Things I Learned at BlogHer12 (that they didn’t actually teach me)


(1) Just because a woman has ‘succulent’ in her blog name does not, repeat NOT, mean she has an erotica blog. Do not assume it. And, for the love of Henry, do not ask her to her face if she writes a sexy blog. She doesn’t. You will feel like a schmuck. And you will be forced to stand there for 10 minutes staring at each other and making small talk about the decor in the room around you.

(2) Know that when you have ‘tits’ in your blog name there is a risk of offending 1 in 2 people at BlogHer12. Seek these people out intentionally.

(3) Make people uncomfortable by asking them to determine whether or not you actually got the ‘new tits’ referenced in your blog title. Wear different quantities of bra padding daily to throw off your fellow attendees.

(4) Use your phone’s texting feature to communicate silently with your friends during moments where someone is speaking at a podium. Or you will be shushed. Often. And very stink-eyedly by the lady in front of you. And then you’ll realize that you have now made an enemy. Cover your name badge so she can’t associate you with immaturity and selfishness. If possible, steal your friend’s name badge so only she is slandered by this self-righteous woman.

(5) Realize that if you or your writing partners are too funny on the above mode of communication (mentioned in #4), your efforts will be futile because one of you will inexplicably burst out laughing and look like a complete asshole in an otherwise quiet room.

(6) Try to make your friend be the one who looks like the asshole (mentioned in #5) by outfunnying them. (Yes, it IS a word. Look it up.) (Pause for effect … and because at least one dumb ass will look it up.) (Fine. I owe you a Coke.)

(7) Know that, because you are new, you will not be invited to any of the special parties being hosted at the event. Decide that it is okay and secretly plot a pigs-blood-from-Carrie moment for next year’s convention against one of the popular girls. Then put it as #7 in your post so that everyone actually sees it and starts sweating it out wondering “Oh, shit. Will it be me?” as they make mental notes to leave all white clothing at home next summer.

(8) Regret that you wrote #7 but, instead of deleting it from your list, simply apologize to everyone and let them know that you will not be bringing any pig blood to Blogher13. Mostly because you’d need more than 2 ounces of it so airport security would just take it away anyway. Get fired up thinking about airport security and start googling ‘pig farms’ and ‘slaughterhouses’ in Chicago because the whole ‘Carrie’ plan is back on … but now targeted at airport security.

(9) Prepare your family for your inevitable arrest at O’Hare next year when you throw a suitcase of pig blood on the security team because you are fed up with being body-scanned every time you travel.

(10) Hope that everyone reading has a funny bone located somewhere in the 206 bones of the human body (nerd reference … so that you can walk away saying you learned at least one thing reading this post). Remind everyone that you are just an idiot who writes pretty much whatever you want. Sound convincing when you assure them that when they meet you in person you will only politely say “Nice to meet you. And what do YOU write about?” … while secretly clenching a small vial of pig’s blood in your clenched fist. Just in case.

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A big shout out to my roommate and homegirl (I can say that because I’m white), Mel at According to Mags, for not stealing my kidney or posting naked pictures of me on the internet after rooming with me on the very first day she met me.

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We brought dates to the Sparklecorn party. (And now you guys really think I’m obsessed with blood.)

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If we’re very lucky … Mel’s Christmas card.

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Can’t wait ’til next year!

Attention all sponsors … I will wear, eat, say, write, demonstrate, juggle, sleep on, dropkick, sing about, paint, annihilate, augment, hurl, imitate, read, cheese-cover or endorse anything if you pay my way to Chicago in 2013.
“Well … almost anything,” she added cryptically.

.

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In response to MamaKat’s writing prompt: write a blog post inspired by the word “fired.”

Fine. I took a few liberties. As in I searched my posts for the word “fired.” It appears in #8 of this post. As in “fired up.” And I laughed out loud when I re-read it. I wonder if anyone else finds me as funny as I do. (sigh)

Poche, party of one? Poche, party of one?

