Life of Lo

Urban Legend

When I first moved to the city and worked in the Mission, I started to hear about the Tamale Lady.

A colleague and member of The Extra Action Marching Band played me the song they had written for her.

Over the years I would ask what kind of tamales, thinking the non latinos probably didn't know the difference between the Mexican corn husked goodness and some of the other varieties.

I had never seen the Tamale Lady or one of her tamales. I had almost forgotten she existed.

Last night my friend and I were at Casanova, not wanting to head to Dub Mission too early. Over our four-dollar drinks the entertainment began.

Met some local surfers that asked if we were local. Then started in on how not local the girls next to us were. Only because they had been rude did the conversation come up that they were bridge and tunnel. The guys said- Danville, who lives in Danville? Right? I totally agreed.

Everyone was having a good time, it was obvious the levels of sobriety varied, but we had just started our night.

Then I heard some one talking about tamales. I turned to see a woman walking away. I asked the guy standing near me is that The Tamale Lady?! Yeah, get her for me please!

I turned in my bar stool and said hi! English then Spanish I asked her are you the famous Tamale Lady? Si, I told her how long I had been wanting to meet her, did she have veggie tamales? I settles on rajas con queso. She asked if I wanted some salsa and I said only if it was not spicy- then she said here you better just eat it with out.

It was cool to meet her and the tamal was delicious. My friend said, I didn't know I liked tamales. The guys next to me asked me how my drunk tamal was, I looked at him puzzled and he explained she is the patron saint of the Mission drunks.

At Dub, I ran into my neighbor and told him about my tamal experience. He said he has had them at Zeitgeist after a day of drinking. I told him I had never seen her and thought the gringos wouldn't really know a good tamal if they had one. He is from Michoacan, and he said no- they really are good. Agreed, yum...

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The Unspoken

When he asked me out, I did not know what time I would be done writing. No problem, just text me when you do. It was 9pm before I got up from my desk. He called back, when, do you think you will be ready? "In 30 minutes," he laughed, call me when you are ready.

It was 90 minutes before I called him back. Ready he asked? "Yes." With Latino men, you rarely have to explain the amount of time it takes you to get ready. They know the wait is worth it. Que linda, he said when he saw me. A bachata song came over the radio. Do you know how to dance bachata, he asked. "Do you?" Yes. "Then I do to, I just have to follow right?" Si, he said with a smile.

He wanted us to go meet his friends, so I agreed. The first table of names, I would not remember, although I tried to remember some of the women's names. I couldn't make out the Spanish accents either. As we walked away one of the men said 'caio flaca.' I smiled, it was a term of endearment strangers do not usually use with each other.

I asked, "were they Argentinos?" No, Chilenos. "Oh, they sound like Argentinos." Yes, a little. Another round of handshakes, and what did I want to drink one of his friends asked? Piña con vodka, someone said 'Piña para la niña.' I could tell this was going to be quite the night.

We were at Delirium listening to the punk rock standards. I sat down, not wanting to mess up my flouncy top. I could just imagine the chiffon ripping on some sweaty mosher. For the record, I had not dressed for this bar.

In English someone asked me do you want to see? Handed me a small black leather-bound book. I smiled and opened the pages. "Oh, did you draw these?" Some, would you like to draw something? "I don't draw, just write bad poetry." That's fine.

My drink arrived, was I okay? Yes, just going to write some bad poetry on demand, we laughed.

I wrote and thought about keeping the shiny silver pen, didn't of course. The music had changed and I wiggled in my seat a bit I guess because one then another guy had asked if I wanted to dance? "No, thank you, really."

Stood up and placed my purse on the table. Another introduction, this time to an artist. Is that your purse he asked? "Yes." He said why don't you set it over here by my friends. "Not sure how long I am staying thanks." My guy said let's go meet his friends. So we did, and finally free of my purse, I focused on my still full drink. I remembered my last night of drinking there. The morning after was painful.

Held my drink out and said it is too strong help me. Made a note to switch to water. It was loud and they discussed Pink or Elbow Room. So, we made our way over to the Elbow Room, but the Brazilian Band was not playing that night.

We sat at the bar, and someone was buying a round but I ordered water. It was a group and I quickly took up with the banker by day and musician by night. Asked what I did, told me both of his parents were professors. So the conversation kept going. I looked up and saw my guy wink and smile.

I said, "it was nice talking with you," and excused myself. They were discussing what to do since the Brazilians were not playing. In a rare public display of affection my guy pulled me in close. I noticed it was timed precisely as the guy I had been talking to made his way over.

The artist invited us to his nearby loft. Inside I found a peacock feather and arranged it in my hair, it complimented my outfit perfectly. We looked at high fashion photography books and I drank Jamison on the rocks. My guy played the guitar, it was nice. I fixed my hair into a knot and rearranged the feather. The artist said let me adjust it. My guy walked over and said, I will do it. He did a perfect job.

The small group was predominantly international and Spanish speaking. The artist was learning Spanish and the language lesson when we returned from adjusting my hair was on not touching. Explaining how one would say do not touch, do not touch her...it was doble sentido at its best.

