The Right to Write

I feel like I'm getting rusty at writing. After 13 years of being a magazine editor and writing at least two articles a week, I went to a job where I didn't write a word for three months. I've always found it hard to write without a deadline hanging over my head, so I haven't done any recreational writing either. I guess that's the purpose of this blog, but I'm still having trouble getting motivated unless I find something interesting like a restaurant to write about.
Not writing was one of the things I found most annoying about my last job (it's a long list). I was supposedly hired to take care of all communications for the company, but I ended up simply taking dictation from the owner. He'd talk very fast, had little patience and I can barely read my own handwriting, so I hated doing this. At least toward the end, I would record his missives.
So, what's the purpose of this blog? I'm not really sure, but the title is misleading: I denied myself the "right to write," and I guess I wanted to find something to write about and get some things off my chest.

First Church of Christ Scientist

Beer and Clams?

As I was driving to Las Vegas recently, I saw a billboard in Spanish that advertised a new product that's a combination of beer and Clamato® juice. I only caught a glimpse of it, but decided to investigate further upon my return. Apparently, Latinos have been doing this combination on their own for years (So have rednecks according to my friend Denise, who worked in a bar many years ago. She said the call it "breakfast."). With an eye on a marketing oportunity, Budweiser has brought Chelada® to the market for your convenience, so you don't have to buy your own Clamato®. The results for me are a bit mixed: although effervescent, tangy and somewhat refreshing, there was something wrong—I just couldn't put my finger on what it was. Hot sauce and more lime would have improved the product, but overall, I thought it was vile—and yet I couldn't stop drinking it! I'm going to play with it and try additions like the forementioned hot sauce, as well as a shot of vodka. Another idea is to use it as a base for the Mexican style shrimp cocktels I love. These are not your American shrimp cocktails, but are presented in a thin tomato juice base, with lots of cilantro, chopped tomatoes, avocado and cucumbers. I think Chelada® may be the perfect base for this dish. I'll report the results.

Free at Last

I'm finally free of my job. When I gave notice, I said I wouldn't work until I was paid over $1,200 in expenses I submitted on August 3, and the still haven't been paid. I still worked for a few days, but it became obvious that payment wasn't forthcoming any time soon (I was offered $100 to work for one day). I packed up my things yesterday. I feel much better now, but also a bit scared about facing unemployment and being owed so much money by someone who has a bad history of paying ex-employees.
I've been told that he's been telling people that I left because I'm weak (he says this about everyone that leaves), but I've never felt more empowered in my life. It's always been difficult for me to stand up to tyrants, and I've faced a lot of them in my life, but this time I did it with dignity and strength. I don't feel weak at all—just the opposite. Perhaps that's the wisdom the journey that last few years has brought me: to finally put myself first, not accept second best (I almost did this time), to make decisions based on my heart and personal standards, and to do what's right.
Time and time again, I keep coming back to the two Jewish values I try to define my life by: tzedakah (acts of loving kindness) and tikkun olam (healing the world), and I almost lost sight of them by a force of evil who waived money in my face.

Will Write For Food

I finally quit my job today and I better find one soon or the above title may come true. I was surprised that I hadn't done any writing whatsoever on this job, but was simply dictated to. Dictated seems to be the keyword to this job, and I'll elaborate on this at a later date, suffice it to say that this is the worst job I've ever had. I actually feel relieved not to have to go into this cauldron of hell every day and can't wait until my two weeks notice is over. As those who know me can attest, I am the most cooperative person in the world and it takes a lot to make me take action for my self-preservation, but once I'm crossed-look out.

