Orville Redenbacher Lives!

So something incredible just happened to me. I had my first celebrity sighting! Err, maybe not a celebrity to the rest of the world, but to San Franciscans he is practically Obama.

I took Wilson out for his daily afternoon walk and, instead of coming back to the apartment after our usual route, I decided to take him further up to the Giants Stadium. Little did I know there was a Giants game going on, and little did I know that for an entire block and a wait at a stop light, I was walking amongst San Franciscan royalty.

At first I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. With the exception of his odd attire – he was wearing a plaid suit and a colorful bow tie – my walking companion looked like a cute old man who was dressed to impress for the game. As we approached the stadium, however, things started getting weird. People were yelling out of their windows, “Way to go, ____” (I couldn’t make out his name), people on the streets were coming up and shaking his hand, and some guy even asked for a picture taken with him.

I made a mental note of what he looked like and continued on my oblivious way. Once home, I put my crack detective skills to the test and realized the following: I practically had a stroll down the street with Bill Neukom, owner of the San Francisco Giants. Too bad I didn’t realize who he was until I got home and googled “Orville Redenbacher look-alike sf giants”.

Musicians, Skeleton Men & Bushmen, OH MY!

What San Francisco lacks in geographical space, it more than makes up for in character and personality. Simply walking the streets is a testament to the city’s laid back atmosphere, colorful history, and beautiful architecture. Without a doubt, part of what makes San Francisco so unique is the diverse group of people who call this city home. Included in that collection of people, albeit a very small percentage, are the street performers and entertainers who line the streets with their instruments, fill the silence with their music, and put smiles on the faces of passersby.

I can honestly say that, in all my 26 years, I have never seen street performers like the artists I have encountered here in San Francisco.

From the bizarre…

…to the incredibly talented…

San Francisco’s street artists offer much more than simple entertainment, they offer a little snippet of the San Franciscan Experience.

Like the Naked Cowboy of New York City, San Franciscan street performers are recognized all over the world. Not going to be visiting San Francisco anytime soon? Not to worry, much like the sea lions at Pier 39, most of the street artists (particularly the ones from Fisherman’s Wharf) have become a staple on many a tourist’s itineraries and are not likely going anywhere anytime soon (especially since the more popular performers claim to pull in around $60,000 a year).

I’ll leave you with one last video and, for those of you who find yourself strolling the streets of San Francisco, a piece of advice: Beware of the Bushman.

We’re Not in Kansas Anymore!

After the devastating 8.9-magnitude earthquake that shook Japan, San Francisco was placed under a tsunami watch, with waves expected to reach anywhere from three to eight feet high.

This latest natural disaster has brought to my attention the fact that San Francisco has its very own outdoor warning system. In total, there are 104 sirens strategically placed throughout the City of San Francisco and, in the event of an emergency, the sirens will sound for five minutes at a sound level of approximately 100 decibels – basically the sound level equivalent of a rock concert.

The alarm system originated in World War II when 52 sirens were situated around the city in order to warn residents in case of air raids. Since then, the sirens have been wailing every Tuesday at noon for about 15 seconds to prevent rusting and to ensure proper operation.

For a taste of what it’s like Tuesdays at lunchtime here in San Francisco, check out the video below. We are certainly not in Kansas Ontario anymore!

The Little Mermaid – Sing-A-Long Style

Most of my favorite movies from childhood are Disney movies. Even today, as an adult, I anxiously await the opening of the Disney Vault to add the latest restored and remastered edition to my collection. I’m also not ashamed to admit that I sometimes spontaneously burst out in “A Whole New World” from Aladdin or “I Just Can’t Wait To Be King” from The Lion King. Heck, most of what I’ve learned in life I learned from the Newsies. That’s why you can imagine my excitement when Joey and I stumbled across this gem:

Ahhh – The Little Mermaid. Every time I see a fork, I’m tempted to comb my hair. The Little Mermaid is easily one of my top five favorite Disney movies of all time. Loosely based on Hans Christian Andersen’s story of the same name, Disney’s The Little Mermaid made its big screen debut in 1989 and centers around a feisty mermaid named Ariel. Ariel, dissatisfied with life under the sea, lets her curiosity about the human world get the best of her, despite the fact that contact between merpeople and humans is strictly forbidden. When Ariel swims to the surface and sees Prince Eric, she falls hopelessly in love, eventually leading her to make a Faustian bargain with the evil sea witch Ursula, trading her voice for a human form. Ariel is given three days to receive a “kiss of true love” from Prince Eric, otherwise she will change back into a mermaid and become the property of Ursula.