The Cat & The Hamster (An Original Fable for Trifecta)


Trifecta – On The Road edition. What do you do with the downtime you get at a writing conference in NYC? I mean … besides sifting through your cool, new convention swag* or buying a blingy Faux-lex watch from the drug dealer on the street corner.  Well, duh. You WRITE!

  • swag/swag/ – According to the Urban Dictionary … an acronym created by a group of men in the United States during the 1960s that means Secretly – We – Are – Gay.
  • A Note to my Readers … Please know I am using the more traditional interpretation of the word to reference the many stress balls, t-shirts, tote bags and flash light pens that you take home from a convention and not the Urban Dictionary reference above … which would totally change the meaning of how I spent my afternoon at an all women’s convention.

Anyway, Mel at According to Mags and I are taking a little breather in our room before we head back into the madness to celebrate the closing functions. (Bet they’ll outdo the ceremonies in London.) But first … we just wanted to take a moment to work up a quick entry for this weekend’s writing challenge. “Tell us an original fable in exactly 33 words.”

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The Cat & The Hamster

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“No, you can’t fit,” argued Cat. “I’ll bet you a week of seeds.” Smug with certainty, Hamster climbed willingly into Cat’s mouth. And the chewing began. “Dumbass,” laughed Cat. “Cats don’t eat seeds.”

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Happy Birthday, MTV! Just for today, you can call me Martha Quinn.


I’m linking this post up with Mama Kat’s weekly writer’s workshop. She offers five different prompts. And I chose this one: How has music changed since you were a child? When I scanned the entries, I didn’t see too many responses to this question. Which surprised me. And I was immediately reminded of this little homage I wrote almost a year ago on the 31st anniversary of my old friend, MTV. When that channel first came out and I was a kid … well, let’s just call it Camelot. Weird, gender-bending, do-I-like-him-or-do-I-just-admire-his-eye-makeup Camelot. Enjoy.


I’m hurrying to pack for my trip to NYC so today’s post is a short one. Short only on words, but long on undying love and eternal gratitude. I just wanted to wish a very special happy birthday to one of my oldest and dearest friends, MTV. You’re 31 today so it’s probably time to start thinking about settling down and maybe adding a few little MTV Jrs. to your household. Oh, and you might want to join a gym for that spare tire, old friend.

Anyway, thanks for helping me cultivate the “good” fashion sense I have today, distracting me from my homework and just generally rocking my youth. Here on this blog I’d like to share a few (dozen) of my favorite MTV videos from my tween/teen years. I’m guessing some of them haven’t been shown in decades.

In no particular order, here are my Top 25. Or at least the top 25 I could actually find online. Let’s begin with this one … since it’s where it all started for you guys. It’s still on my iPod, by the way.

 

Yep. This stuff passed for cool, it passed for fashion and, most of all, it passed for entertainment back in my day. And, since I actually heard my (poor, corrupted by his parents) boy singing Sixty-Eight Guns in his room yesterday, I’m going to label it all … timeless. I feel less old that way. Thanks for the memories!

Oh, and I’m just curious to all reading … which one’s your favorite?

Which one’s your LEAST favorite?

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If you could write a letter to Money, what would you say? (For Wells Fargo)


Wells Fargo is having a contest. A contest that awards money. Which is honestly one of my favorite things in life. It takes me to foreign places, it brings me cheese and it helps me to spoil my kids with things like, I don’t know, socially-acceptable rodents. For that reason, when I saw this contest via Blogher as a means of discussing my lifelong relationship with money … well, I just couldn’t resist writing it a little letter. Enjoy.

Dear Money,

I wanted to drop you a quick line to check in and see if everything was okay. Have I offended you in some way? It seems like just a few years ago we hung out every day but now I see less and less of you. Was it because I flaunted the idea of using you frivolously for a boob job? Yes, it’s true. I was considering it but have tabled the idea for a while due to some health problems we discovered.

