Obama tuk-tuk, originally uploaded by vulpture.

Elena’s article and pictures from yesterday’s party

 I’m generally a crappy photographer; most of my photos are crappy. I took about eight in rapid succession this morning, and this is one of the better ones.

And here’s another.

originally uploaded by vulpture.

Last Saturday morning we headed downtown to check out the new Blue Bottle Cafe, which was written up in the New York TImes last week for its fancy new $20,000 Japanese siphon bar. Thingy. The coffee was good. Possibly the best coffee I’ve ever tasted, even. But I’m not much of a coffee drinker, and I doused it with cream and sugar out of habit. That was a mistake, but there’s more coffee where that came from.

A couple things: It’s really fun to watch the coffee being made. Really. That’s not something I ever expected to say, but there you go. I could try to describe it for you, but instead I’ll just link to the Times’ slide show. It could only be improved by putting the coffee bartender in a lab coat, goggles, and big leather gloves. Also, the little salted caramels they served with the coffee were amazing. Without question the best caramels I’ve ever had.

Last night, we headed down to Fisherman’s Wharf and got on a boat (for about two minutes) bound for Forbes Island. Which is a restaurant. And a floating island. Or a really fancy houseboat. Owned by a batty old man (that would be Forbes). Whatever, the food was mediocre, but they have a lighthouse and are near the sea lions. It was fun.

I hate to bury TransRatFashion and fisting videos, but this made me choke on a scream of glee/horror.

In case Rolling Stone or anyone else wants to know what my song picks are, right now I’m listening to Soviet (Marbleyezed), Paul Westerberg (These Days), Amy Winehouse, Xiu Xiu (who knew Dave Matthews and I had so much in common?), and some other stuff that I’m not prepared to admit to. Like the Arcade Fire. So nevermind, I’ll admit to anything.

Also, Conor Oberst looks like a hobbit.

TransRatFashion. Also not work safe.

Someone found their way here today by searching for “hardcore fisting videos.”

! ♥ !
Whoever you are, mysterious fisting video seeker, I’m sorry. You’re probably disappointed. Might I point you toward this* instead?

A while back I looked up David Byrne’s journal and subscribed to its feed, thinking I would read a few entries and decide whether to keep the subscription.

Because his entries are often long and my attention span is poor, I usually skip them and only come back when I have a good chunk of free time and am a little bored (Sorry David).

Lots of his posts cover two (and occasionally more) topics. A recent post, for example, was about a Caetano Veloso concert and the news media (sort of; I don’t know how to describe it accurately and succinctly). I like this format a lot, but I’m not sure why. Maybe because if there are two topics, there’s a better chance that one of them will be of interest to me? Maybe because it gets me to read things I otherwise might not?

Some great DB posts from the last several months:

• 11.03.07: Social “Hateworking”, IKEA
• 10.11.07: Sexual Selection & Creativity
• 6.9.07: Graduation, Ethics, Spaceships (This one is my favorite.)

*

My friend David (not Byrne) and I both have certificates of birth abroad. I was born in a hospital in Saudi Arabia during Ramadan. Until I was 13 or 14, my parents liked to tell me that my mother had a cesarian because her doctor was hungry after fasting all day and didn’t feel like waiting any longer to eat (I was born sometime between 10 and 11 pm). This was not, in fact, the reason she had a cesarian, but it makes for a better story.

David was born in a bathtub in a hotel on Mallorca, and the midwife arrived after he did. I like to think of his mother cutting (or gnawing through) the cord herself, but in fact the midwife did this. His father was a follower of the Maharishi, and he thinks his mother was trying to track down his father. The Maharishi was in Mallorca, but David’s father wasn’t. After that, David and his mother lived in Brooklyn, then San Pedro. Which, as I’m sure you know, is also where the Minutemen were from.

San Pedro is part of the city of Los Angeles, but it’s only connected by a tiny strip of highway. It’s a major port, and Los Angeles wanted control of it.

I know this is more than a year old, but it’s too cute to not share.