bluh bluh blog

Temescal Cafe, Bukowski and me

monkeyshines — Sat, 30 Aug 2008 00:07:18 GMT

My old favorite hangout used to be Temescal Cafe, a funky little breakfast/lunch joint which was the only place to eat near Telegraph and 51st (except for the really bad pizza joint, the Black Muslim fish & chips/bakery, and the not-so-spicy taqueria.) TC was like a little bit of the old Mission District plunked down in the middle of North Oakland--amateur art on the walls, a beat-up piano, comfy couch & reading materials & games in the back, and tattooed, and surly wait staff whom you could always count on for a smart-alec remark early on a weekend morning. The line was usually 10 deep on weekends. The food wasn't fancy, just waffles, smoothies and sandwiches, but the atmosphere was punkrock artschool meets family rec room, totally unpretentious. I loved it there. Then one day last fall I rode my bike past and the windows were all papered over with a sign, "closed for renovations" or some such. The neighborhood seemed to be changing fast-- fancy restaurants popping up every month, shiny lofts erecting faster than Rocco Sifreddi, cops walking a new beat. When the old TC looked like it was going to re-open I was relieved--finally there would be a bit of down-to-earth sanity in all this shiny new hoopla. When the new cafe opened, called "The Mixing Bowl", I was shocked, shocked! They'd gotten rid of the piano, couch and games; gone were the mismatched, rickety tables. Everything was sleek and sanitized. The wait staff wore matching pottery barn aprons and cheerful smiles, and were eager to serve me my $8 sandwich. The food was complicated and nouvelle. The character was totally gone. I was sad. Today while tooilng around in the 90 degree heat, I got thirsty passing by the Mixing Bowl. Well, I'll give it another shot, I thought. I went in, ordered my iced tea, and sat down. I didn't see any groggy hipsters or semi-sane homeless people sitting at the tables outside, just moms with babies and a guy working on his laptop. Shit, was there nothing to read here? The metier of a cafe is indicated by its reading materials (or lack of). I spied a stack of Guardians on a table in the corner. I took one back to my table and opened it randomly to an excerpt from a forthcoming collection of Bukowski's work, and everything around me faded away. Suddenly I was lying in a shoddy San Francisco room, hallucinating off another drinking binge and screaming nonsense, and strangely, I began to appreciate the down-and-out charm of Bukowski. Now, I was never much of a Bukowski fan, since reading his childhood memoirs and a handful of his later poems in my 20's. I thought he was a bitter, sexist alcoholic, and not unjustly. But sitting in the cafe, the world he evoked was refreshing, somehow, compared to the bland and sanitized place TC had become. It reminded me that the Bay Area used to be waaay different. I grew up with stories of 1950's San Francisco and the Beats. My mom knew some very infamous people. She shared an apartment with Neal Cassady in the early 50's where, she says, they both slept in the same bed at different times of the day--he worked the night shift, she worked during the day. He used drive her to work in his beat-up car before heading home to sleep. ("We were just friends" she says, but I have my doubts). She worked as a phone operator for the police, he worked some kind of warehouse job. More Mom stories.... Henry Miller pinched her ass in Big Sur, Allen Ginsberg heckled her at theater rehearsals; she visited Wolfman Jack at his radio station and ate burgers at Mel's. She swears she saw Malcolm X before he was Malcolm X, doing comedy at the Purple Onion. This is the city I think of when I read Charles Bukowski--the city my mom told me about, full of gritty, working-class, half-drunk artists sowing the seeds of modern American culture. Reading Bukowski, I become nostalgic for the San Francisco that existed before everything got cleaned up and shiny, before hippies, new agers, Ben & Jerry ice cream, text messaging, yoga studios, dot coms, and nonsmoking bars. Before the Beat Museum and Burning Man. Somehow more human and real than some things I experience in my everyday life, sitting in a shiny cafe sipping iced tea. The unevolved city of San Francisco before Jack Kerouac was assigned as high school reading: Much unhealthier, but in some ways more exciting and richer. I guess everything gets co-opted, eventually.

movie recommendations

monkeyshines — Mon, 28 Jul 2008 18:32:19 GMT

Hi tribe people, I've been totally immersed in school for the past year, and now I need to catch up. So tell me: What were your favorite movies of the past year and a half, in any category? And, why? (I will say that I tend to pass up Hollywood blockbusters, but if they're supercalifragalistic and unusual in some way, feel free to include.) I did manage to see No Country for Old Men and part of Things We Lost in the Fire, which I walked out of. Thanks a million for contributing to my cultural improvement.

