03.31.09

dear blazing sun: i am determined to spend my lunch hours beneath you as often as possible this year.

03.30.09

dear red shoes: i myself, am in the market for red shoes. should i go chuck-taylor?

03.29.09

dear pier 39: do dungeness crabs really walk right up to the restaurant docks in san francisco?

03.28.09

dear warm spring day: after lots of recent weekends filled with fog, rain and freelance work, i was pleased to spend an afternoon in the hot sun. although i now have a bad sunburn.

03.27.09

dear drunk jackass: when i got on this cable car, you were shouting to the world how inebriated you were. i kept hoping you would get smacked by a muni bus during one of the many times you recklessly swung off the car, hanging by one hand. eventually we rolled by a bar and you leaped off, while the car was still moving (people are killed this way every year.) i was relieved.

03.26.09

dear mannequins in the window: you are such a neighborhood gem. after five years, you never cease to startle me when i walk down my street and sense that i am being watched, which is then confirmed by your three creepy plastic faces in an apartment window. your outfits change each week-- i believe these are your easter dresses (judging by the egg necklaces.) once you were cindy mccain, sarah and pregnant bristol palin.

i have no idea who is responsible for you, but here is who i picture: a jame gumb-like man who dresses up in a coordinating gown, smears some lipstick over his unshaven face, and talks to you as he arranges your latest scene. maybe he is muttering something about it putting the lotion on its skin? one time i walked by, the lights were on and to my shock the entire back wall was lined with mannequin heads.

03.25.09

dear glass of wine at café meuse: i am feeling guilty. after a harrowing day my choices were you or yoga. you won.

03.24.09

dear san francisco shopping centre: every time i shop here, i can’t help but wonder– has your spiraling eight-story escalator been retrofitted?

03.23.09

dear kinder: as an art director, i cannot see a package design without critiquing it. what are you trying to tell me–your end-consumer–about your chocolate? if i eat this, i will have strong white teeth? this candy was made by nazi youth/kkk in germany?

03.22.09

dear kate and george, part 2: after today, your invitations will be shipped off to you and i will have my dining room table back.

03.21.09

dear wild parrots of telegraph hill: you and i both know that you don’t exclusively live in telegraph hill. you often serenade me on my way to work in the morning from the sky above russian hill. today i was in fort mason, and there you were; nearer to me than ever before–which is not exactly captured by the limiting iphone lens in this photo–but all the same. as blurry green and red specs in the middle of the tree trunk, just beneath the lowest branch is a pair of you twisting your parrot heads backwards to make eye contact with me. you then resumed pruning each others’ feathers and at one point you flung a worm to the ground.

03.20.09

dear very hungry caterpillar: i want a copy of the new pop-up version of your book.

03.19.09

dear subway: i have an irrational fear of standing too close to the edge of the platform, thinking that some crazy here in sf (there appear to be a lot of them (and for this phobia, maybe i am one of them)) will push me in front of the train.

03.18.09

dear random mural: no comprende.

03.17.09

dear st. patrick: how far we have come since the days when my great-great-great grandfather, patrick o’herin, had stones thrown at him by the vermont townsfolk for walking to the train to meet the only catholic priest in the county once a week.

03.16.09

dear boss: thank you for letting me drive your fancy car. it felt like back to the future part ii (have we reached “the future” that the movie references yet?) when the mirrors folded up and a green glare repellent thing came down on them.

03.15.09

dear west portal wine shop: i guess you know your target audience.

03.14.09

dear suburbs: i think i will miss living here now that my two-week stay is nearing its end.

03.13.09

dear mexican restaurant: your decor almost gave my friend (who recently had a head injury) a seizure.

03.12.09

dear keys: in effort to not lose you every day of my life, (i estimate i have lost at least four weeks of my life searching for keys) i have dressed you in bright colored silicon owls. i still misplaced you this morning.

03.11.09

dear starbucks: i love the new breakfast deal–a tall soy latte and oatmeal to go for $3.95.

03.10.09

dear daylight savings: while i dislike the new morning routine, it is nice to be able to make it home in time to watch the sunset.

03.09.09

dear mobile piano man: you, with your surprisingly skilled performance of beethoven’s moonlight sonata, made my walk to the mailbox extremely dramatic.

03.08.09

dear hercules, part ii: i thought we discussed this and yet here you are, bleary eyed and in my bed on a sunday morning.

03.07.09

dear scary girl in front of me in line at walgreens: you and your friend were talking so much smack about how you were gonna beat on some other chick. there were promises of hair ripping, nail scratching and teeth biting. i thought you were crazy but then i realized by your jacket, you actually are professional fighters.

03.06.09

dear virgin megastore: another empty storefront-to-be added to my downtown commute. i will miss your café.

03.05.09

dear memére: i finally got around to making your whoopie pies! (with substantial help from my good friend scott.) they tasted just like you made them, minus the wax paper wrapping.

03.04.09

dear tyra: thanks for another deliciously trashy season premiere of america’s next top model.

03.03.09

dear hercules: since you scratch, lick, and flip the blankets up with your nose all night and then wake up at 4:30 am, we are not going to share a bed anymore.

03.02.09

dear boss: during my “orientation” to house-sit for you, you mentioned that i was welcome to use your printer. i believe i replied, “oh no, that won’t be necessary…” thinking that i would not want to dwindle your ink supply. tonight, while searching for a stapler, i came across said ink supply nailed to the wall in a closet. i will now be using your printer.

03.01.09

dear water fountain for sale: fail.