This past weekend I went to San Francisco partially to attend a wedding and partially to see my friend Kristine, who is living out their as she pursues her master's degree at UCSF. My flight to SF was rather uneventful except for the final remark of an air mattress (flight attendant) to a woman disembarking in front of me:"You're blouse is unbuttoned; just wanted to let you know before you walk across the whole terminal with all that waving around."
I noticed that the armrests of my plane were equipped with ash trays. Blast from the past.
Oh yeah. Also, there was a big group of about 20 turban-sporting Muslim guys, most of whom did not speak English. I wonder if anyone else on the aircraft felt moments of anxiety. I found myself anticipating moments of conflict. Several of them stayed out of their seats after the seat belt sign was illuminated, for example. I watched them whenever they got out of the bathroom and examined their hands and pockets and even their turbans for signs of weapons. Should I feel bad for immediately suspecting these people? I didn't. I have to say that I usually don't hold it against people for stereotyping me. It's not my fault that people judge me because of the actions of a few people who happen to look like me or share similar behavioral traits, but it's also not the fault of those who judge. It's not even the fault of those people who do things that start stereotypes in motion. People should be able to act without feeling the weight of representation of an entire social caste. But stereotypes arise out of the really human need to anticipate the future and to be prepared.
Two Arab men sat in the exit row and fortunately the female flight attendant had the wherewithal to inquire if they understood the requirements, and they didn't understand English, which is in itself one of the requirements. I thought about the idea of them not wanting to leave their seats and why they wouldn't want to, eventhough they acquiesced immediately, once only really seemingly Americanized companion translated that they must move. I though about the idea of someone opening the emergency exit. I was in the third to last row in the back of the plane, so it didn't scare me very much. In fact it sounded rather exciting. Like I would be participating in an action movie. After landing, there was an armada of SUVs and many of them had video cameras.
The Baby that sat near me was quiet the whole way, too.
When I arrived, my friend Eric picked me up from the airport. We read for about 3 hours at Cafe Flore, a cafe near Castro and Market. You can read what I read about here.
Eric and I wake up and he treats me to a delicious bowl of raisin bran with bananas and soy milk. I hadn't had raisin bran in years and it was truly refreshing. We once again head to Cafe Flore for some reading. While there, I decide to make a hair appointment. Eric left after about an hour at the cafe to do some errands and on a lark, I called my friend who I had run into the previous day (Mark Pellegrino) and he had a free moment, so met me for lunch. We had a nice little conversation and caught up before he drove me to my hair appointment.
The salon I went to was called Glam-A-Rama, and touts itself as "San Francisco's gayest hair salon." It was indeed pretty gay. Just look at their toilet.
I also shaved while I was in San Francisco, so I now look pretty different.
It's the new Jan Brady!:
After the hair, which was executed by a nice young man named Zeon (the third man in a row with a four letter name to do my hair), I walked back to the Castro (about 3/4 of a mile) taking some lovely pictures along the way (there is a photo gallery at the end of this post) and picked up a few new found objects. I was a bit hungry and internally debated going to a new place or just going to Cafe Flore. Cafe Flore won out yet again just because I wanted some place comfortable to read and write.
After this, I picked up two new tank tops, a wristband and a t-shirt from a store called All American Boy on Castro. It was a quick and impulsive shopping jaunt and I didn't go anywhere else before meeting back at John and Eric's for a shower in preparation of night #2 with Kristine, which I write more extensively about in Jet Set Ready Blog. Or you can continue reading here and find out about the rest of my trip and go back to the Jet Set Ready when you're finished. Your choice.
On my third day, I stayed at the Clift hotel. Here's me sitting in a chair there.
Our friend Jeff's wedding took place in the Presidio, which, beyond being the title of a nineteen-eightysomething film, is also an historically significant decommissioned army base near the marina in San Francisco. It was a quaint little white chapel on a hill (nearly every location in San Francisco can be relegated geographically in relation to a hill - either on top of, on the bottom of, or up the side of).
Instead of throwing rice, small little vials of bubbles were passed out, which had a great effect. Here's my favorite pic that captured the moment.
Being at a Catholic wedding in San Francisco, though, I couldn't help but ponder the somewhat recent events surrounding gay marriages in that coastal city. I have to say that at that moment, especially considering everything the priest was saying about the "meaning" of marriage, I definitely felt like, as a gay person, I had less rights.