wake up, little blog

monkeyshines — Mon, 09 Jun 2008 16:52:11 GMT

I've been in school for the past year and a half, and this blog has suffered. Truth be told, I miss blogging. near-strangers reading semi-personal details about my life? Missed ya! Anyway. I've been in school. I'm 3/4 of the way through with my program and have written numerous critical papers on media theory, made a few short experimental films with found footage and a couple of animations, produced a trailer for a documentary on my family, and written poetry and short stories. It's been pretty cool. I could be a student forever. However, it's getting nigh time I joined the real world, and I don't feel much closer to being prepared. It's one thing to do creative projects in the pressure cooker environment of school, where all the perimeters are delineated, and another to be disciplined in the real world, where there's more incentive to decorate your apartment correctly than to produce art. But, I'm gonna try. yup. on a related note, I've been looking into the whole pay-for-blogging thing lately. It seems like a bit of a scam. You write about certain topics, then keywords within your post are linked to advertisers. seems kinda slutty, and it doesn't pay that great. Does anyone have experience with this?

I dig this.

monkeyshines — Thu, 25 Oct 2007 07:49:12 GMT

http://www.aikijima.com/

so cute, I"m sick.

monkeyshines — Mon, 06 Aug 2007 06:01:09 GMT

I heart Freddie.

monkeyshines — Sun, 03 Jun 2007 21:36:05 GMT

I don't know why, but lately I've been nursing a Freddie Mercury obsession. It must go back to when I was 12 and staying at my mom's friend Michael's house in SF. Michael was a flamingly gay interior designer who had several Queen albums stacked next to his record player. Up till then I'd heard Queen at home in Colorado and marveled over their exquisitely shifting harmonies, but that day at Michael's, looking at Freddie's Village People mustache, I made the "queen" connection. OHHH, he's GAAAY!! I thought to myself. Duh!!! I'd always thought Freddie was exotically beautiful and that his overbite just added to his strange charisma . I just read on Wikipedia that his birth name was Farrokh Bulsara and that his parents were Zororastrians from Zanzibar. And that he went both ways, that at one point he had 10 cats, that he had a four octave voice, that his 60th birthday commemorative concert in Zanzibar was cancelled due to Islamic fundamentalism's distaste for homosexuality, and that he died from AIDS in 1991 at the age of 45. I remember crying back in 1991 when I read that Freddie had died. It seemed so fucked up that someone who'd given me so much aural pleasure could die such an untimely death. I guess death is never timely, but he'd seemed too full of life to die the kind of death you'd associate with AIDS. Freddie, wherever you are, I hope you're riding your bicycle where you like, in red leather pants and a fur boa.

Dearly beloved in christ....or something like that

monkeyshines — Thu, 19 Apr 2007 04:06:13 GMT

For some reason I've been getting an excessive amount of spam/fraud email from people in Nigeria, Japan, and elsewhere lately.... but this one has to be the weirdest so far: Dearly Beloved in Christ God bless you In the name of God the Beneficent; the Merciful,the Master of the day ofJudgement , I greet you in the name of God. I am El badiri usman faye from Cuba.I was born into a strong and devoted muslim family.Me and my wifeare successful bussiness couple that deals on gold from dubai and u.a.e and everything has been so wonderful with my familyuntil on this very day. On 10th Feburary 2004 my wife and my 2 kids and my business partner took a flight from kish to sharjahand they flew kish airline.They had a planecrash and all members of my family including my very good friend lost thier lives. And with that shock of losing my beloved family i felt very sick i hadstroke which later leads to paralysis and my entire family descertated me they say when i was rich i never care for them nowthati have lost everything i want to reconcern with them and they stay away from me. I am taking this bold step to let you know that i want to leave in your care the sum of 11 MILLION EURO is deposited in a security company for the enhancement and propagation of the word of Almigthy God. Having known my condition I decided to donate this fund to amosque, Church,orphange homes,Sick patients,widows organisation or better still a Godlyperson that will utilize this funds the way I am going to instructhere.Mymain aim of doing this is for the propagation and upholding ofthemessage of God , For now idont want any calls from you because of thepresence of my relatives that are always around me if they know i havethat type of money they will hasten my death now that the doctor asassured me that i will not live long again i need somebody not to contactme because of the funds involve but to help me use the funds for whatit is meant for.Please if you know youwill help me with your Godly mind do reach me with. 1. full names 2. phone/fax numbers 3. country/home address 4. age/sex To enable me forward them to my lawyer for the necessary preparation of the document needed by you to claim this funds. i dont want my family to know my plans.Do get back at me to my mail address:elbadiri_usman3@yahoo.com.hk Hoping to hear from you soonest and do notify yourinterest to help me to propagate God's work. May God bless you as you respond to my plea. You are blessed, El badiri usman faye I especially like that he doesn't want any calls from me. I will take him up on that right this minute. And why would someone from a devout Muslim family address me as "dearly beloved in Christ"? It's a mystery.

