tangobaby

How do you measure a year in the life?

2009-12-03T08:12:00.000-08:00

525,600 minutes, 525,000 moments so dear.
525,600 minutes: How do you measure,
measure a year?
In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee.
In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife.
In 525,600 minutes - how do you measure a year in the life?
How about love?
How about love?
How about love?
Measure in love.
Seasons of love.

~ From "Seasons of Love", RENT

***

Like other parts of my life, the Grove now brings me full circle. Just as I say that when I am in San Francisco I am alive, the same holds true for the Grove.

What the Grove embodies is that inexplicable but unmistakable reason why I live in San Francisco. When I am in the Grove I am alive.

I know the City has flaws and challenges and its own problems, but this City has more of one thing than any other city I have ever been to – heroes.

~ Mike Shriver

***

Something has been accelerating lately... a cosmic push that's led me to some eye-opening and life-changing meetings. I can't describe it exactly but some of the people that have been meeting me, many of whom will appear soon on i live here:SF are filling me with appreciation and awe.

There's been a concentration of happenings — I don't know what else to call them exactly — of people who have entered my life and awareness, almost en masse. These meetings bring into question my supposed belief that there are no coincidences, that we place too much importance on things happening for a reason. That we ascribe importance to random events that really are only random events, but our need to believe in a universal something makes us yearn for a design, a plan.

***

Only a couple of weeks ago did I meet Mike. Perhaps it's the new camera, but when I have it around my neck, people come over and talk to me. It's like part of my uniform now.

So I'm in Dolores Park, on my way to meet someone I've never met for a photo shoot, as is my way. ;-) This slight man, wielding a larger camera than mine makes eye contact and asks me if I've ever seen the red-tailed hawk that lives in the park. I haven't. Then we get to talking: about birds, camera, being obssessed with photography, and one things leads to another and then it's like I've known Mike forever.

I have no idea how the subject of the National AIDS Memorial Grove comes up. But then it turns out that we have a mutual friend, a wonderful man named Jack Porter who helped found the Grove. So we had even more in common.

December 1 was World AIDS Day. Mike texted me to see if I could help him cover the day's events and help him take photos of the celebration, awards and speakers. Of course, I got there as soon as I could. I have photos to share that I'll be uploading soon. What I will try to relate as well is the feeling of incredible love and hope that exists today for those on the forefront of fighting AIDS and discrimination for HIV+ people. What I learned about this disease, now in the 25th year since its discovery, shook me deeply and also made my eyes fill with tears of compassion for the people who live with this illness on some level daily.

For those of us who think our lives are not affected by AIDS and never will be, it's just not true. I asked Mike to share his special SF story with us and it is a beautiful story. I hope you'll read it.

My Biggest Scoop (so far)

2009-11-30T21:06:00.000-08:00

This young lady was more reticent than Garbo to share her story. Normally, I don't really ask people to participate in i live here:SF. In some cases, I do, but mostly I rely on volunteers and referrals to make the project happen.

This is my little friend C. You might remember her from previous posts... she's one of my treasured local buddies. Nine going on 39. I've told her about i live here: SF before and although she sounded mildly interested (in between quizzing me in long division and using up my cell phone battery to play games on my iPhone), I didn't think I'd ever scoop her.

Somehow The Boy was able to pique her interest, so today I was gifted with a sheet of binder paper containing her handwritten thoughts about San Francisco. I'll be posting the story tomorrow morning so we can all read it with fresh eyes. (I'm excited!)

The Day After, again

2009-11-27T10:04:00.000-08:00

Reflections on a Thanksgiving.

Thought 1. I am very glad it doesn't occur to me to cook like this all the time. I mean, I love my Thanksgiving recipes and mercifully seem to forget all about them except for once a year.

Thought 2. Preparing the food is probably more fun than eating it. By the time the turkey is ready to go in the oven, I'm so grossed out by the thought of eating it that the cooking of the turkey is almost like an afterthought (I'm really all about the stuffing, actually. The turkey is the vessel). Something you have to go through with since you've come this far already.

Thought 3. I believe Thought 2 firmly until the crispy turkey skin smell starts invading the house. Then Thought 2 becomes downright silly, and what am I saying? Of course I'm going to eat what I cooked. The turkey skin is my favorite part. Stuffing has now become Second Favorite Food.

Thought 4. As I finish the Crack Potatoes, I'm very grateful that some important things do come to me in the form of dreams. This year, I dreamt of Egg Nog Bread Pudding, which upon being awake, I concocted with toasted bread, sliced apples, rum, grated nutmeg and cardamom, and lots of egg nog. I made homemade whipped cream. This pudding rivaled the Crack Potatoes in terms of sheer delicious mouthfuls of ecstacy.

Thought 5. The Godfather (Parts 1 and 2), when watched together in its entirety, can keep you fully engrossed and entertained not only during the preparation of Thanksgiving food, but while you're eating it. (First of all, it's about family. Second of all, it's not that gory. You can't watch Goodfellas while you're eating.)

