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Friday, October 19, 2012

Three Days


October 17, 2012

Today I saw a humpback whale break the surface of the ocean and splash back down.  It was pretty “majestic” as they say.  Beau and I drove across the Golden Gate Bridge to the Marin Headlands.  It was a beautiful day, probably around 70 degrees.  The Indian summer maintains, which is ok because I still have not received my camera by post yet.  It is taking a really really long time.  Not only am I anxious to receive it, but I really want to get on with the trip.  I feel like I’m wearing out my welcome on everyone’s couch.  Last night was my last night at Beau’s place.  I had to find other accommodations.  Still, we drove over the bridge and hiked around the old military instillations.  There are bunkers from WWII and remnants of artillery stations lining the hills of the Headlands.  Most are weathered and corroded and have collapsed in on each other.  There are broken wooden beams and corroded metal supports all caving in on the crumbling concrete that used to protect and house American soldiers.  There are great steel doors sealing bomb shelters and bunkers at every turn.  I was hoping there was some secret government experiment going on behind the doors just waiting to start the Zombie Apocalypse… no such luck. 
The decomposing structures looked as if they were hit with an atomic bomb.  Turns out it was just ocean air and time.  I can only imagine the naïve sentiments when they were made of how everything was going to last forever.  We walked around a good bit, climbed on fallen structures and admired the graffiti.  Within that, a loud pop went off in the distance.  Out of the corner of our eyes, a whale shoots out of the water.  It was like a shinny grey missile as it breached, and just as fast, came crashing down.  From the distance, the splash and submerge happened well before we heard the effect.  It was loud.  It was awesome.  It was the first time I saw a whale.  Almost immediately after we spied it, two boats came speeding over to invade its space and gawk.  It stopped playing in the air, but it was a beautiful day and the whale knew it too.
I met Shamia in Mendocino a couple of weeks ago and now I’m on her couch.  She lives with Alex and her brother Patrick, who’re half Chinese and half Chamorro.  I don’t know why I’m telling you this, but it came up tonight and, well, now you know.  We all talked about racial jokes.  I find them hilarious and appropriate in just about every situation.  San Francisco first needs a few drinks to agree.

October 18-19, 2012

Today was a bad day.  I said that both days.  I was just tired and cranky and pissed about my shipping problems.  As you may or may not know, I ordered a camera on the internet.  Almost a month later, it seems that it isn’t going to arrive.  I had to scramble and make it happen another way, which cost a lot more money and time.  This whole waiting process has kept me in San Francisco for way too long.  I am starting to see the weather change and in the realm of the North West and Yellowstone that means feet of snow on the ground.  I’m working on my brave face and still think I can bear it.  I can, right?
I was just beat… it was a rough day.
Thursday night was kind of a savior though.  We all went out for a show.  A music show.  A friend of everyone’s was playing at a mock antique shop slash art studio slash store.  It was the kind of place with a red cast iron tub filled with faux fur and bars of soap or twelve hundred dollar antique typewriters.  They had a very impressive electric organ with all the switches and a full row of foot pedals.  The bathroom was the most spoken of room, as everyone had to compliment it to their friends when they rejoined their respective groups.  Downstairs was the venue.  It was a twilight antique cabin look, all wood with hipster lighting.  There was a surreal noir mural taking up a huge space on the wall next to the bar.  It was like a black and white ball in the VIP sections of hell where everyone looks like a creepy Peter Laurie…well creepier.  Anyway, we went to watch the Slow Motion Cowboys, a country-folk four piece consisting of an acoustic guitar, lap steel, stand up bass, and mandolin.  They were impressive, I bought a CD. 
After the show we all went to get a drink at the next place with Pete and Dan, the front men of the group.  While waiting, Leslie and I watched a haggard, drunken man stumble across the street.  It was a slanted, technically jay walk right towards are group.  We silently watched this display.  It was a typical Haight Street bum of the hippie/punk variety; he was drunk and a little bit crazy.  Well, I’m not making fun, but it was an ethereal observation that the cosmos compiled for me.  I felt it instantly.  He walked right towards us and in the most comically slapstick way and tripped on the sidewalk up.  He didn’t fall over; he caught himself and stumbled on, mumbling to himself.  But I thought, that in every version in every universe, that happened in all of them.  It was a good night.

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