Binnacles Lost: 4 Intangibles near my office

SOMA, the neighborhood where my office is in San Francisco, is in the midst of several major development projects. When I first arrived, we told time by the pounding of 12-story pile-drivers. The fire department equipment tests would confirm which day of the week it was: Chainsaw Tuesday, Laddertruck Thursday, etc. The aural headaches are mainly now replaced by newly sprouting mega-chains, business parks, and condos, all in silent prayer that liquifaction is a myth.

So after three years (and change), it is no surprise that the daily rituals that have been my compass have gone adrift*. Here are a few intangible things that won't be back:

1) a good reason to call it a "coffee cart." My daily routine involves picking up coffee before entering the office. Nine days out of ten, I go to Cafe D'Amore at the CalTrain Depot. This originally started as a coffee cart, but soon transferred to a stand inside the station. So, it's not a cart anymore, but when the afternoon coffee fix is needed, I say I'm headed off to Coffee Cart. Staff members who only know the stand often call it the cart.

2) the way to find my preferred milk at the coffee cart. My usual order during the warmer months** is an iced americano or iced coffee. I love my coffe strong with a milk. My preferred aluminum dispenser had a dent from a careless customer. So it was easy to find. But then, one day, I arrived to find a chipped spout! Then, a shiny, new bottle appeared, labeled in handwritten sharpie. Could it be that people who use Whole Milk in their coffee beverages are more clumsy? (T don't answer that.)

3) the Choppers boycott. My office building had a small restaurant that was open for breakfast and lunch. When I started my job, I was forced to take a blood oath by J.B. that I would never set foot inside Chopper's until they changed their evil ways (stopped being mean, let people use the ATM, charged the same price from day to day, etc.). Once the building offered free bagels (paid for by the building) to thank the tenants for dealing with a construction hassle. I crossed the line for the bagel and was keel-hauled with a note that read "Hans is the devil". The note was scrawled in single-serving size strawberry jelly across a "free bagel" flyer. (many of those details are exagerrated for effect, or in other words, lies) Anyway, short story long, the Chopper's boycott was so effective that we didn't realize that they had new owners for about 3 months. The boycott was done, but I don't think I ever visited Chopper's as much as I might have without the blood oath. Chopper's itself is now gone; closed for remodeling to become an Australian wine bar...some things I don't make up.

4) the cut of Sparkle's jib. This is really the only thing that I miss out of these four things. I love dogs, but mainly dogs that reach a certain size. This isn't to say small dogs need not apply, but typically their resumes won't make it past the first cut. The "nice" owners of Chopper's had a Pomeranian named Sparkle. Sparkle was not yippy. Sparkle was a friendly, sleepy, frisky guard in the entrance way that added light to the start of the work day. Sparkle is gone because corporate chains moved into the neighborhood. Next time you have a mochafresca with a caprese-swanky wrap, think of Sparkle...she left for that tasty lunch.

My best to you and Sparkle,
Hans

*or to stay true to my title, the compass stand is now missing.
**[with smug tone] "Oh, I forgot, I live in California, so that would be all year."

Flotsam: 12 cans of Miller High Life

"Well I ain't feeling happy
About the state of things in my life
But I'm working to make it better
With a six of Miller High Life"
--TMBG - "Alienatation's for the Rich"

In July, our house was blessed with the arrival of 12 cans of Miller High Life and my cousin S. from Germany. The beer was purchased in Las Vegas, Nevada and transported to Oakland during a drive lasting a half-marathon's worth of hours. The cans drove through Reno and Yosemite and somehow avoided injury from bears and gamblers.

Due to the stellar tour at Anchor Brewing Company the next morning and a drive to the beach in Santa Cruz the next day, the canned-champagne remained when S. started on the road to home.

Current tally:
1 beer partially consumed by T.; discarded after she declared that it tasted like a fraternity party. (Sorry S.)
4 beers consumed by me on Tuesday art nights; L.M. would be proud that I can still drink High Life.
7 beers waiting for folks who are not swayed by the 24-oz bottles of Red Rocket.

Stop by for a toast to S. if you have a chance. Get them while they are cold!

Cheers,
Hans

Erratum: ligan (a.k.a. the mission)

The title of my blog "flotsam, jetsam, and errata" should really be "ligan and errata" or even "simply ligan".

The term "flotsam and jetsam", when found outside the bounds of maritime law, is usually misused to describe the miscellaneous debris that washes into our possession often floating across our desks and filling the attics and crawl spaces until they burst. Flotsam and jetsam are really goods of potential value that have been thrown into the ocean. Jetsam implies that said items were willingly tossed overboard (usually to lighten the load in an emergency) and flotsam usually implies that said items were not planned to be lost. Sadly, in a world of shipwrecks, pirates, Republican presidents, sea monsters and other dangers, we live with the simple truth that "flotsam happens." Though to be fair, jetsam also happens.

I plan to use this blog as a place to document some of the useless stuff* of potential value that comes through my life and in the process describe the treasure troves that I have discovered. But this, faithful reader, is where the error comes in! This blog is really a collection of items tethered for later retrieval. That means that this isn't about flotsam and jetsam at all, but it's all ligan. What a laugh!

I regret the error and will try to be more precise next time.

Cheers,
Hans

*subliminal Cracker reference