at the gym. I was happy. And late; I hopped in a cab so as not to be tardy to a 3 PM meeting.

After it ended, I walked down third street, on my way to the N Judah. I was getting on at one of the first stops on the line (the second, actually) and I knew I'd score a seat. I had new copies of Newsweek and Wired tucked in the outside pocket of my manbag. I was looking forward to listening to Islands on my way home. It was going to be a great commute.

And as I pulled my iPod out of the bag, I saw that the safety was off -- the hold switch undone. Shit! Before I even hit the play button, I knew it wouldn't power up. And it didn't. It had played, instead, all day on the airplane, tucked in my bag.

So I reached in my bag with a little smirk, thinking, well at least I have a backup. And also thinking, I'm a total prick. And when I pulled out the little black iPod nano that I bought from Apple one night when I was drunk, I found nothing more than an empty case.  I then remembered I had taken it out to go running with this morning, and left it sitting on the dock. I was devastated.

On the way home, I bought a freshly-baked pepper and asiago baguette.

Islands - Dont Call Me Whitney, Bobby

Originally posted on mat.vox.com

San Francisco Values

YouTube - Saturday Night Live: Nancy Pelosi.

Taking the VOIP Plunge

Since 1995, I've had either an Earthlink or a Mindspring email address. Earthlink has continuously been my ISP since 1998. And during that entire time I have been, of course, mhonan@earthlink.net.

Look! There it is! Published plain text right there on the Web, my email address: mhonan@earthlink.net! And here it is again, this time as a link: mhonan@earthlink.net!

I am unconcerned.

What I always liked most about Earthlink (and Mindspring) was its customer service. But no more. Today, the customer service is terrible. It has been outsourced to India, which does bother me. But much worse, I can't talk to anyone who seems to, you know, have a clue what they're talking about.

"Can I get DSL service without having to have a land line?"

"???"

"DSL. Without a land line. Can you do that?"

"???"

"I live in California. Can you still sell me DSL service if I cut off my phone line?"

"Sir, you must have a phone line to have DSL."

Well, no, not true. But whatever.

"Um, okay, can you tell me what my current plan is?"

"Certainly, sir. Please give me your social security number, home address, mother's maiden name, and a DNA sample."

Earthlink used to have Web-based tools where I could manage my account. Those are either gone or so obfuscated that I can't find it--I can't even see what my account plan is online, when I'm logged into my account. That's terrible.

Now, maybe those tools do exist and I just couldn't find them. But I'm fucking savvy, savvy? And if I can't find them, you have made then entirely too hard to find. If that's intentional, shame on you, Earthlink. And if not, shame on you still.

I always liked Earthlink. And I liked having a relationship with an ISP that lasted that long. It took a lot to send me packing. Uncompetitive pricing. Unreliable service. And, worst, you made me feel like you didn't value me as a customer. It was like a long acrimonious, abusive marriage where I didn't have the courage to leave. But now. Now, I do. So, goodbye.

Speakeasy, in contrast, was full of answers. For example:

"If I ditch my phone line, will my TiVo still be able to dial in?"

"Do you have a Series one or two TiVo?"

!!!

"I have a DirectTV TiVo"

"Okay, well that one does dial in using the phone line. You may have some degredation there, but it should still be able to download all your program guides and other data, though it may take more attempts to dial."

Now that's an informed employee, and that's the kind of person I want to deal with.

And so soon I'll have no land line at all. None. Just mobile service, DSL and VOIP. I love the future.

Goodybye, C. Bobby

I can't describe how sad this makes me:Robert 'Bobby' Cook -- owner of S.F. tavern that was full of owls

Robert "Bobby" Cook was a man who liked owls.

He collected owl paintings, owl sculptures, owl knickknacks, owl stained-glass light fixtures and stuffed owls. He displayed them all inside C. Bobby's Owl Tree, a downtown San Francisco tavern that he owned for 30 years.

"He just enjoyed owls,'' said his son Michael Gardner. "Something about owls stuck in his mind.''

Mr. Cook, 75, died Sept. 14 of cancer in a San Francisco hospital, a few hours after mixing martinis for his regular customers and shutting down his bar for the night.

The Owl Tree Was a class act. One of my favorite bars in San Francisco. Ice in the urinals. Strong drinks. And, of course, owls. Owls everywhere.

Bobby poured a hell of a cocktail and ran one of the best bars in the city. His dog was frequently in the bar with him. And he was pure class. A dying breed of bartender who dressed well, spoke well, and exuded elegance. Along with the 7-11 Club, The Owl Tree was one of my favorite places in San Francisco to get a drink.

I loved it. And I always admired the man who ran it.

A funeral will be held today at 7:30 p.m. at Halsted N. Gray-Carew and English mortuary, 1123 Sutter St., San Francisco. Tip your glass to C. Bobby this evening.

Bear Farms

State wildlife officers arrested four Chinatown merchants Wednesday on suspicion of selling vials of bear bile for medicinal uses.

Fish and Game officials believe the fluid may have been imported from China, where bears are raised on farms to make bile for traditional Chinese medicine.

Animal rights activists have called on China to phase out bear farms....

I'm sorry, did you say "bear farms"? As in, farms where instead of corn or cows, they grow bears?

Bears?

I really want to go to China.

