Summertime blues

It's summertime, and foggy. It's less than 60 degrees today in July, and foggy. (Did I mention the fog?). I've lived in San Francisco now for almost six years, not counting time spent when I was 18. I should know better by now. But this fog in July is depressing. It's a Saturday, I should be at the beach, barbecuing, hiking or something. Instead, I'm putzing around in two long-sleeved shirts doing dishes, with all the doors and windows shut, and the heater on. There's absolutely no sun coming through the clouds. I've given up the idea of growing tomatoes this season, since it didn't happen last year and barely the year before. I need to do something, badly. I turned to this blog, the first time in more than six months as something to do. A little exercise for my fingers I guess. ...

This weird, wacky weather this year. It rained several times in June 2011. There was snow up in Tahoe for Fourth of July weekend. Nationally, there were powerful tornadoes in Missouri and rising floodwaters along the Mississippi. In San Francisco, the fog in summertime is nothing new, it comes every year, and then burns off to a glorious warm late summer in October. (That's why I couldn't find a bikini for sale at any Macy's here last year, and had to drive out of town for a new bathing suit, because -- as one sales clerk told me -- they're not "cost effective" and San Francisco stopped selling them.) We crave for the sun, for warm sun, and these pockets of warmth are reason to rejoice on our pale legs when they do appear. ... And they will appear. Tomorrow, I'm guessing, will be wonderful and sunny, with just a hint of this fog.

Happy Halloween & Go Giants!!

This is what I'm doing for Halloween 2010:

Last night, John and I went to our neighborhood pub hangout. We stopped at Smart 'N' Final and bought 2 jumbo bags of candy and then did our own version of adult trick-or-treat pub style. We just started doling out the candy to everyone in the bar, costume or no. ... The folks needed it. The Giants had just lost Game 3 of the World Series to the Rangers. We're still up 2-1 overall, but man, folks needed consoling. ... The candy helped.

Today, I wanted out of the house again, but boyfriend is house bound. I'm studying instead, at our San Francisco State University "bubble" library. Briefly: Our regular library (a real train-wreck, ever since I was a freshman back in the mid-1990s) is being rebuilt. So, in the interim now, we have a "bubble" on the edge of campus, that looks like an Army barracks. I'm campus-style today, but not quite. And it's Sunday, AND it's Halloween. While my friends on Facebook are posting photos and updates of what they're doing and what their kids are doing, I'm studying about nonprofit grant proposals and evaluations and all that good stuff. I take breaks by looking for a jobs on Craigslist ... and posting this on Blogger, which I use as occasionally as I use Twitter.

Happy Halloween 2010 all. My costume this year: A tired, broke San Francisco Giants fan whose in graduate school!

Volunteerism is up ... or is it?

I just read this, via the Chronicle of Philanthropy: that volunteerism has increased this past year nationally as unemployment has risen. Take a look at the findings, thanks to a report compiled by the Corporation for National and Community Service. Among the findings: volunteer service is increasing in unemployed men, and housewives. Also, fund-raising is a top volunteer activity. Yet, areas with high foreclosure rates -- places in the West, like Las Vegas (where my Dad lives) and in California -- have lower volunteer rates.

This past year, I conducted a six-month research study on volunteerism in San Francisco during the "Great Recession" of 2008 and 2009. My survey results aren't as wonderful and professional as the CNCS, and my final results disagree with the overall national findings. In my findings (which are not published and will most likely never be, and are not significant) I found San Francisco nonprofits reported volunteer activity had decreased in 2008-09 over the previous year (2007). So, I don't know what's going on here. (And I needed more survey results, that's for sure. ... ) Yet  the fact that unemployed people are volunteering more, their motivating reasons why they volunteer, and the tasks that they are given (higher skilled activity, such as fund-raising), were the same in what I found, as in the CNCS report.

People want to serve, they have the time to serve, and the nonprofits need the extra help in a down economy.

Quick Random Thought in the South Bay

Mom has told me that with true love, he should love you more than you love him. Does that sound right? Am I misquoting her? Something like that.

The semester is over!

1. That research methods class is over. It was a year long, and it's done! My six-month long project is over, completed, and graded. The final is over, and graded. I won't divulge how I did (sometimes I don't do as well as I would have liked in a test situation), but I feel very relieved and a sense of major accomplishment. I'm keeping my books -- all five of them -- and my downloaded SPSS software, although the rental agreement is over. That class was a toughie!