The belly of the beast

monkeyshines — Mon, 02 Oct 2006 05:02:43 GMT

Someone on Craig's list suggested I sign up with Office Team, a "major player in the temp world." I got all dressed up in my finest artist-playing-professional thrift store suit and trucked on over to SF. I even wore a neckerchief. Ah, I love the city, I thought, marching from Market street to 50 California. Shiny buildings....everyone bustling around like they got somewhere to go....homeless people stopping traffic......Once inside 50 California, I realized I wasn't in Kansas anymore. 20 elevators divided into four banks, an entire team of security people at the front desk. I felt a little smaller. On the 10th floor, a sign proclaimed that I had entered Robert Half, one of the biggest agencies in the country. It's divided into 8 smaller agencies, of which Office Team is one. They had not one but three receptionists sitting at the front desk, all talking at once into headsets. The place was shiny dark wood, well-upholstered banker's chairs, buttoned-down khaki. Shoulda worn pantyhose. I had to fill out a ream of paperwork, then watched other, more put-together folk get ushered into back rooms by people in suits. Fortunately the MOMA annual report was sitting nearby, so I had something with pretty colors to look at. Then Jackie called me to one of the back rooms for an interview. "So, why did you leave Educational Services?" Great. Perfect way to start an interview. "To be honest, it wasn't a good fit." "Can you explain?" Uh, they were all crazy on meds? The owner took things off my desk to throw to her dog? "The job turned out to be different from what was advertised." "How so?" She wasn't going to let me get away with anything. After I woked my way through my checkered job history, she asked how I would categorize myself. "Professional, business casual, funky?" Isn't it obvious? I mean, the funk's just dripping off me.... "Professional generally means suit." "Um, I don't own a suit." "And pantyhose." Well, scratch that.... "I guess business casual." "Did you bring a list of references?" "No, but I can write them down for you." "Didn't you get an email confirmation of our appointment? It should've told you to bring a printed list of references. " "Yes, I did, but it didn't say that. " "Are you sure? because if it didn't, then I'm wondering if my assistant is doing his job, and if it did, then I'm wondering about your attention to detail." Well, that qualifies you for head bitch....I left several inches shorter, and sat back in the lobby to wait for my next "interview" with the guy I"d initially spoken to, Mark. He was much more laid-back. His shirt was unbuttoned to show off a gold chain, and at one point during the interview, started to put his feet on the chair, then stopped himself in mid-swing and sat up straight like a choirboy in church. I thought, go ahead, put your feet on the chair. I'm not even wearing pantyhose. there's more, but I'm tired....

Anyone going to Diamanda Galas?

monkeyshines — Sat, 16 Sep 2006 18:20:38 GMT

I'm planning on going on Saturday Oct. 21st at Yerba Buena center and would love company. If you've never seen her live, it's an experience not to be missed. She has a 3-octave voice, composes all her own music and has been known to do work about topics ranging from AIDS to the genocide of Armenians in Turkey around the turn of the century. The kind of music and voice that makes your skin tingle.... Tix range from $21 to $35 non-members, $15-25 members. She usually sells out, so let me know soon.... www.diamandagalas.com http://www.ybca.org/b_ybca.html

still single after all these years...

