Ev'ry morning, ev'ry evening, ain't we got fun?

... not much money, oh but honey, ain't we got fun?

God, I love that tune.

I found this lovely tidbit in its Wikipedia article: Of the era in which the song was written, George Orwell writes, it was a time "when people had not yet settled down to a lifetime of unemployment mitigated by endless cups of tea."

What delightful humor! Or, what hollow rejoinder to the post-war economic devastation. Both the song and the comment. Either, I do love me some tea.

I've been thinking on this theme, this living without heed for the banality of everyday existence. Subsistence. Whatever. Paying bills, paying rent, paying for food and water and gasoline. Hating it and paying up anyway. Working for money because the supermarket doesn't accept love. There's another lyric that pops to mind here, Ted Leo's "if you can't afford a broken nose, how can you afford to fight?"

Maybe I've just been partying too hard and spending money I don't have, until just recently. I just got a check from my insurance company that's to cover speech therapy that followed my vocal surgery. It's not the full amount, but it's a fat portion. Thanks, HMSA. I thought I'd have to pony up totally on my own, so it's kind of a windfall. I plan to exploit the temporary financial freedom this check grants me by purchasing Thai takeout for dinner tonight. Wild abandon, that's my way.

Week updates:

The Cherry Blossom Cabaret always puts on a solid show for their bimonthly Speakeasy at Mercury Bar. This month's was a masquerade! Yay. I wore Diane von Furstenburg and cowboy boots. (Note: I'll blog about my weird and fabulous closet sometime soon. A bit embarrassingly, it no longer suits my income level. I built my collection during a richer time. So you could say I was dressed as me in 2004.) Catwings has been turning out these sweet hair candies that have proven damningly collectible. Check the gypsy hand and peacock feather combo! Sigh. What was that about spending money I don't have again?

Fortunately, there was a no-cover-before-10 "Pink Party" at the Loft on Sunday, where I noshed complimentary carrot sticks and mini cupcakes with Angie the Lesbian. Note how much I do love that gypsy hand accessory. It was a benefit for breast cancer awareness. Save the boobies. Also note our matching pink ribbon flair.

I took a few days off of the night scene to do work. What? Yes, work. So that I could afford to buy this beer at Anna Bananna's on Thursday, at the Eyes and Ears show. They're a Denver band that rocked my socks off.

OK, I lied. Ross bought me the beer. I'm destitute. I can't buy myself beer.

Nor can I usually buy myself lunch, but that worked out alright on Saturday afternoon. It was the Obama Bike Rally. Ara and Josh86 put it all together and made Kaka'ako Waterfront Park a democratic punk rock extravaganza. There was barbecuin' and Ross Jackson deejayin' and bands playin'... and the 5-0s trying to shut the event down because we didn't have a permit. Fortunately, they were all for Obama, or all for the BBQ chicken plates Ara made for them, and let us carry on. Which elicited this face from me. Woo.

Did I mention I'd had a job interview that morning at 7 AM? Good gravy, did my hair need a wash. I didn't even get a chance to nap before the Honolulu Theatre for Youth gala fundraiser at the Ko'olau Golf Club ballroom. It was another masquerade, and this time I was a peacock in blue cocktail-length Ralph Lauren. I arrived at the party with one lonely peacock feather in my French twist. Subtle, I thought. Classy. Somehow, though, I departed with seven. There were peacock feathers in all the centerpieces, you see, and there was much impish thievery that night. More feathers kept appearing atop my head, and I felt mysterious gentle forces prodding at my hair, to the sound of receding muffled giggles. Behold, I am a game.

And after that party, a quick drive back into downtown Honolulu for the thirtyninehotel 4 year anniversary fete. I'd pulled out most of the feathers by that time to avoid resembling a citizen of Whoville. The necklace in the picture is from dear Walter, my date for the HTY gala and favorite impulse-buyer. It's made of solid jasper stones and was up for bid at the gala's silent auction. I drunkenly suggested Walter purchase the necklace so we could cut it apart and play a game of marbles. We didn't have anything to cut it apart. Oh well. Thanks, Walter. I wore it to thirtyninehotel to great effect. BTW, I found out that night that it weighs about 15 lbs.

