The Post-Christmas Stack

Today, I took down the Christmas decorations. I set our little tree out at curbside. I shed a quiet tear. He looked so small and sad out there. 

In other news, Stephen thinks I'm mildly insane. 

But I cheered up a bit when I stacked up my new reading list. Pretty good haul this year! 

Happy 2013, readers!! I hope you have something exciting on your bedside table.

The Horrible Year

Have you ever read the book Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day? I think I'm having that . . . but not a day. More like a year. If you want a pop culture citation, allow me to refer you to the theme song of Friends.

The facts:

I got laid off from the loveliest job.

I spent all my savings on a really old car.

I crashed the car. This was really expensive.

I crashed the car again. This was moderately expensive.

I found out that the car doesn't like to start when it's hot outside.

I got a flat tire.

I got a lot of parking tickets. Car ownership is a blast!

Our apartment got fleas. I'm not sure you realize the injustice of this one until you appreciate that a.) I'm a little bit of a compulsive cleaner, b.) I LOVE dogs, but c.) we are not allowed to have dogs. Or cats. Our landlord upstairs has cats. He didn't get any flea bites. We got flea bites. He recommended that we vacuum every day. I recommended that he call in a professional exterminator. I did win on that last point, but I also vacuumed a lot and spent a lot of quality time at the laundromat. And I still subscribe to the gross injustice of not being allowed to have pets and getting fleas. FLEAS. Eew! Ick! Life is mean.

I took my first vacation day in six months (at the new job), and my flight got cancelled. I mean, this is SFO, and no one's surprised, but I still missed a day up in Oregon with my family.

I took out an audiobook from the library last month, listened to eleven disks of it in raptures, and then the twelfth disk was scratched beyond repair. I will never know if Lirael vanquished the necromancer and his minions and sent them back into death or, like, got a boyfriend. Not cool. Not fair.

I gained five pounds.

Final tally:

The horrible year: 11
Becky: 0

I'm telling you what I told my boyfriend. I'm writing off 2012. We'll try to do better next year.

Luckily, I'm an English major, and we have resources to draw upon in this sort of situation. I give you Bridget Jones's Diary:

"On way home in end-of-Christmas denial I bought a packet of cut-price chocolate tree decorations and a £3.69 bottle of sparkling wine from Norway, Pakistan or similar. I guzzled them by the light of the Christmas tree, together with a couple of mince pies, the last of the Christmas cake and some Stilton, while watching Eastenders, imagining it was a Christmas special.
    Now, though, I feel ashamed and repulsive. I can actually feel the fat splurging from my body. Never mind. Sometimes you have to sink to a nadir of toxic fat envelopment in order to emerge, phoenix-like, from the chemical wasteland as a purged and beautiful Michelle Pfeiffer figure. Tomorrow new Spartan health and beauty regime will begin."

Or if you prefer, High Fidelity:

"Go and put some old sad bastard music on, see if I care."

Conversations Overheard at Work

So I have a new job! Sadly, no more cookbooks for the time being, but I'm turning the page and getting into some cool photography, film, television, and children's titles. Shall we usher in the new era with another round of Conversations Overheard at Work? I thought you'd never ask.

"You've probably been asked this five times already, but are you a big Twilight fan?"

"I'm sure everyone's been asking you this, but are you a Twilight fan?"

"Hey, are you a Twilight fan?"

Project manager: "Wait, which one is Rosalie again?"

Designer: "Rosalie is the really grumpy vampire. The one who hates Bella."

"What's the plural of Volturi?"

"What's happening with that woman in Oregon who takes pictures of dogs? You really should have brought that to the meeting."

"No, Amy's got the Ninja Turtles."

"Do you guys have a Batmobile over there?"

"Ooh the Monster Book of Monsters! It's like Christmas."

"Look, guys. I know how this works. I've been to five Comic-Cons."

"I am a bit worried about SpongeBob."

"Ooh! I like 'blustery breeze.' That's cute."

" 'Avast' is a little obscure, but 'ahoy' is a greeting, and 'halt' just isn't that pirate-y. You see what we're struggling with here?"

Art director reviewing Angry Birds cover: "I was really hoping this could be a little bit more . . . "

Editor: "Explosive?"

The Challenge: Outerlands

Depart Noe Valley and spin up and over the big hill to the west, and you'll soon descend into fog. This is the Sunset district, the far side of San Francisco that borders the Pacific. The neighborhood is a little grayer, a lot sleepier. It's mostly populated by an older crowd with a smattering of surfers. If you meet a twenty-something at a party, and she admits to living in the Sunset, she typically shrugs her shoulders and concedes that the rent is good. It's far out. It's foggy. It's oceanic.

My godparents own a charming motel on this side of town. When I told them I wanted to go to brunch at Outerlands, they seemed confused. They said they hadn't been in over a year. The wait times were notorious. The irony is, we'd recently been to Universal Cafe, which thankfully delivered such a delicious brunch that Marc and Vicki seemed to forget (or at least forgive) the outrageous length of time we hung around for a table. My personal theory is that this sort of behavior is expected in the Mission, but rather high maintenance for the Sunset.

