Wednesday, July 06, 2005

SF on the wane

Tuesday morning I slept really late for me, until 10:30. I felt like I was 25 or something. I sat thru the morning in Ben's room, chilling out. I didn't know it, but there was an open house going on, strange people poking their heads in yet without saying hello or 'scuse me. Whatever, ya rude gits. I was starting to feel like I was in the zoo, labelled gaijin incrudulous, and there was a bus out front letting out the gawkers.
So I went walkabout. I had planned to go up Twin Peaks looking for dwarves and cherry pies, but a long unending billow of fog poured over the top like cappucino froth. (OK, admittedly a weak simile, but remember what city I'm in, man.) So, I wandered toward Bernal Heights instead. Along the way:
>I finished my fossilized jet lag burrito, though incredibly, I didn't seem to get it this time round, due no doubt to all those late nights;
>wondered why so many drinks are in cans here and if it is a reason for the obesity, downing them in one go;
>overheard the socialist street terrorist poet, his weapons his words, dig!
>saw street corner rummage sales;
>watched ice cream vendor vatos racing their carts, a jingling as they go;
>saw a heavily-tattoed girl reading the book,"7 Stages to Money Maturity";
>remembered a line in Sunday's play, one actor saying, "I used to be CIA butI don't do faith-based intelligence;"
>misread a sign as "We refuse the right to reserve service to anyone."

I sat atop Bernal Heights Park reading and playing with dogs. Dropped down to a coffee shop called, Profound Ground (?), and wanted to sit out on Bennigan Street but didn't think I had enough pieces of flair. Met CLo later and we listened to music and rapped the evening away. Grabbed an Indian Pizza(!) at Zantes (32nd and Mission), downed an Argentine red. Our buddy Herb came by, and the words, in our usual unique vernacular, began to flow.
It went a little something like this (Hit it!):

Koi Pond Floundering
C..."Those people make some good pizza."
T..."God bless those Indians."
John Malbecovich, being the sounds of the SF city electronic histrionic
every long haired person here is crazier than a corndog.
Or Poi Dog on pizza, no mere CPK with ham and pineapple.
Aloha Honolulu, "Did you bring the lotion?"
Rubbing those spots still green from fresh Nippon haze,
Soy sauce: the spice for every occasion.
Shoyu, show-me only so much outsider.
Rice-a-roni, holy cannoli
harping the chords that bliss the day
leading into the song of the jay
as it sparks its mischief with SPF 30
plus the piece that knows no peace.
The End of Violence-->Waits breaks the silence
with La Boca Right On!
Vaga-male-bonding about our vagabondage
No place to hang the hat,
But on goat horn hooks.
Squeeze-->slap and tickle the cheese for this Zante's infernal za.
No bovine comedy for these slices.

* * *

ThisMorning, connected with Ben-chan again, and headed up toward the Haight. We talked about street yoga, yogis on the street are willing to work it out. Also heard:

T..."I think I'm the only long-hair in the city who's not crazy."
B..."Naw, dude, that's not true. You're totally crazy."

Had an awesome sit down lunch at some incredible teashop whose name escapes me. Famous though. Up to Ameoba to drool and dream. Passed the post office on upper Haight, and threw out my "Haight mail" joke again. Over chai at The People's Cafe, who should walk in but Sean and family. Good reconnect there. Yoga inNoe again,followed by a couple Guinness pints. (I think I'm starting to get the hang of this karma-caloric balance thing.)

On the turntable: Talvin Singh, "Breezeblock"
On the nighttable: ZZ Packer, "Drinking Coffee Elsewhere"

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