Thought 6. I hate the Food Baby. Good thing my XL Bill's Towing t-shirt hides it. But I can't wear this t-shirt outside. I am trapped indoors until the Food Baby goes away.

Thought 7. I will never eat again. I'm going on a juice fast.

Thought 8. How on earth can I be hungry again?! Dammit.

Thought 9. Cold stuffing and turkey being picked off from the pan in little bits without utensils but dipping in warm leftover gravy is the ideal.

Thought 10. Now wearing the XL Little Shamrock (local bar) t-shirt. Very glad Thanksgiving comes only once a year.

The Star Monk is back.

2009-11-18T22:42:00.000-08:00

John Dobson is back in town until Sunday. Read the rest of the story here.

Morning Mystery

2009-11-18T09:12:00.000-08:00

I think part of the reason I love taking photos of people is that some of them absolutely fascinate me. So many worlds to be exposed to.

Above and below are Calli. She contacted me about being part of i live here:SF way back when, in the early days. We went out for tea on a cold afternoon and she told me a lot about her life and her life studying fashion and art here in the city. And then for a bunch of different reasons we weren't able to get together to take photos.

Now all these months later, we finally did. And the wait seemed to be a very good thing. I don't think we would have achieved some of the haunting and extraordinary images that we did until now. Above is Calli in a bodystocking. She explained it as a way to disappear, when you want to be by yourself but you're surrounded by people. The look of it, and the concept fascinated me. I guess I can relate. I also learned a tiny bit about Butoh, just enough to intrigue me and make me want to learn more. As I learn, I'll share with you.

I now have a new camera. One of these photos was taken with the new one, and one with the old (which I'm now calling the Security Blanket Camera). I'm happy using both as I learn my way and how my camera influences my style and what I'm capable of capturing images of. I know I'll need more lenses to do what I want to do but already I can see the quality of photos improve from having a larger sensor. I love being able to control the depth of field, something I was never able to do before.

My mom lovingly gave me a large part of the money for the new camera for my birthday, and I subsidized it with some of the money I made at Tedda's show in September. I think I will name the body of the camera Bunny, after my mom. That seems very appropriate and special. She has told me that she would like to give me some money from my grandmother's account to pay for a lens or two. So I will call the lenses Helens or Little Helens.

I really really like the idea that my grandma, wherever she is, is helping me to see the world more beautifully.

***

You can learn more about Calli here.

Head of the Pack: Group Show in the Castro

2009-11-16T14:05:00.001-08:00

Click on image for a larger version.

I'm excited because a) I'm in this show, and b) the curator chose my image for the flier!

Mark your calendar... December 17 is the opening. You can also meet the CALIBER dudes, too.

Horse with No Name

2009-11-12T09:35:00.000-08:00

I'm home. I'm back. I'm planted at my desk going through 1700+ photos.

Who would have thought the barren desert would have provided such golden photographic opportunities for a city girl like me? Whoa!

I'm slowly sorting through and processing my favorites. I've already blogged two of the images on CALIBER (where the best ones will go due to the large size of the template--yay!) and all of the selections will keep being added to the flickr set.

So you can see what's there for now. This will take a while to digest and work on but I think this set is STELLAR. Hope you do too!

***

Thank you all so much for the birthday tweets and comments and emails! They poured in all day and your thoughtfulness made me so happy. Thank you!

Desert Hearts

2009-11-11T06:44:00.001-08:00

Princess Chubness and her pal, Wolfie

***

It's the day I leave Las Vegas, and now I wish I was just arriving. The perfect, identical suburbs, the wide open barren places and the crazy confabulation of "entertainment" in this town leave me feeling lonely.

But nestled in amongst all of this are pure and sweet hearts. You see two of them here.

It may be nice to be an Auntie (Mame or otherwise), because you avoid the crying, the diapers, the sleep deprivation. However, you miss the giggles, the hugs, the clutching, furtive steps to try to walk, the joy in seeing other people love you for just being you.

Today is my birthday and I'll be spending part of it in an airport by myself, headed home to the city I love. But I'll be leaving a part of my heart behind in this desert, because a tiny girl has stolen it with her chubby hands and won't give it back.

All for Love.

2009-11-09T15:12:00.000-08:00

Today is a banner day on i live here:SF.

I have a crush on Mat, as I mentioned earlier. But I'm probably in love with Catherine.

Tell me what you really think.

2009-11-09T09:09:00.000-08:00

New crush. Smart guys and guys who can write... well, damn.

***

"I hate this place. It stinks and it's dirty and there's piss everywhere and needles and garbage and yesterday when I went for a run in the park I had to traverse a trail that had been completely covered in used toilet paper. I've been robbed at gunpoint here, just down the street from my apartment. San Francisco is expensive, and I'll never be able to afford to buy a home. The city government is corrupt, there's nowhere to park, the people are all fucking crazy, and don't even get me started about MUNI.

I'm never leaving, motherfuckers."

The rest of the story is here.
You know you want to find out what he says next.

The Odd Relative

2009-11-09T00:54:00.000-08:00

Here I am, it's 12:27am as I write this. Las Vegas, Nevada. Sleeping on my sister's couch and trying to stop singing that goddamned song that Ariel sings from The Little Mermaid. The Disney Alert Level in this house is Orange. We are knee-deep in princess paraphernalia.

