Dogged Blog

Windy weekends in October

I spent the day yesterday at the Silken Windhound Western Regional Specialty, and had a wonderful time. I'm more impressed every day with the firm commitment in the Silken community to medical, genetic, and scientific research about their dogs and their breeding program.

I got into an interesting discussion with one of their guest speakers, a canine genetic researcher from UC Davis. In fact, we stood in the parking lot for a couple of hours after the show, talking. I'm hoping to sit down with him again for an interview and tour of his lab. He had some ideas that really changed the way I think about what breed clubs can do to support research into their areas of concern.

I was saddened, though, on getting home to hear of the terrible fires down in San Diego. I'll be blogging about that, with information about the animals involved, over on Pet Connection in a few minutes. It reminded me of another dog show weekend, in October of 1991 -- almost exactly two years after the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake -- when a terrible firestorm ravaged the East Bay Hills.

Both weekends, I was on my way home from a dog show when I heard news of the fire. It was eerie. And yesterday was incredibly windy, just like that long-ago weekend was.

My heart goes out to all my colleagues, friends, and everyone else evacuated or in danger in San Diego. 

And now for something completely political

Having gotten all the Lucy Lawless/George Takei fangirl media entertainment writer stuff that I'm actually paid to write about out of the way, time for a trip into the wonkish side of my world.

Those here only for the dogs and the shoes and the Xena may want to move along.

When I heard that George Takei, who played Mr. Sulu on the original Star Trek series and Lucy Lawless of Xena:Warrior Princess and Battlestar Galactica were going to be at the Human Rights Campaign's annual gala here in San Francisco, I was right there with my hand in the air to cover it for AfterElton.com/AfterEllen.com. But fangirl squeeage aside, I was equally excited to see Elizabeth Edwards (pictured, right, with HRC president Joe Solmonese) would be giving the keynote address. Political machinations aside, her statements in support of full marriage equality, as well as her forthrightness and courage regarding her political beliefs and fight against cancer, have made her one of my personal heroes.

Before the dinner started, there was a VIP reception where all the A-gays of the Bay Area -- and many straight LGBT rights supporters -- were mingling in tuxes and fancy dresses, sipping drinks from the open bar and greeting friends. Even though I'm a native San Franciscan, I only recognized a tiny number of them, including San Francisco Mayor Gavin Newsom -- who, like me, was born here.

I told him that I was a fourth generation native, and like all San Francisco politicians do when you tell them that, he gave me his full attention.  I thanked him for having the courage and vision and simple basic humanity to hand out same sex marriage licenses at San Francisco's City Hall, and said that I just wanted him to know that some "old time" San Franciscans are also queer San Franciscans.

We bonded for a while over our mutual San Franciscan-ness and growing up in the City and when I told him I'd gone to Mercy High, he said, "You're a Mercy girl? That's like a cult." So true. And how amusing to be called a "Mercy girl," possibly for the first time in almost 30 years.

I've already recounted just about every utterance of George Takei and Lucy Lawless, so I'll skip over that and go on to the speeches.

Given that I've practically made  a career of liveblogging in the last few months, I'd brought my laptop with me. But alas, no wi-fi was available in San Francisco's Civic Auditorium.

So I did it anyway, even if it's not exactly "live," but at least this time I've had the chance to clean up the typos and misspelled words in advance. Remember this is a report, not a transcript; only those things in quotation marks are direct quotes. Everything else is a paraphrase or summary.

HRC gala in San Francisco

So, last Saturday night I was chatting with San Francisco Mayor Gavin Newsom... and thus starts my utterly name-dropping post about last night's annual awards gala for the Human Rights Campaign in San Francisco, where actor George Takei (Star Trek, Heroes) recieved HRC's Equality Award, Elizabeth Edwards delivered the keynote address, HRC's Joe Solmonese delivered a stirring defense of LGBT rights, and Lucy Lawless (Xena: Warrior Princess, Battlestar Galactica) was the world's most glamorous charity auctioneer.

I was covering it for AfterEllen.com and AfterElton.com, so politics wasn't part of my assignment -- I was there to interview Lucy Lawless and George Takei. There was no wi-fi at the Civic Auditorium so I couldn't liveblog it, but I had my laptop and ummm, deadblogged? it, so I promise to do a political post here on Dogged about Edwards, Solmonese, Newsom, Mark Leno, and all the other hot political and social stuff.  [UPDATE: it's here.]

