The Cats Is Good (& cute)

 

 

 

 

 Sorry, Buddy Zech...it creeped me out how many times you came to this blog to look at photos of me--and therefore I've taken most down. A drag to have to self-censor, but...that's why you and I aren't Facebook friends, etc. anymore.

San Francisco Art Exchange - Beatles to Bowie

 "You are cordially invited to the opening reception for our new exhibition, Beatles to Bowie.

The event takes place Saturday, July 17, 2010, from 7:00-10:00 pm.

"From British invasion to glams and punks, Beatles to Bowie offers a visual journey, showcasing the revolution of the 60s and early 70s. Over 50 photographs will be on display capturing the most iconic images from 1962-1974, along with photos from archives that have never before been seen or printed.

"The journey starts with The Beatles in Hamburg and travels to their stroll across Abbey Road. Moving west, Bay Area bands and San Francisco's blossoming counterculture are chronicled, before showing the shattering emergence of the Punks and the spectacle of oddity provided by Glam."
_____________

I'm heading out to my first SFAE show. Very excited.

I've been following the goings-ons of San Francisco Art Exchange for many years. I've been on their mailing list at least 5 years. I've covetted the openings and exhibitions. And once, flush during a lucrative gig in 2008, nearly flew to SF for a very special opening of the Domique Tarlé collection from the Stones at Nellcôte,

having spoken with a gallery rep fairly seriously about purchasing a photo I really love...

The only other gallery I've been to that holds half a candle to the San Francisco Art Exchange in terms of the "seriousness" with which it regards rock and roll photography and art is Chris Murray's Govinda Gallery in Washington DC, which I frequented when I lived there. These two are among only a handful of other similar galleries around the world.

Among many other treats that I knew would lie in store, proximity to SFAE was a special attractant for me to this city.

So that night, exhausted from the week and almost bagging, I got a text from a 617 area code saying "hey my new band's playing tonight in the mission - revolution cafe 20th and Guerrero - come down." I didn't know who it was, but now I had 2 destinations--involving bands and art--so there was no refusing this night out.

SFAE was a really special time, and as I had hoped from afar. It is indeed a very special place. There were probably 200 people total there, ranging in age from a smattering of very hip late teens, to handfuls in their 20s, to people in their 30s, 40s, 50s, 60s, and even older. And what they all had in common was being very cool, and nice. It was a great gathering, somehow both low-key and energetic, with people in general good spirits.

It was exciting to see Stones, Dylan, and Beatles photos I'd never seen before--or had seen only in books or on a laptop screen--by famous photographers. I don't have a shot of it but an outtake of Between the Buttons album cover where Mick's eyeballs are completely pinned! A bunch of us stood there speculating what drugs they were on - it was literally the first time I had been with a group of strangers especially of all ages (that wasn't a concert) speaking knowledgeably about rock n roll, sharing stories, gossip (several people there said with assurance the Stones have all but set the format for the shows next year--only a few places in the US for extended engagements. NYC, Vegas, maybe one other place). Great people. Tales of meeting and hanging with Bill and Charlie, a lighting designer who was at one of their shoots, etc, many stories, much laughter.

And non-Stones photos too...



I felt self-conscious taking pictures of these photographs. Also, most were surrounded by people, but I will be going back again. Here is me with Keith (looking very ruddy). I did not intend to pick a matching outfit!

Had a fantastic conversation with a couple, Sue and Mike, who happen to live in the exact neighborhood I hope to someday (we'll be neighbors!), who love music (Mike is a bassist) and collect art. We jived right away. I told them about the mysterious text about the band. They knew the Revolution Cafe very well and were game to give me a ride over and perhaps join me.

But first we walked over steepy steep hill over steepy steep dale to their car, and since we were within a stone's throw of a famous San Francisco landmark grande olde hotel, we scooted in there and Sue and Mike told me its history. I regretably can't remember its name, but I do know many famous touring musicians have stayed there :)

Mike gives a guided tour all the way thru the city, which was fab and fun. They told me about the massage places you can go with old fashioned "oriental baths" (not grimy bathhouses - there are only 2 decent ones left; the others are cesspools of vice and virus). Kinda scary to hear about. San Francisco does have its well-defined entrenched sketch element. I don't mind. But also not intrigued. They told me many tales of SF history. Pointed out dives and juke joints and blues rooms of yesterday and today.