7x7 calls out the Eggs in Jail. Now before you get too excited, these are not wicked eggs. They are not deviled, they have not committed any crimes of note. I was somewhat taken aback when I discovered that "eggs in jail" are what my family would refer to as "toad in the hole," simply an egg cracked into a piece of toast. If you're into buttery, runny yolks and crispy, panfried bread, you catch my drift. Outerlands knocks it out of the park with a thick slab of killer crusty bread. Pair it with a tangle of California greens (hello, mini leaves of ruby chard) and a freshly squeezed mimosa, and, my friends, you have a brunch worth waiting for.

Moreover, I kind of dig the vibe. The inside of the restaurant yields to reclaimed wood interiors, outside the street is lined with gnarled old trees. In a swirl of fog, we cozied up under a heat lamp and a complimentary crocheted blanket. Far out, man.

Getting Back on the Horse

A few of months ago, I woke up early on a Friday morning. I packed my lunch. I ran to catch the train. I got busy reading some spreads, because I was worried about turning them around to one of my managing editors.

Two hours later, I packed up my desk and went home.

When you work in publishing, everybody tells you that there will come a point in your career when you will get laid off. You read that books are a "dying" industry. You hear that editors and designers here and there have lost their jobs. And when your own company starts to struggle, it's in the air all the time--in looks, in side conversations, in tense meetings.

It's still really shocking when it actually happens to you.

After that horrible day in January, I had a rough couple of months. I ate a lot of brownies. I wrote a lot of cover letters, and stressed out over a lot of interview outfits. Mostly, I really missed packing my lunch every morning, getting on the train like everybody else, and going into the office to read, and write, and make cookbooks.

I finally have a new job. I'm going to be working on some new projects, in totally different subject areas: film, music, photography, children's. And the best part is, I still get to be an editor, and do work that I find intrinsically interesting and deeply satisfying. In short, I'm excited again. And you know what? I would rather have had a job that I LOVED for three years, and lost, than be bored.

And now, just because I'm an English major and we can get away with this sort of thing, I'll leave you with a cowboy quote:

"Courage is being scared to death, but saddling up anyway." --John Wayne

Explaining an Astrophysics PhD to a Seven-Year-Old

I do a bit of babysitting. This involves larges batches of chocolate chip cookies and regular dramatic readings of children's stories. It's a pretty good deal for all involved.

The kids I sit for have discovered that I have a boyfriend--gasp!--and that my boyfriend is a scientist. A number of questions have arisen.

"What is on the inside of your umbrella?"

A map of the Cosmic Microwave Background.

"Is the sun really just a medium-sized star?"

My expert says it's certainly not one of the biggest.

"Are you just like Penny on The Big Bang Theory?"

Kind of? But smarter.

And now I give to you a conversation between myself and a seven-year-old. I was unpacking a set of birthday cupcakes. Having run out of containers, I resorted to a certain lunch box.

"Whose Star Trek lunch box is that?"

"Stephen's."

"Why does Stephen have a lunch box?"

"Because he packs his lunch every day."

"Why does he need to pack his lunch?"

"So he can take it to school."

"Stephen goes to school?"

"Yes."

"How old is Stephen?"

"28."

Long pause. "You can go to school when you're 28?!"

"You can if you're a PhD."

I think I blew his mind. It was like watching a supernova. Actually, I don't really know what a supernova is. I just asked Stephen for an example of an astrophysical explosion, because I felt I needed a metaphor. I'm an English major, and we can get away with that sort of thing.

The Challenge: Tartine

This is Tartine.

It's only 8 o'clock in the morning, so that's why there's no line out the door yet.

This is a morning bun from Tartine.

You cannot order more than six of these, or the baker-hipsters will get grumpy. Take my word for it. They might still give them to you, but they'll be grumpy about it. Just wanted to give you fair warning.

This is a loaf of bread from Tartine.

You cannot get these at the same time of day as the morning buns. These come out of the oven at 5 o'clock each afternoon, and require a separate visit. Yes, it's worth it.

Together, both of these are why Tartine is one of the few establishments in San Francisco to get not one, but two mentions on 7x7's 100 Things to Try Before You Die list.

This is the Tartine cookbook.

My friend Malavika gave me this cookbook for my birthday. Moments like this make it clear to me why I am friends with Malavika (along with similar sentiments towards ponies, milk tea, and reading in cafés). Tartine's piece de resistance, the morning bun, is NOT included in the cookbook. Which is actually okay, because it means you can have more early morning Tartine dates with your friend Malavika.

This is my favorite bakery in San Francisco.

This is why I go to spin class three days a week (and yet somehow never emerge looking quite like Kate Bosworth).

Tartine. Je t'adore.