Fantastic plot aside, the movie is also jam-packed with memorable characters, such as (to name only a few): Ariel’s trusty sidekick and best friend, Flounder; Scuttle the Seagull, the resident expert on humans who provides Ariel with inaccurate information about human artifacts (e.g. forks a.k.a. “dinglehoppers” are used to comb hair); Sebastian, the strict, law abiding, lovable crab with a Caribbean accent; and Ursula’s minions, Flotsam and Jetsam, the eels who often speak in unison and finish each other’s sentences.

Not only was I excited to simply watch this movie on the big screen (I was five when it was originally released), but the entire purpose of the viewing is for people to dress up as their favourite character, boo and hiss when Ursula is in a scene, and sing along to instant classics like “Under the Sea”, “Part of Your World”, and “Kiss the Girl”.

I’ll leave you with a couple of videos I found on the Internet that captured this incredible event. If you are jealous you missed it don’t worry – there is a Sing-A-Long Sound of Music event at the end of the month – if you hurry you can still get tickets

The Distant Hours: a novel by Kate Morton

It has been at least two days since I finished The Distant Hours by Kate Morton and yet I can’t stop thinking about it. Once again, Kate Morton weaves together a beautifully intricate story with seamless effort. The reader is instantly drawn into the story by a long lost letter, one that has finally found its rightful owner years later. Most interesting, however, is not the letter itself, but rather the reaction of the recipient of the letter. Having witnessed the unusual reaction and unable to shake it, Edie Burchill finds herself captivated by the mysterious nature of the note – Who is the author? What does it say? Why did her mother react how she did? – and she inadvertently embarks on a journey to unravel the secrets surrounding the letter.

Insanity, murder, accidental deaths, suicide, and tragic love stories are what Edie discovers as she slowly uncovers secrets that have been painstakingly buried for generations. And, of course, one could not ask for a better backdrop than Milderhurst Castle, the setting where much of the story unfolds. Once affluent and lively, now a long forgotten castle in grave disrepair, Milderhurst is not only home to the Sisters Blythe – the three elderly sisters – but also home to the tragic event that triggered the downfall of the inhabitants of Milderhurst Castle.

Much like The House at Riverton and The Forgotten Garden, Kate Morton crafts together a compelling, beautiful, and haunting story, one that will grab the reader’s attention from the very beginning and won’t let go – even after the reader has turned the last page.

I recommend this novel to fans of the gothic genre and, in particular, readers who have enjoyed Kate Morton’s previous novels, Diane Setterfield’s Thirteenth Tale, or Carlos Ruiz Zafón’s Shadow of the Wind.

The Year of the Hare and the Storyteller

Our first weekend in San Francisco and it was raining . . . and by raining, I mean pouring. We were bound and determined not to let a little rain deter us from enjoying our first Saturday night out in the city, and after purchasing a pair of very cool – and practical – rubber boots, Joey and I ventured down to Market and 2nd street to watch the Chinese New Year Parade. We weren’t the only ones to brave the weather, however, as we were just two of the tens of thousands of spectators who lined the streets to help usher in the Year of the Hare. Unlike the previous Year of the Tiger, the Year of the Hare is predicted to be a year of harmony, goodwill, and calm.

The parade originally began in the 1860s as a means to educate the public about the Chinese culture and has since grown to be one of the largest celebrations of Asian culture outside of Asia. With over 100 units, the parade boasted decorative floats, ensembles of musicians and acrobats, exploding firecrackers, intricate costumes, and culminated with a 250-foot Golden Dragon, called Gum Lung, which took a team of over 100 men and women to carry throughout the streets. According to Chinese tradition, the dragon is an auspicious creature; the longer the dragon, the more luck they bring, and touching the dragon’s beard will bring 1000 years of good luck.

