Back into the real world.

Waiting on the threshold between Church and State.

***

Yesterday I watched this elderly woman hesistate in the doorway of the St. Peter and Paul Church in North Beach. She stood there for quite a while, and at first I thought perhaps she was waiting for someone to pick her up in a car, or perhaps it was so dark and cool inside the church and so bright and warm outside that it was too much of a contrast for her.

She has one of those canes that has the little rubber four-footed stand at the bottom. Of course I thought of Little Helen as that whole story is ongoing and sad but mostly I saw myself in this woman and how she seemed like she couldn't move from the spot she was in.

I've been in constant motion for the past two days, enjoyably so, with Relyn and Robin. Yesterday we did our North Beach trek via the incredibly steep yet lush and beautiful Filbert Steps, the 30 Stockton through Chinatown with a dash of sugar provided from XOX Truffles (the Earl Grey truffle is still my favorite) and a canolli at Stella's (I can't eat a cannoli without thinking about that scene in The Godfather: "Leave the gun. Take the cannoli.") and then to SF MoMA to see the Richard Avedon exhibit and the Robert Frank. Both couldn't be more different kinds of artists and seeing these two influential and important ways of seeing juxtaposed was quite striking.

Even though I've been in motion, walking the city and enjoying the company of these two fine ladies, there's a part of me that seems even more stagnant and refusing to budge. I still don't have a job. My grandma is still dying and my mom is still stressed to the max. K and the kids are still homeless and low on money. I can't seem to change these things. There's a cloud of poverty around me and my thoughts and I hate it. It's distracting.


Yesterday, Robin asked me what my goals were and I really couldn't think of anything less mundane that to not feel poor so I said that I don't think I had any goals. But actually, now I do. Earlier in the day, Robin let me play with her camera while we rested in the shade near Coit Tower. I don't even remember what kind of camera it is but I would describe it as a Real Camera. With Real Lenses. I had this huge feeling of AHA! And WOW! So this is what everyone keeps talking about. Realistically, I would need about $3-4K to get started.

I took these photos with my little PowerShot which now does feel small and puny. I still can see that these are good images but not great ones. Every picture I take makes me wonder now how it would be if I had a better camera. A Real Camera.

I feel like one of those misunderstood princesses who is waiting for the magic to start happening. The magic waiting in the wings that will change everything and for some reason that magic seems like it would be a new camera.

But I don't have time to wait around for a fairy godmother or a dashing prince so I'd better get some goals developed asap and get this camera myself. Somehow, I will. And now I have a goal and perhaps I'm teetering on the threshold of a bright new day. And I do think I have Robin and Relyn to thank for that.

Finding friends in the strangest places.

I totally agree.

***

Normally, I don't give too much thought to what I might read in a bathroom stall, but yesterday I think I found a whole new world of poosibilities to take pictures of. Ladies' toilet stall wizdom. ;-)

Obviously the person who wrote Edith Head gives great wardrobe in the ladies' bathroom at Tosca is someone I should be friends with.

Anyway, I'm sure you can tell this is not a 4th of July post. But since so many people are writing them, then I don't feel obliged to. Last night I went to Tosca to help bid Bon Voyage to a friend (and former colleague and sister layoff-ee) who is going to Scotland to live with her sweetie and start a new life in Glasgow.

We all had a grand time. But for some reason, I ended up holding court in my own little plush patent leather booth in the back, like Tallulah Bankhead, and people kept buying me Kir Royals (or else they kept magically appearing in front of me), but in either case, I kept drinking them. Must have been the blond hair, or the fake leopard fur coat, or both. People patted my hair and my coat.

Next time I'm going to start with Shirley Temples.

Be safe today and don't start any fires. I'm going to put a cold compress on my head.

xoxo

What I Love About This Photo

I love the peaceful expression she has, how she looks so comfortable and at ease, the way her hair is moving in the wind, and the sun flares that decorate her portrait like little gemstones.

Laura is sitting on an historic United States Coastal and Geodetic Survey Marker (1869) proclaiming our exact Latitude (37 º 47º 57º N) and Longitude (22º 22º 37º W), as well as Astronomical and Telegraph Longitude. In the always colorful meeting place of Washington Square Park in North Beach.

I like that this portrait represents a crossroads of many kinds, not only of geography, the heavens and time, but an intersection of personalities, desires, wishes and life paths.

Meet Laura here.

My past is buried in saffron-colored Southeast Asia.

Meet Kenneth.

Saffron-colored Asia.

He wrote that, so eloquently, and you can read the rest here.

Wish You Were Here

I find myself taking photos often, not so much for myself, but for other people. Sometimes I forget to share them (and if you saw what my Lightroom2 library looked like, you'd understand why--it's a total jungle in there) and in this case, I think rediscovering these photos while I was still trying to wake up this morning ended up being perfect timing... a few months late.

