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Today, when most people are sleeping in or trying to recover from booze, I woke up at 7:30AM, drove out to the food bank, and volunteered until 12PM. We were boxing up food for senior citizens -- cans of fruits and vegetables, can of beef stew, cereal, pasta, peanut butter, milk. We packaged around 1918 senior citizen meals. A group of Americorps women gave themselves high-fives while saying "Today between our whole group we helped feed over 3000 people! YEAH!"
Then I went to a cafe in San Francisco that was a perfect microcosm of San Francisco. Seriously. I was seated at the bar area to watch chefs who are apparently TOO HIPSTER to wear gloves for most food-making. Then a gay couple next to me began chatting with a woman about some hole-in-the-wall restaurant that served great rabbit stew that she said they just HAD to try out, HAD to. While I was served an $11 arugula salad by a disapproving hipster-waiter who perhaps was judging my outfit of an old peace hoodie and a Cake or Death T-shirt.
Was the food worth $32? Not especially, though at least they know how to cook pasta. Was the classic hipster San Francisco experience? Fuck yes. This so needs to be incorporated into my writing somehow.
Now to drink some tea and relax while Thalia is fascinated by the open sliding glass door (screen door closed of course, no need for her to become Stray Part Two) and all of the noises of the apartment complex.
Tschuess.
Then I went to a cafe in San Francisco that was a perfect microcosm of San Francisco. Seriously. I was seated at the bar area to watch chefs who are apparently TOO HIPSTER to wear gloves for most food-making. Then a gay couple next to me began chatting with a woman about some hole-in-the-wall restaurant that served great rabbit stew that she said they just HAD to try out, HAD to. While I was served an $11 arugula salad by a disapproving hipster-waiter who perhaps was judging my outfit of an old peace hoodie and a Cake or Death T-shirt.
Was the food worth $32? Not especially, though at least they know how to cook pasta. Was the classic hipster San Francisco experience? Fuck yes. This so needs to be incorporated into my writing somehow.
Now to drink some tea and relax while Thalia is fascinated by the open sliding glass door (screen door closed of course, no need for her to become Stray Part Two) and all of the noises of the apartment complex.
Tschuess.