I adored Revolution Cafe. The mysterious texter was the awesome lovable Altay Guvench from Maine! One birthday I ended up playing trivia and having dinner with him, John McGrath, and Tim Spalding at Ri-Ra in Portland. He's a lovely guy--super funny, smart, fine musician I'm sure tho we missed his band! But we caught 2 other sort of projects that were all friends. Altay left revolution to go to a party, and kindly invited us along, but I was tired after my long evening--still a little shy from not going out very much--and demurred for another time. Sue, Mike, and I stayed a while longer having great chats...

 ...then they hung with me while I scoped a cab, hugs all around, hopped in, returned to Russian Hill, aglow.

GLIMPSE of workday & lunch -- click here!!

Saturday: afternoon with "brother outlaw" Eric....warm night w/cats

My brother Kevin's wife is Lauren Doran. Her brother is Eric Brizee.

I heard tales of "Eric in San Francisco." I knew Eric did something interesting in The Arts. Maybe worked in a museum. Maybe an actor or a cabaret performer. Or sings? Turns out, he does all of the above. His day job is director of operations at the Museum of Performance and Design, whose rock n roll exhibition I'm champing at the bit to see!

So, Eric and I met at Kevin/Lauren's wedding, over 30 years ago. Then at Kevin/Lauren's daughter's wedding in 2004.  A couple of other times. Always liked Eric.

Since Eric lives in San Francisco we got to hang out yesterday. Eric offered to show me different neighborhoods. THEN because it was what San Franciscans consider a "rare summer day," Eric took me to the Ocean Beach to be baptised in the Pacific!

We're not brother- and sister-in-law because it's our siblings who are married to each other. So Eric came up with brother- and sister-outlaw!

When I got home there was a parrot outside the window teasing the cats.

Went to the corner store and bought lettuce so fresh it fairly squeaked.and just looked at some strange fruits...

 Then made yellow curry chicken on bed of avocado & lettuce.

After dinner, sun went down, moon came up, still lovely out...warm nights rare for San Francisco.

THEN....found more RAT poison in the diningroom. Don't really want to get into it right now.

Suffice to say, it was horribly upsetting. Not only was this pile found, but a huge cache of other rat poison under this piece of furniture, as well as an entire other box of poison. All of which I had to clean up. A waking nightmare.

I am considering leaving this house -- looking for another place to live.

The owners of this place are sending someone to clean the house.

Don't wish to write more about this at this time.

The cats see, fine. Grateful for all.
And otherwise life is truly sweet.

s t i m u l u s

It's astonishing how little stimulus I was getting in Maine.

It's a combination of factors. Like, I never worked "normal" job in Maine. I teleworked and traveled around the country. Never had casual, regular day-to-day contact with coworkers--how was your weekend? did you see last night's Top Model? wanna grab lunch? Or, really, day-to-day contact with anyone.

Even when I was in a relationship, no day-to-day contact b/c he was part of a start-up and worked a great deal of the time, and we never lived together.

And otherwise, for 4+ years, I would go literally for days, sometimes even weeks, with little or no actual contact with people. Just phone and email.

Living in the apartment I did, if I felt lonely I would just look out the window and get absorbed by the vast, sometimes desolate, beauty of the sea and sky. And almost forget people.

I felt very self-conscious in Portland. There were so few people, relative to other places I'd lived, I felt like I stuck out when I walked down the street. And I did. Everybody does stick out. There's not a ton of bustle on the streets.
A friend who was visiting from New York once said "What's with people here? they drive up Congress Street looking left and right out their windows - what are they looking at?" And the answer was if you drive (or bike or walk) up Congress Street you can see pretty much everything that's going on. There's almost never more than a few people or things going on.

