LB: If you could only eat one of the following foods for the rest of your life, keeping in mind you will never again be able to eat the other ones, which would you choose? Volcanic Beef, Amici’s pizza, Indian or pork cracklin.

Me: Oh my God. WHY do you do this to me? I don’t know I have to think. Only one! This is so hard. Okay, I know I’m not going to choose Indian or pork cracklin.

LB: You’re not picking pork cracklin? But didn’t you just write a whole post on how much you love pork cracklin? I know that because I read your blog every single day. It’s the highlight of my day, I mean, life.

Me: I just think I’ll get sick of too much pork cracklin, ya know? Once a week for the rest of my life? That’s a lot.

LB: Excellent thinking. I’d just like to point out that one of the things I love best about you is your intelligence. Right behind your beauty and singing voice.

Me: Thanks. Me too. So, now we’re down to Volcanic Beef and Amici’s?  I don’t know!  I love them both so much! This is soooo hard. Wait, is there a way that I can alternate choices somehow? Like maybe visit one of them, only just on weekends?

LB: Kara. You need to think of this like a marriage. Only to your favorite food. You have to choose the one you like best and that’s it. No visiting. No thinking about it. You are committed.

Me:  So, I would never, ever be able to eat the other one? Okay, I think I would totally get sick of Volcanic Beef so I’m choosing the pizza.

LB: Wrong. You love Volcanic Beef more than pizza.

Me: I know! You’re totally right. As soon as I said, I instantly regretted my decision! Volcanic Beef, it is! I am married to Volcanic Beef for the rest of my life.

LB: That is really good we just got that sorted.

LB and I live about one block back from the water and for a gal who grew up in landlocked Colorado, it’s been spectacular. Standing on our balcony we’ve watched: seals, pelicans, sea gulls, tourists screaming on the Rocket boat, very large cargo barges, yachts (including one whose classical music was turned up so loud we kept going downstairs because we were convinced there had to be a concert somewhere nearby, not realizing it was coming instead from their rockin’ party yacht), a cruise ship, and once, a car on fire (well, that was on the Bay Bridge but we could see the actual flames so I’m counting it).

And, if you venture off the balcony, it gets even better. At the local dock you can sometimes see the seals up close and personal as they swim   by, off to entertain the folks at Fisherman’s Wharf. The only problem for me is that they make their pilgrimage early. Very early. Like in the 6’s early. And I do many things fairly well; getting up early is not one of them. Ask anyone who has ever lived with me. In fact, comments are open – friends and family, feel free to reminisce among yourselves.

But, I did it. I got up as the sun was rising (you’d have thought my head was on backwards, my poor husband was so confused) and went down to the dock to witness Nature in All Its Glory.

Unfortunately, nature never showed up. No, the seals decided to take the day off or go a different route or maybe hold their collective breath as they went under the dock, because I never saw them. I did see something out in the distance that looked “seal-esque” but a friendly fisherman informed me it was only a bird. So helpful those friendly fishermen.

So, I did get up but I didn’t see the seals. Which begs the question: If your Fun Project event is to see the seals and there are no seals to see, is it still a Fun Project event? I’m thinking…yes?

One of the things I’ve been dying to do before we head back to Denver is a walking tour. And yes, I realize “dying to do” and “walking tour” aren’t typically found in the same sentence but then most people aren’t as all out cRaZy as I am, are they?

Now for those of you who have never taken a walking tour, let me sum them up for you. THEY ROCK. They fill you up with the kind of information you will actually remember. The kind of information that will make you a hit at cocktail parties. For example…

Non-walking tour tidbit:
The City of Edinburgh Council is one of Scotland’s 32 local government council areas.
Snore.

Walking Tour tidbit:
When they buried people in Edinburgh after the Black Plague they would tie a string around the “dead” person’s finger that was connected to a bell above ground. That way if the person was only in a coma and suddenly woke up, they could notify the graveyard staff. Can you imagine working the graveyard shift? “Oh, can’t talk, Ma. Just heard a bell; gotta go unbury someone.”
Tah-dah! Buy this gal another round!

So, I headed over to the Palace Hotel Walking Tour, which is given by San Francisco Walking Tours, and often led by Richard here, who is so knowledgeable that he literally wrote the book on the Palace Hotel. Literally. Like, you can buy it in the gift shop.

Which is the other thing I should mention about walking tours – they are always led by interesting, knowledgeable people who often donate their time just so you look smarter and be more popular. That is called giving, people.

So, I don’t want to ruin all of the interesting bits about the tour, just in case you’re planning on going (which you totally should because it rocks) but here are two tantalizing tidbits.

