I left my heart....mostly in my chest

I sat in the warm sunshine on a gorgeous August day in the Panhandle park (next to Golden Gate), with a giggly group of quirky, smart, delightful folks I’d lived with, danced with, dated, hugged, high-fived, ate with and thoroughly enjoyed. And I was saying goodbye.

Coast Camp at Point Reyes

Yes, my time in this marvelous place has ended in a messy (in a good way), sweaty, delicious way, with costumes, colour and laughter, just as it should.  I got to culminate my last few weeks with a last-minute visit from my giving, warm and wonderful super close friend Andrea (all the way from Toronto!). We walked the hills, marched to the Mission and indulged in pirates, art and burritos (which caused her to request, a short time after, that we find some green space and pass out for about five minutes.  Which we did and were joined a few tables down by a man with a large shopping cart of bottles who also felt 3pm is a good time to take a nap in the park), had a 26-hour ill-prepared but wonderful camping trip to Point Reyes, where in the morning, we frolicked in the cold waves and strolled the beach which had been touched only by the cloven hoofs of deer. 

She finished her visit in style, when we went out dancing at Soul Night at the fun Elbo Room, where we were joined by my roommates, all in some form of costume. We danced and sweated till near collapse, then wandered home, passing the dollhouse victorian houses and denuded magnolia trees, through the cool summer fog. 

Crisp and crackling - thanks Tartine

Franticly packing my things while my roommates prepared themselves for Burning Man, I squeezed in several wonderful visits complete with an obscene amount of good food.  Buttery, shattering croissant, mac and cheese in Oakland followed by a tiny concert in an independent clothing shop in Oakland, and a stunning four-course vegan dinner at Millenium, one of the finest restaurants in San Francisco. 

Mac'n'Cheese as far as the eye can see!

 And so I struck the path that so many have done, calling the city home then taking leave of it.  See, San Francisco’s a place of transition, and also of joy.  The city was smiling but unmoved by my departure, while I felt a little piece of my heart remained, bouncing up and down the hills, splashing in the ocean, ordering a burrito and dancing all night, fueled on Speakeasy Prohibition Ale and Anchor Steam. 

Occupy Oakland, Fall 2011

The Canadian train across Canada

As I board a train for Vancouver and then across the country, I offer my gratitude for this city, and how it has changed me.  Thanks for giving me your best in dance, energy, colour, silliness, food, activism, learning and love.  I’ll be back to ride that Golden Gate Bridge, replete with flowers in my hair.  

My "Coming Out" Story (sort of)

When I first arrived in the city, I came from a veritable desert of romance in Ottawa.  I like Ottawa for many reasons: poutine, the canal, the incredible people, but not so much the romance.  I was parched and essentially planning on how many cats would be too many to own when entering spinsterhood at 29 (38 cats?  76?).  

Too many cats?  I think not!

Almost one month after I arrived, I clawed forward, looked and realized I’d found an oasis of (geeky but lovely) men.  We are talking a Walmart-sized waterpark with slides of many different sizes and colours, water pouring everywhere (hey, I didn’t mean it that way.  Get your mind out of the gutter!).

The city was exploding with cute, single men and for the rest of 2011, I indulged.  I dated a young british boy, a comely, funny dude I met at a conference, a quirky nerdy hipster boy who lives in the Mission, etc.  But I started to notice a pattern.  Most of the men I was dating identified as polyamorous.  The man working in my hostel was married and interested in me.   I was picked up on the train by a married with kids poly guy.

In fact, this precise topic threw me into a relationship.  In January, I met a tall, handsome thing who noticed me specifically because I was commenting to my friend that all the guys I was dating were polyamorous.  This newest one’s ears visibly picked up and he said “were you talking about polyamory?”  Turns out he had been poly for years.  Eight months later, we were still dating each other, and many others.

Now, polyamory was a newish concept to me.  Seemed like you could date someone and have sex with anyone else you wanted – Alright!  

Well doesn't that look nice?

In reality, being poly demands total honesty (both with your partner and with yourself), challenges nearly every assumption of “conventional” relationships, including the idea that you can only be in love with/involved with one person at a time, and is one helluva headache when it comes to scheduling. 

