the late Frank Jordan

Last year I saw Frank Jordan play at least six times in different venues in Sacramento, and have been eagerly awaiting the release of their new album. This morning I just discovered that they're no longer a band, although it looks like they're playing one last show August 6th at the Khyber in Philadelphia before calling it quits for good. This news is disappointing because I really thought they had the talent to do something big, and I always wanted to get to the point one day where I could approach them and say, hey, will you compose a soundtrack to this movie I'm writing? - or perhaps some other type of collaboration. Obviously this was just a pipe dream, but it still sounds nice as I reflect on it now.

Anyway, here's to the late Frank Jordan, who between them and the Low Flying Owls are the two greatest bands Sacramento has ever produced (in my opinion), which is saying something considering this scene was also responsible for Cake and The Deftones. Perhaps a little time away will spur them to reconsider their plans.

Stairway to Heaven

I finally found a 30-second clip to this amazing video by Danish artist Jeroen Offerman, one that I first saw in Wholphin, a DVD put out by the people at The Believer. While this clip hardly encapsulates the true genius of the performance (which is eight minutes long), it's enough to get an idea of the madness. The following is a brief description of the project:

"The Stairway at St. Paul's' documents a performance by Jeroen Offerman, playing with the notion that in the 60-ies and 70-ies certain rock-and-roll recordings were supposed to contain hidden evil or satanic messages when played backwards. One of the most famous examples is Led Zeppelin''s 'Stairway to Heaven'. Offerman practiced for three months to learn perfectly how to sing this song backwards, went to St. Paul's Cathedral in London, a place frequently visited by tourists, to sing it standing in front of the stairway that leads up to the entrance. The video is a live-registration of this event, but the tape is played reversed, so that the song and words can be heard 'normal' again."

Brainstorming Today

While doing some research, I found the most amazing website for a copywriter I've ever seen, and it's set the bar awfully high in this genre. Check it out if you have a moment. Here is the guy who made it; he has quite an impressive CV.

A Few Things

Spent last evening reviewing the proofs for the front and back covers of the book. Everything looks great and I couldn't be more pleased. We're going to be ordering test prints of the book hopefully by Monday, and if all goes well, it should be on sale three or four days after that. I know my time schedule has been off several times before, but we're almost there, trust me, and I appreciate both your patience and your continuing interest. It means a lot.

I watched Munich last night, an excellent film. Generally I loathe anything Spielberg is involved in, and I was reluctant to watch this because it seemed like the political angle was hardly objective, but with the events taking place in the Middle East, the film was both timely and well crafted. If you can get past your ideology for a few hours, this is a well told narrative, with some beautiful photography, and reluctantly I must admit, it was quite powerful. I'm going to watch Syriana tonight, and hopefully it's just as compelling.

A few recommendations for multimedia sites: the new Nike project, and this one from DQ Books. Both are incredible in my opinion.

The Game

Yesterday morning I was in a cafe reading the SF Chonicle - which quickly has become the highlight of my day - when I remembered the Red Sox were in town. The pitching matchup - Beckett vs. Zito - was calling my name, and before I could think otherwise, my entire day was predicated upon finishing some work and making my way to the ballpark in Oakland. I arrived at 5:30, a full hour and a half before game time, too early, in my opinion, to get a good deal from the brothas on the corner scalping tickets, so I just walked up to the box office and got a $20 plaza level seat along the first base line. When I was a kid, we always got there early enough to watch batting practice (I was big into getting autographs) but since I've become an adult (actually I still wonder if this has happened?) I'm lucky to just make it there by the first pitch. That's why yesterday was a treat, because after scarfing down a stadium dog and a $4 bottle of water (what is this, Woodstock 2?), I went down with the other youngsters behind the Sox dugout and watched my team go about their preparation. When Manny and Oritz and Papelbon emerged from the dugout, people went crazy - and not just the kids, I mean grown ass men, and at first I was like, how can you behave like you've just seen The Beatles? - that is until I looked down at what I was wearing, and saw the picture of Jonathon Papelbon on my t-shirt.

Anyway, it was great to see the discipline, the repetitions of taking grounders and warming the arms and getting a few wacks in at the plate. Manny in particular was interesting to observe. In the cage he bunted the first two pitches, and then began taking easy swings. Then he watched five pitches go by without even swinging at all. The coach throwing batting practice was like, hey, what the fuck? Where do you want it? And Manny waved his hand and nodded and said, yes, I know. Just let me do my thing. After watching the next pitch, he walked out of the cage so Mike Lowell could get some hacks. The next round of BP, though, Manny came up and let one more pitch pass by, then swung at the second one and launched it into the upper deck in left. The guy is a loose cannon - I mean Manny could give a fuck what other people think of him - but he goes out there and does his thing, and when it's time to perform he makes it happen.