Celebrating the Lunar New Year was a surreal experience, and despite my numb fingers and toes, it was truly amazing to be a part of something that has so much tradition.

Unlike the parade, however, our night did not end with Gum Lung, but instead we hailed a cab and were off to the Great American Music Hall, San Francisco’s oldest nightclub, to watch a live performance of one of Joey’s favorite performers, Todd Snider. Todd Snider was in the area promoting his new album entitled “The Storyteller”.

The Great American Music Hall is a concert hall located in the area known as the Tenderloin. Built in 1907 after the devastating earthquake of 1906, the building has had numerous purposes in the past, ranging anywhere from various restaurants, bordello, and jazz club. After near demolition when the building was condemned, the hall was refurbished and, after a brief stint as a restaurant, was eventually reopened as the Great American Music Hall in 1972. Since then, the hall has played house to some pretty big musical and comedic acts. Artists anywhere from Van Morrison to the Grateful Dead have performed there, as well as comedian and actor, Robin Williams. This historical building, with its impressive marble columns, decorative balconies overlooking the stage, elegant feel, intricate detail, and ornate ceiling frescoes, provides a stunning backdrop to any live performance.

Todd Snider’s set was a satisfying balance of folk music and entertaining stories, and the intimate venue and relaxed atmosphere allowed for a unique experience unparalleled by others. While the crowd ranged from fans in their early 20s to late 60s, we all were united by our love of the music, and it was impossible not to get caught up in the collective excitement of the audience. It was evident to everyone present how much Todd Snider enjoyed performing, from his grin when the crowd joined in on a chorus, to his interactions with the audience both during and between songs. The audience, for our part, responded in stride – by singing along, dancing despite the lack of a dance floor, and just having one heck of a good time.

Not only did Joey and I have a great time, we also met some great people, from the guys in line who had just recently moved to SF from Illinois, to the older couple we sat with during the show who bought us a round to welcome us to the city.

Needless to say, the sights and the sounds that San Francisco has to offer have been a pleasant surprise, and we are excited to see what the city has in store for us next.

Moving In

After spending close to a week on the road, Joey and I have finally moved into our new apartment! Since we signed the lease while we were still in Ontario, neither Joey or I knew what to expect when it came to the layout of our apartment. We were pleasantly surprised, however, when the door was opened to our new home. We ended up with a 970-sq-ft one-bedroom apartment, with a peak-a-boo view of the city, granite countertops, a soaker tub, a washer and dryer, a walk-in closet and the best part of all – wait for it – his and her sinks in the bathroom.

The apartment complex is also wicked, comprising of three separate buildings, with two gyms, a basketball court, a rock climbing wall, penthouse party rooms that are available to rent out, gaming lounges, a concierge at the front door of each building, and courtyards complete with Jacuzzis and BBQs.

Another bonus is the apartment is in a good area, with all the important amenities less than a five-minute walk away. There is also a fenced-in dog park nearby, where Wilson has been making friends ever since we moved in. Also about a two-minute walk from our apartment is AT&T Park, and our complex gives away four free Giants tickets to each apartment.

Despite the pros, however, there are some downsides. For one thing, living in the city is loud, and there is almost always a constant buzz in the background, even from our 7^th floor apartment. Also, we live in the area known as SoMa – South of Market – and while we are close to Joey’s work, the area doesn’t have the traditional architecture, character, and landscape that is typical of San Francisco.

Nonetheless, Joey and I have been very happy with our apartment and neighborhood. We have been playing basketball almost every night (I have been schooling Joey in 21), and our pull-out couch just arrived today so we are excited to start having visitors – just make sure you call and make a reservation first 

We’ve Arrived!

After all the planning and preparation we have finally arrived in our new home of San Francisco! In the interest of our dog, Wilson, we ended up driving across the States, which took about five days (averaging around 9.75 hours on the road per day). As you can imagine, the drive was long and, at some points, painfully boring.