My guy asked the artist if the piece hanging on the wall was his? No, did I want to see his work? Yes, it was just a few feet away from where we sat and my guy kept on with the guitar.

A few feet away, we looked through his stills, and sketches. He asked me if I had a boyfriend? "No," and I kept looking at the artwork. Started to comment on how nice it was to meet me..."Oh, I am sorry, I don't have a boyfriend but I am here with someone."

He fumbled over his words, noticed I had been talking to many people that night. "Yes, fortunately we are both really social. We have been through this before, if we are out together we are not exchanging information with others." We can be friends though, he continued.

"You are his acquaintance, he said you were a great artist. Invite him to something and ask him to bring me. I have to respect the boundaries we have set, have no desire or reason not to." He said, it makes sense, the two of you, he is lucky. "It is mutual."

I spotted the vintage wallpaper on the shelf and then we made some art. First he asked, when they were teaching me how to say not to touch, they were talking to me about you, right? Maybe, his friends took it up with you, not us...

Global

In just eighteen hours...

Reuniting with some friends from the Sierra Nevada World Music Festival, made our way down to the Bill Graham Civic Center Auditorium. Every concert there I have had a great time, first Bob Dylan, then Manu Chao, this weekends Ragga Muffins Festival did not disappoint.

We didn't have tickets and were only showing up for the last three acts, to catch up with the out of towners. The box office still had tickets, but I told my friend lets check the list.

So I walked up to the guy behind the will call table and said hi, "do you have any tickets that maybe did not get used and you would like to give away?" smiled. He said he had one ticket was I there alone? "No, my friend is at the box office window, called to her and she waved (by the way she is rockin the luscious brown locks ;) but there is only a few acts left and we don't know if it is worth it to pay the full price?"

He said, he had one ticket, I waved my friend over, he pushed the ticket towards me on the table. "Thank you! Certain we squealed and would have hugged him if he wanted." Back at the box office we got the other ticket. My friend asked, how did you do that? "I just asked."

It took a minute but we found our party the first band we saw was Midnight from St. Croix, pretty mellow for my taste.

Anthony B. from Jamaica though, brought the energy of dancehall to the stage and it spread throughout the auditorium. Made friends with the group standing next to us. It seems the drinks just kept coming, beer, cran and vodka, sprite and vodka, it was warm and the air smelled sweet.

Between acts the guest djs spun some crowd favorites then I started to hear Yee-haw. I was really confused. Why are they saying yee-haw? My friend said the next act was known for saying it, Eeka-A-Mouse from Jamaica. Still confused by the yee-haw my other friend explained Eek-A-Mouse also says meow, get it like a cat? I tried not to stare blankly back at him and we laughed.

Handy cackberry searched out options for festival after parties, reggae gold at the End-up? Not scheduled this weekend, they had already been to Club Six, then we came up with the intimate Senegalese spot, Little Baobab.

I think we hailed a Taxi pretty quickly then made our way to the Paris-Dakar International night. Everyone had a great time in the shoe box sized venue, dancing and drinking to french hip hop, music from various parts of the African Continent, when I heard the familiar sounds of Orixa, streaming out of the speakers I finally understood every single word...Everyone was from somewhere, global and friendly as they danced in very cramped quarters.

Everyone likes to keep a good night going, so we weighed our options with the blended group that poured out of the Beauty Bar and Little Baobab on the corner of Mission and 19th. The events change depending on the weekend of the month so we stood outside at two am, discussing options for afterhours and undergrounds and after parties at the Phoenix Hotel...Yee-haw!

Punk Rock & Vodka

Muy nice, I know :)

Fuzzy friends star girlfriend had a 26th birthday bash and let me say it was the first time I realized absolutely no one I was with was from the city: Or umm California.

The band, artists, and smattering of fuzzy intellectuals celebrated in the Mission. Of course there were some friends of friends that had little in common with the rest. I had the distinct pleasure of conversing with one...

D- where do you live?
Upper Haight
D-We live in Nob Hill and Pac Heights!
I half smile, by choice?
D-It is really nice, how long have you lived in the city?
Four years, do you find the neighborhood you live in interesting?
D-I guess not really.
I fully smile, me neither.
D-How do you know the star?
Her boyfriend and you?
D-Oh we are friends of a friend.
Right.
D-So what do you do?
Nothing, I am writing my dissertation.
D-Wow! I work for Nintendo.
I laugh, really they are still around?
D-They are the #1 game company.
Sure they are.
D- Wii have you heard of wii?
Wii, you should have said so. Okay, my friend is waving me over think that means he is buying us drinks, see you later.

Birthday girl was drinking captain and coke and I decided to stick to Vodka. Fuzzy friend was running on makers neat. I noticed the drinks didn't seem very strong.

Made it back to see Mr. Nintendo waving his shirt in the air and dancing to punk rock standards. The hosts asked me who he was. A friend of a friend that was invited, we laughed.

I imagined if I was old enough to go out when the Ramones and the Sex Pistols, were around it would have been something like that night.