Honestly, whatever it is that I did, I want to apologize wholeheartedly. You and I have had a pretty solid relationship most of my life. And I felt very close to you until recently. Whenever I’ve needed you, you’ve always been there. Even if you were the last one to show up! Sometimes I think you liked watching me sweat it out a little. 🙂

But now you hardly ever stop by. And, when you do, it’s never for the kind of quality visits we use to have together. Remember the lunches, the pedis, the vacations? You just don’t seem to have time for me anymore. Haven’t I been good to you? Haven’t I always appreciated you?

Please consider coming for a visit when you have a chance. Dave, the kids and I would love to take you to dinner sometime soon.

Wishing you were here,

Michele

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There should be a weight limit to determine who gets to be on the Christmas card


Last week, we finally got around to celebrating my girl’s birthday … which was in May. Don’t judge. We all have busy lives, right? Anyway, we had a roller skating party for a bunch of her little girlfriends. And I LOVE how important it still is for her to say “Mama, come skate with us!” I DON’T love that my butt still hurts from the two spills I took at the party. (The first was a shoelace malfunction so I chalk only the second up to genetic spazzery.)

Anyway … my point is that we’ll pretty much do anything for our kids. Right? Of course, right. Which is the perfect lead in to today’s post. Remember that hamster my girl’s been angling for since last Spring? The one she swore she could keep Milo from ingesting?

Yeah, THAT one.

Well, a mother can only take so much begging. I guess I kept thinking about the cats … and dogs … and birds … and gerbils … and newts … and fish … and whatever else we managed to coerce MY parents into getting for us as kids. And I broke down. As always, Dave was there long before I was. But he had a pet nutria as a kid, for freak’s sake.

So, with my boy sleeping out the night of the party, it was just Dave, my girl and me. And naturally, I thought “What better way to pass the evening than to bring a rodent intentionally into the house?”

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Three pet store visits and $50 later … and we had him.

We must have seen at least 30 hamsters that night but my girl honed in on hers immediately. She liked him because he was the runt and he was all wet because he kept spastically falling into his own water bowl. (Sigh.) Do we really need another clumsy little freak around here?

So, anyway, without further ado, please allow me to present the latest member of our family …

  • the one Milo is most excited about …
  • he poops in your hand but not in your … (Bet I could turn that into the world’s grossest M&M slogan)
  • your hamster … and mine

Herve!

(Pause for applause. or laughter. your call)
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Are you thinking of Fantasy Island, too? Because I just can’t shake it.

I just know this little varmint is going to provide me with miles and miles of blog fodder. So, thanks in advance, Herve. I realize you might actually be a female but my girl said your name would still work because it’s “HER-ve.” … What’s that? Please just shut up and go with it. You’re a hamster. What do YOU care?” … (cough, sputter) I mean, uh … Welcome …

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… and please don’t kill me.

(Sigh)

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read to be read at yeahwrite.me

If At First You Don’t Succeed … (for Trifecta)


Trifecta — “Give us a 33-word opening line to your book.  That’s it.  Make us want to read the next 333 pages of your work. “

Seems easy enough. Right? (Insert canned laughter here. Befitting of the pop culture reference below.)

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If at first you don’t succeed …

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He woke to the smell of a hot breakfast. Opening his eyes, he saw the walls of his childhood bedroom. The Gong Show desk calendar said 1977. He was 8. “Not again,” thought Henry Beckett, 43.

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One of the many reasons I used The Gong Show as my 1977 reference …

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Will the Real ODNT Please Stand Up?


Ever been told you have a twin? I have. A lot. And the faces to which I’m compared are usually famous ones to which I see little or no resemblance. Case in point: Janet Jackson? I’ve never gotten that one. I lack something there, but I just can’t quite put my finger on it.

And then there are the non-famous faces … like “that girl who sat behind me in Algebra class who always wore the Nirvana t-shirt with the big rip in the sleeve.”  I never make their acquaintance and thus never get the chance to see how I really measure up to these poor souls.

Until now.

A writing friend of mine (Hi, JD!) recently sent me a picture … a video really … of an event that took place in San Diego a year ago. She was surprised to see me there. And so was I. Because I wasn’t.

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What do you think?

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I attempted (somewhat lazily) to replicate the picture for dramatic effect.