These are for Tara. I wish you were here. xoxo

***

Tara, note any particular building in the reflection? ;-)

These photos were taken the day I first saw the beautiful wild parrots on Telegraph Hill. I just forgot to share them.


I could have taken a hundred photos of this old wet fence. I love how the rain soaked wood changed the colors and made it so interesting.

And how this rain-speckled ivy looks like a perfect real Valentine heart.

Just some quiet and color and soft San Francisco rain sent to Paris with hugs.

***

ps.: thanks, Brittney, for mentioning this post today. I still don't know how to do that linky thing. *sigh*

The Good, The Bad, and The Naughty

Today is the day that I almost ended The Staycation in a very very bad bad way.

Have you ever done something where you really know you shouldn't be doing what you're doing and the Little Mom Voice in your head is telling you to Stop what you're doing this very instant or else you'll be very very sorry, young lady but you don't listen and you do the bad thing anyway?

I know you know what I'm talking about. You do it too.

***

Today is the second and absolute last time I get my camera wet. (You may remember the first time I got it wet, with some pretty lovely results.) This is the Bad Part of the story. (Then I'll work backwards to the Naughty and Good Parts to make it all have a happy ending.)

***

I was supposed to go tango dancing outside with that fellow from the tango video and it was drizzling, so he called to postpone when I was on the train, halfway to our meeting place, which put me in a teensy bit of a mood because I was really looking forward to dancing with him. (T., if you're reading this, I apologize.)


Anyway, I thought, Shoot, I've never let a little rain get in the way of something that I want to do, so I took my tango shoes and boombox back home and grabbed the camera and lots of extra batteries. I decided to head back to Telegraph Hill to see if lighting might strike twice and I could find the wild parrots again.

Let me tell you, Telegraph Hill is a bitch to climb. It's really crazy steep. But thank goodness in that last block when I thought I was going to slide back down the sidewalk, I could hear this really loud, crazy squawking so I knew that the parrots must be close by, and it was worth the trek. And the nice drizzle was keeping me from sweating.

I went back to the secret little pyracantha bush/tree I found in an alleyway at the top of the hill. Yesterday, the tree was teeming with the vibrant bright green and red wild parrots, who were devouring the red berries and making quite a squawking racket. It was a glorious sight, because the birds matched the tree in an incredible way. Their bright lime green feathers matched the leaves and their brilliant red feathers around their eyes and on their shoulders were the same color as the berries. It was a tree filled with chameleon birds.

But today, when I went back to the tree, the birds weren't there. I could hear them, but could not figure out where they were. They were loud enough so that I knew they were close by.

I trudged around the neighborhood where I could but aside from breaking into people's backyards in the rain, it looked like I was out of luck this time. No feral cherry headed conures for me.

***

Then I saw a few parrots flying overhead and followed them down to a part of the Filbert Street Steps that I did not know existed. (San Francisco is full of steep and wonderful stairways that you can climb for pleasure or torture, depending on your degree of fitness and choice of footwear. A delightful book that's great for touring these steps can be found online here.)

As I got closer to the terminus of the stairs, the squawking got insanely loud. The rain came down harder and the trees above me were dropping giant loads of rain onto my umbrella. As I turned to look over the retaining wall down the hillside below, I could see that I had hit the Wild Parrot Jackpot.


And this is where the Bad Part of the story happens. I had to put down all of my things, including my umbrella, in order to take photos of the birds, who were going crazy over in a tree and on a bird feeder. I walked as slowly and quietly as I could, and before I knew it, I was right on top of them, taking photos. They must be used to people because aside from grazing my head a few times, and giving me those curious sideways or dirty looks that birds do, they let me get so close to them that I could almost touch them.


And the rain poured down. I was soaking wet and soon even my sweater was too wet to wipe the camera lens on without it streaking. The Mom Voice in my head was getting louder, but the birds were so amazing that I couldn't tear myself away.

***

When I finally left the birds, I knew I had done a bad thing. I was so sopping wet that even my socks inside my boots were wet and my hair was a dripping mess. I postponed the Bad Part (where I check my camera) by having a piece of Golden Boy Pizza, which can cure most ills and is probably some of the best pizza in town. But then came the reckoning.

The camera appeared to be giving up the ghost. The lens wouldn't retract and the camera kept shutting itself off and saying horrible things like lens error, restart camera. And it was making a little squeaky sound, like a mouse on a wheel in a cage sound. Super Not Good.

***

Needless to say, the ride home on the train was a bummer. I really really adore my camera (like you couldn't tell) and I don't have $800 lying around the house to replace this one because I'm a dummy. The thought of not having a camera was making me sick to my stomach and it made me realize how much I love taking photos and being able to do it whenever I want. Plus, The Boy would have been very upset with me. (Thankfully he was not home when I got back. Whew.)