But in the meantime, back to the fluff. From AfterEllen.com:

I’m sure most of the reporters covering the Human Rights Campaign’s annual gala and awards dinner in San Francisco Saturday night were there for the politics, and honestly, I’m normally the very soul of queer political activism.

But that night? Let’s face it: I was there for Lucy Lawless.

Lucy was all glammed up in high heels, evening gown and tousled curls. She sailed into the pre-dinner VIP reception like an old-fashioned Hollywood star, and signed autographs and posed for pictures with adoring Xena fans both male and female.

Since she looks just as good in girly clothes as in jeans and a cowgirl hat — not to mention her Xena fighting leathers — it’s not hard to see why she made it onto the top 100 on the AfterEllen.com hot list. What did Lucy think about that? “Well that’s pretty great,” she beamed. “I love that. Thanks very much for the vote of confidence, girls, and just thanks so much for the support, and I want to be here to support you.”

Here's a photo KT took of Lucy gazing adoringly at me being interviewed by me:

From AfterElton.com:

At the reception before the awards dinner, I told Takei I’d been a huge fan of the original Star Trek series, but had always felt excluded from the show’s Utopian vision, where queers like me – and him – were invisible.

“Well, Star Trek had as its core value what we call IDIC, Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations,” he said. “And (Trek producer and creator) Gene Roddenberry always told us the diversity of the Starship Enterprise was where its strength was. There’s a diversity that we can see: the color of one’s skin, or the shape of one’s eyes. There’s the accent of a person, diversity we can hear. But there’s another diversity that we can’t see oftentimes, but that too is a part of the strength of America.”

Here's me being quite a bit taller than George Takei, and also showing you my new haircut at last:

Be sure to click madly on the AfterEllen and AfterElton links so they'll continue to let me stalk interview all my heroes. Thanks.

And thanks to KT for the photos! You can see more of them at the above links, as well as here.

Breaking: lifestyle update

I have ordered from Waiters on Wheels three nights in a row now. I do love living in a big city where such services are available, but do you think it's possible, just REMOTELY POSSIBLE, that I might get enough of my life back any time soon so I could oh I don't know GO OUT TO A RESTAURANT instead of having someone bring me food from one?

That is all.

Yet another reason I love San Francisco

Yet another reason I love San Francisco: the weather.

I interviewed HGTV's David Bromstad Wednesday evening. (The article about that interview will be on AfterElton.com, and I'll link to it when it's published.) His show, Color Splash, is filmed here in the Bay Area, and he moved from Miami to San Francisco when he started doing the show. He loves San Francisco, but did indicate that he's kind of cold most of the time.

"I hate hot weather," I told him.

He paused. "Really?"

Really. I know most people like hot weather. They dream of vacations in Hawaii and tropical beaches and wearing shorts and sandals all year long. And that is so not me. I like the fog and the wind, and I'm in the mood for sunshine approximately as often as I am for snow, which is to say, about two weeks out of every year. A craving I would much rather fulfill by traveling to the place with snow or sun than living in it. Nothing makes me happier than getting up in the morning and having to put on a hooded sweatshirt and warm jacket to walk the dogs on mornings when, at my old home in Sonoma, my air conditioning would have already kicked on.

The western side of San Francisco, which is where I live and where I grew up, spends most of the summer tucked in a nice dripping fog bank, courtesy of the hot inland air meeting the cold, wet air blowing in off the Pacific Ocean.

When I was looking for a house when I moved back here after 16 years in the country, I restricted my search to the fog belt. Several friends said to me, while I was looking, "Well, just be sure not to get anything out there by the beach." They would shiver. "Too cold."

I'd just smile and think, all the more houses for me to look at. "No," I'd tell them, "I'm only looking in the fog belt. I hate the sun."

Real conversation

(Telephone rings while I'm working. I'm very crabby, but I look at the caller ID in case it's important. It's my mom. I grudgingly answer.)

Me:  Hi

Mom: You sound tired.

Me: I'm very tired.

Mom: Do you have anything for dinner?

Me (thinking maybe my mommy wanted to cook for me):  No.

Mom: You should call Waiters on Wheels.

Me: What huh?