After getting over the initial humor of the similarity (my son laughed OUT LOUD for ten minutes), I suddenly started to worry that maybe she was my evil twin. Or … even worse … maybe I’m the evil twin. (Although I almost never wear an eye patch and I haven’t used my freezing death ray in years.) I’ll bet she’s got better shoes. And she’s probably multi-lingual.

Do y’all think we could switch out lives like in The Parent Trap? Maybe I should be calling Lifetime to pitch an idea for The New Patty Duke Show. Except we wouldn’t call it The Patty Duke Show because that would be stupid. Oooh! Unless we could get Patty Duke to sign on as our Executive Producer … or maybe she could play our wisecracking old landlord.

The possibilities are endless. I’d better get right on it ….

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read to be read at yeahwrite.me

If you could turn Laverne & Shirley into Monica & Rachel, wouldn’t you? WOULDN’T YOU?


Quick! Name the top 5 tasks waiting for you at the Gates of Hell:

  1. Scrubbing the toilet
  2. Cleaning out … and I mean really wiping down the nasty, unidentified oozings of … the refrigerator
  3. Perusing the aisles of an arts & crafts store
  4. Dieting
  5. Packing a suitcase

Believe it or not, these are my top 5. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I’d rather be ditch digging or embalming people or anything. It’s just that I’m talking about stuff that I actually have to do … all the time … that I HATE. The good news is that most of these bullets were dodged yesterday. Numbers one, two, three … all completely averted. Number four … well, it’s always there, hanging around my neck like a noose. Which leaves number five. Oh, how I hate you, number five. And yet somehow, for the first time ever, I managed to have a little fun with you yesterday.

My friend, Mel, and I are attending a conference in NYC in a week and thought it might be a good idea to start talking about what we should wear … and pack. (Sigh.) So, we got together yesterday … and I mean “virtually” because we live over 1,000 miles apart. (Go ahead. Call me a nerd now. Get it over with.)

Naturally, we thought it was appropriate to record the whole thing online. For kicks. (Completely normal, right?) And we both learned a few things about each other as well as (hanging head in shame) ourselves in the whole humiliating process.

Have you ever seen TLC’s What Not To Wear? Yeah? Well, we could be their poster children. Click on the side-by-side picture below to see a video of two walking wardrobe malfunctions … live and in action.

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P.S. Can someone please get me a Mucinex? This cold I’ve been fighting for over a week now has me sounding like Fran Freakin’ Drescher!

P.P.S. If you think Mel and I are the perfect combination of train wreck spazzery and hopeless comedy of errors for this contest, please let the good people at Microsoft know in the comments below. Don’t sit idly by when YOU can actually help clean up this mess.

P.P.P.S. (Holy crap, that’s three Ps.) Please tweet our buddy @KristinaLibby using the hashtag #windowstyle at Microsoft to tell her she needs to send help … and snacks … immediately!

Sample tweet — @kristinalibby Please pick @AccordingToMags & @OldDogNewTits for the #windowstyle makeover at #Blogher12. http://wp.me/p1LoLK-2rK

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Mel & Michele …

They’re magically delicious, recommended by four out of five dentists and so good, cats ask for them by name.

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In writing this post, I’m entering the Microsoft Windows Style Makeover Sweepstakes for a chance to win a head to toe makeover!

Video above is no longer live.


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ODNT Field Trip – Tabasco Factory


Since the success of our last field trip to Kleinpeter Dairy Farms, Virginia and I have been trying to plan a day to hit the road again with our five kids to visit Avery Island, home of the McIlhenny Company and everything Tabasco.  Yesterday was that day. And we certainly had our work cut out for us.

2 hours, 32 minutes ………. 137.1 miles

The above trip time doesn’t account for the driving, sideways rain we navigated through yesterday, so the trip took a little longer than expected … plus it included a lunch stop at Subway along the way. (Sidebar: If there’s one piece of advice I can give those traveling between New Orleans and Avery Island, it’s this … SKIP MCDONALD’S! From the lines we saw at three different locations, I can only assume that they’re hiding golden tickets in their fried pies.)

