Remember this summer, when J and I bought a warehouse loft in SOMA? At long last, we have moved into it. Bunker 2 is dead. Long live Bunker 3. You may ask yourself why on Earth it has taken us this long to move half a dozen blocks. And I would be happy to answer that question as soon as I stop hitting my head against this wall ( Read more... )

E says that I only write when I am sick. She is right. I have a cold that I am profoundly afraid is going to turn into Death Cough, and so I blog. The whole summer went by without any writing. Let it be known that since June, I have done the following things ( Read more... )

This month I am going to become a homeowner. More precisely, J and I have purchased a condo loft in SOMA. We have survived inspections, assessments, intimate financial probing by a number of banks, and a stupor of document-singing. Now all that's left is escrow and in a few weeks, we will have the keys to our new home ( Read more... )

When the Folsom Street Fair comes around and the streets start to fill up with leather daddies and Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, girls in latex corsets tripping over smashed plastic cups and spilled beer, silent men in leather dog masks, and women who wear nothing but alligator body paint, I feel an inexplicable nostalgia for my concrete bunker ( Read more... )

Oh God, don't make me tell you about my weekend. I helped to give MEAT its final send-off on Thursday night. Let the club that used to happen in my living room be remembered as it was at the top of its game: covered in art, playing the stompiest of music, with bloody go-gos on the boxes wielding butcher knives. I miss you but you've been dead for a ( Read more... )

This is the year. When I think back on my life, this will surely be the turning point, the moment on which everything pivots. Sometime in 2010, somewhere around July, my decent into the bourgeois reached completion: I am no longer the sort of person who cleans her own house ( Read more... )

A new Bunker means a new living room, one which does not have an enormous wooden pillar at the center of it. And so, at long last, J and I may indulge in the finest of all luxuries - a couch that we can both sprawl out on at the same time. This weekend we have ordered such a couch. It shall be a purple velvet sectional with green pillows. It shall ( Read more... )

When it rains like this, I think of Jacques Prevert ( Read more... )

I should be happy ( Read more... )

When the going gets tough, the tough seek to fill the gaping hole in their souls through the purchase of shiny objects. They purchase those Art Nouveau shoes with the flower heels from the collection that Prada did with comic book artist James Jean a couple of years ago. They buy a big purple velvet chair with yellow trim, delivered from the land ( Read more... )