North Beach by night

Sean Penn was in Tosca last night.
Shame that he left just as we arrived.

PG rated?

I don't understand why some people insist on bringing their babies to the cinema.
Even when we're talking Hotel for dogs - exactly how much is the nine month old next to me enjoying the movie? But today, not sure that the 2.05 screening of Precious was the right fit for an 18 month old.
Not even before she'd finished her Medium sized popcorn.

Apparently, I subscribe to the Economist. It lands safely in my letter-box every Friday.
If I have to subscribe to something without paying for it, couldn't it be Grazia, instead?

Knit and purl, or knit and hit

There is something about ladies who work in craft-shops, and I can't exactly put my finger on it, but they are either over-the-top nice, or they look at you as something that the cat dragged in. Often they can be hot-and-cold all at the same time, and they can switch moods, right there, in front of you, and you don't know what you've done wrong. It all takes me back to sewing-lessons in school, when teacher Gunny A taught the class how to knit. I was rubbish at it,I just couldn't make sense of the needles, and the yarn, and which finger to wrap it around, and how to pull the yarn through the loops - it was a mess! And as the tyrant teacher she was, she made fun of me in front of the whole class for the entire lesson, really viciously and spitefully mocking me, 9 years old, by calling me stupid, useless and pointing out that no good could become of a girl who didn't know how to knit. As homework I had to try to catch up over the weekend. As I have a mother who was a fairly decent knitter, I was lucky for a while. She not only taught me how to knit in one night - by the end of the weekend I had finished the whole damn thing (I think it was a Moomin doll...) and brought it back Monday, relieved, and not a little proud of myself.

Unfortunately, it only made matters worse. Gunny A was sure that a useless girl like myself couldn't have picked up the art of knitting over one weekend, it was impossible! There was only one explanation: I had gotten my mother to do the work for me. I had cheated! More mocking, more taunting in front of the class, and a time-out in the corridor, for the rest of the class (and man, that corridor where dark and cold, it being Sweden in the early 80's, and probably winter, too).

I'm at my local yarn-shop to get hold of some yarn for a top I am knitting for Holly. They are short one ball of purple yarn on the shelf, and I ask if they have more in stock. Nope. Can they order it for me?
- But we have this in a cherry yarn.
- It's not the same color.
She looks at me as if I don't really belong in her shop.
- We have 6 skeins if this right now, I mean.
- Aha. But my daughter really wants purple. She has chosen all the colors herself.
- I see! That's where we're going wrong!

To imply that I was in any way wrong is not the best move right now. Finn has been in a foul mood all day. He's played up in every imaginable situation, every minute of the day, so far. To push me, even with the tip of a finger, would equal mental break-down.
- Well, I do want her to wear it, when I'm finished, so the colors are kind of important, I explain in nicey-nicey voice.
She shrugs her shoulders.

Meanwhile, Finn is throwing his 27th tantrum of the day in a pile of yarns in a corner of the shop. It's only 1.30pm.

Yep - the "gyllene medelvag" is to split it down the middle, and somehow i still end up the looser

.... I think. The guy from the garage calls me back. He tells me that he will only charge for the work I wanted to have done (which turned out to not be none, since they couldn't find any damage) and refund me for the work they did do, but that I didn't want done.
It works out that I pay about 75% of the total cost. And I still have to take it to another garage to have the tyres changed.....

Is it worth getting angry about? Not today. I'm too tired to get angry.

it's a strange thing when you pick up your car from the garage and they've fixed something you didn't ask them to fix....and still want you to pay

It's been a long day, and I am really looking forward to tomorrow when I have to talk to the manager at Superior Auto about the fact that I shouldn't have to pay for work done to my car that I didn't ask to have done, while they neglected to do any of the work I actually needed doing.

Who said Swede's are dull people, eh?

http://www.thefuntheory.com/

Smile if there's anything you want, please tell me how it feels to live in a million dreams

When I was a kid the worst time of the year was formal portrait picture taking time. My mother would dress me up in itchy dresses and the stupid photographer would stand behind his camera, shake a toy bird around while doing some silly noises and then shout: Smile! Smile!! with a fake, high pitched 'aren't we having fun' kind of voice. It was awful, and I never quite got over it. (I made a promise to never subject my own children to the same torture, and have stuck to it so far.) School photo day was equally horrible. My mother still has some of the portraits on her wall. Horse face with her rabbit teeth. Although I think I look marginally better as a grown-up, looking at pictures of myself as a kid still makes me cringe. How is it possible to look so completely goofy? (The customary Swedish fashion in the 70's, with orange corduroy and wool ribbed turtlenecks you could fold eight times around your neck didn't help either.)
The portraits came out a disaster, without failing. My big front teeth pushed their way out of my mouth no matter how hard I tried to pinch my lips together. My husband can vouch for this: my smile is not one of my most becoming features. Without getting to Freudian about the whole thing, smiling is not my default facial expression. If it has to do with my face or plainly because I don't always have things to smile about, I don't know, but there you go: I am not a natural smiler. I have huge front teeth.

So one thing I never could get used to during my ten years in London was the impertinent and condescending remarks from strange guys on the street like "cheer up, luv, it might never 'appen", "it can't be that bad, luv" and the various variations of it, as: "g'is a smile, luv", or, "what's with the face?". If you want to make someone hit you over the head with their hand-bag, this is the best way to do it. If you genuinely want someone to smile at you, you need to rethink. Trust me.
When I moved across the pond, I thought I'd never hear it again. Ever.

Today, I went to Andronico's supermarket to get some food for dinner and when I get to the fish-counter, I ask for scallops and prawn, and get this reply:
- You can. If you give me a smile first.
As clear as a bright blue sky on a summer's day. With a nod that tells me that he really will insist on the smile, or he will put up a fight before he parts with any such sea-related food products.
Part of me wants to just turn away with a:
- Fine. Suit yourself.
Part of me wants to demand to talk to the manager about his staff harassing innocent customers as they go about their weekly food-business after a late night trick or treating with the kids with an added promise of never ever returning to this food store ever again.
But part of me is just to damn tired to care, and so, by moving the corner of my mouth, I give him a half-way smile and as I do, I feel those big front teeth push up against the inside of my lips again, wanting to get out in the open.

He was just trying to be friendly. I know. As was the guy at the check out counter who once ruffled my daughters hair until she nearly started crying, because he liked her curls so much. They are all trying to be friendly. But I am Swedish. Personal space is very important to me. Having the right not to smile and still get my fresh scallops nicely wrapped in brown paper without hassle is huge thing.
It doesn't mean I'm in a bad mood or a rude person. It just means that I was scared for life when I had my picture taken as a kid, alright?

Halloween hang over

After a late night spent trick or treating on Belvedere Road and eating pumpkin soup until midnight we're taking it very, very slowly today.
Super girl and Tiny Lion are both taking a afternoon nap, and I am struggling to come up with something to write, except that it was a very successful Halloween. The displays on Belvedere were great, as always.

When we first moved to SF I didn't really see the point of Halloween. Just another commercial waste of a reason to spend money and be silly. Good friends invited us to come out trick or treating with them at Belvedere, and we all immediately fell in love, immediately. Now we are lucky enough to live within walking distance of said street, and we have no reason to go anywhere else.
I hope to spend many more Halloweens here. Maybe next year, I'll even dress up myself, who knows...