And you kind of check in, as you're heading home, driving up the Hill. Who's that? oh, it's so-and-so and such-and-such -- new jacket! what are those people doing? oh, there's a puppy with them.

I remember making myself go outside and walk to the Rite Aid, not hide in the anonymity of my car, and sure enough a couple of days later a neighbor commented she had seen me walking up Congress Street with "lots of plastic Rite Aid bags!!" Whether or not their was censure to be inferred from the "plastic bags" observation (i.e., not using cloth bags) I will never know.
But encounters like that made me more self-conscious than I already was (or am).

Not about my use of plastic vs cloth bags (I'm unaffected if someone judges me on my bag choice) but about being observed. Having so little going on that any movement is a focal point. And not being able to blend into a scene. Not to be intrinsically part of a moving mosaic of living bodies and independent and interconnected lives.

There's just not that much going on in Portland that you can just blend in, and move around freely, unobserved, which is my preferred mode. You can do so--and I did--but it took ongoing and deliberate effort, and with a hefty amount of isolation as a result.

In contrast, there is so much going on here. Or certainly feels that way. And it may be the profound "contrast" between the stimulus levels of Portland and San Francisco. I have lived and spent much of my life in NYC and DC. I don't recall feeling this overwhelmed by sensation and stimulation n either of those places. Maybe I was when I moved to DC - I don't recall.

But here in San Francisco, at times I feel almost like an infant who doesn't yet have the capacity to take in everything and make sense of it, and cries from sheer overwhelmitude. Not often. But today,after lunch in the Castro (delicioso!)

I went to Mission Delores Park. It was a scene.

Sorta like the Eastern Prom in Portland...

Except packed with people, like it is, once a year on 4th of July...

And while there were kids there - in fact there's a rad playground frequented by dozens of rainbow kids - it was mostly a non-family scene, per se. Individuals, couples, groups of friends. And lots and lots of dogs. Roguing it up with each other. Running and jumping through the piles of people. And a field where people played soccer and frisbee.

So then I walked through the Mission. And this time it didn't smell like poo. I think I was in a "less good area" the last time I visited the Mission. No one seemed to be pooing on the street today. Which I appreciated.

What was there was block after block of sheer activity and stimulus. I couldn't even take photos. I was too astounded, floored, agog. Just drinking in as much as I could...until I was a tick bloated to capacity with lifeblood stimulus.

That's when I felt for a moment like crying. I wasn't sad or anything. I just could take in no more, and couldn't make sense of everything I was seeing and hearing. Could understand why a baby might just unleash a wah!

It's a reasonable response. But I didn't do so. It happened after I asked a woman about the avocados she was selling out of a box. "How much for both?" and "Are they ripe?" i said, in Spanish. It startled me, walking away. I hadn't realized I knew the word for "both" or for "ripe," but apparently learned in high school, and somewhere in this open and addled mind, the words burbled up because they needed to.

Afterward I spotted a whole Sketchers shoe store. I love Sketchers - wearing them in the '90s in DC. And here's a whole, giant store - wow! Sketchers were everywhere. More styles, designs, colors, textures, ornamentation, inventive displays, sale racks than I could dream of. Hip low-key music and nice people in the store. After about 3 minutes I was completely full-up, and had to stagger back to the street and go home.

So, again. There are no giant Sketchers stores, filled with people animatedly speaking 16 different languages, in Maine.

I was essentially living in beautiful hermitage for the past 4.5 years.

It'll take a while to get my city feet.

I grabbed a cab, instead of the BART...it was like floating on a cloud, with a lovely Jamaican driver who talked like music the whole way home. It grew quieter and quieter. Fewer people. The colors faded from tempera to pastels. The buildings stood straighter up and down, classic features. More green leafy trees. Hills. The Bay twinkling appealingly. Kind of like an expanded, more expansive Portland.

I decided I'll remain in Russian Hill for the next month.

I still aspire to live in the Mission. But there's no harm in slowing down, pacing myself. Like it or not I'm something of a rube right now, content to make forrays into swirling stimulus, walking with my eyes open wide, and mouth agape, completely unwatched, a speck of color in the mosaic.