Last night was the Rocky Horror Picture Show at Bar35. I promoted the crap out of that event, hired actors from Manoa Valley Theatre, created decorations and party games, coerced Ross into running the sound. Thank you. Cyrina was my angel of strength and support. Eddie was my bartender of heart, and Kayla my cocktailer of spirit. Thank you, Mike and Ted, my attendees of experience, for calming me down the whole night.

I'll post pictures if anyone ever sends me any. I didn't have a camera. I never have a camera. It's better that way.

I love you.

You're like a rollercoaster

... it's the most unbelievable ride

I've been biking. Thanks, Ross, for fixing up a bike for me and teaching me to ride it and pestering me endlessly to do so and being really patient with my whining and ass-dragging.

How to ride bikes with Stephanie, as experienced by Ross:

1. Fix up a bike, because S won't do it herself.
2. Pester S for several days to ride it, because she won't ride it herself.
3. Take S to an empty parking lot in the middle of the night, because she won't ride in public in the daytime, and teach her to ride the thing, because she won't teach herself.
4. Pester S for another ride, because she won't suggest one herself. Include a food destination.
5. Re-inflate S's tires, adjust her brakes, and oil her chain for her, for guilting purposes, when pestering loses efficacy.
6. Guilt-pester S for another ride that includes a food destination, but this time do it when she's stressed out and hungry and in need of exercise because of her period. And make her go really, really far this time to maximize "I think I actually enjoy this" revelations.
7. Sit back and wait, because S now will finally have bicyconfidence.

Tonight's ride, Ross' mansion to Beretania Street to Thai garage (Bangkok Chef), was a beautiful journey at about 7:30 PM. Light traffic, light breeze, moderate pace. Clear sky. I'm getting the hang of finding the appropriate gear. It's not as difficult as driving a standard-transmission car, so that's good. I hit the McCully bridge hard. Yesss. When we got to the food place, I was warm and kind of sweaty, but not winded and I could hold a conversation the whole ride. I'm not in as bad shape as I feared. Whew. Thanks, dance class (The Dance Space). King Street to make it back to Ross' place, where my bike lives. Another beautiful ride, made it over the McCully bridge again even with a belly full of curry and bamboo shoots and rice, but I wussed out on the Metcalf hill and had to walk it over the ultra steep part. One day... one day soon...

I've also been beach-ing. Thank you, Ryan Miyash, for dragging my sorry butt to Waimea Bay and for buying me Matsumoto shave ice and playing awesome car tunes.

Ryan Miyash has a wonderful resolution: GO TO THE BEACH ONCE A WEEK MINIMUM. I think I'd better adopt that. It's a dedicated time to relax -- one simply can't stay all the way stressed out at the beach in Hawai'i, it's just not possible -- and it's a time to appreciate the splendor of living in tropical paradise. Sure, I live here and it's hard work to make it and that's why I can't enjoy Hawai'i as much as the visitors do, but I can make an effort to get out and revel in the beauty a lot more than I have been.

Life's a beach. No, really. There are loudmouth uglies in too-small beachwear, there are cigarette butts, there are jellyfish. But, there is warm sun, clear blue sky, crystal water and weightless oblivion.

Life is also a bike ride. There are ups, there are downs, there are potholes, there are assholes. But there are also cool nights with the city sparkling around you, and you are singing into the wind at 30 miles an hour.

More.

Easiest Miso Soup Ever

There's a recession. A worldwide economic crisis, even. Yesterday, the Dow sagged below 10,000 and is down another 500 points today. I have both credit card debt and what used to be a large investment portfolio. I work in two industries, education and the arts. I have no full-time job; I teach and write grants for a living. Financially and professionally, this is not a good time.

And so, I'm feeling poor. And feeling poor makes me hungry. And feeling hungry and poor makes me feel pathetic. When I'm feeling poor-hungry-pathetic, I think of soup. This is appropriate for three reasons:

1. Soup is cheap.
2. Soup is satisfying.
3. Soup is comforting.

This means that soup, being cheap-satisfying-comforting, is the functional opposite of poor-hungry-pathetic. And that's a damn good reason for me to think of, and subsequently make, soup.

My favorite soups are the easy soups, and this miso soup version absolutely wins the Lazy Chef award for Simple and Somehow Still Amazing. My grandmother taught me a much more involved version of this soup; I will note these additions in italics.