Needless to say it was spectacular to watch Ortiz and Manny hit home runs in the third and fourth - respectively - and it was a bonus to have it happen during a game when Beckett, Hanson, and Papelbon - my three favorite pitchers - all had a chance to show their stuff. And as always, the crowd of 33,000 was filled with more Sox fans than A's, which led to the locals carrying signs saying, Go Back to Boston, and Red Sox Suck, and yelling all sorts of other taunts, which became easier to handle when Boston went ahead, 7-0 in the 4th.

As a sidenote, there was this couple sitting next to me - one of those stereotypical Oakland pairings where they both have tattoes on each arm and listen to The Dead Kennedy's and Operation Ivy, but have merged their original punk foundation with more of a hip-hop posturing, so they use "Fo real" a lot - and these two could not get their hands off each other. They were kissing each others' cheek and biting shoulders and all sorts of other madness. During the 7th inning the girl ordered a chocolate malt and they began serving each other scoops, only they did it real fast so it ended up splashing on their cheeks, and between giggling, the guy took off his A's jersey - revealing the best Austin Powers chest hair I've seen in quite some time - and with that the girl began rubbing chocolate ice cream on his nipples and then licking it off. I mean, it was funny at first, those zany East Bay kids - but what a fucking distraction, and with all the children around us, it turned into a caricature quickly.

The bittersweet part of the whole night was, as I was riding BART into Oakland in the afternoon, there was the most adorable blonde girl sitting by me, and she kept smiling and looking over, and then she got on the phone and - seeing my Red Sox shirt- told her friend that she was cancelling her dinner plans to go to the game instead. I assumed she was from Boston and just seeing me got her nostalgic for her friends and family (of course this is all a projection but it makes sense), so at that point I was like, okay this is destiny here, a cute blonde girl from Boston just staring at me with friendly eyes. But then, just like that, I got off at the Oakland Civic Center transfer point, and she didn't exit! When I walked by her she looked sad, I mean her lips were pouting and everything, and I wanted to say, hey, isn't this where we're supposed to transfer to the Coliseum? But of course I was too shy and just kept walking, and I saw her hand go to the glass pane as the subway car took off. At that point I figured, hey, she just has to go home and change, and then she'll be at the game so I still have a shot, which is ludicrous in reflection, because there were 33,000 folks and it would have taken a miracle to run into each other again. Which leads me to the question, should I put an ad on the missed connections section of Craigslist? Would that work? No. I may have missed the perfect opportunity last night, but I'm not going to be one of those twats. At least not yet.

New Modernista

I've been staring at this site for the last half hour. Modernista is a design agency, and their work is amazing.

Darkness

I told myself yesterday, since I'm in the middle of two projects and have the day off today, that I would wake up and write a quick story for Slippy Magazine, the place where I've been publishing on and off for the past year. Just prior to moving to San Francisco I sent an email to the managing editor and told him my goal for the next two months would be to finish a story a week. At the time it seemed reasonable, and I thought it would be a great catalyst to another collection of stories, which I've already begun running my mouth about. Although I've told myself time and time again not to promise things I can't deliver, I really thought I could make it happen, and the disappointment yesterday when I realized that I had in fact not completed one story, let alone the six that I assumed would be done by now, forced me to look in the mirror and say, hey dude, it's time to get back on track.

Needless to say I couldn't sleep last night (I watched six episodes of The Shield before my eyes finally closed), and didn't wake this morning until 9:30, and when I did everything was so cloudy in my brain that the idea of doing anything but returning a few emails and sending out an invoice to one of my freelance clients became overwhelmingly obvious. It sucks because I have the best of intentions often but can't always guarantee that my mind will be sharp, and for that, today feels like a huge disappointment, one that makes me not want to go outside, at least until the darkness recedes. Of course eventually when I finally shower and get going and see how beautiful the weather is, I'll make my way out, perhaps even snap a photo or two or make my way to the Giants game again tonight, but I still can honestly say that something has felt off lately, at least in the past three days, and I don't quite know what it is, which is scary. My bank account is dwindling and even when I don't eat out I end up dropping a hundred on medication for the next month, and the idea of developing any more film seems a distant fantasy, let alone paying for the promotion of this fucking book, which has to be ready soon. (Or so I think.) And don't get me started about the girl I met Tuesday night at the Giants' game, the one I've been too dazed to call in fear that I'll blow it and ruin the great dynamic we shared, even if it only lasted three innings, and even if her soon to be ex-boyfriend was right there next to us (it all started when he made a beer run and didn't return for an hour). It's funny because sometimes I think I'd rather just believe in the fantasy instead of actually making the effort to see if there's something there, because it always seems to lead to more disappointment or new forms of drama, and I just can't handle any more drama at the moment.