A New Place to Get Sloshed and Eat

I (usually) love Magnolia, my neighborhood brewpub. The food is usually first rate--though it can certainly suffer at times, and i'm talking to you, poached eggs!--and the beer is always amazing.

Amazing.

I love having fresh, seasonal grog right up the street from me--though my liver may be less enthousastic.

So, I'm really psyched that The Alembic is finally opening. It's going to do for liquor what Magnolia does for beer. Phew! And just in time too, as my tolerance was making me pile on the pounds in order to get good and lubricated. The food looks to be just as good, if not better as what Magnolia has on offer, while the interior sounds really cool. In any case, here's the official announcement. See you there.

At long last, the big announcement we've been dying to tell you about for many a month now: Magnolia has a sibling! We are very pleased to announce the opening of the Alembic Bar, located at 1725 Haight Street between Cole and Shrader. What is it? Well, we hope it will be many things, and you will make it so. But we have lovingly assembled an library of small-batch, artisan distilled spirits, domestic and imported craft beers, premium sakes, and unique, limited production wines, creating a temple to the diverse and delicious world of alcohol.

As you might expect, Magnolia's own house ales play a key role in the draft beer selection, and we throw a little local love toward our fellow companions in the Bay Area beer world. We're excited to pick up where Magnolia leaves off, celebrating the way in which artisans near and far dedicate their lives to crafting magical elixirs and the freshest, best food.

Our bartenders are craftspeople in their own right, marrying the flavors of these wonderful spirits with juices squeezed fresh daily, soda from small bottles (no gun), premium (and in some cases housemade) bitters and other ingredients, and fresh garnishes. The renaissance that has cocktail culture picking up where it left of before Prohibition is firmly a part of the Alembic's mission.

Not to be outdone, Chef Eddie Blyden has pulled out all the stops for the Alembic's menu, with an eclectic array of small plates. Eddie's menu has regional American and global influences, all prepared with local products from folks we know, as much as possible. Chef Blyden has risen to the challenge of pairing food with the assertive flavors of our spirits list and his sourcing here at the Alembic is a continuation of his philosophy at Magnolia. Seasonal, local and sustainable remain the key elements of our vision at both places.

Building the Alembic was an extension of our sustainability philosophy, with the use of as many reclaimed building materials as possible. The wood that lines the walls was salvaged from a 150+ year old barn in Wisconsin while the floor was similarly saved from a 100 year old Pennsylvania barn. The ceiling is an historically reproduced tin pattern and the light fixtures over the bar are historical reproductions with 1890-style Edison bulbs. The highlight of the space, though, is the bar itself, lovingly crafted from the original bleacher seats from Kezar Stadium, built in 1922 from old-growth Douglas Fir. We've left the seat numbers intact for your amusement.

The name, since you may be wondering, comes from the 1200 year- old Persian word, al-ambiq, which was the name of the first distilling apparatus. It was adopted by the alchemists of the Middle Ages where it assumed an additional meaning of refinement and coaxing the purest essence from something rough and raw. Today, some distillers continue to work with so-called alembic stills and the word remains a metaphor for a place where refinement and magic intersect.

Together, Magnolia and the Alembic proudly carry on a tradition of nourishing the community, providing gathering spots for the neighborhood while turning folks on to some of the best and most interesting tastes of the local food and drink renaissance. As with Magnolia, we look forward to all of you adding your own energy to the Alembic.

The Alembic is just four blocks west of Magnolia next to the legendary Red Vic Movie Theater. Public parking is 4 blocks away at Stanyan and Beulah and the Alembic can be reached by Muni (the N-Judah stops 4 blocks away at Carl and Cole) and Bus #'s 7, 71, 33 and 43 stop within one block of our front door.

Last Night

Last night we listened to coyotes howl below us at two o clock in the morning; wretched, alone, and hungry, their voices carrying through the hills, wanting. We slept below an open sky, it was warm and we didn't put the fly on the tent. I could watch the stars spin above the earth; feel the breeze blow up the mountain from the ocean and onto my face.

Last night we heard the crickets scratch their legs together all around us until the air hung thick with sound. We built a roaring fire using just one two matches. We hiked a trail I'd never seen before, and looked below at the fog lying heavy and full atop the city that I love; invisible and indistinguishable from the ocean were it not for the top--the very tip--of that great living tower, peeping out like the head of a forgotten god, nothing left but bones now, drowning in a billowing white sea.

Last night at four o clock in the morning two men came buzzing into the parking lot in an ancient, wheezing mobile. They shouted at each other and then began to head up the hill, cutting through the woods towards our tent. As they neared the perimeter of our campsite, I switched on my light and confronted them, hitting them with several watts and deep, booming voice. They answered me and I didn't falter. Then they turned back, and I felt brave and scared all at once.

Last night a mouse raged inside our foodbox, and in the pitch as we got up to investigate, we laughed as it played peekaboo, head hidden away with body in plain sight. A tiny tail hanging limp from the cirner of the cabinet. We surrendered to it our chocolate, our cheese puffs, our tomatos. You cannot have our coffee.

This morning we watched the sun come up through the trees. We saw the glow of the lights of the city slowly give way to a brighter, more beautiful din. Birds came alive in the trees, and we woke and packed quickly and quietly, and drove home again to go to work today.