Fifth-Generation Japanese Lazy College Student Turned Starving Artist-Educator in Worldwide Economic Crisis Miso Soup

• Make 8 cups water nice and hot, but not quite boiling.
• Dump in 1 packet dashi-no-moto.
• Dump in 1/4 cup miso paste, doesn't matter if it's red or white or yellow or whatever. Just use the one you have on hand. Add more to taste. I usually throw in an extra tablespoon or so, 'cause I like it kinda strong.
• Slice up some white or yellow onion thin as tissue and throw in half a handful.
• Slice up some green onion and throw in half a handful.
• Peel daikon and slice thin. Cut into bite-size pieces. Dump in.
• Cube a whole brick of tofu and dump it all in. I like the soft kind, but I have to add it close to the end of the cooking process and remember not to stir too much or I end up with soft tofu confetti all up in my otherwise lovely soup.
• Boil several araimo (AKA dasheen) for 5 - 10 min. Skins should then peel off easily. Add them to the pot near the end of the cooking process, so they don't dissolve. 
• Turn the heat down so there isn't any violent bubbling. Gently crack 4 eggs into the soup, laying them in so they stay mostly intact.
• When the daikon is translucent and the eggs are cooked through the way you like them, your soup is done.
• Garnish with more green onion and some sliced kamaboko too, if that's your thing.

I keep sliced white/yellow onion and sometimes sliced kamaboko in little Ziploc baggies in my fridge. I keep sliced green onion in the freezer. I use them for throwing into saimin and somen salad, but they make miso soup prep almost unnecessary.

Some additions to try: 

• fresh garlic, crushed and minced
  
• freshly cracked black pepper
• cubed carrots
• cooked rice, after serving

Grandma's version of this soup is much more ambitious, but it truly makes the soup a meal. I remember requesting this (and only this) for one of the birthday dinners my family threw for me. At the time, I was living in the dorm at UH Manoa, going to college full-time, working two jobs, and rehearsing at the theatre every night. I was starving for food that tasted of the slow comfort of Grandma's house in my childhood. This soup is totally that.

Recession be damned. I'm thrifty-satisfied-comforted.

Nora Stephanie Dinner Salad

This is a salad, but barely. More accurately, it's a list of things I like to eat raw, mostly, that happen to go well together. Nora and I made it for dinner on our very first night together in her dreamy slice of Berkeley sky she calls an apartment.

Gather together:

• greens of any kind (We used mixed baby greens.)
• apples, diced (But I might also suggest pear or honeydew.)
• seedless grapes, halved
• green onion, chopped
• white onion, sliced thin as tissue
• fresh parsley, torn into bits
• French olives
• boiled egg, whole or chopped up
• walnuts

For the dressing, whisk together:

• good, strong mustard
• extra virgin olive oil
• parmesan cheese, freshly grated
• red wine (Or, use balsamic vinegar for a more tangy bite.)
• dried oregano
• salt and pepper to taste, freshly ground preferred

Alternately, I like to use up the dregs of my Grey Poupon or Boar's Head mustards by making this dressing right in the container. Instead of whisking, I just throw everything in and give the bottle a good shake.

Nora and I walked to the market right down the street from her place and picked out a good red wine, the produce stuffs, a good soft cheese, and a fun artisan bread. Conversation and food, crafted with care and delicious in our mouths, filled the evening. It was both a humble and fantastic opening to an amazing week in the Bay Area.

Mmmm. Thank you, dear Nora.

take a long drive with me, on California One

... come join the youth and beauty brigade

San Francisco, my loves! I left my heart there.

The Mission!

• Clothes Contact: "Vintage by the pound" organized by era and attitude, i.e. "Sexy Secretary," "Golden Girls," "1950s Housewife," "Dynasty." My favorite.
  
• Idol Vintage: Stuff hanging on the walls, from the ceiling, lots of boots and hats, and a special section just for aprons!
  
• Kilowatt: Dive bar. Darts. Beer. Jack and ginger ale. Cash only. Love it.
  
• Pink: No sign, just a pink light outside. Decadent decor. Friendly door guy, who let us in to preview the venue just because we said it was my birthday (it wasn't) and that I'm from Hawai'i (I am). We couldn't stay, but it's on my SF to-do list. Thanks, George.
  
