It’s Not Beer, It’s Kombucha

Originally, I was going to post the below picture with a story about “Sobriety In An Intoxicated World.” It largely would’ve bemoaned the then-reality that it was difficult to find a cool group of people to connect with and have fun with in a drink and drug-free manner. Since then, however, I found a group of people who’ve thrown birthday house parties and danced their little hearts out and played games and eaten good eats…all with little to zero alcohol/illicit drugs involved. Call me a happy camper! So, this picture begins my tale of pseudo-beers instead…

For a while I ordered Martinelli’s sparkling ciders in mini-beer-esque bottles for myself at work–my boss and coworker drink sodas. And I was giddy. I loved the bottle. The act of chugging a thick sturdy bottle that risks not bending but shattering under the pressure of an unskilled–and crazy strong–palm. I also loved knowing that it was apple cider I was imbibing–fruit servings! Of course, months later, my dentist warned me that I was beginning to get a cavity, and I decided to blame the fizzy sweet apple of my sparkling eye. (I would’ve gotten the normal apple juice but they come in plastic now, not glass, and while I know that takes less energy to create, it also leeches chemicals–bad for me–and doesn’t biodegrade–and still bad for the environment, so yeah, no.)

That was my first pseudo mini beer bottle experience. Last St. Patrick’s Day I had my second.

And rather than giddy and chugiggly, I felt awkward. Before I was doing something that felt rebellious–engaging in the sensual experience of consuming beer at work–but was healthy and harmless (except for the pre-cavity); Now, I was doing something that made me seem slightly more brazen than the next fool, but not really different…I’ll explain.

I was running late for a literary reading and hadn’t eaten/drunken much. I knew I’d get a sandwich at the event but I was craving a kombucha Synergy drink and its magical vitality-replenishing powers. Given the potential extra bits of radioactive particulate matter brought in by the winds, I, of course, was looking forward to the Muti-Green flavor. But when I got to Whole Foods (they’re actually .79c-$1 cheaper there than at Walgreen’s, etc.–likely cause of the higher demand), all the green ones were gone!!! What? Were other people just as mildly paranoid or were they merely engaging in mass Multi-Green consumption because it matched the freakin’ holiday of the day’s color? Either way, it was time to come up with plan B. Above the Synergy’s were Kombucha Botanica’s, which I thought were made by the same people, given their same level of alcohol content (0.5%), but it seems they are not. I preferred Synergy’s ingredients/nutrition label, but in a jiffy the Botanica had green stuff available! As it turned out, in a suspiciously beer-looking bottle.

In a haste, I consumed it while walking to the literary reading (I didn’t want to bring in an outside drink–they have water to go with the sandwich), and got some curious stares. 1) Drinking in public is illegal in the U.S. and, while more slack, this includes San Francisco! 2) It’s not unfathomable to see a non-homeless person with a drink in public every now and then–especially on a holiday. I started chugging faster, to get rid of the container of awkwardness that made people thing that even though I wasn’t as festively dressed as they or wearing any green, I was proudly chugging some green-labeled beer nonetheless. If it wasn’t for assumptions, I would’ve enjoyed the bottle.

Oh, and another sidenote. When I first started drinking Synergy, I felt so great and clear and alive afterward. Could this really be all nutrient-related, I questioned. I mean, it says there’s slight fermentation. My trip to Whole Foods confirmed what this meant with a hand-written sign saying there was only 0.5% alcohol in it. Ah-ha. Doubt set in. It is possible that given the absolute rarity with which I drink that this might be the magic euphoria without consequences number. However, there is a difference between when I sip wine and this stuff. Besides the numbers, I don’t feel thirsty after Synergy. There is no point where my mouth feels dry or my blood sugar feels off, even if I drink it before eating. This coupled with my recent venture into vitamins made from real live foods (I know, I know, eat the foods, blah blah, I do when I have time) and green grass drink mixes, which yielded similar clear, expansive, energizing effects lead me subdue my scepticism and give Synergy a supportive thumbs up!

Until they get huge and forget who they are…and start adding ambiguous “Natural Flavors” to their drinks like Naked Juice.

In conclusion, I’m sure it’s hard for the real beer drinkers to understand. But the whole experience of drinking doesn’t lie entirely in the fermented wheat (my personal favorite), barley, or hops. Much of it lies in the physical and even aesthetic (as all marketers know) experience of the package, the ingestion of a warm fizzy liquid, and the myriad psycho-social implications our head undergoes during the process. The liquid itself is merely a socially agreed upon, hugely profitable excuse for many things. I like the bottle, I like the chugging, but I also like my energy and health.