Anyway, I don't know why I'm sharing this with you. It's just that, after reading about Daniel Johnston and his prodigious output, how he chronicled his whole life on audiotape or in drawings or songs or even on Super-8 film - every fucking little hurtful detail, the idea that this is why I have this site - or why I create in general - became painfully obvious. I wish I could say all of this is going to lead to big things, or that the new book will be this underground sensation, but that's not really why I sit down to work every day, and it would be doing myself a disservice if I believed anything different. I think I just have this obsession with making sense of the world - at least the one I see through these eyes - and if nobody ever takes interest or the highlight of my career is the emails I get from people who dig what I'm doing (or from former students), or the fact that I can sell a hundred copies of my book on Amazon, well, so be it. Perhaps when I'm old or gone, some kid in a university library will stumble across my work - somehow, someway - and it will inspire him to go on with life, or even better, to sit down and create something beautiful, and that image alone is enough to handle days like this, when I'm just not able take charge of things, and I have my doubts if I ever will again.

New Photos

I'm slammed with work today, but I did add some new photos here. Hope you enjoy them. Cheers.

The Devil and Daniel Johnston

I can't wait for this to come out on DVD. It looks amazing! Here's some more info if you're interested.

Changes

I walked to SOMA yesterday to see my old office building at 4th and Brannan. Six years ago this area was the epicenter of the dot com boom, with rich kids and their stock options eating gourmet burritos in South Park, while folks from the homeless shelter down the street sat in the corner and wondered what happened to their neighborhood. It's hard not to be nostalgic about those days though, because as obnoxious as it was on a lot of levels - and believe me it was obnoxious, it was also an exciting time, even if the market crashed and the wealth never materialized for some of us. It felt like we were a part of something big then, even as that something became a caricature of itself. (Perhaps it always was?) Either way it was tragic to witness empty streets when it used to be packed with vibrant twenty somethings going to change the face of the internet, and it was sad to see so many beautiful warehouses turned into high rise condominiums near SBC Park, with tanning salons and a Starbucks on the bottom floor. Zeke's was still on the corner of 3rd and Brannan though. I remember the day of the big layoff, how we read about it on-line before it was announced to us, and my friends - many of whom I would never see again - cleaned out their desks and then made their way to to the bar by 11:00 am to watch opening day, and really, reflect on what the next step might be. It was bizarre. Many of these people had families and their job was everything to them, even if they secretly resented what the company had become, so the news was hard to take. Myself, well, I was ecstatic. I mean I was going to resign anyway, only now I had three weeks severance and the ability to collect unemployment while I finished grad school, which was crucial in finishing my thesis.

Now everything looks different. The energy in the area is gone, and the once diverse neighborhood is a mecca for yuppie cockslaves on a whole new level, trust fund babies and marketing tits, and for that, it's hard not to shake my head and wonder where it all went wrong.

Later I sat in Union Square and caught a few rays. There was a gorgeous blonde who I followed with my eyes until she turned into Macy's. I wanted to go inside and get a closer look while she shopped, but that seemed creepy, and her boyfriend was with her, so I decided against it. I did spend an hour inside Rasputin's - luckily I made it out without spending a dollar, although there was a used copy of Dr. Strangelove that I almost picked up. Finally I grabbed an Odwalla at the Metreon Starbucks. While I was at the counter this weird guy came up behind me and stole a plastic cup, which led to the following exchange between two employees, one an Asian guy in his mid-twenties - a new jack Fast and Furious type, the other a black woman in her early forties.

"Okayyyyyyyyyy, that right there is gonna stop. That's the last time he gonna just smirk at me and take a free cup. Oh no he didn't. Uh-ah."
"You gonna stop him next time Cheryl?"
"What I just say? Huh? That's right, that there is gonna stop. Okay? Maybe on somebody else's shift but not on mine. I aint the one. Oh no he didn't. Plus he an old pervert. So that smirking shit is gonna get me mad real quick. For real. I aint the one."