I tried to google some answers to see if there was something I could do for my poor drowned Canon, but to no avail. Then I thought maybe I could blow-dry the camera with the hairdryer and see what happens. At this point, what did I have to lose?

So I did. I blew dried my camera.

And after a little while, the squeaky mouse wheel sound was gone and the camera appears to be fine and we're on speaking terms again.

So that was the Naughty Part.

***

And now here is the Good Part. Why I was willing to do such a stupid thing in the first place. These wild parrots are exciting to watch and a gorgeous treat for the eye. They are true eye candy. I have so many photos of them that I'll probably upload an entire set to flickr, but in the meantime, here's a taste. (For the record, the color in these images is not tweaked at all... this is exactly how beautiful these birds are. You can look right into their eyes and feel their little parroty personalities just by standing still and watching them.)

***

For those of you who have not seen the wonderful documentary The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill, here is an excerpt so you can have a peek into the world of these wild and beautiful birds and the city we share with them. You've really got to see this film-- it's magical.

The Voyeur's Walk

“What’s in store for me in the direction I don’t take?” ~ Jack Kerouac

***

I'm going to try to capture a little of the magic I felt last night here, and I'm not really sure if I can do it. It might have been one of those times where you just had to be there, which is why I use the photos, to add something when words fail me.

But I think it's only fair to say that in part I take these walks with you in mind.

Yes, you. For those of you who I know a little or a lot, I think of you when I'm out wandering around. I think what julochka might notice, or what Tom would think was cool, or what would make Christina happy. I just do. I guess I travel with a bunch of you in spirit.

A spirit tour of San Francisco.

***

At sunset, the air was crisp and froze your lungs a little, but in a way that feels wonderful because all of a sudden you realize that you have lungs (a good thing). The air in San Francisco always feels clean. You can take big deep breaths and sometimes smell the salt in the air, from the ocean or the stronger smell of the water of the bay. It was a bit chilly, but the thing about San Francisco is that if you're cold, just head for a hill. In a moment or two, you'll forget all about being cold.

So that's what I did.

***

I had no real destination, except that maybe I would end up at City Lights Books, for Gabby.

This was my first guidepost, my turn signal, my directional: the Transamerica Pyramid.

I'm not really a huge fan of this particular building, but when it's lit up like a candle as it was here, how could you not be drawn to it? (For the record, I did not alter this photo in any way. This is exactly how it glowed in the sunset's light.)

On my way, the Why Building stopped me in my tracks. What a discovery.
Why was I going where I was going? Why did I choose that particular route?

And then I knew.

Below the level of the street was an open door. I don't know if you're like me but if you see an open door, you have to peek inside. I think I'm worse now that I have a camera. I'm a snoop.

But I'm still shy so I don't trespass.

Inside the basement, I could see intriguing sculptures sitting on sawhorses. I couldn't see anyone, and just as I was getting ready to take a photo, a man's voice called out, "It's okay if you want to take a picture."

I froze. Il flagrante delicto. Caught in the act.

A tall, thin man with dirty hands, hair standing on end as if he kept running his hands through it, came to the door. He looked like softer version of Tony Bourdain, minus the attitude.

He invited me into his atelier, his studio.

In amongst the wooden planks, the walls were covered with the most beautiful painted canvases. Each one, a still life or portrait, was stunning. I couldn't believe my eyes.


We talked a little, and even though he said I could take pictures, I still felt shy.

He was carrying sculptures around and setting them on dollies.

All of a sudden, I asked if I could take a picture of his hands. I felt so forward and it embarrassed me. I had to explain that I like taking photos of hands. Hands interest me, they fascinate me, especially if they are doing something.

He just smiled. For some reason, I got the feeling that anything I wanted to do there was fine with him.

So I took a bunch of photos.

As I was leaving, I promised to give him some prints of the photos I'd taken.
He looked so thrilled. It was an amazing moment.

As he grasped my hand to shake it in thanks, he was holding my hand as if it was the most treasured thing in the world, or it was a delicate flower. I can't describe the sensation. I almost cried.

It's not everyday that you feel like you've made a person really really happy.

***

And then it was time to get back to my mission, to the bookstore.

You can walk through Chinatown to North Beach, where City Lights Books resides proudly on Columbus. There is an intersection of cultures, where the shabby yet lovely buildings of Chinatown meet the Italian neighborhood of North Beach. That fascinates me. In one step you jump from China to Italy. I love it.

City Lights Books is not just a bookstore.

You feel that it's truly part of the city, in every step you take.

I don't know much of anything about the Beat Generation, but even without reading their books and poems, you can feel what they were all about just by being in this store.

So I took these images so you could feel it too.