First, this is a very famous painting (can’t remember its name) by a painter (whose name escapes me) that sits in the bar of the Palace Hotel, and, here’s the good part, features all of the members of the painter’s family. And I do mean all.

(Please note: Richard gave us all of the facts; unfortunately, like sands through an hour glass so is my brain.)

Secondly, President Warren Harding died at the Palace Hotel and while wikipedia claims it was most likely a stroke or heart attack, we know better. There were some very suspicious circumstances surrounding his death and Palace (Hotel) insiders believe his wife did him in. See? Walking tours make you smarter than the Internet.

Like I said, they rock.

I went along by myself (LB was sick and honestly, I just didn’t have it in me to spend all day describing to LB the very real pain the dancers would feel after their performances. When they would be unable to lift their phones.) and ended up watching a Mexican dance and then a very abstract dance which featured a lot of dancing with suitcases, all of which was topped off by a dancing man-bird. I’m not sure how else to describe it. Basically, while we walked to the train stop, a guy dressed like a bird performed leaps and spins, culminating in a telephone pole dance that almost took out an unsuspecting lady who happened to be walking by. It looked like a whole lotta fun.

The idea was we’d then get on the train and head off to the next stop, which featured synchronized swimming (what a day, right?). So, I got on the train and sat down with an open seat next to me. And sat there for about five minutes waiting for everyone to board the train (still with the open seat by me) while all the other passengers around me talked and laughed with their friends. And I started to feel like I was back in 8th grade. And 8th grade really, really sucked. Except for Chad Kellogg, who was really cute and had great (albeit heavily gelled) hair. So, I got off the train.

And then, because I’m not 12 and solely concerned with whether or not my hair wings have fallen, I spent the next hour walking around the city, berating myself for not making more of an effort while wondering if maybe I’m not that much fun anymore and maybe this shows I don’t actually know how to “be myself”anymore and maybe, just maybe, if I’d smiled a bit more, or looked more friendly, or, I don’t know, pulled out my Step routine, or something, I’d still be there, laughing away, with my trolley-full of admirers.

You can see where this was going. I arrived back home thoroughly despondent and delivered LB the bad news – he actually had married a social outcast; my days of Friendly Kara were behind me; all he had to look forward to were long days of nothing fun, ever again. And you know what he said?  “Sounds like you weren’t having that good of a time; probably a good thing you left.” Wasn’t having a good time. Probably good I left. Damn.

And THAT is why I married this man.

PS – I have to say something very brief about Saturday’s Fun Project, which was lying in bed, reading (aka. Best Morning Ever). I finished up “Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie”, an absolutely delightful book. It reminds me a bit of the “No. 1 Ladies’ Detective” series in that you just can’t get enough of the main character, Flavia. Such a fun read for these chilly fall days.

So, I went out and did something that I’ve wanted to do for the last month and haven’t made the time for – I went out for pizza. Okay, so it’s not the skydiving or learning to pole dance you had perhaps anticipated (I have a whole year here, folks) but it was fantastic.  Now, pizza probably doesn’t seem like such a big deal but, around here, it is. In February, I had to go gluten-free so cakes, cookies, cereal and pizza are off-limits, which you’d think would be a big deal but, since I feel so much better, is not.

But there are two things I miss. Desperately. The first one: Count Chocula cereal. I actually teared up (teared up!) in Target the other day when I realized this Halloween I can’t eat it. And, unfortunately for me and the Target clerk who shared my very uncomfortable moment, I’m not exaggerating. The other one: pizza. Mainly, because most gluten-free pizza is made from cardboard.

You can imagine our excitement then when we found this awesome place here in San Fran, Amici’s that has gluten-free pizza that actually tastes like real pizza. Well, I think it does. LB nodded and called it “very real-ish” with that look he gives me when he’s “humoring” me and then didn’t take me up on my very generous offer to share my pizza, an act which you have to admit pretty much makes me a shoo-in for The Best Wife Ever Award since we only go for pizza once every two months, at the most, and I think about that pizza all of the time, yet I was still willing to offer my husband some. Off of my plate. God, I’m going to be such a fantastic mother.

So, I went out on the town and treated myself to pizza. And guess what? When I got home, all of those to dos were still waiting for me. Imagine that.

Well, you’re going to have to survive one more day.  Plus, this video is AWESOME – librarians competing for the coveted “Golden Book Cart” with carts (I swear I’m not making this up) “built for this rigorous type of competition.” Makes me love librarians even more, if that’s possible.