But it also opened my eyes to incredible possibilities.  I attended a polyamory conference (only in San Francisco, right?), spoke with a leading poly advocate, read an incredible book about it (called Opening Up) and dated several poly men.  I learned about my own jealousy, limits, and honesty, and even had more than one public crying moment (including an epic incident where I cried on a corner on Mission street, dramatically stalking away from my partner).  I also learned that I loved the honesty of being in an open relationship, the joy of sharing my partner’s joy when they relayed that they’d gone on a really good date, and the examining of my own insecurities, feelings, and how to trust myself.  I learned how to state my own boundaries and discuss big ugly STIs before intimacy even happens. 

So yes, I am coming out as poly, at least for now.  Does this mean I’ll never be monogamous again and will end up on some farm in the middle of nowhere with six husbands, 4 lovers and a few casual dalliances, with so many dates that I don’t actually have time to go to my job?  Probably not.  But I do know that open relationships will always be a viable and potentially preferable, option for me. Yes it’s strange and unconventional, but so am I.  My heart is also full of love and I’d like to share it with as many people as possible, both in friendship and in intimacy.

To all those who are curious/totally freaked out by this, feel free to send/ask me questions.

Let's talk about sex, baby

Sex.  You can’t think of San Francisco and not have some association to sex, to free love, kink, queer cultured woman-positive, dirty, messy, it’s complicated, involving two, three, four, ten, twenty people. 

San Francisco is considered the gay homeland, but beyond that, it’s the home of progressive sex.  It birthed the Lusty Lady, the only worker-owned strip club in North America, and is home to Good Vibrations, one of the first female- and queer-positive sex shops.  It boast Wicked Grounds, a kinky coffee shop, and the Center for Sex and Culture.  It has one of the biggest pride parades in the world, and was the epicenter of “free love” in the 1960s, where piles of hippies would crash together in the park, exchanging words and body fluids.   

SF Pride 2012 - bikes and gayness - two things San Franciscans love! 

San Francisco is also one of the most “open” places I’ve been.  Almost everyone I know who is in a relationship is in an open relationship.  In other words, most of the people I know (myself included – more in part two) are delightfully promiscuous sluts (I use this term with the most endearment, applied to all genders and orientations). 

But really, the LGBTQ community was, is, and continues to be San Francisco’s sexuality hub.  In particularly, this meant that this city felt the AIDS crisis acutely in the ‘80s, and older generations of primarily gay men still remember this sad period of San Francisco’s history, which killed thousands of the city’s young men (at one point, 50% of gay men in San Francisco were infected).  However, the gay and lesbian community rose up and turned the tragedy into a brave political battle against bigotry and for care and comfort of those infected, turning tragedy into hope.  An excellent documentary was made on this, called “We Were Here”.  You can watch the trailer  or stream it online for $5.  As a current San Franciscan, I was glad to be educated about this dark but important part of San Francisco’s history.

Your friendly neighbourhood leather-fans at the Folsom Street Fair

Gay, queer, kink, gender-fluidity and sex of all forms continues to be a big part of the culture.  Tourists in the Castro gawk at naked men reading the sunday paper on a public bench while locals and visitors alike immerse themselves in BDSM, leather and rubber annually at the Folsom Street Fair and related events.

The sexuality of this city took me completely unawares.  In my next post, I’ll share how I’ve had my own personal journey into love, lust and lasciviousness.  

Peace, love and moving by two wheels on the Left Coast

Another few weeks on the beautiful Left Coast, including cycling, hippies, protests and finger-sucking.

At the May Day Protest.  Down with the 1% Man!

On May Day, I went to a protest downtown where laborours, immigrants, anti-poverty activists and the Occupy movement joined together to recognize the massive change needed to protect workers' rights.  Later that day, I visited the Berkeley campus, heart of some of the more radical and noted thinkers of our time, including my personal favourite George Lakoff.  It's amazing to be immersed in this culture of innovation around change - the hopelessness I've felt in other activist events and movements doesn't so much exist here.  From Occupiers to academics, people are trying to change the work for the better.

I saw another version of this when I visited La Tierra, a commune in Sebastopol, north of San Francisco.  A friend had grown up there and she invited me to their May festival, where we (no one will be surprised by this): pot-lucked, played music, danced wildly and wove colourful ribbons around the Maypole. I also got to learn about the history of the commune, how people who lived there have developed "chosen" family members that, while not related to them by blood, are extremely important to them, and how people learned to communicate with each other and problem-solve. It's really quite brilliant - the relationships these people have with each other are WAY healthier than almost any others I've heard of.

