Bananas in Pajamas

I will tell you right now, that the title of of this post is misleading. Now before you bring on the Spanish Inquisition, I have something for which to mollify you.

This is, in fact, about Cinammon Rolls.

Now, some of you may rightly be suspicious of my mad cooking skills.

And after the raw salami + fig debacle, you might be right. But this is about baking. And team, I can bake. I am notorious for making enormous messes, and leaving cupboards open.

See here:

And here, The Coz dropping butter (obviously haphazardly) into the frosting:

But the fact of the matter is that, nearly on a regular basis, I can churn out delicious, nutritritous treats. Ok, maybe nutritious is a bit of an over statement,

and yes, that is an entire box of powdered sugar. But if at 1:00am in the morning, The Mav, the Coz, and I can all sit down with a freshly baked cinn. roll, then my work here is done. And it's awesome. And I did it all with Boris and Doris traipsing all over the Florida Keys in the background.

Now that is why I have the sweetness. And now, so can you.

The Wilds of North Beach

Team:

While I am not actually disgruntled, I am far from being gruntled.

I work in a very beautiful part of San Francisco. I get to enjoy a nice little stroll down the Embarcadero in the wee hours of the morn. Birds chirp. The old fashioned rail cars clang cheerily as they roll pass. The smell of the sewers is even pretty negligible. And after months of moping around Cole Valley, and months before that moping around Downtown Oakland, you must understand it is almost like Camelot.

Ha. I come to find out to find out, it is in fact a very silly place indeed.

I receive an email from Security today, informing us that they had received word of an armed gunman in the neighborhood, and would be locking the door for the rest of the day. Employees were advised to not venture outside.

I'm sorry. What?

I worked in Oakland during the Bart riots this winter. I would leave work long after dark, and we would walk in groups the two blocks to the Bart station. I never received company warning of armed gunmen in the neighborhood.

Then again perhaps this was to be taken for granted.

A gunman? In the shadow of Coit Tower? What does one say? In the words of one of my favorite authors, "Very good", I say coldly. "In that case, tinkerty-tonk".

And I mean it to sting.