I get to be the lady who runs around in circles.

Okay, so I don’t think I can actually embed it here so you’re going to have to click here to get to it.  Geesh! Talk about making you work for your fun…

(Thanks for the link, Sarah!)

Anyway, my list has 103 things on it and one of them was to go to the Renegade Craft Fair.  Not as big as “Meet Mark Kermode” (More on Dr. Kermode at a later date.  Actually, pretend I didn’t just say that.  I feel like he deserves a post of his own and now I’m worried that you’re going to google him and have an imperfect first meeting when I know that if I’m there to lead you through the process, you will love him too.  Don’t google him!!! I swear this isn’t one of those reverse psychology moments! I really need to be there when you meet!  Gah!  Pretty birdie!  See the pretty birdie!) Where was I? Oh yes, Renegade.  Not as big as “Meet – ahem – Oprah” but then again not as small as “Do a pull-up” (although now that I think about it, that one is actually pretty huge since my right arm is still sore from the gallon of milk I carried home two days ago.).  Anyway. I’ve always wanted to go and I’ve never lived in a city that had one and it seemed like a weird thing to base a trip around.

“Why are you going to LA?”

“To buy a toast scarf.”

Weird, right?

But since we live in San Francisco (check that off the Life List) we could go and even base our entire weekend around it! I don’t know who was more excited – me or LB.  Okay, it was me. I was pretty much a nightmare all Saturday morning. I didn’t even have coffee because I was afraid it might (literally) give me a heart attack, I was that jazzed up.  It was all I could talk about incessantly so you can imagine LB had the kind of day that they just don’t warn you about before you get married.  Although the excitement must have rubbed off on him a teensy bit because he did come in to take a look.  Okay, he pretty much walked right back out but I think that had more to do with my discovery of this book of cats in wigs than the actual fair itself. I get it. A man can only take so much.

Renegade was everything I’d hoped it would be.  There were toadstools, tons of posters I would have bought if we had a wall to hang them on, Gingerbread men missing body parts (he had a tag around his neck that said – “The one that got away”), a lady walking around selling felt ice cream people out of an ice cream cart.  It was so good.

I only made one purchase but I LOVE IT.  I’ve been absolutely desperate for one of those fancy feather headbands (but then who hasn’t been, really?) but they were all either too expensive or not the right colors. And then I saw Tara to the T’s booth.  Not only did she have headbands in just about every color imaginable but they were only $22!  It was truly an Inspired Craft Fair Moment (which reminds of a conversation I had with our friend. Him: “What’s with the Renegade? Why’s it a ‘Renegade’ Craft Fair?”  Me (without a hint of irony): “Because the crafters there are CRAZY.”)

I have to admit, after meeting Tara (look how cute she is! and nice!), I was secretly hoping that the fascinator would magically transform me into a sort of writer-ly version of her – all retro fab with blond locks and tattoos, perhaps a pencil coyly tucked behind one ear – but it didn’t. Still you have to admit, the results are pretty dramatic.

What a day.  That gets a hearty cross-off the ole Life List (at least until next year).  And yes, I’m going to post a ton more links.  There was just so much cool stuff I want to make I sure do justice to all of them.

Go over and check out all of Tara’s fascinators and her line of stewardess-inspired dresses at Taratothet.com.

And that is our different tastes in movies.  Or to put it another way, their complete inability to recognize my vastly superior opinion when it comes to movies.  (Did you notice the sudden silence emanating from Aurora?  That was my mom’s heart restarting as she realized I wasn’t going to say politics…).

Just to give you an idea of the chasm between our opinions, I asked my sisters to give me a list of their favorite movies.  Here’s what they said:

-Armageddon
-Cliffhanger
-Never Been Kissed
-Pirates of the Caribbean III (I just vomited a bit in my mouth)
-The Wedding Planner
-While You Were Sleeping
-Transformers (“one of the best movies EVER”)
-Point Break
-Ever After
-Win a Date with Tad Hamilton
-Sweet Home Alabama
-13 Going on 30
-Titanic!!!!!! (exclamations added by sister #3)

Do you see a pattern here? Explosions!  Romance!  Exploding romances!

To be fair, I asked my sisters to give their opinion on a couple of movies that I like. They could only summon up the strength to discuss two:

-Billy Elliot (dismissed as “the dumbest movie ever made” and then followed by mocking cries of “Dance, Kara! Dance!”)
-Best of Show (“that movie is so booooooooring” (side note – I originally wrote “boring” but was told it really needs the extra o’s to convey the depth of their pain))

Now, I don’t tell you this to make fun or mock but rather to warn you – I sometimes like movies that other people (i.e. my sisters) find disturbing, sad, or (gasp!) boring. And they sometimes like movies that I find ridiculous, predictable, and yes, boring (you can imagine how much fun movie night was at our house growing up).