At an "energizer station" with my new bike to work day bag in the Presidio, SF

I also celebrated Bike to Work Day with the awesome folks at the SF Bike Coalition.  Now, Bike to Work day is always fun, but in San Francisco, it's a massive celebration.  I'm talking 27 stations with refreshments and high fives, hundreds of volunteers, 10 of the eleven city councillors cycling to work, including the mayor (hear that, Ottawa?), prizes and an awesome bike-party.  I biked to work in heels and a skirt, got fed the entire day, won a sweet golden gate bridge cycling jersey (which now means I'll have to buy matching spandex pants, take 6-hour rides around the bay "just for fun" and nearly run tourists of the GG Bridge), and danced by bum off with three fabulous women I met at the Bike Party.

My friend Alana and I with our fabulous new hairstyles

Oh, and the finger-sucking?  That was at a cinco de mayo party at one of my fav places in San Francisco, El Rio, where I had my hair done for free in a 50s-style beehive, got Navajo fry bread from my buddy Rocky, watched charming burlesque, and met a fabulous gay Israeli man who extremely sensually (and very publicly) liked honey off my fingers.  One thing I'll say for SF - there is nowhere like it.

A Jew goes wandering in the desert...

....oh, you've heard this one before?  Well, this one is a little different.  A few weeks ago, I went to the Panamint Valley near Death Valley with Wilderness Torah for Passover in the Desert.  This was a five-day experience in a stark desert, surrounded by multicoloured mountains and sparsely decorated with scrub bush, pebbles and salt flats.  No shade, no cell service, no electricity, no noise, no skyscrapers, a quiet only defined by the tones of the wind and the occasional sound of a jet engine from a local military base.

I got involved with Wilderness Torah when I went to an event of theirs and was delighted to find a group of Jews who were motivated by their spiritual connection to the environment, social justice, and yes, patchouli.  Thinking I'd come into the office a few times a month and organize files, I was instead drawn into the Lev, or organizing committee, of the Passover in the Desert festival.  Through this, I got to help organize and carry out one of the most beautiful, emotional, quiet, and deep experiences I've had.

So what happens when a group of Jews go wandering in the desert?  Here's a summary:

• fierce, unrelenting winds and dust uninhibited by tall buildings and powerful warm rainstorms and snow which was evaporated by a hot desert sun the next day
• teams of just as unrelenting volunteers creating colourful, blanket-adorned shelters that welcome attendees into an otherwise naked landscape
• a loving kitchen team that filled our bellies with passover-kosher home-made pickles, massaged kale salads, vegan matzoh ball soups, stewed dried figs, matzoh brei, sweet and hearty quinoa, healing teas, matzah tiramisu, fresh and nourishing fruits and almond butters which kept us hydrated, joyful and able to immerse ourselves in the wonder of the desert
• a slow weaning away from time, schedules, emails, phones, where we were instead defined by drums and fire dancers, prayer and laughter, sharing feelings and emotion, more sharing, and more sharing (we are hippies after all), where we were called to meals by the blowing of the shofar (ram's horn) and greeted by guitar and dancing
• learning about passover, counting the olmert (don't ask me to explain it), LGBTQ issues in Judaism, the BDS movement of Jews in the US, and how to make Passover really, really tasty
• Hearing about Rock, the one resident in the Panamint Valley ghosttown of Balarat who sells beer for a dollar out of a cooler in his house and likely burned down a mining camp about 20 years ago for reasons unknown
• snakes, scorpions, birds, ants and packs of wild, wandering burros (don't mess with them)
• hugs, dancing, cuddle piles, singing, freestyle beatboxing (by yours truly), incredible new friends and connections and a team of inspirational leaders to work with in putting on this amazing festival.
• a stillness nearly impossible in the rush of the city and the race of our lives

I also, for the first time, experienced meditation of a sort.  The kind of meditation in which you think "okay, slow your breath, clear your mind.  Clearrrrr....yourrrr....miiiiind.  Hey, what's that bird doing?  He's so cute.  No wait, stop it!  Clear....your...ah, my leg itches.  I should have put on more sunscreen.  I wonder if those dates will be put out for dinner.  I liked the dates. With almond butter and...oh crap!  I have to clearrr....my....stupid overactive mind...I've got an hour more of this.  Oh screw it.  I'm taking a nap."  Although I felt I had failed at my meditation, a kind new friend explained to me that 90% of meditation is simply getting yourself to the cushion.  And so I've taken to doing an occasional 5 minute meditation which slows me down just enough to have a lasting effect throughout the day.