She looked me in the eye as she processed the transaction.

"Do I look like I'm the one?"
"No."
"That's right. Even little Anthony Michael Hall recognizes."

With that she turned and walked into the back.

Three Weeks Ago Today

1. Hung out yesterday afternoon in Washington Square Park. I was on my way to Trader Joe's when it suddenly donned on me that, hey, it's beautiful out, this is what you love about North Beach and you should be out there enjoying it with all the characters. When I grabbed a piece of grass on the west side of the park, the whole scene took shape. Near the bus stop were twenty or so elderly Chinese women with matching orange flags attached to their outfits, banging on drums in unison. Scattered throughout were folks sunbathing, throwing the football and frisbee, dogs chasing after each other, little kids running around, homeless men drinking beers and relaxing with their shirts off - their bellies protruding over their belts, attractive women trying to read in their bikinis (although I think this was for show), tourists wandering through (some Euros look amazingly confused at events like this), and a few hippie women giving bread to the seagulls (when the birds started to fly over us it seemed dangerous for a second, the way they weaved in and out of the crowd almost like Kamikaze planes - and I, of course, in my neurosis feared they would shit on my head). Saints. Peter & Paul Church, where they filmed that scene in Fearless, was alive with chiming bells and parishioners coming down the steps into the bright light. It was a majestic afternoon, simply a beautiful festive Sunday for the ages.

2. Last night I walked downtown. There was a funk band playing on the corner of Powell and Geary, with the most adorable little 10-year-old brotha doing his best James Brown impersonation. Clearly he was the feature attraction, as a big crowd assembled to clap and watch him get down. It felt like this kid was being exploited though. I mean it was 10 o'clock and well past his bed time, and the group - as entertaining as they were - seemed to bring in little in the way of making money or generating interest. And yet, I stopped for at least five minutes to enjoy the kid doing pushups and then jumping back up, spinning around quickly, back into the splits, and then boom - a quick two step, while another youngster passed the hat around. The boy was amazingly talented, and I had a smile on my face throughout, which was nice.

3. Later this crackhead followed me into the Tenderloin. Every time I turned around he would smile and say "Gotcha" - like he was purposely making me edgy with his presence. When I heard a quick ruffling of footsteps behind me I turned around with my fists cocked. He jumped back quickly and said, "Okay, okay, my brotha. Take it easy. We're cool." I told him to back the fuck up, and a few other black dudes on the corner started laughing at the way I got him to leave. When I passed in front of the liquor store they nodded in approval.

4. Spent late night listening to The Walkmen album (yes, again) over and over. Something about the opening lyrics to "Brandy Alexander" : {Finally close the door \ You’ve left open wide} seemed appropriate for the picture above, although the song is about something different than a sudden fight that finally concluded, once and for all, a four-year relationship/friendship. Oh well.

Smooth As

1. I'm going to start using the word proliferate more.

2. Quote of the day from White Noise: "If you don't have the grace and wit to die early, you are forced to vanish, to hide as if in shame and apology."(70)

3. I once got caught urinating in the stockroom sink at this bar called Butter (it was on Folsom Street I believe). The place, at least five years ago, was one of those retro, mullets are cool, hipster bars, complete with a trailer attached to the back wall - where they served tater tots long before that stupid movie with Pedro became the rage. My friend Reed and I were faded, and after watching Tron projected on the dance floor wall - which was bizarre to say the least, and after strategically standing by the women's bathroom to strike up random conversations as they waited to do lines in groups of four or five, I decided that I couldn't hold out until a restroom became available, so I just opened the first available door and saw a sink that was calling my name. Whatever came over me I can't say, but it just seemed like the right thing to do, this cunning move to maximize my time (not to mention relieve an impending disaster), that is until one of the cute bartenders opened the door and found me dangling my sack over the sink. I felt this cold rush on my genitals and then saw a white flash, followed by a scream "Out!" as loud as humanly possible, like a shop owner on Market Street kicking a homeless bloke out of their doorway first thing in the morning. All the women in line, the ones I believed I had charmed earlier, now looked at me with disgust as I zipped my pants. Embarrassed but not relieved, I waited for the employee to go back to the front bar, and then just as quickly returned and finished my task. I heard a few girls giggle but I didn't care. A few months later, when a friend from art school threw a party there, I refused to attend, paranoid that I had been caught on tape that night. I saw the whole thing play out in my mind, the bouncer putting his hand on my shoulder the minute I purchased my first drink, me trying to play it off like it was someone else, and then getting placed in a dark office where some Armenian gangster named Marcello starts slapping me around. I know this sounds absurd - well it is absurd, but my imagination is twisted, and at this point, as I reflect on some of the dumb stunts I used to pull in my 20's, it kind of makes me smile. I mean, what kind of classy guy behaves like this? What would my poor mother think? And why do I feel compelled to share this with you now?