The priest brought some interesting things to our attention. He talked about the first marriage, which was between Adam & Eve. Weren't they also the first and only people? Yes, I think so. So that brought me down to chains of reasoning. The first part is that there wasn't a gay marriage because there weren't two men. Two, their marriage would have to be one never subject to jealousy. I mean, there were NO OTHER PEOPLE. Of course they didn't have any marital problems.
The priest also said that God ratifies the union, the priest merely bears witness. I was wondering about where he got that information. Is that particular nuance of the way things work actually in the bible? Do they just make things up as they go? If anyone has any insight into that, I'd really like to know. I mean, it just seemed like it was his own interpretation. Mostly because it made logical sense and rarely are Catholic teachings severely logical.
The reception was held just down the hill (see the pattern?). The food was good. Not much else to say.
Earlier that day, a huge crowd of bicyclists clogged street traffic downtown in what's called "Critical Mass," which I guess is a monthly event.
That evening, Claude and I went to see "Time of your Life", which is a play that actually originated back at the Steppenwolf back home in Chicago (I think), but is a play whose setting is San Francisco circa 1939. It was a pretty good play, though the circumstances leading up to me seeing that kind of soured my experience. See, a friend of ours HIGHLY recommended the play and even said it was the best play he's ever seen. It annoys me when people say stuff like that. I mean, I say that occasionally, but I usually inform people that I have odd tastes. Anyway, it was a pretty good play, but I won't tell you it was my favorite, even if it was.
After the play, we were exhausted and went to sleep.
I finally made it back to the Haight to get to the Amoeba record shop. It was pretty huge. Claude was waiting for me, so I tried to rush, which was stupid, but I knew even taking my time would have run into DAYS. Ultimately, I only looked through most of the 'S' section and part of 'T' and just a portion of 'G' IN THE CLEARANCE SECTION, mind you, and still came away with 10 cds which only cost me $24.70. They're not with me now, but let's see if I can remember all of them:
Um, guess not. 7 out of 10 ain't bad though.
OK, here's that street art photo essay I promised.
This was the first one that REALLY caught my attention and made me want to take some pictures. It kind of brought the whole phenomenon to the forefront of my consciousness.
I saw this motorcycle, which didn't even succeed in avoiding being covered in creativity. It's a crotch rocket, even. That's certainly one thing I noticed in San Francisco: people are not afraid of contradiction and duality.
I was even fortunate enough to see someone working on their own public art.
Oops! Watch out!
Hey, What's Pneu?
I noticed that the armrests of my plane were equipped with ash trays. Blast from the past.
Oh yeah. Also, there was a big group of about 20 turban-sporting Muslim guys, most of whom did not speak English. I wonder if anyone else on the aircraft felt moments of anxiety. I found myself anticipating moments of conflict. Several of them stayed out of their seats after the seat belt sign was illuminated, for example. I watched them whenever they got out of the bathroom and examined their hands and pockets and even their turbans for signs of weapons. Should I feel bad for immediately suspecting these people? I didn't. I have to say that I usually don't hold it against people for stereotyping me. It's not my fault that people judge me because of the actions of a few people who happen to look like me or share similar behavioral traits, but it's also not the fault of those who judge. It's not even the fault of those people who do things that start stereotypes in motion. People should be able to act without feeling the weight of representation of an entire social caste. But stereotypes arise out of the really human need to anticipate the future and to be prepared.
Two Arab men sat in the exit row and fortunately the female flight attendant had the wherewithal to inquire if they understood the requirements, and they didn't understand English, which is in itself one of the requirements. I thought about the idea of them not wanting to leave their seats and why they wouldn't want to, eventhough they acquiesced immediately, once only really seemingly Americanized companion translated that they must move. I though about the idea of someone opening the emergency exit. I was in the third to last row in the back of the plane, so it didn't scare me very much. In fact it sounded rather exciting. Like I would be participating in an action movie. After landing, there was an armada of SUVs and many of them had video cameras.
The Baby that sat near me was quiet the whole way, too.
When I arrived, my friend Eric picked me up from the airport. We read for about 3 hours at Cafe Flore, a cafe near Castro and Market. You can read what I read about here.
Eric and I wake up and he treats me to a delicious bowl of raisin bran with bananas and soy milk. I hadn't had raisin bran in years and it was truly refreshing. We once again head to Cafe Flore for some reading. While there, I decide to make a hair appointment. Eric left after about an hour at the cafe to do some errands and on a lark, I called my friend who I had run into the previous day (Mark Pellegrino) and he had a free moment, so met me for lunch. We had a nice little conversation and caught up before he drove me to my hair appointment.
