tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21080450008357405982011-11-24T23:21:19.960-08:00by the Dalai LocaI, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.comBlogger421100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-18930354890702699052011-07-13T11:56:00.000-07:002011-07-13T14:19:25.999-07:00

Finding a job is hard. I've been looking for a new one for over three years, so I can say this with absolute certainty. I can't say that this three year odyssey has been fruitless, because I've learned more than I ever thought I wanted to know about the job search process. More than that though, the constant reconstruction of cover letters and objectives, the re-organizing of bullet points on my

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-53350049894112924102011-06-29T10:38:00.000-07:002011-06-29T10:38:10.806-07:00

I'm secretly superstitious about phone numbers. Specifically, somewhere deep in my gut I harbor the idea that if a time ever comes when I really need to talk to the ghosts of my family, and I mean really, really need to talk to them, that the universe will somehow intervene and grant me a temporary connection through their old phone line. And if I call the number and it doesn't work, or if

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-13196120270674342272011-06-28T22:04:00.000-07:002011-06-28T22:05:51.470-07:00

Ingredients: 2 bottles of Cabernet Directions: 1. Drink 2. Enjoy! He does the rest. I have no idea what happens, but it results in a delicious dinner. Ocho ocho ohhhh! :)

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-7124444575187715192011-06-27T23:37:00.000-07:002011-06-27T23:37:49.086-07:00

I've been seeing a lot of mentions of "Sweet Potato Hash" lately and was dying to know what it tasted like. I tried looking around for recipes and they all seemed either unnecessarily complicated or way too vague. So I came up with my own and it was fantastic. While I was chopping I got to wondering about the history of onions, so I might do a little research and report back soon. In the meantime

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-65544143871025046622011-01-19T09:56:00.000-08:002011-01-19T10:45:40.075-08:00

The police academy at one of the community colleges I work is conducting outdoor training with guns drawn and car search simulations in the parking lot today. This same school had a lockdown due to an actual shooting and bomb threat this time last year. Since I was here during the incident last Spring and very narrowly slipped through the lockdown and subsequent freeway closure, it all looks a

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-64610620489898813492010-10-26T08:39:00.000-07:002010-10-26T23:12:57.997-07:00

I was browsing around monster.com today, and noticed a feature called "Success Stories: I Found My Job" meant to help guide the confused job seeking masses who forage through the site wondering what exactly it takes to find a dream job. Monster's "Success Stories" series profiles successful professionals who have found their dream jobs, and outlines their trajectory to professional fulfillment.

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-84381032793609262162010-02-19T09:36:00.000-08:002010-03-28T08:11:45.695-07:00

Please accept my attached resume in response to your ad for an experienced Rockstar ReceptionistYou can count on me to:· Show up late (even later than you’re imagining right now)· Leave early (unless I pass out at my desk, in which case, I’ll leave when my hangover wears off or when you hand me another drink, whichever comes first)· Smell like booze and groupies· Break stuff for no apparent

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-37539455780342769742010-02-18T17:41:00.000-08:002010-02-19T18:42:53.056-08:00

Ever find yourself looking for another reason to feel disgusted with humanity? Go to Craigslist and search the word “rockstar” in “Jobs.” Seriously, you can do this in any town in the U.S. What you’ll find are a bunch of employers hoping to get a lot of something for next to nothing. In the vocabulary of want ads, the word “rockstar” indicates someone with exceptional skills and ambition who will

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-85724701288505278672010-02-15T12:17:00.000-08:002010-02-15T12:21:00.631-08:00

One of the main reasons that I hesitate to write stories is that when I go back and read them, I find something awkward, embarrassing, or unnaturally exposed in my presentation of the story. I’ve tried to get around this by ignoring it, avoiding writing altogether, or sticking to subjects that seem immune to this type of discomfort. Recently, in a fit of blind self-confidence, I thought it would

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-54816739724823945832010-02-11T16:18:00.001-08:002010-02-12T08:47:30.995-08:00