2. I can finally tackle this pile, the TWO PILES, of papers and books and stuff that have been sitting next to my desk for the past six months. After I moved in with my boyfriend, I warned him that I'm a graduate student, and not only does he get to live with my delightful self (ha!!), but also my delightful stash of books and papers, which grow semester after semester. By May, it was pure chaos, and even though he's not the cleanest of folk, he ignored the growing pile. We made fun of it -- we had for our sanity. Now, I can tackle it, and recycle the printed reading assignments, the printouts, the notes that I don't want, everything. And, then I can vacuum the dust-bunnies. I might have an orgasm while doing it!

3. Now, what do I do in my spare time? I'm not working right now. I was a full-time student last semester, and this concept of being a student and not working is strange to me. My internship is done. I'm looking for a part-time job or a summer job -- as are millions and millions of unemployed individuals. I've been looking for a job, it seems now, for more than two years. I started looking for volunteer opportunities, and we'll see what happens on that route. Until then, I'm keeping myself occupied with a good book (Isabel Allende's "The Infinite Plan") and visiting friends and family. I need to take better care of my body with yoga and exercise (I might go for a walk with my two friends today). I'm also trying to cook for my boyfriend more (we just had baked potatoes and soup last night, although he made them, I bought the ingredients).

If anyone reads this blog and has any ideas what I should be doing in my spare time (and they're legal and proper) let me know.

Late night on Muni

I'm riding home late on the 31-Balboa after class the other night. The 31-Balboa goes through the Tenderloin and the Western Addition and then up Turk to the University of San Francisco to pick up all the kids there before coming down the hill and onto Balboa into the Richmond into my neighborhood. It starts out rough -- really rough -- from downtown through these neighborhoods and then clears up after Fillmore after Divisadero. It takes about 20 minutes, a half hour, to get home. It's either that bus route, or the 38-Geary line, and that one is just as wacky at night. It's a crap shoot either way. I usually try to sit up front, read a book, and don't pay attention to what's going on in the back of the bus. The bus driver don't seem to care, either. ...

I'm on the 31-Balboa, and a few blocks after Market into this dark point of the Tenderloin, these three guys get on, this one guy a lot larger than the rest. He goes toward the rear. He gets progressively louder and louder, starts to demand that this lady give up her purse. ("Bitch, give me your purse!" "Don't make me get angry." "Move your big, fat ass and give me your purse!") People start staring at this mess. I don't know if these people know each other or what, I don't WANT to know, my heart starts beating. I could ring the bell and get off, but then I'd be in the middle of this neighborhood, and it's not a very -- how you say? -- nice neighborhood. The bus driver is just ignoring the commotion to rear. She starts screaming. We drive a few more blocks, closer to Van Ness, a thoroughfare, and I ring the bell. I think others have the same idea (or maybe because it's a main transfer point?). I go up to the bus driver, and say, "You know, maybe you should call a police officer?" and hop off. I don't know what's going on in the back of the bus -- but I don't want to know.

I walk about five blocks up to Geary, and catch the next 38-Geary at Post. It took me about 45 minutes to go home that night.

Sunday night ...

The boyfriend is asleep in the other room. He's snoring; I can hear the sound coming in from the other room, rhythmic, in and out, in and out. I've finished a glass of wine and been on Facebook. (Yes, Facebook again, the evil.) I've scanned the headlines on sfgate.com and read some story about a $1 million donation to the zoo, and the debate between the Republican candidates for governor. It's just after 11 p.m. I'm thinking about getting another glass of wine and either killing more time on the Net (hence me blogging some crap), or maybe going to bed next to the snorer, or what. What? Reading a book? Reading the remains from last week's New York Times newspaper? (It's still around on the dining table, sections in pieces, the Dining Section, the Arts sections, pieces of the front from where I want to read the opinion page but never have time ...) I could tidy up the dirty dishes that are stacked in the sink; I'll have to do them in the morning, when I get up. I could sit in peace, and listen to the outside sounds of the city night: the police cars, the upstairs neighbor's television and chatter, the next-door neighbors at times, the wind, the laundry machine in the garage, the kitty door flapping when he comes inside, the sounds he makes when he's nibbling his food. ... The sound of the clock on the wall, or now the sound of my fingers scrolling over the keyboard typing. (I just re-read those last two sentences, and that's not too "peaceful," huh?)

There is about three weeks left in school, and craziness is afoot. I have three major papers due, and I'm scared of what will become of some of my assignments. But every day begins and ends. I have to take each day as it comes, one day at a time, and learn to savor the moments when I have them.