I'VE MOVED!!!

Check out my new blog at www.krissietateshow.com

The San Francisco bus experience

When I lived in the city a few years ago, I was one of the lucky ones. I commuted daily in the comfort of my own vehicle. I lived in an area with parking, so finding a new spot for star when I got home was not a big deal either. Leaving the bus for leisure activities like bar nights out where it seemed to rescue us more so than hinder us, definitely kept the bus system in my good graces.
Moving back, however I had this bright idea that I was going to do two things. Mistake number 1- move to an area that was more interesting, beautiful, and entertaining and thus, more populated. Mistake number 2- get a job that is located downtown in the middle of the mayhem- which is all the rave. Catch me on a good day and I'm usually very proud that I accomplished both of these things. What this means, though, is that I have become one of the hundreds, probably thousands, disappointed San Francisco muni users.

Where do I start?

As a frequent muni user, I can safely say that if you do not experience something strange, out of the ordinary, or uncomfortable on your morning commute than you are not doing something right. Yesterday, for example, I am sitting on the circular bench in the Bart station patiently waiting for the next train while I read The Hunger Games along with every other American. When, I suddenly catch a light skunk smell drifting through the air. At first I thought that was silly and unlikely since we aren't anywhere near the places skunks like to hang out. A short time later, though, the smell gets even stronger. I turn around to observe if anyone else is reacting to the smell and to also assure myself that there is not in fact a skunk chilling in the middle of this stinky bench. Instead of a skunk though, I find myself a giddy gentleman stood directly behind me, counting and weighing out his weed containers in a most calculated manner while he sings and bobs his head to music only he can hear. WEED. Yup, in the Bart station is where I do most of my weed weighing too.

As if to flaunt the crazy in my face, I escape Sir Skunk and his weed buckets only to be exposed against my will to Miss Crazy who is screaming at the top of her lungs to some poor sap on the telephone while she is sitting on a very full Bart train. I immediately take a right turn instead of the usual left in order to avoid the slander, but have to hear it anyways. Things like "F**K your face, you're a dumb B*tc*. B*tc*, you knew I had to shower too and you didn't even give a f**k". Shower? Could this argument possibly be about who got to shower and who didn't? Now, despite trying to avoid being part of Miss Crazy's crazy, I am intrigued. "STTOOOOOOPPPP calling me... nigga, I don't even LIKE you". I don't think that one needs so much commentary. It's totally the defense I take in arguments too. So there.

Awww - at the beginning of this post I was frustrated with Muni and the sometimes wild experiences she exposes me to. But now, in the safety of my cubicle, I am feeling a small closeness to her.

What's your exciting public transportation story?

For other cool Muni stories - check out http://www.munidiaries.com/

Happily, Merrily, Santacon 2011!

The Suicide Club, founded in 1977 was a group of individuals based in San Francisco who basically sought to encourage and defend freedom of expression in a way that only a San Franciscan could. Among other memorable and 'impactful' movements, The Suicide Club founded Santacon in the Fall of 1994.
In short, Santacon is a flash mob of cheerful, energetic, enthusiastic, and gleeful santas who crowd the streets of major cities around the world for basically no reason at all other than to enjoy themselves. Only in San Francisco would such a tradition be called a "movement".
This past weekend, my friends and I partook in the Santa madness in its very own city of origination. I heart this city more everyday!

Santacon San Francisco!

Santacon NYC!

Santacon London!

Santacon Denver!

Many noticed the effects of Santacon around the globe. Even Instagram took delight in sharing Santacon's impact! They have gathered some images posted to their site throughout that wonderful day- and, I must say, some are pretty spectacular!
Santacon2011!

Gobbled Up The Vino This Turkey Day!!

