Julie & Julie & Julia

Last night, The Boy came home with a DVD (why do we call them videos anymore or is that just me?) -- it was Julie & Julia. You know, the movie based on the story of NY blogger Julie Powell, who wrote a blog about her year of cooking through Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking. (Actually, he also brought home a boxed set of DVDs of the entire history of WWII, but at 9:45pm, that seemed a little too intense to get into before bedtime.)

So I'm assuming that all of you have seen Julie & Julia and I'm the latecomer here. I read the book early on in my blogging life and proclaimed it "cute." I really wasn't in any sort of hurry to see the film (obviously) as I'd read the book, despite the adoration of Meryl Streep.

Anyway, watching the movie was something of a very humorous revelation. Yes, Meryl Streep was wonderful. Yes, Stanley Tucci was adorable and sexy. Yes, it made me pine for Paris and all foods cooked in butter.

The humorous revelation actually came from The Boy and his increasingly regular outbursts at the screen: "That's OUR life up there!" "What did they do, put a spy camera in our house?" Or he'd just shoot me a charming look composed of equal parts smugness, martyrdom and incredulity. ("Are you going to write this in the blog?!")

It's not that I would compare myself to Julie Powell at all, aside from the fact that we both blog and yes, our first names are the same. (And the somewhat occasional yet maniacal attachment to our blogs as a representation of ourselves to an imagined audience.) But now watching this movie through The Boy's eyes, almost three years after my foray into blogging, it was a somewhat revealing portrait. I'm guessing that many other bloggers felt the same way seeing this film.

It did make me reflect and take inventory of the color and shape my life has taken since I started blogging. As this blog, tangobaby, was my first and still my "real" blog even though other passions and projects have moved to the forefront, the majority of the lessons learned and connections made have come from here. In the crucible of boring office jobs, a yearning for creative outlet and an unsure self-worth... how many of us fall into blogging? As a combined escape from the mundane or outlet for our desires, the numbers of us out there must be staggering.

I guess I just haven't given much thought to how the practice of blogging as a cultural phenomenon has been portrayed in our society. Although there are many bloggers out there, there are still even many more people who've never read one or heard of one. The Boy made a comment about the future trend of movies will now be based on the lives of bloggers, but boy howdy, I'd much rather watch one of those blogging inspired movies than one based on yet another comic book character.

In retrospect, I can't think of a reason not to blog given where I've come from as a result. This blog in particular may take on different levels of importance depending on what other creative pursuits land in my lap, but I can't help feeling that the essence of tangobaby is at the core of a lot of it.

time for a treat

Psst.

Hey.

I have a goodie for you.

***

Well, scratch that. Actually, I have a goodie for one of you (but wish, of course, that I did have a goodie for each and every one of you. You know that.)

Somehow I fell off the goodie/ gift-giving bandwagon. I used to have so much fun with my little drawings. I was thinking about that the other day, having finished a book that I'd enjoyed reading several times: Shutterbabe, by Deborah Copaken Kogan.

After finishing it this last time, I realized that I probably won't read it again, but wanted to give it to someone else who would enjoy it. Also, I am a very careful reader and don't write in my books or dog ear them or spill soup on the pages. So this book is in good condition to give away.

It's a pretty intense, sometimes sexy, fascinating read that combines escapist independent-chick daydreaming with serious world events via photojournalism/ autobiography. It's a book that might shock you a little but will never bore you. You can read the description in the book in the link above.

Anyway, I thought I'd do a drawing and give it to someone else who'd like a good read.

And then I was at my favorite Queen of Sheba Market the other day, getting some little treats and giving photos to the lovely Queen of Sheba herself. For those of you who don't know about the Queen of Sheba, she's one of the main influences that got me started on my photography project, i live here: SF. (I had a wonderful encounter with this woman, which you can read about here.)

So now the book comes with some extras: that delicious loose tea that I'm addicted to, that Ghalyia makes herself and is full of spices, and some rose-flavored Turkish Delight. I'm guessing that there are a few of you out there who, when you read the name Turkish Delight, you immediately get warm, cuddly, youngsterish feelings of reading The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, and fantasizing about what the heck Turkish Delight might be. Or maybe that was just me at age 10.

Anyway, I have some tea and a bag of Turkish Delight for you, too.

And while I'm at it, I'll throw in a print of one of my photos for you. How does that sound?

I'm going to be away for the next day or so visiting Little Helen in her new hospice setting and staying with my parents. So this will give you something to do while I'm gone, okay?

Leave me a comment here if you want to be in the drawing, and I'll draw a name on Friday. It feels nice to give something away to you, who have all been so wonderful and supportive.

