I obviously and blissfully have no set schedule. In fact, I didn't do a heap of research about San Fran before coming out here, unlike the loads I did for Seattle, so pretty much every day, I'm winging it, which is cool. Being a person who generally loathes planning like I loathe airplanes, I dig the feel of that.
But to give you an idea, because I know this is all something of pressing importance to the vast numbers of people pouring over this blog, each day I wake up around 6:30ish - when it's light out. I have a small breakfast usually of a half bagel, a banana, oj, and/or some Nancy's organic vanilla yogurt or maybe a bowl of this organic granola cereal I bought - and btw have to say, Nancy's is nowhere near as tasty as my Stonyfield Farms yogurt back home - come on, Nance - they have long since figured out a way to make fantastic tasting organic yogurt - get with the program, please. I also always have a cup of green tea and my vitamins, all at my fancy glass kitchen table which is next to two very large windows which overlook Eureka Street, which is pleasant, indeed.
Btw the other day it occurred to me that this general area is known as Eureka Valley, so perhaps I'm on a street of some importance, or something.
Best thing is, the fucking place is quiet. There is some normal street traffic during the day and a green bus uses this street, but other than last night, when my only neighbor on this floor, across the little hallway in apartment 4, had a large gathering of his friends over, one of whom, a guy - okay, they were all guys - the door was left wide open the whole time for some reason and due to my snooping out the peephole, I could see it was a big gay gathering with much loud hooting and laughter and, anyway, at one point as I watched and listened, he asked a guest if he wanted "a glass of wine, or another martini?", and when another of his guests arrived at the door, he greeted him in the following way:
"Hi, kitten!!"
This is being added to my growing list of Things No Straight Man Would Do.
So, after hours of shrieks and whoops and hoots, I was close several times to walking over there to politely ask him to close the door, because it was getting late-ish - 9:30pm - which yes, is not at all late in gaytown in San Francisco, but it was Sunday night for god's sake, and I was absolutely falling down pooped - especially after taking the first hot bath in days, due to my sunburn, but stopped myself. Honestly, I was actually secretly trying to conjure up some excuse to go over there in the hopes that I'd be invited in to join in on the big gay hullabaloo, but chickened out. I don't see myself as terrilby colorful or interesting ie life of the party stuff, and they seemed plenty entertained amongst themselves, thank you.
Shucks.
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Okay, so after breakfast, typically I'll either shower & wash my hair (on the off day) or just shower and not wash my hair, then take off for whereva. Sometimes I leave late - yesterday was a day like that. I think I left the house at 12 noon, partly becaues things open so late here, even on weekdays, and it was a Sunday. Early on, I left for Valencia Street too early, and arrived at maybe 10:30am and nothing was open.
Anyway, I find I have the energy really only for one or one-ish region a day, and that's it. So I'll typically be out for maybe four hours, and that's pretty fucking plenty. Or, I'll split the day up, as I did two days ago, on Saturday, when I had my Castro day. I visited shops in the morning, had lunch at a sidewalk cafe on Castro Street itself, then went home until like 8pm, when I headed back out for a drink and a movie at the Castro Theatre.
Okay, that's three mentions of the "C" word in two sentences. Guess I'm smitten.
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Today I'm toying with the idea of another in-day. It's 11:45 already and I haven't showered, and it's the very first cloud-covered day. We'll see. I need to check out Haight/Ashbury, known locally as "the Haight", which is right next door to Castro, and was sure as hell not going there yesterday on a weekend day, as it's a tourist magnet.
Visiting Haight makes me think of my first visit there, in '87. I have a picture of myself standing on the sidewalk in front of the steps of the Grateful Dead house - I still remember the address - 710 Ashbury Street - wearing my short, blue-black hair and black pants and shoes and I think I was wearing that sweater that I loved at the time - the one with olive green horizontal stripes. Anyway, it's hilarious to look at the photo now, because I'd only recently become enamored with The Dead despite the fact that I'd considered myself a punk person, which was totally breaking the rules. Punks were supposed to despise hippies, but I became quite taken, thoroughly by accident and to my great surprise, with one particular Dead song - One More Saturday Night - as seen on a VHS tape I'd bought called 'Mtv Closet Classics' which had a bunch of old video clips on it - stuff I wanted to see, like old Animals clips and such - this is pre-Youtube, of course.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=31wMSaT489Y&feature=results_main&playnext=1&list=PLCDB91E25436013A6
Okay, here it is; I've just found it and, after literally not seeing this for probably 20 years, have just watched twice, it's still so fetching and fun. It's from 1972 - the band's first trip to Europe, and I think this is German Beat Club. The thing that I think blew me away at the time - and I was so taken with that, seeing as we'd be without a VCR, I actually bothered to film this video off the tv with my Super 8 camera when Maryann and I took off across the country, so reluctant was I to be parted with it - this is, mind you, even though the clip is a full minute longer than the 3 minutes my Super 8 camera could film at any one time.
Too funny. Couple of observations about this video: it's weirdly quick-cut, for the time, and unfortunately has some annoying psychadelic images in the background, though thankfully not fast idiotic zoom-in-and-out that was so common in that era. Also, this is sort of the original lineup of the band. I think it was 2 yrs later that they unfortunately added a very long haired girl singer (the piano player's wife) who resembled lead singer Bob Weir, and hence they added stuff like harmonizing, and it kind of stunk.
Btw, Maryann's nickname for Weir based on this video was Mr Greasy Stringy Ponytail. Watch it, to find out why.
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The thing about the Dead was, I'd thought I'd have no interest in their music as I thought it would be ridiculously loose and rambling and stoned-y, and here to my great shock they were fucking tight - and there's like a dozen people on that stage, and they're fucking smoking. And Jerry is so Jerry here - just exactly what you think of when you picture him, and also, being a lifelong lover of rhythm guitar because of John Lennon - I fell in love right here with the guitar Weir was playing - a Gibson ES 335:
It is gorgeous, no? To the point where, years later, I would buy Eddie Vedder's off Ebay, at great cost (and even drive all the way to Manhattan, by myself, to go pick it up in person).
I absolutely love how basic Bob's playing is in this video, and I remember reading that he was practically still learning to play at this point - learning on stage, as he played - which is so totally 'punk'.
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Anyway, re the first visit to SF: at the time I'd just come from a summer in Tucscon where I'd found and fallen for my first Ed Buryn Vagabonding book - published in that same mandatory hippy/commune/hitchiking hear of '72 - and the combination made me become sort of a miniature Deadhead, or at least admirer, and so it was pretty funny to still be in my East Coast dark hair and garb for five weeks in the middle of hippytown - and two months in Tucscon, which was also quite hippy compared with Boston, loads and loads of long haired guys running around and we're talking this is the conservative Reagan 80's - to the point where I'm purposedly seeking out and having my picture taken in front of the house where the band all lived together back in the mid-60's, which was the stuff that put Haight Ashbury on the map and made it a tourist destination then, and now.
Phew, I am wordy today. Another favorite and semi-revealing photo from later was taken in that same trip. My blue black hair has become reddened slightly in the intense Calif sun so it looked a bit auburn-y, and my hair's grown, and I'm giving the camera a totally relaxed, mellow grin - this was taken west of here, by the old Sutro Baths location overlooking the Pacific Ocean, and you can just sort of see the transformation, from uptight, black clad, East Coast punk-y girl, to letting her hair hang out west coast wannabe commune hippy chick.
So odd to think, here I am at age 47, still visiting these climes, still being entranced by them, still intending - absolutely - to walk by and gawk a moment at 710 Ashbury.
Does that mean I haven't grown up?
And is that a good thing or a bad thing?
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