CityMama™

Mayor McHottie: It's time you got some "people"

Sunday's San Francisco Chronicle featured the most bizarre interview with with San Francisco Mayor Gavin Newsom's girlfriend, actress Jennifer Siebel. How she got clearance to do this interview I have no idea, but I consider it a coup on the part of the reporter that she got Siebel to open up as much as she did.

For those that aren't aware, Mayor McHottie recently revealed that he had an affair with his close friend's wife (both were on his payroll until recently), then checked himself into fake rehab, the kind of rehab where you have your meetings over the phone and they tell you it's okay to drink, just not so much. And maybe stick to white wine only.

Siebel stood by her man and essentially blamed Ruby Rippey-Tourk (the wife) for causing the scandal. Then she commented on the SFist site (when they called her out for being a total beeyotch) that she was misquoted and she didn't mean to say that (again, the mind boggles), but that, yeah, it was all Ruby's fault.

This is a woman who has a fancy degree from Stanford yet writes (about Ruby), "i just wish that she would leave gavin and i alone." *cringe*

Now Jennifer Siebel is sorry. No, sorry, "deeply sorry" for all of it.  The interview, the blog commenting, further hurting the players in this scandal...This is a mess. 

Gavin, Gavin, Gavin. Get yourself some people stat. No one's got your back, dude, and I find that sad. Shocking and sad. See if I were the one in charge of your media relations I would have someone babysitting your dumb girlfriend 24/7. I'd fill her to the brim with margaritas then toss her into Bloomingdale's for a good 8-9 hours at a stretch. And I'd definitely hide her laptop. Damage control, dude. Someone needs to be on it. Jen just hit the flush lever on your career. Call me!

P.S. Jennifer, if you are reading this, walk away from the computer, honey.

Trouble in paradise

After one week alone with the kids, I am starting to get a little frustrated and short-tempered. Bunny, while not listening to me, dragged a chair over my 30-minute-old pedicure this morning and I wanted to pummel...something. It's impossible to keep their stuff all in one place and clean up after them and conform to my mom's standards of housekeeping...everyone is a leetle testy. Thank god J. arrives tomorrow night. I'd like to get in at least one swim without a small child clinging to my torso like a baby koala.

Still haven't had time to finish my Christmas shopping.  Keep meaning to find time to do that, but there is none. (Friends and family back home, you're just going to have to wait until after the holidays...my shit is not together this year.) On top of it all, work has been crazy. I can't get out from under it and it's frustrating to have to peck away at my keyboard while watching the palm trees swaying out the window. That is adding to my grumpiness.

Christmas the past couple of years has been a time of change. Last year we moved back to California on Christmas Day. I can't believe it's already been a year. This year, having completely chickened out on the San Francisco school search, we've decided we're leaving San Francisco for the mellower, sunnier 'burbs. J. has a new job outside of the city and he's taking us with him. We move in a month and it feels good not to have to think about the school thing anymore.

I know. I said we're moving. Again. We find subleters and we pack boxes. It's what we do.

In two weeks we return home to San Francisco's cold, foggy embrace and begin packing for the 10th time in the 12 years we've been married, the 5th time since Bunny was born. She's already declared our present house "old' and thinks our next house should be "all one level" like my brother's rancher. That shouldn't be too tall an order for the 'burbs.

I wonder when life will ever return to normal?

Wait. This is normal.

San Francisco Stories: "San Francisco Values"

Prior to the election, the San Francisco Chronicle ran several stories about how Republicans like Dennis Hastert and Bill O'Reilly were using the term "San Francisco values" to try and motivate their party faithful to vote. I don't know about you, but I find the terms "Iraq War," "protecting women's reproductive rights," and "corrupt hypocrites" much more galvanizing than "San Francisco values."

I don't think we'll see the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence welcoming dignitaries to state dinners or the gay marriage law enacted nationwide  (unfortunately) or April 20th being declared a national holiday any time soon, but "San Francisco values" is far from a dirty term.

As much as I enjoy "calling our city out" on its smugness, child unfriendliness, and any number of things that are bugging me on a given day, there are times that I'm proud to be a San Franciscan.

San Francisco is not a perfect city. It's expensive. People need to learn a thing or two about customer service. It's freezing in the summer time. San Francisco is like an aging Hollywood actor: radiant from a distance or through a gauze filter, but get up close and you start to see evidence of too many patchy cosmetic fixes.  Right now our city is being marred by horrific random acts of violence that have me scared shitless. Scared enough to have us contemplating moving again, but today, I'm proud to be here.

I'm proud to live in a city where our beloved Mayor McHottie said "Screw you, George Bush, " and married hundreds of gay couples, sparking a national trend. Obama-Newsom '08, anyone?

I'm proud to live in a city that Nancy Pelosi calls home.

I'm proud to live in a city that Dianne Feinstein calls home.  The senator received more votes than any other candidate running for office.

I'm proud to live in a city where 77% of voters said, "Keep your laws off of our sisters' bodies," and helped to defeat Prop. 85.