• Beauty Bar: Another for the SF to-do list. Thanks again, George.
  
• Dolores Park: Huge grassy terrace between the Mission and the Castro, featuring the summertime "Fruit Shelf" of sunbathing gays in string bikinis and 2xist undies, with roving Red Bull girls passing out chilled cans of energy. (Hail these girls quickly, before all the sugar-free ones have been taken.)
  
• And tons more vintage shops and cute little restaurants for exploring. Just take a walk up and down Valencia Street. You'll see.

The Castro!

• Chow Restaurant: Scrumptious everything, pastas, salads, sandwiches, specialty drinks including a fabulous watermelon mint cooler and a homemade lemonade that's to die for. chowfoodbar.com
  
• Hot Cookie: HOT cookies, and the baked goods aren't bad either.
  
• "Homo Depot": Known only by its festive nickname, this drag queen supply store provides doorknobs and patterned contact paper and lawnmowers and feathers organized by size and shade, et cetera, et cetera.
  
• Martuni's: A curtained back room houses a piano and open mike, with gorgeous vocalist/pianist named Katy Stephan who pulls jazz standards out of her head and does a mean Smiths "Ask" rendition; also excellent dirty gin martinis and friendly-snobby staff.
  

Downtown!

• Bloomingdale's: Obviously.
  
• Jeremy's: Luxury and high-end vintage and consignment! AMAZING. Vintage Chanel jewelry, discount Havaianas flip-flops, consignment last-season Dries Van Noten. Shoe room with everything from Lanvin to Steve Madden. Belt cabinet with Ralph Lauren turquoise jockeying for position with Nine West. You name it. Bargain racks upstairs. Bathrooms available, but you must go through a labyrinth to reach them. jeremys.com
  
• Yerba Buena Gardens: Featuring a giant carousel, a giant waterfall, many other picture-taking opportunities, and a "Learning Garden" where Elliot taught us to steal fresh herbs and tiny, perfect strawberries. Shhh.
  
• Beard Papa: Right across the street from Yerba Buena. Cream puffs need no excuses.
  
• SF Playhouse: I saw a lovely production of "Cabaret" here, featuring the very sexy Norman Muñoz and a fabulously talented ensemble cast that doubled as the orchestra. sfplayhouse.org
  

Touristland, AKA Ghirardelli Square area!

• Ghirardelli Square itself: Concierge desk in the middle of the plaza is perfect -- you ask a question, and the info person gives you a map and puts notes all over it for your reference.
  
• Kara's Cupcakes: All locally-sourced ingredients, all ludicrously delicious cupcakes.
  
• Pier 39: Just down the street from Ghir Square, it's the Waikiki of SF, but the sea lions make the trip worth your while. I counted over 300 fat ones, all barking and snuffling.
  
• Lombard Street: Freaky curvy steep little street that's worth a look, if only to catch the one crazy suburban man as he bombs it full blast with a gleefully shrieking 3-year-old in a running stroller.
  
• Fay Park: The Plan: Grab a take-out lunch and a blanket, perhaps at the nearby Ghirardelli Square restaurants. Definitely include some cupcakes from Kara's. Walk Lombard Street. Proceed to Leavenworth and Chestnut, picnic at Fay Park, where there are roses and grassy patches and arbors and gazebos but no benches or chairs. Hence, the blanket you packed.
  

And finally, Berkeley!

• The Cheeseboard: Pizza! Cheese! Pastry! Breads! Wine! Coop! OMG!!! cheeseboardcollective.coop
  
• Peet's Coffee: Good ol' Peet's.
  
• Gregoire: Best take-out ever. Limited seating on-site. French French French. gregoirerestaurant.com
  
• Andronico's: Not just a market. Awesome produce section, cheese case, olive bar, helpful and knowledgeable staff.
  
• Indian Rock: Gibraltar and Plymouth are no match for this one. Indian Rock is climbable. All the way at the top of Shattuck. Beautiful walk in the morning or early evening.
  
• Yoga Kula: Huge, airy, beautiful studio right on Shattuck. As always, class quality varies by teacher. Pilates and massage also available. yogakula.com
• Nora's apartment: Heaven!

I'll be back, Bay Area. And how. And soon.