Mom: They go to restaurants and get your order for you. You should call them.

Me: I'll look online. Thanks!

(End phone call.)

So I looked. It's real. Waiters on Wheels. They are bringing my dinner now.

GOD I LOVE SAN FRANCISCO.

I Guess I Just Love Mean People

I don't know what it is about me, I think perhaps I'm just a vicious nasty person masquerading as a kind, compassionate, dog owning, latte-sipping, bleeding heart liberal. I like the meanest people.

Via email from my darling Gina, who is not herself at all mean,  this charming early morning conversation from the John Scalzi household (he of "bacon taped to the cat" fame):

Krissy: So, what's in the news?

Me: The head of the largest evangelical Christian organization in the United States is accused of having a three-year-long adulterous affair with a man whore.

(pause)

Krissy: I'm sorry. I probably shouldn't be laughing.

Yes, well. Gobsmackingly ironic karmic retribution will do that to a person, won't it. If these accusations are true (and apparently at least some of them are), then hello, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the absolute collapse of evangelical moral credibility. I mean, if you wanted the current set of evangelical marching orders to be cut off right at the knees, you couldn't do much better than to have the married leader of 30 million evangelicals paying to have his pole smoked by another guy. On a monthly basis. For three years. I mean, Christ. Talk about intelligent design.

So, then I open up my favorite columnist in the San Francisco Chronicle and get down on my knees and make obeisance to the benevolent deities that allowed me to be born in a city that PUBLISHES THIS MAN IN ITS MORNING PAPER, talk about "San Francisco values":

That shirt you're wearing right now? Chances are, Dick Cheney hates it. That car you drive? Thinks it's for whiny un-American pansies. The fact that you've probably eaten tofu and wear designer shoes and have actually had sex while standing up? Pervert heathen traitor to the real America, Dick thinks. He hates that.

See what else Dick Cheney hates, and why, here. And for the record, I know Dick Cheney would hate my shirt, because it says "My snake is bigger than your snake." My car is a Honda mini-van. I wear designer shoes. I've had sex standing up. I'm a pervert and a heathen.

I do hate tofu, though.

Urban Life, Urban Dogs

After sixteen years in the country, I moved back to San Francisco, where I was born and where I lived most of my life, other than when I was in college and a short time I spent in Italy in 1984 and 1985. Among the epiphanies of my newly urbanized existence:

If you want someone to come to your house and fix something, there are lots and lots of people who'll do that, and they're all listed in the phone book.

In the country, no one who is listed in the phone book will come out to where you are. They act, in fact, as if the 25 minutes you live past the outposts of civilization they recognize may as well be strewn with landmines and infested with crocodiles.

Everything is really close. I'm used to thinking, if I want to go to the market, I need to set aside the better part of a day to do it. Now I can run out, buy a week's worth of groceries, and be home, inside of an hour.

Last night, one of the smoke alarms the draconian California real estate laws forced the guy who sold me this house to install in every room was flashing and beeping, presumably because it needed a new battery but perhaps because it was irritated at me for some slight, such as not checking it when we went into Daylight Savings Time.

Tragically this smoke alarm was in my bedroom (and I do want to point out that by the time the smoke hits my bedroom, I'd be pretty well screwed). I'm tall, but my ceilings are taller, and my step ladder didn't even get me close enough to check the beeping flashing demonically possessed artifact of paranoid technology that was going to prevent me from sleeping.

I called my mom to see if she had a ladder, and she suggested I call my brother McKenzie, not in his capacity as an electrical engineer, since even I am capable of changing a smoke alarm battery, but in his capacity as a really tall person with an even taller ladder.

"Mom! McKenzie isn't going to want to come all the way over here after work just to check my smoke alarm!"

She answered patiently. "Christie? McKenzie lives ten blocks from here. It'll take him ten minutes."

Duh.

The dogs have been adjusting well, although I'd say calling it "thriving" might be an overstatement. Rebel had surgery so he's been on leash walks for the last week, but Kyrie could use some more exercise. I'm not certain she's put on weight, because I'm letting her coat grow in (another benefit to urban life, she can't trail into the house with half the forest tangled into her coat anymore). She feels pretty lean but her back has that "table" look I associate with fat dogs. I think I'm going to invest in a visit to a local vet and have her weighed and maybe get her microchipped, although there have been no repeats of Kyrie's Excellent Escape since the day we moved in.

