April 2010 Archives

For heaven's saké...

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By The Doll on April 18, 2010 7:05 PM 0 0 Vote 0 Votes
Today I rode up to Orinda, CA, with the ever lovely Alex, who is in search of a track-ready Miata.  The car was nice - a pretty 1990 red and black - well set up, but missing a few things off her "must have" list.  Determined not to waste such a lovely drive and day, we decided to hit the Takara Sake USA Tasting Room in Berkeley.

We started out by watching a video on how sake is traditionally made (fascinating!) before touring the museum.  Now that the obligatory "educational" tour was over, we headed for the sake bar.

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The Doll and her frumpy, middle-aged butt at the sake tasting bar...

For a mere $5, you can try one of six different courses of sake available.  There is a limit of one course per customer per day, so there are plenty of reasons to go back.  Alex and I both opted for the novitiate's variety course, offering six sakes from dry to sweet, with a seventh open slot for a sake of your choosing.  Once the sake tour guide figured out our taste, she recommended additional sakes and fit our choices into the dry-to-sweet sampling scale appropriately.  Sake consumption commenced!

Needless to say, seven shots of sake made for a pleasant buzz.  We decided to walk down Fourth Street in search of food and ended up shopping for an hour before stumbling onto an Indian lunch buffet off University.  My shopping fu was strong this afternoon, and I found many gorgeous things for Alex to buy.  :D  I also found a fantastic glass shop which will require further investigation when my wallet is in need of lightening.  Shopping achieved and lunch consumed, we declared the afternoon a win and headed back to San Jose.  Yours truly slept like the dead while lovely Alex drove us home.

Berkeley: ∞ | Carlota: 0
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Sometimes all you need is a good man...

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By The Doll on April 17, 2010 10:46 AM 0 0 Vote 0 Votes
I have been down in the dumps since my last relationship ended.  This is no surprise; even the "best" breakups are hard.  But this one came as I stare down my 38th birthday, which is just a few steps below 40 and that Middle Age Bridge that you must then walk to a (hopefully) Respectable Old Age.  Things start to sag and pudge, wrinkles appear that weren't there yesterday, and glorious silver hairs shimmer in the mirror.  Is that my mother looking back at me?!  Suddenly, all the vanity of youth evaporates with a single thought of "Maybe plastic surgery isn't such a bad idea, after all..."

I needed a makeover.

I'm not the kind of woman who wears make up, and I have a decent sense of fashion (even if I don't use it), so my makeovers are limited to a good haircut and a pedicure.  My hair is thick and wild, with large dark curls around my neck.  My face is round, with a broad flat nose and pointy chin.  I have squinty little half-filipina eyes.  I am short and plump and busty.  I am not necessarily a pretty woman, but with the right haircut, I can be a gorgeous one.  I didn't need a hair stylist, I needed a hair artist.

Fortunately, I found one.  Walking through Japantown a few weeks ago, I stopped outside the window of Orange Crush Studios to watch the stylist as he ran his fingers through someone's hair.  His face bore the same expression that many of my talented artist friends wear when they're contemplating a sketch.  What have I got?  What does it need?  Can I do this with it?  I could see a thousand styles pass behind his eyes before he picked up his scissors and set to work.

I went to their website and booked an appointment with Lonnie, the handsome thin Hugh Jackman looking man whom I had watched that day.  I had to wait two weeks, but it was worth it.  I found my Degas, the man who could turn this frumpy, pudgy middle-aged woman into a ballerina.  A mere hour in his hands, and I was lovely again.

Alex and I celebrated my renewed self with dinner around the corner at Kubota, where the tofu is fresh and the Mai Tais are strong.  Boyfriends may come and go, but a fabulous hair stylist is forever.

Japantown: 2 | Carlota: 0

Ah, Japantown, how you are wheedling your way into my cold, black heart!!

San Jose Museum of Quilts and Textiles

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By The Doll on April 13, 2010 12:00 PM 0 0 Vote 0 Votes

I am a textiles junky.