A belated Happy Thanksgiving to all!!! and what a sweet one it was this year! Despite the tough year our country has had, the forecast looks good for the holidays, which seems like it's an obviously good thing.
I just wanted to share a little story about my eventful turkey day with all my FIFTEEN followers, you know who you are!!
My best friend Lindsey and I headed up to Ukiah for Thanksgiving this year. Being the wayward vagrant that I am I never really know who's Thanksgiving I am going to crash, so it was nice to be welcomed by the Madrigals for a very Merry Thanksgiving of 2011. Wifey did spend Halloween with my family in AZ so it only seemed appropriate for me to spend the next important holiday with her family. No, just because Wifey and I live in San Francisco and I call her Wifey does that by any means mean that we are in a homosexual relationship... it's more like a soul mate friendship sort of thing...but, in case you were wondering, no we are not in love.
More on the topic...the day after what promises to be the most hung over Thanksgiving Wifey has ever experienced, her wonderful and cheerfully Mexican pops took she and I wine tasting. I must be honest that I did not feel at all interested in drinking at the beginning of this venture but it's amazing how easily convinced I can be once the tasting has begun.
The first place Ray (Raymundo...yes, I love the fact that he is Mexican) took us is called Rivino (www.rivino.com/). Rivino is owned by two really lovely and welcoming Canadians. Ray and his wife (Lindsey's mother, Tammi) are both members of Rivino winery and they frequent the place often. It was a really lovely, quant and classy winery overlooking a great deal of vineyards. Jason and Suzanne only started producing wine a few years ago mostly because the vineyard was/is their backyard. Now, they produce the wine on a small scale as far as the industry is concerned but the wine is really delicious. I myself drink wine because of the experience and don't tend to spend too much invested time in how it's made, etc., etc. However, it was an interesting point of Suzanne's that no Oak is used in the production of their wine. Interesting and delicious. I like the Oak's absence. Farewell oak!
After 5 yummy tastings of Rivino wine, we bid the lovely Canadians farewell and headed out. As we are pulling out and jabbering about how great these two people were, Ray chimes in "wanna go to another one?" But of course! As I said before, once I have started drinking, it doesn't take much convincing to get the train to continue.

The second winery we visited, however, wasn't much like a winery at all. It was hidden among a row of warehouses and unless you were looking for it, you never would have known it was there. The entrance is a tiny metal door with an even tinier square window at the top. The kind of door you would expect was designed more to keep people out rather than to invite people in. Once inside this obscurely hidden tasting room, things got even more interesting. Looking around the small, square room was covered from head to toe with merchandise for sale, all varying from necklaces, to tiny beatle figurines, to those leather wallets that advertise 'hand made' but say 'made in Taiwan' in the bottom most corner. While I was looking around the tasting room that very closely resembled your typical Mission District dollar store, Ray begun conversing with the winery owner, who also looked like he might have been "made in Taiwan". Raymundo had found himself a fellow Mexican! Victor used to work for an upscale winery in the area called Fife, but over the past few years he had broken off and started this very non-stereotypical winery, call Simaine (www.simaine.com). I hate to stereotype, but it's not everyday you meet a Mexican who runs their own winery. I was both mystified and excited about what Victor was doing. His tasting room alone broke just about every idea of what I pictured a winery to be like. This, thankfully, also could be said for the tasting measurements. First, Victor asked, very politely if we were over 21, and then glanced over at Ray to verify that this information were true. Ray confirmed it, and so the tasting begun. The first wine Victor poured was a wine of some sort, but that wasn't what astonished me at all. What took me by surprise was how funn Victor filled the glass. I watched as he preceded to fill Ray and Wifey's glasses to the same lucrative level. This could become an interesting day, I remember thinking. At that moment, another family walked into the tasting room and suddenly we were something more like sardines in a can rather than 8 people tasting wine leisurely. Because of what I thought were spacial issues, Victor moved us all into the actual warehouse where the wine was both made, aged, and stored. As I turned the corner, I realized this was not a spacial move at all, this was part of Victor's entertaining process. There was a plastic picnic table topped with an empty Simaine wine bottle used as a vace for plastic, dollar store flowers. no, the irony did not escape me.
For the rest of the evening Victor proceeded to entertain us as though we were close friends or family who had been welcomed into his home for an evening of socialising and catching up. Victor even pulled out some of his homemade salsa verde and poured several small bowls which he placed between every other person and then a large bowl in the middle. And it was AMAZING!! The dishes actually reminded me of the dishes I grew up with in my home; white with tiny green flowers around the edges. This had turned out to be the most homey, welcoming, and fun wine tasting experience I had ever had. Victor shared wonderful stories about his life and family and we all chatted and got to know each other. It wasn't until wifey mentioned that we should probably go because Tammi had called about four times wondering where we were, that I realized how much time had gone by. That, and that I was good and well drunk. WHEW! We purchased a few bottles and sent ourselves on our way. Luckily this was not Ray's first rodeo and he had been refusing Victor's lucrative refills since an hour after we had arrived. Leave it to the retired police officer to be the responsible one.
If you ever find yourself in Ukiah, please take the time to visit Victor and his winery. They are two things that you will never forget.