SF Eats: First Entry

I tried a new restaurant last night I highly recommend. It was my boyfriend's birthday, and I wanted the night to be memorable. He'd never had French cuisine, so after doing so Web research, I settled on Garcon! in the Mission district, and I happy to report an excellent evening of fine cuisine, attentive but unobtrusive service and romantic atmosphere. Garcon! has an extensive wine list (it comes in a binder), but since the evening was a celebration, we had delightfully fruity Champagne whose name I can't recall. It had a touch of yeast and at $35 a bottle was a bargain. For appetizers, we went for their generous charcuterie platter and a warm and hearty foie gras mixed with egg and served with bread-French comfort food of the highest degree. The entreés were generous and satisfying. I had a wonderfully rare steak with spinach and pomme frites, while Eddie dined on a pork chop with fava beans and artichoke hearts. As it was his birthday, our waitress (she was delightfully friendly) brought a light merangiue floating in a sweet creme sauce, topped with a candle and sang happy birthday in French. The restaurant has a fair sized dining room, but we sat in the back lounge, which made the evening even more romantic-this is a great place for a date. An added attraction for the back room (for me at least) was watching and smelling everything coming out of the kitchen. Apparently, Garcon! is famous for their mussel dishes, because at least 20 plates went by in the course of the evening-that alone is reason enough to go back.
Garcon!
1101 Valencia St.
San Francisco
(415) 401-8959
www.garconsf.com
Reservations recommended

On our way back, we stumbled on a place I heard about from some friends: Weird Fish. This restaurant is a hole in the wall, which is my favorite kind of place. My friends raved about it, and it was packed at 10 p.m. on this Saturday night. I'm going back soon to try it and will report on the results, but in the meantime, I grabbed the menu. Among the highlights are Hell Fish (seitan with sesame ginger and vegan wheat-free batter), Suspicious Fish Dish (the menu simply says "take a risk"), and dijon-almond encrusted rainbow trout. Nothing on the meno is over $12 and most fall into the $5-$7 range.
Weird Fish
2193 Mission St
San Francisco, CA 94110
(415) 863-4744
www.weirdfishsf.com

Bad Craziness

I was hoping to blog everyday, but that road to hell just got paved a little more. Actually, I needed some well-deserved rest after my three days in Vegas. Due to various problems that I won't go into (except none of them were personal), the trip was pretty bad. In addition, I'm totally bored with the place. I had a wonderful, relaxing weekend, but the craziness is back with the work week. The best lesson I've learned through all of this is that I actually can stand up for myself and win. Yes, today I am a man—I thought that was at my Bar Mitzvah, but it's all part of the journey. I've also learned that it's OK to take risks once in a while because the rewards make it worth it.
So to sum up: Life is crazy, stand up for yourself and take risks or you'll never get what you want.
Say goodnight Gracie.....

Raoul was Right!

This was supposed to be posted the night of 8/01, but my connection went down: I've just spent an evening among the great unwashed on the strip in Vegas (unfortunately, I forgot to take my camera). I have to say that even though "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" was published over 30 years ago, if I'd been taking what the good Dr. Thompson was ingesting that fateful week, I would have had the same visions. Tonight I saw too many overweight people in overly tight clothing. Too many images and snipets of conversations to remember, except the wiff of backslapping, general yahoo ugliness and the voice of Judy Garland. Perhaps Thompson had the right idea about checking out. I know that most of his decision was based on his physical infirmities, but seeing the crest of the wave of the Bush/Cheney years breaking in Vegas like I did tonight reminded me of how we got into the sorry state we're in today. Thompson knew this and it was too frightening for even him to stand. I need to get back to the Bay Area and leave these people behind.

Sunset

This long day is finally coming to an end as the shadows fall across the desert. The only real sunshine is on the hills to the east. It's been like a monsoon here all day and everyone's drenched. I've been to Vegas many times, and it just seems to get worse—the fantasy world and unobtainable dreams. I watched "Fear and Loathing" recently, and the only difference I see is that Vegas is more "family friendly," whatever that means. There's still plenty of debauchery under the surface, and I guess the food's better—if you can afford it. I suppose I'm going to spend my eveing doing what I love best: watching the freakshow, taking pics of whatever catches my eye, looking at kitsch and playing the penny slots.

In search of the American dream

It's morning in Las Vegas. I'm here in my non-luxurious suite at the Saharah getting ready for a full day's work with a slight sense of fear and loathing. Compared to the other resorts, this place is stuck in time—there are tributes to Buddy Hackett everywhere! The Sahara has seen better days, as evidenced by the guy who came up to fix my TV last night, grumbling about how the place was falling apart the whole time. No American dream here, especially this morning, just senior citizens trying to squeeze some meager winnings out of the slots at 8 a.m. We'll see how the day develops.