Upstairs in the poetry room, I caught my reflection in the window. Before me were the lights of the city, and behind me, the rows of books filled with lifetimes' worth of poetry and plays.

This store has little nooks and crannies, just like a good bookstore should.

I didn't buy anything this time. I was just there to be there, and that was more than enough.

***

And then, one last flourish to end the Spirit Tour.

On the corner, at Columbus and Broadway, there were glowing things suspended in the air.

At first I couldn't tell what they were. As I walked towards them, I could see they were books. Glowing books to illuminate the night.

Honestly, my heart leapt. It was so pretty. You would have loved it.
(In this photo, you might be able to make out the Transamerica Pyramid again.)

And if that wasn't enough, beautiful words appeared under my feet.

I can't make this stuff up.

This is San Francisco. And this is why I love it so.
And wish you could be here too.

***

So that was my little excursion.
Again, I tried to share the feeling of it more than the facts, and I hope that came across. Thanks for coming with me.

;-)

Take the Douchebag Tour of San Francisco

Oh thank goodness that Bill O'Reilly had the guts to expose the truth about San Francisco to the world. Here I thought that this city was chock full of culture, with a fascinating and diverse population, a unique and colorful history, and amazing architecture, parks and views. Not to mention great shopping, a veritable foodie heaven and the "little cable cars that travel halfway to the stars."

No no no. Watch this video and see how snookered I've been living here. Again, I'm so grateful that Bill and FOX had the courage to air this piece. Even though Bill apparently associated the famous neighborhood of North Beach (where Coit Tower, City Lights Books, a vibrant Italian community and where the Beat Generation made its home) in the Tenderloin, now I know I live in San Fran Freakazoid-Trannytown.



Tell me that people who watch this show are secretly snickering that this blowhard is still the host of "Inside Edition" who got an extremely lucky career break. Either that, or he's doing a great service to our fair city, keeping his mindless flock with their embroidered fanny packs out of our cool town.

(Just so you know, I promise this will be the first and last time this a-hole gets a nod on my blog.)

ps.: If you've never laughed your ass off at some mercilessly embarrassing tourist photos at Fanny Pack Antics, then you are really missing something quite special. White tennis shoe wearers UNITE!

UPDATE: In response to Tara's comment, I've added a link to a segment from the documentary Outfoxed. This portion with Douchbag O'Reilly verbally assaulting a guest is one of the most powerful of the film. If you haven't seen Outfoxed (I own a copy but there are clips available online), you should.

Okay, You Asked For It

Only because you are so good to me am I actually putting a photo of me here so you can see the new me with my Inner Gamine. Normally I would give you a teaser of my right eye and a bit of hair but I know that won't cut it.

This photo was very kindly taken by an accommodating cable car driver on Powell Street this morning, who unfortunately did not capture my best angle, but it's a start. Ugh... I almost can't take this. My face looks like it weighs 500 pounds all by itself. (How does that happen? I might have to take this photo down. Ugh.)

So now you know what my new haircut looks like and you also have proof that I really do live in San Francisco because the cable car is a dead giveaway.

***

Just got back from the Piraro show, where laughter abounded, and then I had a drink with The Boy and a friend at Tosca's called a White Nun (but for some reason I thought it was called a Fuzzy Nun--no matter, it was good) and on that note, I'll bid you a fond adieu.

Nitey-nite.

Short Comedy Public Announcement

For those of you (like me) who can use a serious dose of laughter AND you live near the city... (I mean this city.):

I wanted to let those of you in or near SF know that cartoonist/comedian/crazy guy Dan Piraro is back in town for "The Bizarro Baloney Show" at the Purple Onion in North Beach again. (I am sorry I have not had time to write a proper post and I'm still coasting on the last one and hoping you'll just look at the photos and old posts until I get my act together.)

***

From the show write-up: Bizarro cartoonist Dan Piraro returns to the Bay Area with "The Bizarro Baloney Show," a one-man show featuring comedy, music, puppets and slides of his award-winning cartoon strip, which is seen daily in the San Francisco Chronicle. If you missed his sold-out show this past winter, you can see him now.

Piraro is the winner of three consecutive Reuben Awards from the National Cartoonists Society and his acclaimed cartoon "BIZARRO" runs internationally every day each week.

***

For those of you who appreciate some smart and crazy humor and/or already read his cartoons, his show is a hilarious treat.

For those of you who don't know him, or can't get to the show, you can read more about him from this post I wrote a while back and then you can pretend like you were there, too.

ps. Is recycling posts good for the environment? At least I feel like I've accomplished something today.

pss. I even reused the cartoon, but it's so perfect for the state of affairs lately (former small-town mayors turned governor trying to ban books and fire librarians and all of that, my goodness!) that I had to reuse it.