I'm proud to live in a city where rainbow flags fly proudly.

I'm proud of Joe Montana.

I'm proud to live in a city where civil discourse is encouraged. People protest and march supporting their issues everyday. Even if people don't agree with the issues being touted, rallies are peaceful.

I'm proud to live in a city where people go to the symphony wearing jeans and no one bats an eyelash.  We can be haughty, but we aren't fancy.

I'm proud to live in a city where people come to reinvent themselves or follow their dreams. Where anything seems possible especially if you are into computers or technology.

I'm proud to live in a city where San Francisco values are a reflection of me and the people that live here. We're quirky, fickle, and opinionated, but we're also inclusionary, compassionate, and independent.

And, you betcherass we'll fight to finish for what we believe in.

It's over and I'm not looking back

Whereby I get a little bitter, but then am fine...

Bunny and Wallie were both sick for Halloween so we stayed in and celebrated at home.  We ate a haunted dinner by candlelight.  We had a family dance party.  We made popcorn.

J. took them down the block for a quick look at a house which had really cool carved pumpkins.  They knocked on the door but the woman inside had no candy for the two little coughing trick-or-treaters. She just wasn't expecting any trick-or-treaters despite having decked out her front stoop. They came back and knocked on our door and I filled their baskets with peanut M&Ms. We shut the door and they knocked again, and this time they each got a mini Snickers bar.

We had not one trick-or-treater knock on our door.

That's San Francisco for you.

The whole experience made me miss Portland a little bit.  Our first Halloween in Portland, when Wallie was just a month old was...cute. J. took two-year-old Bunny around our neighborhood, and she came home with a basket full of treats. I worried because they were taking a long time, then J. came back and said he had been invited in by a neighbor for a glass of wine while Bunny played with the neighbor girls.

Last year, we spent Halloween at a party with friends. Bunny remembers it and talked a lot about it today. My heart broke when I saw my poor littles return home with no candy, so disappointed that their pseudo-Halloween was a bust. I ran to the kitchen and had a quick, quiet cry while J. got the girls undressed and they ate their peanut M&Ms. I thought, "In Portland they could have visited any number of houses on our street and come home with candy. I hate this mean, child-unfriendly city."

San Francisco Stories: The art of parking

If you have a car in San Francisco (or any big city) you know that parking can be a royal pain in the ass. To my mind, this is the one big negative about city living. I've heard the statistic that there are seven cars (or is it nine?) for every available spot in San Francisco.

In some parts of the city, parking isn't a problem. For example, when we lived on Harrison Street in the Mission (bordering Potrero) there were miles and miles of parking.  Our only worry was paying attention to which side of the street to park on so we didn't get a "street cleaning ticket."

In other parts, like North Beach, Lower Nob Hill, Russian Hill, or Pacific Heights, parking is a challenge. Peruse the "parking wanted" section on Craigslist and you'll see what I mean.

When you live here, you learn to play the parking game. 

If...

Last night, we went out to dinner with friends in Japantown to celebrate my birthday (37 today, woohoo!) and had loose plans to go to a karaoke bar after. We lingered over dinner making up new lyrics to Justin Timerlake's "Sexy Back" and shared our favorite lines from The De-pah-ted, which we had all recently seen. We had some beer and soju cocktails which made us the most hilarious group in the place. Or so we thought.

After dinner we strolled through Japantown wondering what to do next. Someone suggested seeing the Departed again (which actually sounded great) and so at about 9:10PM (we'd look at my friend Bad Kitty's photos on her digital camera to check the time later) we stood in center of the Peace Plaza (a wide-open space in the middle of Japantown) to consider our plans. The karaoke bar was directly across from us. The movie theater was a couple of blocks down. We decided to check the movie time to see when it started, and if it was too late we could circle back to the karaoke bar.

Off we went.

We arrived in front of the movie theaters at 9:20PM and saw that the next showing didn't start until 10PM.  Too late, we decided, so we doubled back to the karaoke bar.  As we approached, we heard sirens. A fire battalion chief's red Suburban sped past us. A police car, sirens blaring, blew by us heading the opposite direction.  We heard sirens and saw more police cars going in different directions and wondered what happened. It seemed like mass confusion.

Bad Kitty and I were walking ahead the boys so we arrived at the karaoke bar ahead of them. As we approached we stopped dead in our tracks. Two women, the bar owners, ran out of the bar in front of us and were screaming hysterically. One of them was on the phone screaming, "Ambulance! Ambulance!" She ran into the street, practically doubled over from hysteria, to direct the long line of police cars, ambulances and fire trucks that had no idea where they were going just a minute before, to the right place.  She pointed frantically across the street to the exact spot where our group had been standing not 10 minutes before.

It was there that we saw a person on the ground right where we had all decided to take a stroll to the theater. And that's when time got all weird and bendy.

We heard the words, "Shooting...shot four times...shot in the head."

Bad Kitty and I stood glued to our spots in front of the karaoke bar. I could hear the women still screaming madly.  I could hear the blare of the sirens as more and more and more police cars drew up.

