feng shui my boo-tay
Other Jenny Columns:
Hating living in the Haight.
Jenny's neighbors. Neighborly attitudes in San Francisco.
Jenny and her roommate have a house guest from Texas.
Amanda tried out Yoga.
Restaurants along Polkstrasse:
The Grubsake, 1525 Pine Street
"The crowd is made up of everything from tired drag queens from nearby Kimo's, girl and boy hustlers counting their take, yuppies, skinheads, fixed eye and income seniors guarding their space, street crazies and a bunch of alcoholics in recovery before and after their meetings acting like drunks without drink." Stu Smith
Osaka Grill, 1217 Sutter Street
"The staff who actually prepare the food at each table is gentle and informative, inviting each guest to participate in the whole experience offered at the Osaka Grill." Stu Smith
Have
you heard of feng shui? If you live in California you have, because they
stop you at the border and ask you three things before they let you in:
What does "www" stand for?
Do you have an MBA?
- Can you feng shui?
And if you answer "no" or "I don’t know" to any of the above, they send you back to Illinois.
I have a clipping from the Nov. 10, 1999 Chronicle called "Feng Shui in a Hurry: 10 Tips From the Experts." Now, Jenny, I said to myself. This is a keeper. I even sent it to my mother in Illinois, whom they would never let into California because she is an artist. But she feng shui’s anyway, and it seems to work for her. Because she doesn’t have the feng shui police coming to her door. Because there are no Chinese people in Quincy. And as usual, that is another story.
The real point to this rambling bender is that I tried to do my civic duty as a tax-paying California voter and feng shui my over-priced and over-populated house in Twin Peaks. And now I know for sure that there is one place they definitely will never let me in, and that is Tibet. Because I feng shui’ed all wrong and now I am covered with bad karma from sheared head to toe-ringed toe. I tried my damnedest.
This is what the newspaper clipping said:
- Clear out the clutter.
Did I mention I’m from Illinois? I skipped step 1.
- Position your bed and desk so you don’t have your back to the door.
This is to make me less vulnerable. The last apartment I lived in had no door on the bedroom, and my roommate had to walk through to get to the bathroom. Occasionally, you know, every once in a while, I had…guests. So when your bed is facing the door, and you have guests, and your roommate has to pee, guess what the first thing she sees is? Me, vulnerable? Never. Her? Let’s just say I haven’t heard from her in a while.
- Create places for conversation, such as two chairs at right angles.
I don’t own two chairs. I have a bachelor’s degree in journalism, and I don’t own two chairs.
- Create a place to eat that is honored and doesn’t feel empty.
I do own dishes and silverware, so this is not as much of a problem as No. 3. And because of No. 1, I never have any truly empty spaces. Also, my sheets have been honored with plenty of food, so I figure that of all 10 tips, I am most okay on Feng Shui in a Hurry tip No. 4.
- Create a "power wall" in your living room that is a representation of what you want out of life.
In my last apartment, I didn’t have a living room. Well, I did, but my roommate lived in it. So in my room I chose not one, not two, but three walls that could be construed as power walls. And I nailed, taped, and glued up all the important images that could be construed as what I want out of life--pictures of friends. What I want out of life is fun, right? And here’s where the bad karma really started to figure in. First, there were the pictures of my ex-girlfriend. I’ve written about her before. She wasn’t my ex-girlfriend when I put the pictures up. She is my ex-girlfriend now. She is still my ex-girlfriend and will be forever and ever, with any luck. Then there were the many and varied pictures of me DRUNK OFF MY ASS in bars in Chicago, in the Castro on Halloween, at parties during college, at clubs in San Francisco. I am quite certain that if I ran into the Dalai Lama on the street, he wouldn’t even give me a "Save Tibet" bumper sticker. He would save it for someone more responsible. Possibly someone who owns a car.
- Engage the senses.
Taste: Dirty dishes.
Smell: Incense, cigarette smoke.
Sound: Shawn Colvin and various hip-hop CDs.
Sight: Shudder.
Feel: Shudder.
- Embrace nature by filling your home with live healthy plants or clean silks.
I’m laughing so hard right now I can barely go on to…
- Use all the rooms of your house.
No problem. That would be ONE.
- Don’t forget the outside of your house.
How could I? Let’s see. There was the homeless guy on the corner, the stacks of moldy rain-soaked Independents rubber-banded to my banister, the brown rosemary bush, the 32 bus, and, oh yes, the Zen center across the street. Ah, California.
- And don’t forget the garage, if that’s where you usually enter your home.
Interestingly enough, it was. I entered my old apartment through a dark, cement crawl space where the washer overflowed and the landlord stored a rotary lawnmower, although we, and no one for blocks in every direction, had a yard. Do you have a yard? If so, email Susan and tell her about it. Then email me so I can reply and tell you to FUCK OFF.
I realize that now that I’ve moved to a quiet house in the boondocks under Sutro Tower, I can’t bitch quite as adroitly as I did when I lived in the Castro. About feng shui anyway. I’m sure I can find something to complain about here, though. Such as next week: Why PETA would send me to China for what I plan to do to the raccoons on my back porch. Where the natives can quite conveniently punish me for my lack of talent in the ancient Chinese art of feng shui.
Reproduction of material from posthoc is prohibited without written permission.
Copyright 2002, Posthoc, Inc.