Yesterday I met three friends for lunch and then went to the home of one of them who has a litter of 9-week-old Silken Windhound puppies. This is a new breed, something I used to oppose on principle but that I have a new take on these days - although that will have to wait for another post on another day. The pups were of course adorable, and if there's any therapy better than puppy breath I have no idea what it is. And then I made the long five minute drive back to my house and thought, wow, that wasn't exhausting at all.

My favorite urban experience so far, though, has to be the one I had Tuesday night, when dozens of darling kids dressed up as princesses and action heroes and old-fashioned prisoners and even the Grim Reaper came to my door and let me give them candy, lured up by my candle-lit jack-o-lanterns. I love Halloween, I love the fall, I love the city.

Me and Analyst Steve

If you've ever read this blog before, you know I moved at the end of last month. We'll just leave it at that and the fact that it was the worst move ever in the history of moving and I still wake up screaming in the night from time to time.

So, this morning I was downloading my email and it just stopped. I tried again and this time got the message my password was invalid. So I tried via the web interface and got a message that my account was on "inactive status."

I was online. And I had cable TV, also via Comcast.

There was a link in my error message on how to get help, so I clicked on it.  I explained the situation to "Analyst Steve." Anything I've struck through, I didn't say, only thought. I swear to you, I started out nice. I really did.

Analyst Steve: Have you moved lately?

Me: Yes, three weeks ago as I already explained you moron.

Analyst Steve: It looks like your old address hasn't been moved to your new address. Do you have your new account number?

(Little bit of clarification about addresses etc., and we establish, no, I don't know my new account number since every other business on planet earth tracks you through your phone number or something you might actually know.)

Me: I don't think this has anything to do with my move...

Analyst Steve: It does. It just took a while for the account to be closed.

Me: Why did you close it?

Analyst Steve: I didn't, it just gets shut down if a request isn't put in to move it to a new account

(I clarify at this point that I am not blaming Analyst Steve personally for going in and making the tough decision to close down my account, but speaking to him rather in his capacity as a representative of Comcast, Inc. as should be obvious to anyone in the customer service field.)

Me: I did what I was told when I called to move my service, and no one told me I had to request to "move" my email address.... I didn't get a new account, or if I did, no one expressed it to me that way.  How do I get my email address up and running? And how do you explain the fact that I have Internet service here at the new house and you sent a guy out to set it up and everything, if I didn't request to move my service?

Analyst Steve:  Do you have your new account number?

Me: I believe we already established that I do not you moron. No. My bill goes to my employer.

Analyst Steve: I am sorry, I will need the new account number to move the old email account. Please chat back in, or call 1-888-COMCAST, when you have the new account number.

Me: how do I get it? I'm on the phone with my employer, he hasn't gotten a bill yet.

Analyst Steve: It would be on the new install order, written on it

Me: Yeah, I just moved, what part of "my life is in boxes and filled with chaos and I can't find some piece of paper a guy gave me three weeks ago" do you not understand? and if I don't have that? how do I get it?

Analyst Steve:  Wait until you get a bill

Me: I can't, I need my email, nor can I believe you really said that, how does this company stay in business?

Analyst Steve: Get your employer to call 1-888-COMCAST, maybe he can get them to give it to him

Analyst Steve:  Is there anything else I can help you with today?

Me: You haven't helped me with anything at all, so there's no honest way to reply to that question with a yes or no, is there? No.

Analyst Steve: Thank you for contacting Comcast!

Fortunately the nice people at 1-888-COMCAST didn't need my "new account number" but were able to access my account with my phone number, apologized profusely for the mistake which was entirely on their end, fixed  everything, and restored my faith in corporate America.

Have a nice day.

Can You Stand It?

The excitement level on this blog is just woah. I'm surprised people are still reading it, but it seems you are. I'll try to become, you know, interesting again soon.

Plumbing update: The sellers wrote us a lovely email saying they'd pay for the entire plumbing bill and how sorry they were that this happened and that they hope we still love the house!

Since I love my house like Xena loves Gabrielle, well... yes, I love my house. And next week we'll have a nice shiny new sewer line.

I hope the accompanying photo in some small way mitigates the relentless boredom of this post. I felt you needed to see my new shoes.