Two Pictures

I happened upon a crushed wine glass or two (hard to tell) while descending the steps of a secret vantage point in the city a couple of days after New Years. Not this New Years but 2010′s New Years. Perhaps this should belong to my Tumblr, or FaceBook, or something, but who’s counting? Have a look-see at what I see(d). I know, saw, but I wanted it to rhyme.

Something about it moved me:

I think I like this angle better:

The Little Things 6: Boomer Love

An exuberant woman of vague baby boomer age stood in the small, low-traffic mediterranean deli talking to the super friendly owner. Not noticing that a guy ahead of me and then myself had walked in and lined up behind her. She narrated the following:

“We never dated in college and I knew that after college he had gotten married and had kids. But then he emails me ‘Hey…I have two tickets to the symphony and I know this is totally last-minute but I was wondering if you’d like to go with me? … P.S. Debra and I are divorced.’ out of the blue!!!”

This woman had the excitement of a lottery winner. I thought about interrupting her to say there was a line forming but I wanted her to finish the story. After the quoted, the man in front of me said, “Not to be rude, but I’d like to order.” She thanked him for bringing the newly formed line to her attention.

This just made me smile a lot. I’ve heard a handful of boomers’ second chances at love and I just think it’s so endearing. Much, much better than the old idea of once you’re divorced, or if you never married, well…that’s it for your romantic hopes. Besides which, resilience just always makes me happy. Whether it’s middle-aged folk reclaiming their youth or an 82 year old widow discovering meditation for the first time.

Life is endearing .

Some training and the I Am From poem

I went to my first of two training days last Saturday for a non-profit I’ll soon be mentoring for. Volunteering to mentor teenage foster youth. Tough gig sure, but I’m very excited about it. I thought each of the handful of trainers they had come out had something valuable to contribute, some definite morsels of wisdom to share. Advocates, management types, trainer types, up in the nitty gritty of working with the community directly types.

At some point, after sharing a couple of charts having to do with cultural icebergs and perception spectrums with which we see each other, one speaker gave us about five minutes to write a poem called “I Am From” that went through “place(s), foods, language(s), and names” descriptions. It was fun. I was tickled that another mentor-to-be said they noticed they were afraid to share (read aloud in our small group) but found it easy/humanizing to hear other people’s stories. The one who said this came from a peaceful, lovely-sounding place. I couldn’t imagine why she’d be afraid to share, but understood what she meant.

I decided to hold back on the chalk body outlines image in my “place” section” since I’d already written about it in a poem once and really, it wasn’t what happened most frequently, just something that impacted me strongly emotionally. For both frequency and emotion, I went with helicopters. You’ll see what I mean. I wasn’t nervous about sharing what landed on my page. As you know, I’ve written rawer things. But the exercise/poem made me feel pleasant. This was it:

I am from perfect weather that makes for record-breaking rain,
wives in a circle crocheting,
helicopters at midnight with spotlights.
I am from beans, rice, split peas, plaintains, and Dr. Bronner’s Liquid Salt
for good health–a quirky blend of affordability and ideals.
I am from “Te adoro princesa, pero no seas traviesa, lo que yo digo es la lei,
and that’s the way it should be.”
I am from a stew of hyphenated names, preserving the self while accepting our gains.
Rodriguez, Sotolongo, Velez, Vasquez, Mami and Uncle Cuco debating
the necessary balance between Communism and Democracy,
the individual in a community of beings.

Yes, there was a post.

For about an hour or so. But somehow, I just don’t seem to want to keep vitriol up. Even when it feels like understandable exasperation that needed to be expressed in the most apt platform for that kind of thing.

I realize this is cryptic to the lot of you.

I’ve been good/fulfilled overall!

Wants Not Shoulds

Over the holidays, a business professional we sublet office space to asked if I would calligraphy the first names of his Christmas dinner guests. I said sure. It took me between 45-60 minutes. I decided to listen to David Whyte’s Poetry of Self-Compassion on CD that a friend had enclosed in an early Christmas card for me. While listening to the words and concepts, I could easily relate them to recent and past romantic foibles and was having some “yeah, that sounds great, aha” moments…all the while I was criticizing my calligraphic skills as I went along for not being perfect enough. After I finished the place cards, I chuckled to myself, realizing the self-compassion I’d been lacking in the present moments all the while thinking I was truly “getting it” because I could link it up with the past.