This is not news to anyone who knew me as I obtained my degree in Textile Chemistry. In fact, most of my friends were quite perplexed as to why I wasn't in Computer Science, and given that these days I make my living dishing out content for high tech companies, my friends' concern was understandable. But, Textiles school taught me a lot, the least of which was that I am bad - very, very bad - at physical chemistry.

My love of textiles may explain why I chose the San Jose Museum of Quilts and Textiles as one of the first stops on my Romancing California tour ("close" and "cheap" were two other good reasons in its favor!). My friend Alex suggested we get the hell out of the house despite the pouring down rain yesterday, and threw the link to the museum at me. It was a no-brainer.

The museum itself is small, but with a generous, well lit gallery occupying the back half. The current gallery displays a quilt artist with an edgy, modern collage-in-quilt-form style that surprised and pleased me, despite not being my kind of art. It was more adventurous than I expected from a Quilt museum.

There was also a smaller display of modern Navajo rugs by two Native American artists, Lucy and Ellen Begay. It was clear by the captions in the gallery guide printed on 8" x 11" heavy paper that they don't think too much of their rugs being hung in a gallery. When asked about their inspiration for different rugs, the answer was generally a variation of "things and stuff," and I do mean that literally. Alex and I couldn't help but giggle.

The gift shop is a showcase of many local artists, reasonably priced (for the most part) and highly recommended.

Strangely, I remain the most enchanted by the sidewalk. As we walked to the museum, I was delighted to find squares of various quilt patterns repeated in a steady, tidy line from the street edge to the door. This hits one of my other happy buttons: mosaics.

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Ah, California, you do know the way to this girl's heart! The museum is charming, affordable, surprising and interesting... I will be going back.

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Love and garlic bread

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By The Doll on April 11, 2010 6:23 AM 0 0 Vote 0 Votes
The only thing more wonderful than a dream wedding is the dream wedding of two gay men, because they have dreamt of their wedding day just as long as any woman, only their dream is tempered by the knowledge that they are not allowed to get married.  So if they do find someone and are allowed to celebrate that love with a wedding, legal or not, every detail must perfect:  the drinks, the food, the music, the ceremony.  A gay man's San Francisco wedding is where true love meets one hell of a party.

I went to one yesterday, featuring a Moulin Rouge dinner show replete with drag queens, fan dancers, and (the high point in my opinion) a bullwhip strip tease performed by 6'9" glamazon Madam Chartreuse.  It was... simply fabulous.

There are, of course, downsides to going to a fabulous gay wedding in San Francisco.  All those gorgeous well-dressed single men are not interested in you, for one thing.  Then, of course, there are the drag queens, who look better in a dress than you do.  The worst is the simple understanding that you will never be half the hostess that a gay man is, and you begin to wonder why males would want the company of females at all.

Coworker Raquel and I had attended the gala event with the three call agents visiting from India.  On the way home, we talked about weddings and love, and Raquel asked the Indian she dubbed "Hollywood" (for his good looks, easy charm and big, perfect toothy white smile) to tell me how they say "I love you" in Tamil.  He said it.  All I heard was "No one can make garlic bread," and told him so.  We laughed, and spent several minutes with me trying to repeat what he'd said and failing miserably.  Hollywood patted my shoulder from the back seat and said, "It's all right, Carlota, you can say "garlic bread," and we will know that you love something."

Should I ever have the opportunity to tell someone "I love you" again, I can only hope it is not forever tied to a Pavlovian craving for garlic bread...
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Welcome to my journey.

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By The Doll on April 2, 2010 9:35 PM 0 0 Vote 0 Votes
Dear California,

When I lived in North Carolina, you and I were the best of friends.  I'd come out once a year, laze under your warm gaze.   In my naiveté, I thought we were meant to be.  I was right fond of you.  And then I moved to the bosom of Silicon Valley.

I had no idea just how far the fondness would fall.  I can't blame you entirely, of course...I think I am the most difficult woman in the world to love - passionate, idealistic, and demanding.  But, also hopelessly loyal.  So this is it, California.  Let's give us a second chance.  Make me fall hopelessly in love with you again.

I dare you.

-The Doll
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