A Place to Call Era

In a far away land surrounded by ocean, there's a little place called Era, that many call home.
Era is a small beach front area located in the Royal National Park of Sydney, Australia. During the Great Depression in Australia, people relocated to these beach front properties where they built modest shacks among the insanely gorgeous scenery. To get to the shacks, you have to drive about 25-30 mins into the Royal National Park and then turn off at a dirt road that is all but hidden by the brush. If you don't know what to look for, you're likely to miss it. Once parked and ready, an Era bound traveller must hike about 30 minutes (40 if you're American) down toward the elegant coast. The hike passes through forestry areas with tall trees and roots thicker than your thigh popping out everywhere. You know you're almost there when the trees open up to this beautiful grassy hill that looks like something out of a photograph. The hill is extremely breezy but it overlooks the raised, rocky cliffs of the coast with a great view of the blue-green waves crashing below. A few paces down over the hill, the tiny shacks pop up left and right. And they really are just that, tiny shacks with corrugated iron roofs and wooden walls. It's hard to believe anyone ever lived or lives in these shacks full time. Over time, these homes have been passed down from generation to generation. Most owners can trace back ownership in their families for many, many decades. It would be extremely rare to ever find one of these gems on the market, and at that, the price would never be able to cover the true value these places hold to their owners or transient guests such as myself who are provided with the unique insight into this hidden place. Because the shacks are in the national park, there are laws prohibiting any building of new or existing homes. This means that the shacks are pretty much exactly as they were originally constructed, with necessary repairs, of course. There's no running water, trash services, or any of the other amenities that we are accustomed to in our homes. Everything we ate and drank had to be packed in and out on our backs.

My wonderful and hospitable friend Rachel brought me to Era for the first holiday weekend of their summer. I guess I expected a somewhat campy environment with bon fires and card games, but what I got was so much better than that.

The first day, it rained pretty much the whole time we were there. Which would have been terrible if we were actually camping. But since we had the wonderful shack at our disposal we sat inside and did indeed pretty much play cards all day. OK... so far.. pretty campy.
The next day though, the sun was shining and suddenly there were people everywhere. To quote Rachel's mother, Anne, "You think you're completely alone at Era, but you just never are". This wasn't a campground with random people coming in and out. It was a community of individuals that had all known each other literally their entire lives. There is something so special about being tied to a group of people because of a place, and because of each others' mutual love and respect for that place. It's different than family, different than friends, a whole entity all its own; it's sacred.
Rachel's Dad, Jerone took me and her out fishing for my very first time ever. We pushed the small fishing boat into the ocean, battled the waves, and were tossed around by the passing storms' waters only to get all the way out there and realize we forgot the bait and sinkers on the beach, FAIL! I would have been livid if I were planning the trip, but Rachel's Dad was so casual about it, as many Aussie's are. He just shrugged and headed back in to grab the bait. He said he forgave us for such a foolish overlook because we were considerate enough to pack him three beers.

I never thought I would like fishing, but it was really exciting. Rachel and I caught two fish each and her Dad caught three. I would have caught three myself, but my last victim just jumped right off the hook at the last second, which, I might add, Jerone got really passionate about. I thought he was going to jump in after it! Before the poor American got REALLY seasick, we headed back in. However, the adventure did not end there. Jerone had me and Rachel kill, descale, and gut our own fish. YUCK! Except... it was more exciting than yuck. I would so do that again. Needless to say, those fish were dinner, and lunch the next day. success!