And so I returned from the timeless inspiration of the desert, changed not monumentally, but in small ways.  Am I more religious? Not so much.  But I do feel so very hopeful and inspired that there are Jews like me who believe strongly in our cultural tradition's connection to the land.  Thank you Panamint and thank you to the incredible families, elders, youth, teachers, students and organizers for what is one of my most memorable experiences.

Upon a rainy return...

Ah, so THIS is what a San Francisco winter is supposed to be. It's been raining/misting/spitting/generally being in a moist sort of way for the past three days. But it's a good thing - the ground is thirsty for it. It's actually the most rain I've seen in San Francisco since I arrived in October. I'd actually begun to believe this whole rain thing was a myth, especially when biking around in february in a t-shirt.

But as the rain comes, I am going back to Canada for a visit. I'm terrifically excited to see my friends and family. I got spoilt in Ottawa and Toronto - I've such deep, inspiring, emotional friendships that I got used to connecting easily. Here, I've really had to show the best of myself - I have to wait until I've hung out with someone at least three times before I get drunk and throw up on their shoes, lest I ruin an early friendship.

But I've still managed to connect to some of the amazing people here, including the awesome folks at swing dancing in Golden Gate Park, my former roommate Liah who quit her job as a computer programmer to make whimsical masks and earrings full time, and my friend Eric, who leads an incredible NGO called EMERGENCY USA, which helps build high-quality medical facilities in war-torn regions.

In fact, one of my new friends went with me to Lake Tahoe for skiiing. If you aren't familiar with Lake Tahoe, it's THE outdoor playground for pretty much everyone in San Francisco and area. And there's a good reason - it's astoundingly beautiful. Big ole snow-capped mountains that surround a rough blue lake, with a whole pile of ski resorts nearby. In the summer, people come to swim, sunbath (probably) hunt and (probably) get liquored up. Plus, lots of the small towns nearby easily and happily have started their own um, agricultural economies of a certain green plant. And if you get bored of all that, there's always the terrifically depressing gambling town of Reno to visit - what's not to like??

But back to the skiing. I hadn't been downhill skiing in about 12 years and imagined I'd look something like this. And, true to my prediction, I fell at least twice while getting off the ski lift before I was gently encouraged to lean forward when pushing off the seat. I did surprisingly well, having only one wipeout and even managed to go faster than some of the 5-year olds learning on the beginner hill beside me. I laughed heartily at them and then felt pretty good about myself.

I also did a gorgeous hike on Mount Tamalpais, about 45 minutes north of San Francisco. And this is the beauty of the coast - you can ski in one place, travel half a day south, and lie on the beach somewhere else.

I'll miss California while I'm gone, but I'm looking forward to giving hugs so big and fierce my arms threaten to fall off. Sayonara San Francisco - save me a piece of sourdough for when I get back.

Just a regular week in California....

This was my week:

I high-fived Jeff Bridges (aka "The Dude" from the Big Lebowski) and enjoyed an amazing cheese plate on Saturday night. I'm not sure what was better.

I stood within one foot (I use "feet" now that I'm in America, y'all) of the bike used in the movie "ET," saw the mechanical T-rex used in Jurassic Park (much smaller and cuter in real life than on the screen), and meditated at the sun-dappled Yoda fountain

I partied with drag queens, goths, bunnies and other creative types at a Burning Man pre-party.

And I started and finished the weekend in Golden Gate Park, whose ground was not covered in snow, but in new, tiny daisies.

Okay, this isn't really a regular week here, but it did give me great appreciation for what I'm able to experience here. Also, I really, really, really like being able to jog in a t-shirt and bike every single day without ski goggles, gloves, snow pants, coat, scarf, hat, ear muffs, boots, extra socks, balaclava....

But one of the best parts of the week? A friend from home is visiting today - hooray! And, call me crazy, but I'm going to Lake Tahoe on the weekend and I'm really excited to see my first snow of the winter! Hopefully my California sun-warmed skin will be able to handle it. I've grown to be SUCH a delicate flower.