monkeyshines — Sun, 10 Sep 2006 20:41:41 GMT

I've looked at being single as a burden for several years now. But while sitting alone at a cafe yesterday, looking around me at groups and couples sitting together, I realized that I"ve managed to make it to 37 without man or child. No small accomplishment. And I've done things along the way that I probably never would have, had I been attached or a parent. I"m learning to love being single, or at least accept it. There is loneliness, yes; but also freedom. I'm not beholden to anyone. I can stay out all night , walk across the city, go somewhere at the drop of a hat with no nose to wipe, no mouth to feed except my own. There is freedom in that which I take for granted. At this point in my life it seems like bearing a child is becoming less of a possibility, and I think I'm OK with it. I can always adopt if it becomes a strong urge. I remember being a very small child and someone asking me, "don't you want to get married and have kids?" and my response was, "No." I still think that having kids for many women is the death of their creative productivity. I'd love to be proven wrong, but I just can't imagine having the time to do both. at any rate. I'd love to hear how other single women feel about being single. What do you love/hate about it?

ship of fools....

monkeyshines — Tue, 22 Aug 2006 18:04:15 GMT

OK. so I left a tennis ball on my desk, which I happen to use on my back, and the owner of this crazy place took it and threw it to her dog as a toy when I wasn't here! Is there no limit to the outrage?? on top of that, I gave one month's notice here, and talked to my direct supervisor about staying until the first week of September to train my replacement. Apparently the right hand wasn't talking to the left, because the owner asked me yesterday if this could be my last week (3 weeks ahead of when I'd planned it to be). I said that I hadn't planned on this being my last week , that I'd written up a letter stating that my last day would be in the first week of September, and that I'd already given them a generous amount of notice for them to be swtiching at the last minute. I'ts surprising that middle-aged people can't seem to run a business professionally... but then, here I am online, so who am I to talk?

who do you miss?

monkeyshines — Tue, 08 Aug 2006 18:21:29 GMT

I miss my best friend Robin from high school. I miss her hilarious notes caricaturing our classmates and their boring fashion sense, her sicky-sweet hallmark birthday cards with the sarastic hand-written message inside, her big, curly hair that she was always trying to tame with chemical perrms, our forbidden rides in her dad's convertible mustang that she learned to hot-wire, going dancing together at the underage punk clubs in Denver, her declaring that "Jim Morrison is the old god, Bono is the new god!" while tripping her ass off, our shoplifting trips to the mall, her Prince, Vanity and Sheila E album collection, and the way she confronted the guy who took my virginity on my birthday (even though it was consensual). Even more than that, I miss being 17 and slightly more innocent. Robin, I miss you. Wherever you are, I hope you're happy. and you? who do you miss?

resignation letter?

monkeyshines — Wed, 02 Aug 2006 14:36:27 GMT

I've spent a couple of hellish months at this "admin" job which turned out to be a combination of executive secretary, HR administrator, purchaser, file clerk, scheduler, dog walker, and facilities manager. (all this out of one part-time person....) Part of what made me quit, besides all the above, is that the office culture revolves around " the more people's input we get on every decision, the better" (for example, at one point three people were in my office trying to decide what password to give me for my computer. Yeesh...I went for coffee and told them to tell me when I got back.) I agree that some communication is necessary, but I don't think everyone needs to share their opinion on everything when others are waiting for a decision. And, in addition, there's a lot of fault-finding, finger-pointing and critical emails sent out without much prior reflection. None of this is doing much for my morale. Short story long, the job was way more than they advertised, intensely complicated and demanding, so I quit. They asked me to work through the end of the summer at reduced hours, which I agreed to do, but they want an official resignation letter. So what do I say? "this job was more demanding than advertised, you're way too critical, can't stand all the drama, see ya"? Should I give them the opportunity to grow from the experience and put this in the resignation letter, or tell them in person? (I've already mentioned the intensely complicated and demanding part, but not the fault-finding and overcritical element.) thanks for any thoughts you might have....and yes, this is the same joint with the potluck office picnic.

vote: is this stingy?

monkeyshines — Tue, 25 Jul 2006 21:46:13 GMT

Scenario: Your employer throws a company picnic which you are required to attend. It's potluck, down to the plastic forks and ice. is this stingy, or am I just spoiled, coming from the catered corporate world? please, share your thoughts.

petition the UN to stop violence against women everywhere

monkeyshines — Sun, 11 Jun 2006 06:51:58 GMT

HI folks, We've all heard about violence committed against women in various parts of the world, including our own, such as female circumcision and honor killings for "crimes" like associating with a man you're not married to, trying to educate women and girls, having sex before marriage or not wearing the right headcovering. United Nations resolution 48/104, passed in 1993, was supposed to prevent such violence against women, but there was no provision made to enforce it. Currently a petition is circulating online that would include specific sanctions taken against countries that do not uphold the resolution. To read the complete petition and link to a version that you can sign online, please go here: http://www.percontra.net/petition.html Thanks again for reading, and please pass this on to your friends. Diana