The last day of our busy weekend was the annual Era golf game. Yes, golf. Once you have seen Era, it's hard to believe that any sort of golf game can logically and successfully take place. It's hilly, twisty, and not the least bit grassy. The ground is covered in bushes and trees, and stickers, and sand. It's crazy to attempt golf. But we did, and they do every single year on this particular weekend. It was an adventure! Every time you hit a ball, your caddie, someone's younger sibling, had the very exciting task of searching for it. Searching, meaning using a golf club as a weed wacker and stomping around the area where the group agrees the ball probably landed. More than likely, they did not find it. So, you pulled another ball out of the bottomless bag and just placed it anywhere to have another go at it. This would have been the longest most unsuccessful golf game of all time if we weren't somewhat cheating... ok, really cheating, oh well! We won for the girls' team! Winners had to chug two beers... thanks Australia!
That night we attended a party for the showing of the championship Rugby game at Era's surf camp. The camp is a large shed in the middle of the houses on the beach. Here, everyone from Era came together to enjoy drinks, food, and mainly each other. To me, this event was like their family's superbowl party. When I got there, I noticed that the walls were covered with plaques and photographs. At a closer glance, I could see images of these same people from 20, 30 years prior. As someone who lacks old images of my own family memories, I was really inspired by this reflection of Era's family. I found Rachel's Dad in images of his rowing team all standing in a line wearing the world's TINIEST speedos when he was younger than Rachel is now, and of Rachel standing in the very building when she was just a tot. She was so cute, then :)

The vibe of the people was absolutely sensational. They were more easy going, friendly, and open armed toward me than I could have imagined. I felt part of the group. The building was packed with people of every age possible. There were tiny nuggets running around all over the place, teenage girls chatting in the corners, while families reminisced and elderly men glued themselves to the game. I got the feeling that only in a place like Era were these connections possible. I felt envious that Rachel had something like this she could always rely on. A place that was always home. Era takes community to a whole new level. It defines connection not just as something that you share in common with another individual but that each person was a piece of something and together they made Era.

Starting Anew!

"Happy are those who dream dreams...and are ready to pay the price to make them come true"
My father (AKA Papalardo) said this to me the other day while enjoying beers at his favorite hangout, The Yardhouse... To appreciate this quote, you have to first understand my Papalardo. Growing up, Papalardo was always ranting, "make money" this, and "marry rich", that. His best advice, when he gave it, was to make enough money, either through a successful career or via marriage, to survive 'easily'. It really used to boil my blood when he gave me advice such as this. I think I strived to do the exact opposite just to prove him that money didn't breed happiness such as he believed.
It's easy to understand, though, why Papalardo would have valued these things above others. He had struggled his whole teenage life to be the next Picasso only to become a college dropout with more kids than he had hands. When he was a teenager, Papalardo won a full scholarship to the best art school in the world, which, just so happened to be in London. Now, I wasn't alive during this time, but the story, as I have heard it, is that his parents were anxious about his traveling abroad alone at such a young age, so they moved the whole family from Texas to Arizona so that he may attend his second art school of choice, ASU. By his junior year of college, his girlfriend turned out to be pregnant. He dropped out of college to work immediately and they were consequently married. Over the next few years, although they struggled immensely, they managed to pop out three more children, including myself.
I think one day my Father woke up and was 30 with more offspring and responsibilities than he knew what to do with, more bills than he had money to pay them, and a wife who likely was losing her mind. Needless to say he was living on a edge that didn't take long to disintegrate. Now, Papalardo has four kids under his roof all below the age of ten, again. Yes, I mean NOW, as in, today. Once again, my Father has shelved his hopes and dreams for the nourishment and preparation of others'. He has not had the opportunity to dream his own big since he was 19 years old. To dream the way a child can dream; without boundaries and without limitations. That is an invaluable privilege that words cannot give proper meaning.
Dreaming was not something he promoted vigorously in the past. So, sitting at The Yardhouse and hearing my father recite this quote, I began to tear up. Could this be the same man I remember from my teenage years? Despite everything that my father has endured, is continuously enduring now, he has managed to hold on to the one thing that gives us hope; dreams. He says he dreams big still, everyday. I can remember a time clearly when I would not have believed that. I can remember a time, in my own life, where dreaming had become a difficult feat. Life can be tough. It can be strange, and inconvenient, and unpredictable. "It's the journey", Papalardo went on to say that night; "It's the journey that you remember, and it's the journey that makes you who you are".
Since I was a little girl, I have dreamed of being a writer. I used to sit in my front yard and pretend to read to a room full of people a book that was all my own. Somehow over the past few years, I have lost sight of those dreams. I found myself making plans for grad school in an industry that I knew I really wouldn't like, and applying for mediocre jobs that I knew would never leave me fulfilled. Why was I steering myself directly away from that which I wanted most? What was I running from? The truth is that writing doesn't scare me, but failing at it does. Failing at my dream scares me more than anything in the world. But, Papalardo is right. Failing shouldn't scare me, but rather the failure to try. That should be what I am most afraid of.
So, here it is: The Krissie Tate Show! I am going to fill this blog with my thoughts and words and hopefully, just hopefully, my dreams will manifest into something tangible.