4. Here's an excellent article on the trouble in the Middle East, thanks to my friend Nick. Also, here is a beautiful design site - I mean stunning.

5. Walked to the Golden Gate Bridge again today. It was beautiful out, and the beach was packed with dogs and women and little kids. Who says July in San Francisco has to be gloomy?

Sense of Fear

Early Wednesday morning my housemate (and - of course - a dear friend) had a series of seizures. I had just come home from coffee and was in the kitchen. She was having an upsetting conversation on the phone (and also not feeling too well to begin with), when suddenly she fell over and began shaking. I initially thought it was just an anxiety attack and sat down next to her, trying to provide some comfort. I had my arm around her shoulder and she began talking about the phone call when another one came on, more serious than the first. I freaked out. I grabbed the phone and tried to see if she was okay, and a third one hit - this time lasting over a minute. She was on her back and her arms and legs were flailing and she was flopping like a fish (I know, a bad cliche, but it's true) and then she vomited onto the carpet (I had just watched 28 Days Later and there was something eerily familiar with her projectile vomiting). At that point it was clear I had to call 911. I tried to on her phone but for a second the line wouldn't ring. You'd like to think that during a crisis you'd be able to keep things together, but for a moment, with time of the essence, it appeared like I was cracking up. Finally I got through. The fire department, which happens to be right around the corner, showed up within five minutes. By that time she was conscious but unaware of what happened. It must have been quite surreal for her with all these men in her room, one of whom was placing a mask over her face, while Daphney, the cat, just watched calmly from her bed. A few minutes later an ambulance arrived, and we spent most of the day at the UCSF emergency room. Everyone we encountered during this ordeal was great: the paramedics, the doctors, the nurses: I could not have been more impressed with their professionalism and poise. Early in the evening she was released, and thankfully she's feeling better, although she's still a little shaky. It looks like she was put on some medication by her Doctor and then was taken off of it too quickly, and her body went through withdrawal. Needless to say this was quite scary for all of us, and once again, I became acutely aware of how precious life is, how in a split second something tragic can happen. I don't like sounding all syrupy or over-sentimental, but as I move forward, especially after myself being sick for 9 months, and after reading about the troubling events in the Middle East (which Israel has every right to defend itself) I'm trying to embrace every second of the day, and trying to maximize the relationships with people who are dear to me.

I'm not sure how this relates but I like this quote from White Noise, and wanted to include it here:

"What we are reluctant to touch often seems the very fabric of our existence."

Because Wednesday I was too distracted mentally to get any work done, yesterday I put in a full day finishing scripts for one freelance job and laying the groundwork for another one I just picked up. At a certain point though, my brain was fried, and it was important that I make my way out to the beach, just to get some exercise and free my mind of the stress of everything. The photo above is what I see daily, and for that, I'm quite fortunate.

This weekend is going to be pretty mellow. I have a lot of work to do, and I'd like to finish reading White Noise - which keeps getting more amazing, and I just purchased The Return, one of my favorite films of all time, so I'll probably grab some Chinese food and watch that tonight. Tomorrow I'm spending most of the day at the Cafe down the street, doing some writing. Sunday I'm going to see a movie with my other housemate, who has a side job reviewing films, so hopefully he can secure some free passes since money is kind of tight. On top of that, I just tracked down my long lost friend Kristen, who I went to UCSB with (and who I almost got a place with in SF back in 98'), and I'm looking forward to catching up with her and hearing about her job teaching history at a high school in Richmond (which must be interesting, to say the least).

Best regards.