The Great (Kosher) Outdoors

The past few weeks, my attention has been focused on the birds and the bees....and the water and the trees and the rocks and the desert and the forest. Yes, I've not forgotten that I'm an "environmentalist," out to "save the world" with the glow of organic produce in my cheeks and fashionable fair-trade hemp underwear covering my caboose.

These past few weeks I've been in touch with the natural world in a variety of ways. Last week, I enjoyed the company of some of the wonderful individuals at San Francisco Baykeeper, while we went out on the ocean checking for pollution, Danger Bay style. These guys do lots of excellent work in a watershed serving 10 million people and a whackload more aquatic, bird, plant and mammal life. And the sue the crap out of polluters - the american justice system at its finest.

It's funny - when you live the heart of the city, you almost forget that you are surrounded by water. And so yesterday, I took an easy bike ride through Golden Gate Park and ended up at Ocean Beach. Now I've not been at the ocean some time, and after struggling with my bike up a sandy embankment, I was faced with a breathtaking scene of white waves cresting long along a limitless, sandy shore. Shoes kicked off, I meandered down, lay my bike in the sand, and soaked my toes in the crisp surf of the ocean, letting myself wander back and forth according to the tide. Although I know this sounds like hippy-dippy silliness, you do get a sort of a primal pull to the water and to the earth when you step on the sand and into the ocean. It will knock you over if you aren't careful and will entice you deeper, only to surprise you with generous waves, one on top of the other, that confidently soak your pants (not that this happened to me. No, I was much too careful to come giggle and sopping wet out of the ocean).

I know I am one of many who recognizes the connection you get when facing the magnificence of nature. This week, I was introduced to an incredible organization based in Berkeley called Wilderness Torah. A little background: I'm one of those Jews who say I'm culturally Jewish (ie I'm kind of "meh" on the whole god thing but I love me a pile of steaming, golden crispy latkes and regularly kvetch about everything I can. Oy, the skirts girls wear these days!). Although I've been involved in Jewish organizations, and I do love that musty, old-person smell of the synagogue, I've never felt very connected to the spirituality of my religion. Wilderness Torah is working to connect Jews with the very present - but seemingly forgotten - connection to the natural world our religion has. It does this through educational programs with children and youth as well as providing pretty neat-o ways of celebrating holidays in places like the Red Wood forest or the Joshua Tree desert. I love this. I've always felt that the environmental aspect of Judaism has been largely ignored but is ever-present in the scriptures and I'm so pleased that this organization exists. I hope to volunteer with them, learn more, and who knows - maybe I'll find myself a nice vegan-socialist-fair-trade Jewish lawyer to marry.

Gaining and losing a home

Last week I celebrated American Thanksgiving (look closely - this turkey already has cooking utensils with it. How convenient!). This is a holiday that celebrates appreciation and thanks, and the historical trade in which indigenous people in what is now the U.S. showed settlers how to fish and hunt and in return were given the gift of whisky and syphilis.

But for most Americans, this holiday is about family (be it good friends, neighbours, family members) and home. I was fortunate enough to spend my thanksgiving with extended family near Sacramento.

I was worried a little bit because my expectation of this holiday was that I was going to eat until I could no longer move, and then pass out, pants undone and drooling in front of some American football (if the food didn't make me pass out, the football would). But then I was told that the people hosting tended to be "healthy" people, and I feared we would be given sprouted mung beans and a slice of apple for dessert. Not that these things aren't good, but really, I'm living in the fattest nation in the world, and I feel I should do my part to pack on as much poundage as possible while I'm here.

I needn't have worried. The overloaded table groaned with appetizers, rich bowls of potatoes, yams, gravy, beans, warm baskets of bread, a huge, tender turkey, cheesecake, fruit, pie, and fruit custard cake. It also happened that the host grew his own grapes and was an amateur wine maker. So, only to be polite, I threw back several glasses of very good wine. I recognized then and there that Thanksgiving could become one of my favorite holidays.

However, thanksgiving is also the day before the most horrific day in the United States - Black Friday, a massive consumer holiday where people push, shove, and pepper-spray each other to get the "best deals" so they can carp to their neighbours on how much money they saved. The irony of this being that in fact, they did not save money - they spent it. If you save $100 off a $400 his and hers matching chamber pots, you've still spent $300. On matching chamber pots.