Scotland in one shot...

Scotland has literally everything to offer an individual... provided that you are willing to withstand the chilly winters in Europe...
I started my Scottish trip out in Scotland's capital and definitely most charming city, Edinburgh. Edinburgh is such a gorgeous city with cobblestone walls and literally elderly buildings and of course the castle. Lottie and I did the tourist thing my first day here which was really wonderful. We took a tour of the castle and walked around The Meadows, etc. But the most exciting part of my first weekend here was celebrating Lottie's birthday. We went out with all her "mates" to a club called The Jam House. I was expecting a regular club with hip hop music and such which I am not usually the biggest fan of. But it was totally not like that. They had a live band that played loads of mainstream varieties from old 70's to current favs. We did LOADS of dancing and I really enjoyed myself! As you can see...





Next stop, GLASGOW. Glasgow is Scotland's most populated city, and could not be more different than Edinburgh. It's really busy and FULL of a much younger crowd. My friend Thom whom Emi and I met in Guatemala lives in Glasgow, so we met up with him for a beer which was a wonderful little treat. Although we all ended up having intense politically debates all evening... I guess the problems with drunks are the same worldwide. Thom ended the evening with a "wonderful to see you again, Krissie... see you again... never!?" UGH - why do boys have to be so realistic? BAH!



Loch Lomond was next on our Scotsdale trek! For those of you who don't know, Loch in Scottish means LAKE... and they get immensely offended when you use lake in its place.... ok!? Anyways, the LOCH Lomond is really tremendously gorgeous. Our hostel was little a castle - HUGE! AND sooooo pretty from the outside... inside... ariiiight... but outside incredible. In fact, the inside is quite a bit eery. We arrived around 11AM and there wasn't ANYONE in sight! SO strange! We wandered around the entire building which was huge, as you can imagine. NOBODY. Just birds chirping. So weird. We waited about 25 mins and eventually a guy came and let us in saying they weren't a 24 hour hostel and that they kick everyone out during the day. They actually make you do touristy things. I guess that doesn't entirely suck since the area is really terrific. Until you start chatting to some Dutch guys who don't know when to give in... other than that ;)




Lottie's family is remarkably wonderful. Her parents have been together since they were about our age and they have only just now decided to get married. It's really romantic, if you ask me. They are also quite hilarious together - bantering back and forth and teasing each other constantly. I really hope that I can find a shaving of that kind of relationship one of these days. Growing up Lottie and her fam annually took their 'holidays' up to Northern Scotland to a little wee island called Iona. It's literally like 3 square miles and totally adorable. Quite the trek to get out there too... bus, train, another bus, TWO ferries... WHEW! WORTH it though!!! The pictures say all! It was so quiet and gorgeous. And Lottie got to "recharge her battery", as she would say :) The hostel was incredibly gorgeous and probably the nicest one I have stayed in - HOWEVER, the people that it attracted were a very eccentric bunch. The island is a really religious place because it hads this amazing Abbey. So, you get quite a large number of devout Christians and some can be... well, INTERESTING! But I wouldn't change a bit. It was an wonderful experience and I am so, so, so, so grateful to Lottie for sharing it!