native americans

Peter and the kids are camping in the Sierras. I hope they are enjoying the great outdoors. I am enjoying the great indoors: Mike and Tanya’s house, boutiques, movie theaters, the Chestnut cafe.

Remember that line from one of David Sardaris’ books: A woman says to David and his mother, “At my home, well, one of my homes,” and then he and his mother walk around repeating the line?

Walked down Filmore Street today, and oh god am I happy in San Francisco. If you’re happy and you know it, you’re in San Francisco. The light, the beautiful stores, the kids sitting on the street, the muni buses, the #1 California muni bus that I once backed into in front of Peets, Peets. Cable car tracks in the street. Chatty Americans. The same homeless guy in front of Calmart on California. The Chronicle. Having my brows shaped at the Benefit store. The fog horn is the call to prayer. It’s nice to be in my home town, well, in one of my hometowns.

Idenity crisis time! “Where are you from?” is a loaded question. I’m third generation Californian with a Sutter Street, San Francisco, address on my California driver’s license, a house in Oregon, a Niger national ID card, my mailing address is in Virginia, but I’ve never seen the place. But by far the worst of all: the car we’ve rented while we are here has Oklahoma plates.

Playing at the Clay on Filmore:

I loved this movie. “One day it will not be, ‘Speak to me in French, it will be: speak to me in the language of Moliere!’ ” Next I want to see La Vie en Rose. I sat down in the the Clay Theater and said to myself, “This is such nice, plush theater.” This is such a nice, plush city. (This is such a nice, plush life.)

I went INSANE at Margaret O’Leary. Exquisite clothes, all the super light summer pieces 75% off. I died and went to heaven, fabulously dressed.

Sirianna says it’s cleansing to live in Niger, where you can’t spend any money. It’s true. I feel a little bloated from shopping. One of the things that is really noticeable being home is how much there is to buy, contantly. Muffins. Magazines. Lipstick. CDs. Dresses. Mmmmm. Dresses. Yellow shoes. I shouldn’t have, but I did. Because I can’t wear my yellow Frye boots as much as I would like in Niger because guess what? It’s too hot. So voila, the new substitute:

Peter comes home from camping tomorrow. Good thing.