15 minutes of fame...

monkeyshines — Tue, 21 Mar 2006 01:01:36 GMT

here it is....my Bitch cover dress! Paper is difficult material to work with....

hey, wheredja go?

monkeyshines — Thu, 05 Jan 2006 17:46:57 GMT

I don't know if it's repercussions from the TOU, but I've heard a loud sucking sound emanating from Tribe lately. It's just not the same wild 'n crazy place it used to be. I haven't seen a post from Big Daddy in weeks, and it seems like certain tribe discussions are petering out (not to mention the total disappearance of my guilty pleasure tribes) Has anyone else noticed this? It's all kinda sad. I"ve wasted so much time here over the past 3 years, and I'd hate to see it die completely. And now they're about to change the appearance of Tribe once again, as if that could make up for the lack of content. Welcome to the land of gentrification....in a few months they'll be running wal*mart and mcdonald's ads... oh, I'm so dang cynical. maybe it's because I'm STILL here at Pbar, after I said the 30th would be my last day. Xmas did me in once again. I don't know when my last day will be for sure, and I"m not even going to speculate, but maybe sometime this month. I can taste freedom. It tastes like Mission street--taquerias, mothballs, auto exhaust and cheap perfume. Yum.

resolutions

monkeyshines — Wed, 28 Dec 2005 23:33:40 GMT

I'm getting an early start on them. I've started an online course in investing, got all my birthday ducks in a row and signed up for a weeklong meditation retreat in May. whooeee..... My magic word for 2006: preparedness. I've breezed through much of my life not worrying about what will happen tomorrow, next month or next year, or worrying at the very last minute when the s**t is hitting the fan. Chalk it up to turning 36, but all that's gonna change this year. It's not that I don't value sponteneity, I just want some kind of structure for it to wrap around. Like knowing that maybe I can buy a house or take a big trip or go to grad school sometime in the future, and I won't have to rely on the mythical sugar daddy or lottery winnings to do it. Hmm, maybe this is what having big brothers does for me...puts some practicality and linear thinking in the mix...

My powerbar taste very goodness, no?!?!

monkeyshines — Tue, 20 Dec 2005 23:25:28 GMT

Dear PowerBar!!! I am apologize for my English, I am from Estonian. My powerbar taste very goodness, no?!?! But I want question to know if my powerbar will help me for to grow???? Powerbar is my angel!!!?? helping me to grow largely!?!?~ Very soon, I will not have to deal with questions like this, and that makes me a little sad, but not so largely. I have 6 days and 2 hours left here at good old Pbar. No announcement was made at the Xmas party that I was leaving ( not surprising , since I was never an actual employee) but I have been here for almost 3 years so you think they would've said something. Maybe they're ashamed that they never hired me... anyway, I've kind of started to lose it here. I really don't care what people think. I had a bit of a caffeiene freakout this morning in my conservative co-worker's cube, jumping up and down on his desk and barking, etc.... I'm so tired of trying to fit in the corporate box of waiting until Friday to exist fully, of trying to come up with a stylishly quirky yet office-acceptable outfit every day and of curtailing my nightlife so I can get to work on time and be nice to angry strangers. I won't miss too many folks here, but will really miss some. I won't miss getting up at 7 a.m and going to bed at 10:30 weeknights, I won't miss the high tech sports video game in the lunch room, I won't miss signing in every morning, I won't miss my boss coming over to my cube every 5 minutes to tell me whatever thing it is she has to tell me. I will miss the free UPS shipping, endless paid internet play time and klatches with co-workers disguised as "work". I won't miss yuppies. really.... 6 more days and I revert back to who I was before this job sucked me in, or mutate into something new. I'm looking forward to the transformation.