People who know me (or have spent any time in my vicinity) likely know that I hate, and vehemently renounce critique workshops. I think they hinder creativity and encourage people to be mean and bland and the same. Of course I’m generalizing, and there are exceptions, like the San Mateo writing class I’ve been involved with for the last few years, a group of writers who genuinely celebrate and

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-39524080274953364102010-02-11T14:10:00.000-08:002010-02-11T14:13:43.477-08:00

Back in college, I mastered the art of writing a 15 page paper in a matter of hours. For the duration of my undergrad education, I did what most kids do and waited until the absolute last possible minute to sit down and bang out every essay, no matter how complicated the topic or how much research it required. While this approach has its obvious drawbacks, it did make it easy to maintain a

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-59077303806210396262010-02-10T17:09:00.000-08:002010-02-10T17:17:29.815-08:00

When I was a kid, I wanted to be a truck driver. No shit. I thought there could be nothing more bitchin' than traveling around the country in a big-ass big rig with a chimpanzee at my side. We’d hit the open road and roll/bounce from town to town, getting into whatever misadventures we found, including brief encounters with sexy bearded men in plaid flannel and faded denim. Unfortunately, I’m a

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-49603182972871418022009-11-17T07:29:00.000-08:002009-11-17T07:31:47.107-08:00

After the summer heat, the flamesscorch filaments from the surface,stripping full figures downto skeletons, brittle forms risingfrom a charred desert.We blame the windthat winds its waythrough canyons andinto the heart of a barren valley.Among the ash,one art.A translucent vaseremainsresistantto thermal shock.

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-37114194732346078632009-09-15T07:39:00.000-07:002009-12-16T09:38:17.228-08:00

He'd watched Joyce's right hand resting, wrist up on her knee, for the entire ride home that day. She'd pinched the bridge of her aquamarine bifocals between her thumb and index finger as if escorting a specimen to a laboratory. When she'd walked into their bedroom, she pulled a supple lens cloth from her bedside table and swabbed it smoothly across the left lens capturing a sample of the coarse

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-66303796073437270092009-09-02T12:16:00.000-07:002009-09-15T11:20:29.722-07:00

Jonah touched down in the middle of the southbound lane, tallons clicking against the asphalt as he paced slightly east then west, dismayed by the flock of crows feasting on the tender, dew-kissed fawn. His breath quickened to a soft huff as he struggled to figure how to squeeze in among their sharp, eager beaks and join them in ripping strands of moist pink flesh. A bold male scuttled up and

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-7466278480470479672009-07-28T17:29:00.001-07:002009-07-29T10:17:28.073-07:00

accounting+finance admin/officearch/engineering art/media/design biotech/sciencebusiness/mgmtcustomer serviceeducation food/bev/hospgeneral labor governmenthuman resourcesinternet engineerslegal/paralegal manufacturingmarketing/pr/admedical/healthnonprofit sectorreal estateretail/wholesalesales/biz devsalon/spa/fitnesssecurityskilled trade/craft software/qa/dbasystems/networktech

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-23887973921879198182009-05-10T02:48:00.001-07:002009-07-22T07:57:34.842-07:00

Dear Sir on 24th & Treat St., SF:"Ya estuvo" means quit trying to stab people. The silly knife fight is over. None of your friends feel like identifying your corpse, or testifying against you in a murder trial, so put down the muthafuckin swithblade. Ya estuvo, homie, ya estuvo.

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-21011308154927289652009-05-07T13:35:00.000-07:002009-05-07T13:38:19.572-07:00

surf couch, stalk girlfriendbuy some teeth, grow some balls youwashed up punk rock bitch

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-34029791005772216952009-05-03T12:03:00.000-07:002009-05-03T13:21:54.754-07:00

1slimy lettuce weeps your tonic water’s gone flat where is my butter?2bouquet of mold sporescolors bloom in soiled pint glassplease wash some dishes3bright green chunks of phlegm clinging to shared shower floor fucking hate that shit