Driving through the first few states were especially uneventful and boring. Once we hit Wyoming, however, the landscape started to get more mountainous, as opposed to the monotonous and endless plains of the previous states. Wyoming was also a neat state to drive through because it is known as “Cowboy Country”, and true to its word, we saw legitimate cowboys, ranches with hundreds of grazing cattle, and horses scattered throughout the rolling hills. If you turned on the radio, country music represented about 75% of the stations, and even the license plates had a picture of a cowboy riding a bucking bronco! Although I was seriously considering making Wyoming my home, we continued on the I80 West towards Utah.

Utah was absolutely gorgeous and actually reminded me a lot of British Columbia and Alberta. The mountains were huge and the villages we drove through (Park City for one) were nestled in valleys amongst the Rocky Mountains. As I’m sure you can imagine, Joey was in absolute heaven, and while I could have easily stayed in Wyoming, Joey very easily could have stayed in Park City. Once we drove through Salt Lake City we came across a stretch of highway that was as straight as an arrow and was surrounded by water and wet sand on both sides. We were on this stretch of road for about 100 miles, and because of the landscape there were no service stations or stops along the way. For fear of running out of gas and the fact that we were soon to cross into Nevada, we stopped at the border town of Wendover to fuel up (our tank and our bellies) and let Wilson out to stretch his legs before we undertook the six-hour drive across the Nevada desert.

With the snow-capped mountains of Utah in our rear view, we began the endless trek through the desert of Nevada, where civilization is few and far between, the landscape is varying shades of brown, and no matter the size of the town or travel stop, you are guaranteed to see at least one casino. Nevada is, to say the least, a creepy state (what we saw of it, anyway). Not only were we literally driving through the desert on a stretch of highway that lasted for about 370 miles, we would drive into zones along the highway where the fog was too thick to get any sort of radio or cell phone signal (playing the radio game was definitely out of the question). We also wouldn’t see any kind of civilization for miles, and often times we were the only vehicle on the road. To top it off, we continually saw signs that read, “Prison Area – Hitchhiking Prohibited” and Joey maintains he saw a sign that provided a number for drivers to call if they witnessed a “shooting” (I was sleeping when he supposedly saw this sign, so I can’t verify whether this was a legitimate sighting or if it was a by-product of Joey’s overactive imagination – he also claims to have seen a house “made of bones”). Nevertheless, the towns eventually started to get bigger as we approached California, and we called it a day in the bustling city of Sparks, which is about three miles outside Reno.

From Reno, San Francisco is just under a four-hour drive, and whether it was the shorter drive (as opposed to 14 hours the previous day), the refreshing change of scenery, the fact that we were almost at our final destination, or the fact that we made it out of the Nevada desert unscathed and without witnessing any shootings, both Joey and I were in good spirits as we crossed the state line into California. Even Wilson seemed excited and happy, sitting upright in his crate, nose pressed up against the window, ears flapping in the wind. Once again, we were driving through a mountainous region – the Tahoe National Forest – and we were quickly climbing higher and higher until we were eventually 5000 feet above sea level. As we were ascending, the weather was progressively getting worse and worse, until we were in a full-fledged blizzard. With the exception of the surrounding mountains, we could have easily been in Ontario with all the snow. What goes up, must come down, however, and after reaching the top the only other option was to start our descent back down towards sea level. The roads were slick (that’s the American word for slippery) and snow covered, but, thanks to growing up in Canada, we’ve mastered the art of driving in bad weather and we made it safely to the bottom.

As we approached Sacramento, the landscape quickly began to change as palm trees replaced the evergreens of the Tahoe forest and we began to catch glimpses of the ocean. We were excited to drive over the Golden Gate Bridge, since the last time we were in San Francisco neither of us saw this iconic sight. Unbeknownst to us, and much to our dismay, our GPS had other plans and ended up guiding us over the Bay Bridge instead.

Nevertheless, we officially arrived in San Francisco around 10:45 on Tuesday, February 15^th and immediately drove to the Golden Gate Park to let Wilson stretch his legs.

While walking through the park I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of excitement and, although we left all our family, friends, and belongings behind, I look forward to the new adventures that will come our way as we explore this brave new world.