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One of the many old, rusty bridges we saw along the way

When we finally paid the $1 toll to cross over to Avery Island (which I believe earns that distinction because it’s surrounded by a sandcastle-depth moat a child made around it), we were quickly hustled in to a tour that was just starting. My kids were excited to be handed their party favors at the front end of the tour.

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Our boys immediately dared each other to chug them on camera at the end of the tour. I guess this is a natural precursor to their college days. (Sigh)

Our hostess came in and talked to us a little about the plant, showed us a short movie on the history of the company (interesting until the end when it played more like a commercial for their latest “flavor,” Raspberry Chipotle) and then brought us to an area that overlooked the actual processing line.

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Quick! What TV show does this remind you of? (Hint: Shotz.)

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Ancient Japanese secret for wasabi?

This Avery Island manufacturer, the only Tabasco plant in the world, puts out 700,000 bottles a day to more than 110 countries and their packaging can be found in 22 languages. (ODNT Point of Order – As my kids have reminded me (repeatedly), “It’s SUMMER … and NOT a time to learn, Maaaaaahhhmmm!” Thus, I do not intend to educate … nor do I want to spoil the tour for anyone. This is the most textbook-y sentence you’ll read here today. Promise.) After the traditional tour, we walked over to the tasting bar (conveniently located in the gift shop). Check out all the stuff they were sampling there.

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Six different sauces here …

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Plus eight more sauces there … and mustards … and jellies …. and salsas … and pickles … and chili … and on and on. I mean, really. What CAN’T you mix with Tabasco?!!?

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Well, there’s this frozen delicacy for one. In a word … no. But I suppose I’m happy I can say I tried it.

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And then there’s this one. The kids instinctively grabbed samples of it to extinguish their tongues. Ironically … it didn’t help a bit. 

After our girls finishing banging out Heart and Soul on the in-store piano a few dozen times, Virginia and I spent a grand total of about $70 in their gift shop. The stuff’s not badly priced. We just bought a lot. And we stocked up on (regular, non-Tabasco’d) drinks from their machines to chill out our taste buds then drove over to the Jungle Gardens gift shop (yes, there are two on the property) to find out about the driving tour of the island. It wasn’t raining anymore but we knew things would be a little muddy after the deathly downpour we experienced on the drive over.

Bear in mind, the first part of the tour is completely free … but the Jungle Tour comes with a price tag: $8 for 13 & older, $5 for kids 6-12, and free for under 6.  That adds up pretty quickly with seven people in the car. (Personally, I think it should be a per car price but my last name’s not McIlhenny and I don’t know a thing about hot sauce-makin’ so I don’t get to make these decisions.)

And, for the record, the drive was very pretty. Very Louisiana postcard. Here are few things we saw along the way.

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An excellent picture of green swamp muck if I do say so myself.

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This green stuff is grass and you can actually stand on it. But I still had my good shoes on at this point so your view is from the car.

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That, boys and girls, is a creepy Louisiana buzzard … in search of rotting meat. Just like in the old Bugs Bunny cartoons.

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An alligator swimming in the muck or, as one of the kids called it, lime sherbet punch.

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A pretty bridge. I liked it so you’re looking at it.

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My best alligator shot of the day.

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The same gator shot through Instagram’s 1977 filter. I thought it made him look a little more campy. Like a gator you would’ve seen in a Brady Bunch episode or something.

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Thanks, McIlhenny. We had fun at your little compound. Wonder where our moms will make us go next?

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P.S. The boys DID chug their Tabasco mini-bottles at the end of the tour and (score!) nobody puked.

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Top Ten Tips for the San Francisco Traveler


Click to read past installments of this trip journal … 

Day 1 – Day 2 – Day 3 – Day 4 – Day 5 – Day 6 – Day 7 – Day 8

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(1) If you’re going to San Francisco, book your tour to Alcatraz in advance … or you will not get in. I am still way disappointed about this one. Yes, we did take a narrated boat tour around the island … but I wanted IN. I wanted to see the cells, the dining hall, the common shower area, the “Hole” (solitary confinement). I’m just curious (weird) that way. And I’ve promised myself I’ll get back there to see it.