When I gave the cards to the guy the next day he was super excited and kept saying how beautiful they were. I’d been debating what to charge internally, criticizing myself for messing up a couple of extra cards that weren’t going to be used anyway, and spacing here or there, when, in fact, the end results were beautiful. My insecurity was saying $20 but my truth was saying $25. I told him $25 per hour would be reasonable and that it took almost an hour and he was very fine with $25, understanding that anything less would seem not worth the trouble. (I did check on Etsy and Google what the going rate per card is too and went a little above that since there’s no shipping wait needed. Oh, and he provided the place cards; I had the pen.). Anyhow, I was very proud of myself and at the same time very uneasy for a while after. Everything went well with the interaction but I was anxious. Later I had this memory of my mom refusing to beg for money, even when we were homeless (going to shelters instead). Granted I was not begging, but charging for a service. Still, I realized how long I’d carried around this terror of directly asking for what I felt I deserved or needed to be happy.

Sooo…after talking to a few people about my work frustrations, yesterday after work, I talked to my boss about how this year I need more time to myself to focus on researching programs/activities/grad schools for Spiritual Psychology and working on things that would put me more in line with that field/world. I asked for Fridays off and said we could hire a retired (not by choice) temp we’ve had to replace me that day, if need be. He said he was all for it, and that he “fully supported” my decision. And asked if one day would really be enough for me?

We left the conversation there, but I’ve realized since that my fear/shoulding myself was wanting 4 days of work though I really felt like 3 would be enough and much more realistic in terms of what I really want to do.

I’ve talked to the temp and she’s happy with either.

But the real point is that sometimes when I feel a change of action is needed on the horizon, I can start to feel like I’m going crazy. I have to express something but I’m just not ready to admit it to myself/feel like it’d come out in an unreasonable/explosive way if I acted before I was ready. So I let the thoughts, fears, and feelings roll, and at some point say, Karisma, just do it already!

I’m sure the process happens more quickly than it feels like in some linear comparative kind of way. But it can feel like having to go potty in a roadtripping car in a felt-sense kind of way.

And I cannot tell you what a relief it was to have my truth met with support this time in life. My heart felt massaged by those words and I cried a little on the bus ride home. For the second time in the last week or so in the Fidi (the first based on fear/frustration/acknowledging the truth). I wondered if people thought I’d been laid off and how little we really know about people’s inner worlds.

Currently, I’m home sick. Yes, I’m really sick. A good friend that was staying with me had the same symptoms so I probably caught that cold. Hungry now!

Cast Your Vote: People vs. Technology

I went to a chain cafe for lunch in the financial district and made a beeline for the self-service computer desk. There were two registers with cashiers open and three computers. I went late; the place is usually packed. I had decided to pay with credit card and didn’t see the point of going to a cashier to hand it over to them when I could just swipe it myself. Partially though, I think I opted for credit card to avoid the awkward moment of, after paying with cash, deciding whether and how much to leave in the tip jar.  Too much pressure!

As the cashiers stood at their posts though, bored and waiting, I began to contemplate the effects of our interpersonal issues on the economy. I say “our” because I wasn’t the only one at the computers while the cashiers went unapproached. And I’m sure my desire for a quick, intimacy-free transaction was shared by others. They just don’t think about where it stems from. They’d say, “It’s more convenient.” Perhaps their voices would lift with a sense of empowerment when they’d say “I get to do it myself.” I’m imagining a focus group here.

But here’s where the disconnect comes in.

1) We complain about technology taking jobs away, but how do you think it’s gonna look when the computer stations hit higher numbers than the registers? Maybe the most in denial would say, “Well, those jobs were meant to go away, they’re low-skilled, but I matter and so I’m safe.” I wonder how many investment bankers thought that a few years ago before they were desperate to land jobs they were overqualified for at Starbucks to make ends/debt/mortgages meet. What “matters” or is considered a “skill” changes over time, and much more rapidly in our country. If you’re not concerned about the little guy now, don’t be surprised when no one’s considered about your newly little guyed self.

2) Guilt doesn’t go away, it just shapeshifts. Maybe I don’t have to face the mild guilt I feel when others do something for me that I could just as well do myself (like if I could I should) or when I don’t drop .50 to $1 in their tip jar cause that would make the already expensive sandwiches/salads uncomfortably closer to the $10 mark if I were rounding for estimates, but I still have to feel the mild guilt/sadness of looking at bored/anxious cashiers wishing we would choose them over computers, and of knowing that where I swipe my card is like voting for my preference in a business context. And I really sooo don’t prefer technology over people. Not a bit. Especially not the genuinely friendly people they’ve somehow found to work at this particular cafe.

I need to vote right next time.