When I saw the officers rushing into the bar with guns and a rifle drawn, I turned to walk away.

As we rushed back down the sidewalk away from the  karaoke bar, I spun around once more and saw paramedics carrying one gurney to the Peace Plaza. Then three more gurneys were carried into the bar.  And all I could think was, "We were right there....Ten minutes ago we were standing right there where someone got shot. We could have been there, or on the stairs going into the bar, or in the bar itself when the shooting started...Ohmygod we have kids..."

We ducked into a nearby bar to decompress from the experience and sat quietly sipping our drinks and talking about the "what ifs." Ironically, the small, intimate bar was also a karaoke bar, but no one felt much like singing.

We finished our drinks and decided to call it a night.  We had to walk back to the parking garage underneath the Peace Plaza and the entire area had been taped off with crime scene tape.  All the ambulances were gone but you could not miss the huge red stain in the middle of the plaza. Next to it, a young man with a string of wooden beads in his hands sat quietly chanting.

Later on the news we would hear that one person was two people were killed, two others injured in the bar shooting. One arrest had been made.

I keep thinking about what might have happened if we hadn't decided to stray from our plans to sing karaoke and walk down to the movie theater. We'd all seen The Departed before, it's not like we had to see it again. I can't explain it, but when it was suggested as an alternative, it felt like the right thing to do.

I keep thinking about what a difference 10 minutes makes, and how the title of the movie means something completely different to me this morning.

I also keeping thinking, enough with the fucking guns already.

San Francisco Stories: Things to do in San Francisco with a toddler

Bunny watching the ferries dock outside the Ferry Bldg. Farmer's Market.

The emails I get most often are from parents who are visiting San Francisco and want to know what to do with their kids. Most of these parents have children two-years-old or under, because as we all know, that age seems to be the hardest to keep "occupied." And when you are traveling it's even more about tiring the kids out for a nap so they will sleep in the unfamiliar hotel or motel room.

In the past I've just sent one-off emails to people but after yesterday's email from my new friend V.B. in Seattle, I thought, "Why not just do a post?"

In just about any city you can walk and explore things or stumble upon a park. San Francisco is great for that, too.  It's a fairly small city—about 7 x 7 miles—so you can walk and pass through many different neighborhoods. That's a great way to get to know the city. But sometimes you want a destination, so that is what I'm trying to provide here: a list of places to go (that are either free or cheap) where you can find snacks and a clean bathroom nearby.

Figuring out Plan B

A "brain dump" post to sort out the chatter inside my head.

Lately I've been trying to figure out the track that my family's life is on and where we want to be headed going forward. This past year has been tumultuous to say the least and, as a family, we've been very unsettled. This has contributed to me feeling really stressed and depressed, but we're clawing our way to the end of the tunnel where there is a tiny flicker of light. We're also facing some big changes, but these are mostly good things.

Within a week, the sale of our Portland house will close and I will turn 37.

Within three months we will have need to have chosen a school for Bunny.

A year from now she will be in kindergarten and her sister will be in preschool.

But where will we be?

Gavin Newsom's hair just went from bad to "Oh no he di'in't"

Some public figures have hair that is so...particular, so recognizable, so inextricably a part of their persona that it should never change. I mean, it should have changed long ago, but that fact that it didn't is such an "I don't give a shit what you think" move that we just shut up and learn to accept it.

The Donald has this kind of hair.

Crystal Gayle has this kind of hair.

Don King has this kind of hair.

And, up until this weekend, San Francisco's Mayor McHottie, Gavin Newsom, had this kind of hair.

But now? (See his "new hair" after the jump)

Rainy day postscript

While I was on the phone early this afternoon, Bunny did something completely out of character:

Yes, that's brown (washable) marker on our carpet. Cleaning tips?

I can think of several reasons why she did it, but none mattered to me at the time.  She got a time-out on the stairs while I composed myself. I can't remember the last time.

When I went to check on her, she was lying across one of the steps, obviously sleepy. Maybe it was too much playing in the rain this morning.

What to do with a tired and cranky child on a rainy day while her little sister is napping?

This.

In the middle of mamma and papa's bed.
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Also, the Blue Angels are in town this week. (Let's hear it for military propaganda!) I am fascinated and repelled as I hear them roaring over San Francisco. The sound of their engines is very unsettling. They zoom across the city out towards the Pacific and circle back. Then they bank low over the bay, buzzing the sailboats and the ferries.

It's cool and it's creepy. 

We are so removed from the military in this country. When was the last time you saw a tank on the street or even someone in uniform? Go to Seoul and it's a completely different thing. Every other person there is in uniform. Go to Rome and it's not uncommon to see soldiers standing around with machine guns. The military is just not part of our everyday life here as it is in other countries.

Strange that my experience with fighter jets is relatively positive. I only ever see them when they are dancing across the sky. They fly overhead and the windows rattle and by the time I look up they are gone. I can't imagine what it must be like to see and hear them under different circumstances.