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-72112840763208650402009-04-29T07:38:00.000-07:002009-04-29T08:18:31.268-07:00

Marilyn's ruffled collar rested gracefully on her clavicle, the sheer ivory silk complementing the tailored periwinkle lapel of her Sunday jacket. Her daughter, Constance, in the next car suppressed a grin, proud to have gotten the thing on her mother today. Sunday indeed. It was Marilyn's most stylish outfit, but for years she'd refused to wear it, citing that at her age there wasn't an occasion

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-21729483644420551082009-04-28T11:32:00.000-07:002009-04-28T12:01:16.548-07:00

Maybe it was the Heineken I drank in the terminal before boarding my usual BUR to OAK flight. Maybe it was the late, hazy hour. Something drew my attention out the window of the Southwest commuter plane, to the cobalt blue runway lights that looked so familiar and in an instant conjured a long lost memory, and closed a loop of associations. I laughed a little to myself, realizing that the

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-49557960910172015492009-04-23T16:08:00.000-07:002009-04-23T16:10:23.826-07:00

Bored is as busy does.

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-59288510660077087282009-04-21T07:27:00.000-07:002009-04-21T07:31:31.628-07:00

for Eugenia & her crewI’m on the outbound J, my second favorite train because it comes second closest to my house. I got on at Powell St. station along with a pile of others leaving the Chinese New Year Parade. The crush of bodies boarding the double-time procession of train cars heading anywhere-but-here is unusually dense and unusually overwhelming. We all feel it. We take shallow breaths,

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-61266469422385825182009-04-20T07:21:00.000-07:002009-04-20T10:53:55.701-07:00

The number 38 bus is almost always full. After work, Lydia walks two blocks east to Stockton to catch the outbound coach. She finds a seat in the front section of center-facing seats reserved for seniors and persons with disabilities. A recorded voice reminds her that she will need to vacate her seat if any such people board the bus.She settles in, relieved to be off her feet for the long,

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-61075036293751238722009-04-18T15:43:00.000-07:002009-04-20T10:54:26.553-07:00

I spent the whole day listening to a Sam Cooke station on Pandora. Those who are familiar with what my friend calls “musical autism” understand what it’s like to listen to the same song or artist over and over and over and over. It’s like stimming.Today I stimmed to Sam Cooke, Otis Redding, Curtis Mayfield, Mary Wells. Now I’m at Café du Soleil on Waller and Fillmore, sitting at a communal table.

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-62098461100217992402009-04-17T14:24:00.000-07:002009-04-20T10:55:03.210-07:00

I often wonder if there's much difference between growing up in the suburbs and growing up in the city. I grew up in a place that was a little of both: The Valley. Here's a slice of life from the Val.One schoolnight in 6th grade, my friend Lisa, who was in all respects my partner in crime, invited me to my first kickback. A kickback, I quickly learned, is an informal gathering in someone's living

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-39713043201337575722009-04-15T08:46:00.000-07:002009-04-20T10:57:25.881-07:00

I guess I'm glad SFPD isn't wasting my tax dollars on interactive maps and fancy "find a location" features on their website, or on signs that might help me find my way around their facilities once I'm there. Thankfully, the sheriffs are next door to offer information and directions, and are surprisingly friendly about it.I'm also glad officer So-and-so knows the letter of the law so well and can

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-41133614589668083472009-04-12T12:30:00.000-07:002009-04-20T10:58:04.851-07:00

Do you remember your first concert? Mine was at Six Flags Magic Mountain. It was this guy, but don't hold that against me. Fortunately, I was able to wash off the dirty in a matter of years by seeing many other live shows and being exposed to far more varieties of music than I could ever have found on the street or in my bedroom. I formed much of my adolescent identity in response to the music I

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-64396780822119233382009-04-11T15:06:00.000-07:002009-04-20T10:58:38.482-07:00

My current job takes me on the road a lot. One road. The 101. I travel between San Francisco and Eureka, CA, hauling books in a Chrysler that seats about 20 and for miles on end will receive no radio signal that isn’t Benny Goodman and/or the Grateful Dead. Natural consequences of this ramblin’ life are 1) a burgeoning affinity for Big Band and Jam Bands, and 2) and a growing intimacy with the