NYE events?

monkeyshines — Fri, 16 Dec 2005 18:46:56 GMT

So...this year I want a halfway decent NYE. I'm looking for events that aren't necessarily drug-fueled, but fun. Art, dancing, music film, some combination thereof...also, under $25 or so.... Anyone got any recommendations?

terrible wonderful

monkeyshines — Wed, 14 Dec 2005 22:25:15 GMT

It's been a while since I last posted in my blog. My life has had some indescribable events in the past 2 months that I've been incapable of writing down, the primary one being the discovery that I have four older siblings that I never knew existed. No, these weren't spawn of my dad's wild oats. They were children that my mom had in the early 1960's and gave up for adoption for reasons that break your heart. I grew up believing that I was my mom's only child for the past 36 years. She kept her secrets well, until they found us. Now I have three very cool older brothers and an older sister, and a total of 7 siblings, 6 nieces and nephews, and a great-niece. Sometimes it's unfathomable what life has in store for us. I've never even heard a story like ours before. Aside from that, I finally gave notice at my job. My last day here is December 30th. I've been so busy I can't even imagine what it's going to be like to have nothing to do, but I'm sure I"ll figure it out. I'm going to be processing this discovery for a big chunk of it. I don't know what the new year will hold for me. I'm hoping to take this month and sort through the past few years, let the dust settle and see what takes shape. It will be weird to feel like my dreams are finally my own. i'm upset that websense won't even allow me to post photos to my profile anymore. big brother's breath is too warm....

my failed flying lesson.

monkeyshines — Thu, 27 Oct 2005 23:52:15 GMT

On the way to work Monday morning, exactly one year to the day after my last admission to ER, I took a flying faceplant over the handlebars of my brand new mountain bike on Shattuck in front of Berkeley Bowl. My chin broke the fall, followed by various other body parts. Thank god for yoga. A nice lady helped me into her nice car and drove me to the hospital. I tried not to drip blood anywhere. A man came up to me as I sat on the pavement and said, "You flew over the handlebars! You flew over the handlebars!" "Yes, OK!" I said. It seemed pretty obvious. He was in shock, I think. Since then I've been having weird, ibuprofen-fueled, apocalyptic dreams...giant mutating bugs invading my clothing at burning man/a junkyard....driving a car that goes full speed backwards with no brakes, almost crashes into a construction crew and then takes off in flight over a river.... This has been the most accident-prone year of my life. I'm trying to figure out why I've had two operations and a bike accident since last October. Am I on the wrong path? Is the universe trying to tell me, shut up and sit down? Should I move to New Mexico, quit bellydancing, what?? The most surreal and troubling part of the accident was the woman sitting in a red dress at the bus stop 15 feet away from where I fell. I was looking at her just before I dove into the pavement, and she didn't move a muscle until I got into the car. Have people lost their sense of humanity? I try to think of the nice people and friends that have helped me since then, the ones who offered to bring over dinner and a movie, but I still keep seeing that woman sitting at the bus stop not moving. Oh well. donut, not hole...donut, not hole...I'm alive and typing today because of some divine plan. Or, because of randomness. Either way, I'm grateful.

Reminiscent of a perfect day.