This year especially, this massive consumeristic holiday is particularly disturbing. As a Canadian, I read about people losing their homes and their savings but it was never that tangible and being in San Francisco, I hadn't really thought too much about it. But over the few days I stayed with my relatives, they listed off five or six families who have had to move into apartments or friends' and families' homes because they lost their own in the recession. And the saddest part of this is that this group included a young family, a grandmother, and a couple in which one worked as a successful architect, and some of these folks had been in their homes for decades. It doesn't seem to matter who you are - one wrong turn and, because of a recession caused largely by corporate greed and irresponsible government, anyone could have ended up without a home, not just those who made poor financial decisions around new mortgages.

In an age in which people are not only losing their homes, but it is happening enough that almost everyone knows of several people who are desperately looking for a place to live, I find Black Friday not only troubling in of itself, but an affront to all the people who are now suffering through bankruptcy, homelessness, and shame.

But hey, at least we all have the God-given freedom to purchase as many Star Trek Pizza Cutters as we can get for 75% off at Wal Mart.

Tonight I had dinner with a Nobel Peace Prize laureate.

And she ate all the fried artichokes we ordered.

Last week, I chatted over tea with John Perkins, author of, among others, the best-selling Confessions of an Economic Hit Man. A few weeks ago, I shared a car ride with Vicki Robbin who, way ahead of her time, wrote Your Money or Your Life which questioned the assumption that one can actually choose a simpler life of almost complete happiness by rejecting the idea of insatiable wealth (what, you mean happiness doesn't come from having so much money that you can shower in Patron tequila every day, Festoon your pet ferret with diamonds and eat only endangered Siberian tigers because you can?).

In exchange for all of these experts sharing their well-conceived ideas andgroundbreaking concepts with me, I have, in return, and in their presence, babbled, rambled, got a bit drunk, possibly drooled, and giggled like a 13 year old girl in the presence of Justin Bieber. I think it was a fair exchange.

Holy eff - how did I end up here? In the past month, I've experienced several brain melts from incredible information and conversations with people eons more magnificently brilliant than me. My mind has blown more times than a mountaintop mine in West Virginia. I'd like to think that all the intelligence has in some form rubbed off on me, and I think it has. I feel thoughts are gelling in my head and ideas of what I want to do in the future are coming together (though it could be the pot. I've not even smoked it once you arrive in San Francisco, you become a pothead by default. Walking along the street you are automatically high. Even dogs get stoned when they go on a walk).

I've come to the conclusion that San Francisco is a magical place, more magical than unicorns and marshmallow trees and rainbow-laden three-tailed puppy dogs. Ergo, I expect all of you to come visit me and bask in the waves of progressive thought. Or at least eat Chinese food and smoke pot until you can no longer walk.

We the people

Okay, so I lied. I was going to tell you about my new apartment, how on my first night in my bright red room (complete with a peace sign tapestry and a Frida Kahlo beaded curtain), I was serenaded at 2 in the morning by my downstairs neighbours wailing the Credence Clearwater Revival Woodstock hippie classic song "Who'll stop the rain," and that I've got huge pair of fishnet-clad plastic legs kicking out of the window across from my room.

But something else happened - I went to Oakland for the General Strike, a part of the Occupy Oakland movement. Oakland is across the Bay from San Francisco, and in parts, is rather downtrodden and economically depressed. However, it is also an incredible intersection of all types of diversity. It has also become a central focus in the Occupy movement due to, among other things, the police assault on a peaceful protester who also happens to be an Iraq war vet. Last week, the organizers of the movement called for a general strike, encouraging everyone to stay home from work and school and join them at the site in solidarity.

Now I've been thinking a lot about the Occupy movements and am increasingly fascinated and excited by what is happening. People are self-organizing with relatively little hierarchy and direction, ensuring everyone is fed (mostly) ensuring everyone is safe (though I understand in Ottawa there have been very scary claims of sexual assault). The movements are finding creative ways around barriers set in their midst (such as at Wall Street, where they've developed an extremely clever human microphone system after a noise volume regulation was issued) and providing spaces where people can learn, discuss, meditate and share. When I found out about the General Strike, I felt it was an opportunity to finally get involved. And so I packed myself on to the Bay Area Rapid Transit system, "I'm joining a credit union" sign in hand, and headed east.