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-7592362206562996132009-04-08T11:31:00.000-07:002009-04-08T13:35:34.940-07:00

I'm starting a new section on books, starting with a French novel I recently read. Here's my review in the form of a paraphrase:The Elegance of the Hedgehog - Muriel Barbery"i nearly fainted because i slipped and said something that indicated i read books! i couldn't bear to have the boss think that I, a lowly concierge could possibly have read Anna Karenina! these stupid bourgeoisie think they

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-5067041209922644502009-03-21T18:11:00.000-07:002009-04-20T11:02:26.431-07:00

How did we spend so much of our history advocating our right to choose our own romantic destinies, only to return to various systems of arranged relationships? Remember the ancient romances? The stories about young lovers forsaking their families' agendas and pursuing their own ideas of true love. Remember how our predecessors followed that model in search of their own little taste of

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-3498753599419846842008-04-01T13:57:00.000-07:002008-04-01T14:07:45.283-07:00

me: do you like my new name?hunter: don't c itme: "The People"hunter: i c any reason 4 it?me: The People were feeling underrepresentedThe People demanded a voicehunter: funny considering u never talk about politicsme: I, The Peoplehunter: i think u misread somethingme: ?hunter: i the people is wrong on several levelsgrammaticallyhistoricallyand in the sense of social justiceme: The People demand

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-42364261923187809872008-02-12T13:11:00.000-08:002008-02-12T13:13:33.772-08:00

me: did any of the poems speak to you?Hunter: do they speak 2 me? I don't think they speak 2 anyonethey say things that could b said better in one or two sentences in a longer prettier way Sent at 1:10 PM on TuesdayMIT Poetry

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-5408211409372389212008-02-12T09:35:00.000-08:002008-02-12T09:38:30.951-08:00

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-77075207435923879122008-02-12T00:05:00.001-08:002008-02-12T00:08:49.562-08:00

My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard, this is how I get them to go away. I could teach you, but you can figure it out.

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-27472027060810590442008-02-11T10:43:00.000-08:002008-02-11T11:09:27.882-08:00

Chris Brown

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-722793353531261832008-02-09T17:16:00.000-08:002008-02-09T17:32:10.367-08:00

How to make Spotted DickHow to make Groaty DickHow to make Smell Yo Dick

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-22780384147048622632008-01-30T09:07:00.000-08:002008-01-30T10:12:57.291-08:00

It seems the word "winningest" was added to the American lexicon in the mid 1970s, so I guess I can't use the specialized diction of sports journalism as an excuse for why I don't know what's going on in football. I can credit NPR for translating the upcoming Superbowl into terms I can understand. Finally...In Fair Glendale...no kidding!

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-69288506290252151532008-01-18T22:42:00.001-08:002008-01-19T11:05:06.685-08:00

It got tangled with my clothes in the dryer at the laundromat and came home with me. My roommate turned it into a hand puppet with mustard for eyes and used it to tell us all the things he never could on his own, like: "Hi! I'm crying mustard"

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-23612405885378006422008-01-18T13:59:00.001-08:002008-01-18T14:21:06.223-08:00

LOS ANGELES, CA In a landmark decision, founding members of Los Angeles' Alley Locos voted Tuesday to jump in a new booty. The new booty, known publicly only as "Flaco" has made numerous attempts at joining the obscure street gang, but was previously rejected for being a punk and a reputed ranker, gangmembers say. Little is known about Flaco, except that he allegedly threw a rata on one

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-34287737590323402612008-01-18T13:50:00.001-08:002008-01-18T13:50:46.510-08:00

More words = more fun.

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2108045000835740598.post-78984436653773696762008-01-18T11:58:00.000-08:002008-01-18T11:59:10.660-08:00

It is, it is.

I, the Peoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00571993901850618316noreply@blogger.com2