monkeyshines — Mon, 17 Oct 2005 22:19:24 GMT

It occurred to me that the history of a city exists in the memory of its inhabitants, and this intangible history is as important as anything that's written in a book. We remember the unsung residents, and their stories are what make the city richer. Yesterday morning I had a sewing lesson with my doctor. How many doctors will trade sewing lessons to help pay off a bill? Dr. Fiscella has an office full of art, much of it textile and fiber, so every trip to her office is like going to a little craft gallery. She told me during our lesson that she was one of the few doctors in the city who would treat AIDS patients during the first years of the epidemic, back in the early 1980's. She has a poster for the AIDS Memorial Quilt in her bathroom. Last year, while using the loo, I glanced up and saw the quilt block for my mom's best friend, who died in 1987 of AIDS. Michael lived on Liberty Street in the Mission, and mom & I used to visit him when we came to the city. Back then El Mission was not as yuppie-safe as it is now. There were occasional gang shootings outside his house, and Michael belonged to a Golds Gym on Valencia Street that was a mix of cholos and tough gay men. His neighbor had a house full of fabulous antiques, but left the outside unpainted so no one would suspect. Michael was an artist and interior designer who made his own bed out of rebar and sent us handmade Christmas cards. At Michael's I discovered another meaning for the word "queen". Seeing his name on the quilt was like a phone call from the past. An entire generation, wiped out and all but forgotten. What would the city be like now if AIDS had never happened? After the lesson I took BART into the city. The weather was that intermediate fall type that only the Bay Area has, when you can smell fireplaces and it's warm with crisp edges, like a perfectly green leaf with a tinge of yellow. You know it won't last, you can sense something approaching that will require you to come in out of the bone chilling fog and take a 20-minute hot shower in the middle of the day, or sit in a cafe and drink endless cups of tea, watching the drizzle make everything soggy. Coziness approaches, but for now, you can sit outside and wear shirtsleeves. I walked around the Market/soma area, stopped at a cafe and sat in the waning sunlight, watching a cute young couple sit across the table from each other and say nothing. I never understood those types of couples, but maybe they're so perfectly attuned that they never have to talk. Personally, I'd be bored to death. On my left was a group of middle-aged men engaged in a coffee klatch, and outside a group of heroin-puffy street people negotiated the route to the next corner. I love San Francisco. I walked up to the Lower Haight ("up" to the lower haight sounds wrong, but that's what I did...). Every corner seemed to have some relationship-related memory. The steep hill (Dolores?) where I rode on the back of K's motorcycle to get to his house for another argument and make-up session. The tail end of Church that S and I walked countless times to go to Safeway for dinner groceries. The bus stop on Market where E., drunk as a skunk, convinced me to take a taxi back to his place late one night in the rain and against my better judgement. The crosswalk where C. and I waited for the light to turn before we hightailed back to his house for more heavy petting. After all this reminiscent wandering, I hopped on the Ocean Beach muni to go to the beach, my original destination. Watched the passengers change depending on which neighborhood we were in: Thirtysomething gay men from Van Ness to Duboce, hipsters from Duboce to Haight, dreadlocked twentysomethings from Haight to Inner Sunset, and Chinese families and old people from downtown to the Outer Sunset. Then there was the guy, skinny and middle aged, sitting across from me in an orange shirt and paint-splattered pants, eating an entire baked chicken from a pink plastic bag. His fingers were covered in grease and the smell was nauseating. He chewed on that chicken like he hadn't eaten in weeks and every time the door opened, threw out a bone picked clean. When he left the train, I expected to see a puddle of grease on his seat. End of the line: The beach. There's something a little depressing about walking on the beach alone on a fall afternoon when the sun is setting. I wandered south, feeling discombobulated. Couples jogged past into the misty distance. The sand was cold and wet, with rivulets of water trickling back into the surf. I had to watch my step, because piles of dog poop were easly confused with blobs of sand. The water was edged with mucky yellow foam from the sewage treatment plant down the beach. Each new wave pushed it back and forth. I felt lonely there on the beach in the midst of couples making out and families chasing their dogs around. But then, the sun set. It was like an ad....spectacular peach sky, punctuated by silhouetted surfers and the outline of a cruise liner sailing into a ball of fire. How freakin' California can you get? The best part, however, was when I turned around and saw a giant full moon rise over Sunset street like a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Melancholy banished, I got on Muni and headed east, in search of food and gold.

I can't even read my own blog at work.

monkeyshines — Fri, 14 Oct 2005 16:08:24 GMT

what kind of oppression is this?? The man, once again, is keeping me down. What about my personal freedom and In-d-vi-du-ality? Ah well. REason number 9,769 to quit. 5 weeks and counting. Now the job is to save $2, 898 so's I can realize my dream of loafing for a solid month while I work on erasing the worry line between my eyebrows, and maybe creating some good in the world and eating lots of pancake breakfasts. So on another note... I was bemoaning my lack of boyfriend to my friend NIna last week, and this is what she said: "boyfriend, schmoyfriend. Let's spend our time doing things that when we're old and not so cute, we can look back and say, 'damn! I was a pistol!'" My response: "But can't I be a pistol with a boyfriend?" Really, she's right. why waste time moaning about lack of boyfriend? Are people with boyfriends really all that happy? Hey, boyfriended folk, what about it? Had I a boyfriend, chances are I wouldn't have gone to that all-male strip show last week. No sir! but then, it didn't stop Alice or Stefanie.....

I'm not crazy about Bob Dylan. Sorry.

monkeyshines — Thu, 13 Oct 2005 16:47:31 GMT

There, I"ve said it. After 10 different people coming up to me and rhapsodizing about him, the documentary, and everything, I just have to say: I'm not that interested. Dude can't sing, which cancels out any value his poetry might have had for me. If they come out with a Tom Waits documentary, however, I'll get more excited, even though he can't sing all that well either. But somehow, that's part of his charm. Maybe it's a generational thing....