Tuesday, June 9, 2009

Just tore myself away from San Francisco to say...

If you have noticed something of a drop off in the number of posts lately and are still dealing with a bitter after taste from my 'description' of Fiji then it's a pity that you've been suffering while I've been delighting myself. Moreover, if you don't already feel like the worse off half of an abusive relationship, I'm not sure how many more times I'll be able to drag myself away from this place to blog further! So take it while it's coming children. And consider yourselves lucky.


God it feels great to redress the sentence that acted as the above's corollary with the above. And it's great to be in a place that doesn't make you feel like you're (that awful phrase) 'making the best of things.' And why is that? Well because San Francisco is a great city. There's something decandant and funky about it in places, there are parts that are downright run-down and feel dangerous, there are areas where people talk about the second act of last night's new A.C.T. production on the way out of Tiffany's and there are places where vagrants will thunder past you shouting about how 'Those bitches had no right. They'll have to live with their LIES.' (actually overheard that soliloquy yesterday!) And here's the best thing: They're all the one place. That's going on almost everywhere. The crazies are weaving unseen through crowds of the less obviously crazy and no one acknowledges that the pillars are creaking, that the roof might just collapse inward, that the music has taken on a sinister rhythm. They all just carry on dancing, regardless.
I'll speak more specifically on that subject later, when I have enough time and have had enough time to think. It's great not to have that though, time. When it's flowing out your ears in a place like Fiji, and the slow mechanisms seem to be struggling through some kind of Gel it's really refreshing to find yourself saying, Ah no, is it that late already? There's another day here almost over.

Here's the lighthouse on Alcatraz, as taken quite soon before the sun said screw it and hit the horizon, on a night tour of the famous prison.

The museƩ mechanique, near fisherman's wharf, is total geek antique. It's an arcade made up of 18th, 19th and 20th century amusements. All of them in perfect, gaudy, slightly repressed working order. You'd be surprised how you can sort of catalogue the emancipation of the intellect through those times, relatively minor as it may have been in comparison to earlier centuries, by the sorts of things a person would spend a quarter to see. Highlights include a machine into which one peers (there is room for only one set of eyes) to watch 'What all men go crazy for!' Incidentally, if you're interested, all men, around then, apparently went crazy for sepia toned photographs of ladies in long and heavy silk and satin slips. I remained as sane as I had been before the deposit of my quarter. Equal blame may be laid at my rock solid psyche and the feet of the internet.

It can't have been too much of party having the commode so close to the bed in this typical cell on the rock. Though to be fair the colour of the paint is punishment enough for any crime I've ever heard of, and I should know. For a brief period as a child I had a room covered in a thin uniform layer of it.

Insensitive given the context of the place but what were you expecting? Gravitas?

"Freshly captured leprechauns." That's Irish for 'If you're from Ireland just keep walking, no good can come of entering."

Looks a little less like a jokeworthy scene with the bars pulled across, huh?

Now here's a lovely tradition. Near fisherman's wharf, there's a bakery famous for sourdough bread and clam chowder. You'd never guess the weird and wacky ways in which they combine the two. Well actually you probably would. For those not blessed with an imagination though I herein attach the above.

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