(2) Leave any high-heeled shoes at home, even if it’s your wedding day.  The slope of half the streets you’ll be navigating will make you want to chuck them into the nearest trash can. Which brings me to my next point …

(3) Trash cans are not always easy to find. When you do find them, you’re likely to see multiple cans with labels like recycle, compost and landfill … and you quickly learn the sorting process. (Nicely done, California.) The problem is that you can’t always find them. While in Chinatown one day, I searched three or four blocks to find a receptacle in which I could discard a wad of chewed gum until I finally came upon this one on a busy city street.

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Yes, that’s a padlock.

(4) If you have a hankering for cheese, check out Cowgirl Creamery in the Ferry Building Marketplace. I recommend basically everything in the place and give two thumbs up to their signature Mt. Tam cheese. (There’s a reason it looks just like butter.) And be sure to tell them ODNT sent you. But don’t expect it to get you anything … as they have absolutely no idea who I am.

(5) Try to knock out #4 on a Tuesday, Thursday or Saturday. That way, you can also check out their killer Farmer’s Market. There won’t be something you seek  that you can’t find there. Seriously, they have every vegetable and fruit imaginable. Did I buy any? Nah. I bought cheese, bread, wine-soaked figs, toffee, honey and other non-produce.

(6) While you’re traipsing all over town on foot, try to work the Filbert Steps into your walk. They run from the east slope of Telegraph Hill (coincidentally right where we were staying) all the way down to Sansome Street. The hills of San Francisco are sometimes so steep that stairs need to be put in for pedestrians. In this case, 378 stairs to be exact. (For reference, the Statue of Liberty has a mere 364.) And this long and winding staircase actually serves as a street for the houses along it, many of which are only accessible via this wooded and beautifully-landscaped climb. (Can you imagine? … “Hang on. I think I left it in the %$&#ing car. Be back in an hour!”)

(7) When in Chinatown, be on the look out for New On Sang Poultry (also known as San Francisco Poultry), located at 1114 Grant Avenue. A writing friend of mine turned me on to it but she could neither remember the name nor the address of the place. Melissa, telling me to find the “You Pick It, We Kill It, But No Pictures!” place in all of the 24 square blocks of Chinatown just wasn’t specific enough. (Yes, I realize the irony of not Googling the name and location of this place until I returned to New Orleans.) Anyway, Melissa dared me to take a picture of the ‘old world charm’ that occurs at New On Sang. And, for the record, I searched to see if anyone else had ever tried … but found nothing. So, maybe it’s best that I didn’t risk Chinese prison for the sake of what would likely be a very disgusting photograph.

(8) Allow time on your drive back from Carmel to stop at one of the many fruit stands and take advantage of things like TEN avocados for ONE dollar …. TEN ears of corn for ONE dollar … TEN artichokes for ONE dollar. Seriously. And then send them to me. I’ll pay you back.

(9) If you don’t want to give up a whole day to the wine country … or, like me, you’re not high brow enough for it and are afraid the kid you’re dragging along will be bored to tears … consider the San Francisco Half-Day Wine Country Tour. It’s the lazy wine lover’s dream. The tour doesn’t even start until noon and gets you back just in time for dinner. And, in only five or so hours, we managed to taste 18 different vintages. That’s good enough for the likes of me. I had to get back to town for some valuable t-shirt shopping and oxygen bar testing.

(10) If you get the chance for a foot massage in Chinatown (or any massage of Asian descent), take it. They aren’t all hung up on propriety like the tightly-wound Americans. Clean water in the foot basins? Fancy towels? Privacy from other patrons? Screw it all. Close your eyes. There’s your privacy. What you get with the Asian massage experience is someone working their small hands and/or feet to the bone for you … using practices, in some cases, that are older than the Earth itself. And you’ll leave loose as a noodle for a very fair price.

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Thanks, San Francisco. We had a blast!

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