Chanting reached my ears as I got off the train, and I emerged into the sunlight amongst young folks, old folks, people of a vast diversity of race, religion, gender, sexuality and socio-economic status. The energy in the area swept me up immediately in an embrace of solidarity. Now I'm not really the kind to get sucked in emotionally but seeing so many people out to really change the status quo brought tears to my eyes more than once.

I wasn't able to stay the whole day but watched with wonder as the movement shut down the ports and with anger as they had to face an ugly clash with police (which the media singularly focused on, rather than the thousands of people who took to the streets). I was inspired by the folks who, facing foreclosure on their homes, went into the a bank branch with furniture and set up a living room in which they sat, refusing to leave and saying to the bank that since they had taken their homes, they had no where else to go.

There is such power in this movement, my friends, such overwhelming, positive energy. I am starting to think that we are at a turning point. People are frustrated that the lie of "work hard and you'll succeed" that they were sold is clearly not coming to fruition. People are ashamed that they can't provide for their families and tired of sitting back as their communities fall apart. These occupy movements, along with the Arab spring and the riots in Europe, are, I hope, heralding in a new paradigm that is more equitable and fosters cooperation and community decision-making.

They don't have all the answers bundled in neat little talking points, and they don't need to. If governments around the world can't figure out how the solve the problems, why the hell should the people have it all figured out. What they have figured out is that our society is failing and things have got to change.

I recognize that this posting is not really as humourous as the others, and I promise I'll return to my silly self in the next posting. But in the meantime, Iencourage all of you to do one thing to help move forward this extremely exciting societal change. Join a credit union and then explain to your big bank why you are breaking up with them, write a letter to the media about what's happening, bring the Occupy movements in your area warm drinks and food, talk to your friends and colleagues about it, participate yourself. This is the people's movement. Let's all be a part of it.

EARTHQUAKE!

Last week, in mid sentence with my boss, the earth a-grumbled and shook. Less a terrifying tremor and more a gentle nudge, but a genuine, 100% Californian Earthquake. Especially ironic is that it happened the same day as the Great California ShakeOut earthquake drill, in which everyone who signs up is supposed to all jump under their desks, pop themselves in a doorway, duct-tape themselves to the floor, or whatever it is one does during an earthquake. I of course, in my vast earthquake experience, knew exactly what to do: I kept talking and felt the building shake but didn't mentally register it until my boss said "that was an earthquake." I think it's a defensive mechanism, like the time in the middle of the night that I had a rat run between my feet, felt the fur, and told myself it was the cat. But we didn't have a cat. I'm comforted that, in a state of emergency, my mind will clearly and forcefully evade reality and I'll enter danger in a state of complete blissful unawareness. It may limit my survival chances, but at least I'll be happy.

Speaking of survival, I started biking to work last week. Now, I've commuted for some time and consider myself relatively hardcore. But let me tell you: Rather than feeling (and looking) like this on the road I more felt and looked like this (complete with that abject look of terror at seeing the next five blocks of hill) whilst struggling up on my lowest gear. Most of my bike-based encounters with San Francisco have gone something like this:

Me (to myself): "Oh, this hill doesn't look so bad"

five minutes later

Me: "Okay! Made it up the first two."

five seconds later, upon seeing the next hill

Me: "holy mother of blessed #&@*@)!"

approximately 15 minutes later, while cars, people walking, dogs, squirrels, and old folk with walkers, all of whom race by me while I go slower than the speed of retreating glaciers impacted by climate change.

Me: "ouchouchouchouchouchouch!" Then there's usually some self-pity, almost crying, almost throwing up, and utter despair. But when I do make it, oy, what views! I'll get pictures up eventually but the vistas are simply spectacular.

While it is difficult, it's not as bad as it seems. I bought an incredible bike map with great, more flat routes on it, and the left wing commie pinkos in the city have made it surprisingly bike-friendly. So much so that the cab drivers, rather than deliberately cutting you off (as they do in Ontario), actually give you plenty of space, as do the other drivers. No one honks at each other (for the most part) and people are really patient. I think there are two reasons for this: 1) everyone is stoned, as per west coast tradition and 2) everyone is incredulous that people bike here, and hold respect for those making it up the hills by bike. Or maybe they just think cyclists have completely lost their marbles and so give them plenty of space to avoid any psychotic incidents from people happily torturing themselves on two wheels.