So, in order to make this all neat and tidy, I’ve devised a highly complex, mathematical rating system, which consists of two categories – Movies My Sisters Might Like and Movies My Sisters are Guaranteed to Hate. Do with them what you will…

Movie My Sisters are Guaranteed to Hate:  4 months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days
This movie is serious, it’s intense and it’s one of the best movies I have seen in a very long time.  It’s one of those films (yes, I do believe this a “film” rather than simply a “movie”) where I wasn’t sure how I felt at the end (mainly because they don’t do any of the work for you); I just knew that I needed to process it for a really, really long time.  Bet you really want to see it now, don’t ya?

The movie follows two women as they struggle to set up an illegal abortion in communist Romania in the late 80s.  And listen, it does not look like it was a lot of fun to do anything in communist Romania, much less try and get an abortion.  It’s gray and depressing – just buying a pack of cigarettes takes sheer will, determination and street smarts.

But while it’s a movie very much about place, it’s also about people – real people, trying to love and be good friends and in one poignant scene, be polite, in this incredibly difficult, oppressive country.

And the acting is absolutely phenomenal.  Each scene was shot in one long take so the actors are acting for up to ten minutes at a time which is pretty much unheard of these days (as a point of reference, in typical Hollywood blockbuster, they will cut together scenes as often as every three seconds).

Now I know what you are all going to do.  You’re going to put it on your Netflix queue and it will sit there for the next year and you’ll keep looking at it and tell yourself that “next time” you’ll get it because right now you just need to laugh.  And the only reason I know you’re going to do this is because I do it all the time but I swear, if you like this kind of movie, you will be so glad you moved it to the the top of the queue.  I’ll accept your thanks in the form of crisp dollar bills or bars of chocolate.

Movie My Sisters Might Like:  Son of Rambow
WARNING: This is actually a foreign movie even though it’s on Film My Sisters Might Like List. It’s only British though, so it’s barely a foreign film. (And before you get all fired up, I have to tell you, I’m allowed to say that because I am engaged to a Barely Foreigner.  Which is NOT FAIR AT ALL.  I started out dating Chris-the-Brit (“If you wouldn’t mind giving me a ring back on my mobile…”) yet I’ll be marrying a Chris-the-Practically-American (“Hey Babe, give me a call when you have a sec.”).  What happened?!?!?  Fortunately, he has me to keep him on his toes and make sure he doesn’t completely lose his accent… “It’s not the trunk, Chris.  It’s the boot!  The boot!  C’mon, say it with me!  Put it in the boot.”  How lucky is he, huh?)

Now after watching 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days, you are going to need something a bit more…uplifting, shall we say?  So, go and rent Son of Rambow, a little movie about the friendship between two boys, who decide to enter a film competition with an action/adventure home movie.  They come from two totally different backgrounds (one is a troublemaker with non-existent parents, the other comes from a Plymouth Brethren religious sect so strict he’s forbidden to watch movies) but find common ground in Rambo: First Blood (further proof that boys really are weird).

This movie is exactly what a coming-of-age drama/comedy should be.  It’s funny, it’s sad and it captures all of the drama and excitement of coming into your own as a kid (and makes you pretty darn glad that you never have to go through it again).  I loved it, Chris loved it, the friends we went with loved it.  I’ll have to get back to you on my sisters.

Many, many things.

1.  It didn’t rain!  Huge thanks to all of you for using your collective energies to keep me dry.  Now, perhaps we could all get together and get me my own personal island?

2. I screamed.  Many, many times.  Chris said it was like the Beatles were landing.  Over and over and over.

3.  G. played my three favorite songs within the first ten minutes. Random coincidence?  I. Don’t. Think. So.

4.  I was a singing, dancing machine.  I’m sure by the third song the people next to us just wanted me to shut up and go home but I was having my own private Woodstock. I even at one point had to stop myself from hugging the people next to us, I was that excited.  I didn’t, thank God.  But I came frighteningly close.

5.  I didn’t meet him.  Disappointing?  Yes.  Redeemed by the fact this found its way into my inbox?  Absolutely.

As my friend littlegirlbigglasses said, it’s like he’s saying, “Let’s mix DNA and then I’ll make you some waffles.” And that really is the perfect end to this story, is it not?