It's just a little something, but I hope you'll like it.

xoxo

Whilst Trespassing

It's not every day that, while you are trespassing on private property taking photos for i live here: SF, you are discovered (i.e., caught) by the food editor for Esquire magazine, who just so happens to be visiting San Francisco for a few days to research some places for her next article, and then you happen to mention (i.e., blurt out) your favorite sausage place in the Lower Haight and highly highly recommend the bratwurst and the German potato salad, and then she gives you her email address so you can send her some information about it. And then when you get home and tell your Boy about who you just happened to bump into while you were trespassing on someone's private property, he gets a little miffed because if this certain sausage place gets famous due to some slight indiscretion on a person's (i.e., my) part and this certain sausage place is "discovered" by denizens of Esquire magazine readers, then when we want to go there, it will be terribly crowded and overrun by strangers, and the sausage place will have run out of German potato salad, and that unfortunate situation will all be my fault.

However, it is for precisely reasons like this that (a) I love San Francisco-- because it's the kind of place where you never ever know when something wonderful will happen but it will sooner than later, (b) there is a sausage place so yummy that I can recommend it to the food editor of Esquire magazine just in case I happen to bump into her, and (c) why I hate Mondays.

My life begins on Free Friday.

***

SAN FRANCISCO STREET CRED QUIZ

Without using The Google or wikipedia, who can tell me which famous San Francisco series of stories was inspired by the locale pictured above?

Veni, Vidi, Legi

(Ineptly translated from my nonexistent Latin as I came, I saw, I read.)

Through this oversized book-shaped portal lies a wonderland for the curious and intense little world of book obsessives, collectors, and those who wish they were.

Who is that Boy whizzing by with his green umbrella?

The Antiquarian Book Fair pays a visit to San Francisco every two years. For anyone who might lose their mind with joy at seeing a 15th century illuminated manuscript page and actually be allowed to touch it (albeit in a clear plastic sleeve), cry happy tears at seeing a first edition of whatever their favorite children's book was (in mint condition) or hyperventillate slightly to see Abraham Lincoln's signature, this is the place to be. (Last time, I hung around a booth full of Charles Dickens' first editions. Did I almost cry? Yes.)

It's like the coolest museum, except you can touch stuff.

And if you have enough money, you can buy what you're touching.
(The above card on the copy of Candide reads: One of thirteen known copies, preceding all other editions. Printing and the Mind of Man. $100,000.) I did not ask to handle that book, fyi.

Below are some items that intrigued me for whatever reason. But this tiny collection of photos was nothing compared to the vast variety of what was there on display.

A children's book written by Nazis. Charming.

Another non-PC title for children: John Chinaman

And yet another.

These children's books make me hope we've made some sort of progress. (We have, right?)

Maps of a world that no longer exists.

Fascinating stuff for explorers and armchair travelers.

I'm still not quite sure what purpose this lovely certificate had, but I'm sure the Red Man didn't come out to be the winner here, despite the bright colors and the gold seal.

This book reminded me of Brad.

Not that you could tell from this crap photo, but here is a letter written by George Washington. You'll be glad to know that he had lovely penmanship.

Who doesn't want a first edition of To Kill a Mockingbird?
(A steal at $26K)

Besides the books, incredible maps, posters, and autographs were everywhere.

A folio of Shakespeare's comedies, histories and tragedies, for the drama geek in your life.
Dated 1678.

Descartes, with someone writing in the margins.
Dated 1737.

Tiny perfect miniature sets.
This is a collection of Shakespeare.

I tried to give you an idea of how many booths there were but there was no way to get the scale of this place. You'll just have to see it for yourself in 2011.

One mind-boggling display after another. Booksellers from all over the country packed up their best items to sell here. Many many from England, and also France and Germany.

A Hebrew grammar book from Paris. Dated 1636. It looked new.

What every child needs to know about Vladimir Ilych Ulyanov (V.I. Lenin). Sorry, I have to throw some Big Lebowski in whenever I can. You should know that by now!

You can pick up a first edition of Mao's Little Red Book for a mere $25K.

I don't collect things and normally don't really covet them. But this was the one item (only $950) that I would have bought if I could. From Vienna, a policeman's ball, this petite pouch in soft white leather with a matching tassel contained a tiny vial of perfume and a miniature dance card and pencil. These dainty trinkets were given to the ladies attending just a run-of-the-mill ball in 1913. *sigh*

And there you have it... a day's mania in one post!

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.

;-)

The Long Now

The words will show up later (this is a preview).

Unless you already know what The Long Now is.

So, until I can get back here... make up your own story.