But I'll continue to grind along, anticipating breathtaking climbs and even more breathtaking vistas, and appreciating the strength in my body that allows me to push so hard. And also, once in a while, taking the bus.

Next time...a new abode, a new adventure.

Of progress, connectivity and drug deals

One of the things I've been lacking of late is the motivation to go to lectures and presentations. In my first year in Ottawa, I did this quite a bit and was always touched/angered/saddened/inspired in some way at the end. In my second week in San Francisco, I got an ultra-immersion in mind-expanding lectures, and has helped me realize what I can access in this amazing town.

The first event I attended was at Stanford (oooh, fancy!), with an incredible organization called World Pulse. World Pulse is a global media voice for women - they produce a magazine featuring the stories of women around the world. But perhaps most incredible is the online platform they offer for women to globally connect with each other, pulling themselves out of isolation and supporting each other. One particularly resounding story was told by one of the guests at the lecture, one of their "citizen journalists" from Uganda. All her brothers have died of AIDS and her mother was a widow. When the last brother died, the village elders planned to come round (as per tradition) and take her land, as a woman is not allowed to keep property. Despairing, the citizen journalist posted on World Pulse that this was happening and received a flood of emails of support from women all around the world, some of whom offered to come down and sit in front of the house in protest. She told her mother, who stood up to the elders, and said "I am not giving up my land and I have 100 friends from around the world who will come here and support me." The elders reluctantly backed off and she got to keep her house. This incredible evening was topped off by a meal at Calafia , a restaurant founded by the original chef who ran the kitchens at Google, and who now serves awesome mostly local and organic food.

The next day, I went to a conference of the Bioneers. What the F is a bioneer, you may ask (I sure did)? The Bioneers are "inspiring a shift to live on earth in ways that honor the web of life, each other, and future generations." What makes these guys different from most other world-saving groups is that they have managed to connect with folks all over the world and are taking a really multi-disciplined approach to social and environmental change. The conference featured interactive workshops, an indigenous rights and learning track, sessions on everything from young farmers to race in the environmental movement (a panel entirely of women of colour), current campaigns, the potential of mushrooms to save the world, and the BEST plenary speakers I've ever seen at any one event. This included the incredible, funny, super smart and seminal thinker and activist Gloria Steinem who broke (and continues to break) gender barriers and was one of the first women to talk about race in feminism. The other thing that was so neat was how many times the "occupy Wall Street" movement came up. Almost everyone in the conference mentioned it and cheered them on - there's a real feeling of energy that things may indeed be changing. This optimism and spirit was enthralling and for me, was absolutely contagious.

It got me thinking a lot about connectivity, both in terms of the fact that social movements are really understanding that every issue is connected and none can be addressed in isolation, but also, that internet and technology could really be a force for massive change (and not just porn).

Now, you may be saying, who cares about all this "inspiration" crap - tell me about the drug deals! Okay, okay. I may or may not have put that in the headline to attract attention, but it does feed in. During my search for housing, I've started to look at Residential Hotels, places where you can pay weekly or monthly. They usually (but not always) consist of a room, a kitchen and common space shared by the whole building and bathrooms and showers shared by your floor (a lot like university residence without the large amount of drinking and throwing up everywhere...most of the time). In visiting these places, I stopped at one in the Tenderloin which turned out not to be a residential hotel, but the kind woman said a) don't live in this area, but if you really want to, b) there is a place a few doors up which you can check out. So, I marched out, backpack on, smile on my face, and within about 30 seconds (this was around noon on a Monday), the following happened:

1) a dude walked by and said "Damn girl! What you been eating to look like that?"

2) about five seconds later, another dude pulled out a little bag of something and gave it to some other dude in exchange for cash. Drug deal!

Now, not that it's not convenient to have both potential dates with guys on the street and easy access to drugs, but something about that experience made me decide to keep walking. Maybe it was also the fact that a few nights before, in the same area, I walked by a guy squatting on the ground, smoking a cigarette, and wearing no pants. Seriously. I mean, I'm down with no pants dance parties (as some of you may know from a recent Ottawa event), but this was something else entirely.

Long (long, long) story short, I'm still looking for housing. I've seen places but so far haven't been offered anything (even the house that smelled like pot, had stained carpets and life-sized cutouts of Star Trek characters). So I continue to live in the hostel, where the people are mostly friendly and the location is convenient.

In the next episode: I got a bike! Ouch, my legs! Seriously!