I am one of those Kooks that will wear shorts with good hiking boots and a thermal top (with a rain jacket tucked into my day pack) until my body hurts from the cold. Around here, Fall and Spring are the two nicest parts of the year. Winter ain't bad, either. It's Summer that sucks. Why? Temperature and pressure inversions between the coast and points inland. When it's 100 degrees 50 miles East of us, we get the Marine Layer of fog sucked on top of us. Where I live, about 5 miles from the Ocean, it's in the buffer zone between the inversion and warmer weather. Exactly on the cusp. It can go either way and usually does.
Recently, my Friend (Of another Friend, mostly) Mark and I have been talking about "which parts of San Francisco were/are tolerable in icky/cold/fogged-out weather. I vote for my native neighborhood of the Outer Sunset and he goes for The Haight, North Beach and The Mission. Of course, neither of us live in San Francisco anymore. Who the fuck can afford to? A closet with a mattress in it is, like, $1,000 a month. I exaggerate. It IS almost that bad though. I can't even imagine what my Grandparents' modest house on 46th Avenue might cost these days. It was built and first sold for somewhere in the $16-18k range back in the early 1940's. It was a great place to be a kid (The beach was six blocks away and the S.F. Zoo, Fleishhacker Pool, the World's Largest Outdoor, Saltwater, Heated Pool were at the end of the block at Sloat Blvd.) and I don't "look back" with regret of much. 90% of those memories are good ones and I wouldn't toss a monkey wrench in there for anything.
The house on 46th:
The one in the center, of course. Last time I saw it, it was sporting a fresh coat of paint. It used to be a drab Salmon kind of color when I was a kid. There used to be a tiny strip of grass in front but, that's gone. The last time I spent any time in S.F., I stayed at: "The First Motel West Of The Rockies" The Ocean Park Motel. Built in 1938, the same year the Golden Gate Bridge opened, it still retains allot of its' Post Moderne a'la Semi-Nautical charm. The Daughter of the original owners and her Husband own and run it. Yay! "Something that hasn't changed."
I stayed there with a Gal from Iowa a few years back for nine days. It was somewhere between Babysitting and Tour Guiding. Ioway just wasn't ready for San Francisco. On her own, she would have ended up robbed, naked and floating in the Bay. I showed her the front steps of the Hotel she and her Daughter wanted to stay in right in the middle of Chinatown. I pointed out a large brownish stain on the sidewalk and asked: "You know what that is?" She didn't. I said: "It's blood. Blood that they've tried to bleach off of the sidewalk. Someone probably died right there." Iowa thanked me for taking her to the Ocean Park instead. I just smiled and said: "Let's go get some lunch" and proceeded to introduce her to a nice Plate Lunch Joint on California Street.
We only had one strange encounter during our stay. Down by Mission Dolores. A wrecked little Speed Freak walked up to me, grabbed ahold of the sleeves of my flight jacket and started sobbing: "You've got to help me, Man..." I explained to him that not only did I not "have to help him but, that if didn't take his hands off of me, I would hurt him." I thought that was pretty restrained. Had I felt threatened by him, he would have been instantly on the ground and "I'm Nobody's Badass." Just y'er Regular Issue City Kid. The Kid wandered off, sobbing some more, looking for his next Maybe A Tourist Mark. We were on our way to the Big Goodwill Store in The Mission. I bought a nice cassette deck and a Jerry Garcia necktie.
She wanted to see The Castro and I told her: "You can go there by yourself, if you want." I just don't have any interest in the place. I remember it being too much different as a younger man. Allot of places like that for me in The City. MY City. The one that has taken over by Crack Smoking Kooks From Gawd Knows Where. The reasons: "why I don't live there anymore."
The Ocean Park:
A very cool place to stay. I almost feel like a traitor to my neighborhood letting this dusty gem see the light of Cyberspace. $100.00 a night, double occupancy "in season." A bit less off peak. If you grew up on the block, well...that's a secret.
Anyway, I fell asleep really early and woke up at the crack of Midnight, which is fine because: I, being a Retired Old Fart, have nothing pressing to do tomorrow and just don't give a shit. I did have a rocking case of heartburn from the Mexican meal I made myself last evening. Baking soda in water, a good belch or three and viola', El Estomago Fixo. Now, I'm "up" drinking good Russian tea, took some "prescribed medication" (nothing "good") and just felt like writing something. I'll go back to sleep in a couple of hours. Or not. I like it: "when my building is asleep and there are no distractions." Desiderata, all that... (Go placidly amongst the noise and haste...)
Maybe the "Mark" I was talking about, maybe not:
Actually, The One Thing I do have to do tomorrow ("Today"), weather permitting, is: Take some photo's of an old Grateful Dead poster (SDS Union Hall, University of Utah, 04.12.1969) I own and some shots of a "reprint" next to it for comparison to send to an Art Dealer on the East Coast. Just to get a rough estimate of what that Joker might be willing to pay for one of the reprints. I would then, turn him onto my source and make further commission on future sales. The "Art Business." Ugh. What a cluster fuck.
Said Poster: (Mine are signed by the Artist, Richard Winn Taylor II, a swell Guy. We're both Old Lighting Guys. He went on to become a CGI Artist and to work for EA Games, worked on both Tron movies, etc., etc..) More of Richard's "stuff" at the addy to follow: (Be impressed. I am.) http://richardtaylordesign.com/
A.O.R.4.156 (2) Second Printing, run of 1,000 prints from original plates. 1st printing was 300 units.
Over and out,
-Doc
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