Embarcadero Plaza

Often I wonder where the time has gone. Saturday it was beautiful out, so I walked to the Embarcadero to finish some reading, as well as people watch. The little farmer's market that was set up on the pier was just concluding, but there was still a huge crowd out, this bizarre mixture of yuppies and street people. I had just finished a story when a fight broke out next to me in the park. It was a homeless couple, with the woman initially getting the best of it, that is until her boyfriend flipped her over, pinned her arms to the ground, and began a vicious barrage of punches to the face and neck. At a certain point it was preposterous because all these people walked right by them, either completely clueless (not likely) or just afraid to get involved. Perhaps they just didn't care. I found the whole thing disturbing, as domestic abuse just makes me uncomfortable. I started to walk over - thinking I would pump some fear into the guy and get him to quit (as I once saw my father do when I was a kid), but as I approached it was clear the man was much bigger than me, and extremely belligerent. I had this image in my head of trying to be the good samaritan, and then getting shanked in the process (I could see the headline in the Chronicle), so I stopped short and decided to find a cop. I wandered through the Embarcadero plaza, as there are usually police all over the place, but it was just my luck to not see one when I really needed it. I returned to the park and the boyfriend was now choking the shit out of his woman. It seemed like time was of the essence so I ran back to the plaza and found a security guard, quickly summarizing what I had just witnessed. Initially he looked at me like, hey buddy, I only patrol the mall, the park is outside of my circuit, but then he decided to come with me to see what was happening. We returned to the park to find the couple now in each others' arms, the abuse over. The security guard pointed to them and said, that couple? - as if I was out of my mind. I said they were just fighting a second ago, but he rolled his eyes and said, okay, I'll take care of it. When I continued to follow him he said, please, I've got it, so I took off. I watched him from a distance as he stopped short of the loving couple, observed for five seconds, saw the tenderness in the air, and then returned to the plaza, convinced that I was in fact the deranged one, not the abusive boyfriend. After that, I decided I didn't want to be out in the world anymore - at least for the rest of the day - so I returned to my flat to watch the third season of The Shield, which I just purchased used for $30 at Rasputin's.

It's funny because I came to the city to see the craziness, to walk the streets and see what's really going on out there, but at a certain point it's just too much. For forty years San Francisco has welcomed the homeless with open arms, and my heart goes out to them, but at the same time you realize that there are a lot of sick motherfuckers out there, ready to attack at a second's notice, and you think my god, how does this stuff just go completely ignored? Why is this behavior par for the course? How do you get dressed up and go to some swanky place for dinner and just tune out the guy taking a shit next to you in the alleyway?

Day After

The book is delayed for perhaps two weeks as my copy editor had an emergency that she had to deal with. In the meantime I'm busy working on a re-design for the writing portion of my site as well as finishing some short scripts for the design/ad agency where I'm freelancing. If you're looking for entertainment though, click here. Be sure to check out the first square at the top titled "playthings". This guy Limmy is brilliantly hilarious, as I'm sure you'll discover.......

The Radiohead concert ten days ago was pretty cool (they played a lot of new stuff which was all right, and yet obviously it would have been nice to hear all the classics from Kid A and OK Computer, but oh well), although the subsequent drama with my ex-girlfriend was unfortunate (it was so nice to see her the first evening, I mean I had such a nice time, really, but then the subsequent three days she resorted to her difficult behavior, which in the last forty-five minutes blew up in my face ironically, considering I had just congratulated myself for handling the situation so well). I also saw Mathew Barney's Drawing Restraint show at SFMOMA. I can't say I loved it but it was really interesting, especially how his installations combine drawing, photography, sculpture, and film/video. I also really liked Tim Gardner, Marcelino Goncalves, and Zak Smith's series on masculinity.......

I spent this past weekend canvassing the city, taking pictures and discovering neighborhoods I wasn't quite familiar with. Friday afternoon I walked to the Haight - in fact I went all the way down to Golden Gate Park, and really had a good time making friends at a series of dive bars along the way (although Saturday morning my legs were hurting!). I also went to Amoeba Records, where not only was the scene overwhelming when I first walked in - complete with DJ's spinning - but the foreign film section was amazing. They had a Werner Herzog DVD box set that I almost purchased, but the $65 price tag got the best of me. And no, I didn't see Joel from BJM. (I think he's on tour with his new band.).......

Yesterday I went to this great park in Pacific Heights, where some friends were barbecuing and throwing the football around, and last night I watched Shattered Glass (which was solid) after seeing the fireworks show down at the water (it felt like the city was under attack). I also started reading (finally) DeLillo's White Noise. I must say, the first thirty pages are brilliant, truly, and I'm kicking myself for not teaching this back in the day. My students would have loved it.