The salon I went to was called Glam-A-Rama, and touts itself as "San Francisco's gayest hair salon." It was indeed pretty gay. Just look at their toilet.
I also shaved while I was in San Francisco, so I now look pretty different.
It's the new Jan Brady!:
After the hair, which was executed by a nice young man named Zeon (the third man in a row with a four letter name to do my hair), I walked back to the Castro (about 3/4 of a mile) taking some lovely pictures along the way (there is a photo gallery at the end of this post) and picked up a few new found objects. I was a bit hungry and internally debated going to a new place or just going to Cafe Flore. Cafe Flore won out yet again just because I wanted some place comfortable to read and write.
After this, I picked up two new tank tops, a wristband and a t-shirt from a store called All American Boy on Castro. It was a quick and impulsive shopping jaunt and I didn't go anywhere else before meeting back at John and Eric's for a shower in preparation of night #2 with Kristine, which I write more extensively about in Jet Set Ready Blog. Or you can continue reading here and find out about the rest of my trip and go back to the Jet Set Ready when you're finished. Your choice.
On my third day, I stayed at the Clift hotel. Here's me sitting in a chair there.
Our friend Jeff's wedding took place in the Presidio, which, beyond being the title of a nineteen-eightysomething film, is also an historically significant decommissioned army base near the marina in San Francisco. It was a quaint little white chapel on a hill (nearly every location in San Francisco can be relegated geographically in relation to a hill - either on top of, on the bottom of, or up the side of).
Instead of throwing rice, small little vials of bubbles were passed out, which had a great effect. Here's my favorite pic that captured the moment.
Being at a Catholic wedding in San Francisco, though, I couldn't help but ponder the somewhat recent events surrounding gay marriages in that coastal city. I have to say that at that moment, especially considering everything the priest was saying about the "meaning" of marriage, I definitely felt like, as a gay person, I had less rights.
The priest brought some interesting things to our attention. He talked about the first marriage, which was between Adam & Eve. Weren't they also the first and only people? Yes, I think so. So that brought me down to chains of reasoning. The first part is that there wasn't a gay marriage because there weren't two men. Two, their marriage would have to be one never subject to jealousy. I mean, there were NO OTHER PEOPLE. Of course they didn't have any marital problems.
The priest also said that God ratifies the union, the priest merely bears witness. I was wondering about where he got that information. Is that particular nuance of the way things work actually in the bible? Do they just make things up as they go? If anyone has any insight into that, I'd really like to know. I mean, it just seemed like it was his own interpretation. Mostly because it made logical sense and rarely are Catholic teachings severely logical.
The reception was held just down the hill (see the pattern?). The food was good. Not much else to say.
Earlier that day, a huge crowd of bicyclists clogged street traffic downtown in what's called "Critical Mass," which I guess is a monthly event.
That evening, Claude and I went to see "Time of your Life", which is a play that actually originated back at the Steppenwolf back home in Chicago (I think), but is a play whose setting is San Francisco circa 1939. It was a pretty good play, though the circumstances leading up to me seeing that kind of soured my experience. See, a friend of ours HIGHLY recommended the play and even said it was the best play he's ever seen. It annoys me when people say stuff like that. I mean, I say that occasionally, but I usually inform people that I have odd tastes. Anyway, it was a pretty good play, but I won't tell you it was my favorite, even if it was.
After the play, we were exhausted and went to sleep.
I finally made it back to the Haight to get to the Amoeba record shop. It was pretty huge. Claude was waiting for me, so I tried to rush, which was stupid, but I knew even taking my time would have run into DAYS. Ultimately, I only looked through most of the 'S' section and part of 'T' and just a portion of 'G' IN THE CLEARANCE SECTION, mind you, and still came away with 10 cds which only cost me $24.70. They're not with me now, but let's see if I can remember all of them:
- Hubcap
- Stillwell
- Slowdive
- Tekulvi
- Tribe 8
- The Mercury Program (I don't know why it was in 's'
- Twinhaters
Um, guess not. 7 out of 10 ain't bad though.
OK, here's that street art photo essay I promised.
This was the first one that REALLY caught my attention and made me want to take some pictures. It kind of brought the whole phenomenon to the forefront of my consciousness.
I saw this motorcycle, which didn't even succeed in avoiding being covered in creativity. It's a crotch rocket, even. That's certainly one thing I noticed in San Francisco: people are not afraid of contradiction and duality.
I was even fortunate enough to see someone working on their own public art.
Oops! Watch out!
Hey, What's Pneu?
posted by Brian at
3:41 PM
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