I got points for having seen the Ramones in concert, a cover of the Cure came on and I mentioned I had seen them too.

Night turned into day and the rain had stopped, fortunately it was grey out because my head was swimming in vodka...For a good girl living in Reseda, turned LA woman, San Francisco is a fitting third chapter...

Social Studies

I don't like to wait. So I am usually not the first person anywhere...

To my surprise when we arrived with the birthday girl on time to our 8pm dinner reservations, the table was not ready. Fortunately my fellow doctoral student coordinated a round of French 75's and we toasted to girls night. Maybe it was 8:10 when I returned to ask how much longer? By then the Maitre Di came over to asked if we had ordered a small plate, "oh they are probably sending it to us since they are late with our table and it is my friends birthday." A great woman and funeral director said- I want to be you.

Table ready, as promised 1, 2, 3, complimentary hot orderves arrived. Dinner was your seasonal, sustainable, organic you name it goodness and the social worker ordered a big pork thing the whole table shared (oh, the solitary life of a vegetarian :). We took turns toasting to the good things in our life and our friend the sustainable MBA shared her up and coming business venture. The made to order molten chocolate cupcakes at the end of the night were delicious!
*
Discussing my dissertation with the seminar class, heard a mumble following my response to a question. I was amused by the discussion and the comment well, "I am being assertive, not defensive, there is a difference." Later in the discussion the same man commented on how I should be careful with my wording, "yes, I should just come out and say the educational practices are implicitly racist, you know it is a little difficult to have a discussion with you when your are so limited in your knowledge of both my conceptual framework and methodology." Interestingly enough he had nothing more to say. A colleague later called me passionate, "thank you."
*
Reprinted the last memory of the Latin American Social Club with drinks and funny sounding Spanish with the group of Uruguayan, Argentinean, Venezuelan, and Spanish natives. Crossed the street to the Make Out Room and danced to cumbias & dub with the international crew plus the Mexico City additions. Headed over to my first Balazo clandestino, where the international Latino set continued early into the morning. Manu Chau streaming through the speakers, fresh mojito in hand, and my querido boludo- perfect.

Writers Make Out

Still on Playa time we find it difficult to be timely. We caught the N to the BART and noticed how quickly the time had gone by. We thought we would make it to the 7pm Writer's with Drinks event at the Make Out Room by 8pm.

It was now approaching 9 o'clock and we still had two blocks to walk. My friend thought a featured poet might be the same one she had met the week before. We finally walked into the dim, red lit bar.

One writer was a no show and last up was the poet...nope not a match for the playa poet. But his chosen theme, "hey fucker," was funny.

Poetry over, we debated staying for a drink and when a regular picked up conversation with us decided to stay. He went on about how starved for cultural events he was in Palo Alto. 'Really? Stanford doesn't provide for a thriving scene I mocked?' He went on about how alternative his tastes in politics and art were. We listened politely deciding still to engage in conversation or not. I was thinking about the ATM I had to visit and how I wanted to call my dad again- it was his birthday and I enjoyed bugging him all day.

I ditched them to step out to the ATM and make my call. Back inside they hadn't moved from where I left them. I got us drinks at the bar, and he was now talking about an anarchist father and son he had met. He was nice, working hard to establish his image. So, I said, 'did you go to Burning Man?' No, he said his friends went, I told him we had gone. "No shit!" his exact response.

We made our way to an open booth and I said from all you shared, it seems you would enjoy the art and community in Black Rock City. He just wanted to know if we had gotten naked. 'One of us did I smiled.' My friend pulled the photos from her Picasa Web Album onto her crackberry.

New friend in tow we decided to pub crawl in the Mission. On our way he pointed out a banner, 'Ya Basta con los ricos y sus conduminios!' At first I translated it as stop the gentrification then I literally translated it. We went into the Latin American Social Club, my first time. Carved our space in the crowded pinata cieled room and continued to drink. The pool table seemed over-sized for the small space, but we agreed, the fact that they insisted on having it in the room, made it just right.

Drinks done, soccer talk, and technology conversation exhausted we decided to continue on. Making our way out the front door, deciding where to go next I had one of those moments that any city girl knows is inevitable...In a 7x7 city with only 750,000 inhabitants.

On the sidewalk with a small group of people a guy caught my eye. I almost stopped walking as my friends moved forward. Across the way he smiled and nodded towards me and my mind quickly went through the rolodex of names and memories.

There was no avoiding him, I smiled. He said "hello," in his syrupy voice as I attempted to breeze by. So I stopped, 'really is it you?' "Yes," he moved forward and gave me a hug. Insignificant small talk aside I decided sometimes saying less is so much more, it was good to see him.

Our new friend asked who that was. 'My ex.' "Oh, but you are over him, right?"

'You are such a guy I told him. Yes, I just haven't seen him in two years. He was my first love in the city- the French Algerian, that by the way I met at Ruby Skye.'

The conversation about nightclubs resumed and now over the initial shock I skipped forward, 'Wow that was fuckin awkward! Where to next?'