All or nothing...

What up, homies?! This past week as been ker-azee, what with looking for a place to live (yeah, finding "affordable" digs in San Francisco--a whole 'nother story entirely!), getting reacquainted with Thespian, then the finding of a place to live (uh, in Oakland--a real cozy neighborhood in northern Oakland called "Temescal"), then the helping Elan outfit his apartment he just moved into, then my own moving and gathering all my junk from the four spots I had it all stashed, then the starting of the new job...

By the way, the new job kinda ROCKS!

They're being really nice to me and starting me off slow, so this week's issue has just a few things of mine in it: Newsgrams (blurbs about Marin-based stuff), Hero-Zero (real short shout-outs of good vs. evil), and Best Bets (calendar picks, basically).

You can check it here:

www.pacificsun.com

10. Oh, happy day!!!

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

Yeah. Ahh....

So, my hysteria happily cured, I reached Palm Springs and the comfort of my parents' welcoming open arms (and liquor cabinet), and nestled into the warmth of their hospitality and love... after a couple cocktails at Shame on the Moon, of course.

And in the morning, I got the call that I'd been waiting for.

"Samantha, this is Jason Walsh from The Pacific Sun. I'd like to formally offer you the job..."

Can I get a hallelujah?

Amen.

(The Pacific Sun is an over-40-year-old, award-winning alternative newsweekly based in San Rafael, with a focus on Marin County. The job I accepted is for their one and only staff writer position, which I believe entails general features reporting, and it starts March 20. Wish me luck!)

9. The crash and burn...

And then Sasha returned and I was feeling a strange disconnect with our friendship, (but knew I'd be needing to stay a bit longer so that was making me feel guilty); I had a birthday that went largely unnoticed, I still wasn't having any luck finding a steady, PAYING, professional writing job (although I had a few lovely interviews that turned into more possible freelance gigs) and NOBODY was volunteering to give me a free pelvic massage. Not even at the Lucky 13. What's so "lucky" about that??

(I don't have a photo to go with this entry. I think it suits the stark nature of the content anyway, don't you?)

So... I decided it was a fine time to take an extended weekend trip down to Palm Springs, and along the way, I would stop over at the childhood home of an ol' DJ friend of mine from Hawaii who'd recently moved back to the mainland to care for his grandmother...

7. Vacation's all I ever wanted...

And while Sasha was away for three weeks on her European adventure, I took a mini-vacation myself, along with trusty old dog lady companion Philly, on our many Alamo Square Park walks overlooking the city I was now calling home...

8. Strep throat, discrimination and a sad case of hysteria...

I've been getting sick about once a month since I moved to the mainland six months ago, but then I got sick, really sick, twice in February--the last time being that I felt like I had broken marbles in my throat and couldn't swallow or breathe, really, while sleeping, which would mean I could choke and, like, DIE... so I went to SF General, which has an Urgent Care facility that treats uninsured and unemployed folk like myself... and, when I finally got in to see the doctor, she examined my throat and made concerned noises then said she had to go get an "abcess specialist," which kinda scared me but whatever and then the "specialist" came in and took a peek at my tonsils and made more concerned noises and then, without uttering a word to me, turned to the doctor and said, "Does she speak English?"

(Okay, this one-sentence summation thing is getting to be bullshit so I'm gonna go ahead and drop that now. Thanks)

Anyway, they ended up giving me another shot of Penicilin in my ass, and a prescription for Vicodin (yippee!) for the pain, and, I think, to numb me from the debilitating effects of being linguistically misread by a mere glance of my poor, tired, jobless Hispanic visage.

Oh, and also? Nobody wanted to have sex with me while I was coughing up custard so after six weeks or so, this resulted in a fairly serious bout of FEMALE HYSTERIA and I was in desperate need of some hysterical paroxysm. Or just paroxysm. I definitely needed an "ysm," in other words...

6. The eats is good, too.

I've been eating at some awesome spots, too, doing the dining reviews for Gayot.com, and also hanging out with Elan, who likes all things Belgian, like this popular spot on Valencia called Frjtz, which has killer fries with dipping sauces such as white-truffle-artichoke-ketchup, strawberry mustard and ginger orange mayo.

5. The art is good...

And I saw tons of great art all over the place, especially in unexpected places, like this random exhibit across from the Bottom of the Hill, which Sasha and I used to describe how we felt about some chaotic multi-instrumental (a fiddle, an accordian, an electric 'uke, a trombone, two guitars and a drummer) band we just saw.

4. The swilling and swooning...

Yes, there was much drinking done at the ole Lucky 13 with longtime SF buds (and former Western Addition studio roommates of mine, circa 1998) Jeff and Bob (pictured, top), as well as a moderate deal of flirting on my part with the ever-so-charming bar regulars (also pictured, bottom).

3. And the beat goes on...

Of course, I saw lots of other amazing live music that didn't involve Sasha's roommates, like this kickass old band from the '60s called Blue Cheer (some would consider them the pioneers of heavy metal and stoner rock) that put on one of the tightest, rockingest shows (at the Red Devil Lounge--also, a really cool venue) that I've seen in a long time (they completely blow 75% of modern rock bands out of the water); an impromptu rehearsal jam session by a young string sextet (coulda been septet, I forget now) at Mission's uber-hip and marijuana-laden Revolution Cafe; and then there was also this awesome blues guitarist at the Civic Center BART Station.

Because you're miiiine...

Last night at Merchants while nursing Elan's recent heartbreak, we discovered our number three all-time songs (Elan's is Van Halen's "Hot for Teacher," mine is Screamin' Jay Hawkins' "I Put a Spell on You"), met a dude from Chicago who comes out on Amtrak every two weeks for one night only, my phone died shortly after taking this photo inside the bar, some white hip-hop dude was all in my mix, and I am bold enough to declare Duran Duran's "Rio" as my #4.

Okay, now back to the catch-up countdown...

Uh-oh... see, this is exactly what happens...

I'm gonna have to abort mission on the pictoral catching-up for now...

Fuck. Just when I thought I'd try to catch up on this shit and I get beckoned to Merchants dive bar in Oakland to join Elan, who is currently drowning his sorrows after breaking up with his really cute chick in Sacramento... Hmm... this could get scary... (I'll send a photo on this later, I swear).

2. Musical chairs...

Went to many indie rock shows, usually performed by one of Sasha's talented musician roommates, Dan (a very cute drummer with a legion of groupies) and Jen (a very lovely vocalist and cellist who performs in something like 8 or 9 bands in the Bay Area, but yeah, like, not all at the same time).

1. Sharks on crack...

Moved into Sasha's room and met her cute but boisterous friend Alix; tagged along on many drunken 20-something dive bar crawls featuring much air-guitar performed with skinny-jeaned legs, pool-humping with DJs, and bare-breasted photo booth action.

I've been naughty...

Crazy that I can't keep my blog shit regular when I have all this time on my hands. Well, whatever--I figured the best thing I could do for you, my neglected reader friends (or whoever's left, at this point) is provide a pictoral summation, or, a one-sentence play-by-play of what the hell I've been doing in the past month or so... yeah, let's just make it since I moved back to San Francisco at the end of January.


Here we go...