I fell asleep on the sofa tonight as everyone else was watching the season finale of Mad Men. Since I don't have a television and obviously do not watch the show, I had nothing invested in this episode or any other, and I fell asleep. Now my body clock is punishing me by mentally singing this infernal Disney song and making me write posts in my head.

Anyway, this weekend has been full of family and friends celebrating the littlest one's first birthday. I am staying in a place that is perfectly groomed and planned and made hospitable despite the raw nature that looms so hugely behind this housing development. I couldn't be any farther away from home right now. Not as an indictment of Las Vegas and the baggage/dreams this city inspires, but that all around us we are surrounded by the harshest kind of desert. Nevada makes me feel very conscious that I live on a planet. A rock in space.

Inside this new and lovely home, we don't feel the heat. The treeless mountains that loom behind us look as sharp as glass and are shaped like the fins of sharks. I can't decide if the mountains are protecting us from something even harsher or are just biding their time. I wake up thirsty and my lips are peeling.

In being introduced to my sister's friends and neighbors, and reacquainting myself with extended family that I rarely see, I realize that I am the odd relative. The one who doesn't quite know how to answer: So, what have you been up to these days?

The rootless one. I try to see myself through their eyes and wonder how I can answer that question in a meaningful way. Even if it's only in polite conversation, that question makes me paste a two-dimensional smile on my face that I'm sure is unattractive, and I can feel my eyes drifting off somewhere else and not on purpose.

I could say:

I'm using photography as a metaphor for examining almost everything in my life and the world around me and cannot help doing so. It makes me extremely happy and self-conscious at the same time.
I have a feeling that my life is in total flux and transition and although I'm not entirely uncomfortable with this state, it makes me impatient and often moody.
I spent an hour curling my hair this morning.
I'm doing great!

I've been going with Answer 4.

***

On Friday, my sister and parents drove me out into the desert so I could be my photographic self. I took almost 450 photos and some of them are stellar, even though I really can't see them until I get home and can import them into my computer. We four-wheeled it over rocks and dusty faint roads and they helped me notice things. In the desert, there is much to photograph.

So even if I am the odd unsettled relative, my sister and my parents understand. I will dedicate this next set of photos to them, for their love and in getting me to places I couldn't have gotten to by myself. I look forward to sharing these images with you soon.

ps.: There are two incredible installments on i live here:SF today. One in the morning (9:02am, Mat) and one in the afternoon (2:22pm, Catherine). I am BLOWN AWAY by these people for entirely different reasons but both have made me have crushes on them. Please promise you'll look at their photos and read their stories today.

"Mr. Widdicome, there's no such place as San Francisco. Please!"

2009-11-04T08:25:00.000-08:00

Rosalind Russell as the incomparable Auntie Mame.

***

From way back when I could even remember thinking about it, I never wanted to be a mom. It didn't feel like something I wanted to be when I grew up. It wasn't a judgement: good, bad or otherwise. I just never envisioned myself as being a mom, like I never saw myself being a nurse or a firefighter.

Not that Mom is an occupation, mind you. But somewhere way back then it was just a lifestyle I didn't think much about.

However, I have always wanted to be an Auntie. And luckily for me, I am.

***

I can't remember the first time I saw the movie Auntie Mame on television. I do distinctly remember thinking how fantastic Mame was, in her exotic and fun clothes, surrounded by cigarettes and men and witty banter. Somewhere way back when, I did decide that if I was ever going to be an Aunt, I would try to be an Auntie Mame type.

I'm still working on it.

***

I'm leaving tomorrow to go to Las Vegas, as my delightful confectionery dumpling of a baby niece (aka Princess Chubness) is going to be One Year Old at the end of the week. !!!

I am also going to have a birthday (next week, but close enough) where I am going to be One Plus Many More, so we're going to celebrate together. I am already missing San Francisco, though, even though I'm still here and not even packed yet. However, the smiling tiny faces that I'll be kissing soon will get me over that tout de suite.

I'm covering my tracks by scheduling advance posts on CALIBER and i live here:SF so no one will know I'm gone. Maybe I'll make an appearance here... who knows, but I will be working hard on my Aunting:

"Life's a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death!"

photo from the New York Public Library.

A High CALIBER Event!

2009-11-01T11:19:00.000-08:00

The tallest, cutest Sorcerer's Apprentice you ever saw.

***

Boy, our photo walk was really awesome. I think Troy, Stuart, Brad and I were a wee bit surprised at how many people showed up. It made us feel terrific.

Thanks to all of you who joined us. I know we'll be doing this again, hopefully soon!

Here's a little peek at what I saw, but you can get the entire party picture on CALIBER, of course.

You asked for it.

2009-11-01T00:13:00.000-07:00

Me, on Halloween at Teatro Zinzombie.

***

The Boy took this photo. He did a nice job, didn't he? He says I look like Ginger Rogers with dark hair.

I really think I was born in the wrong era. This is definitely my look.

Have a good night. I have to unglue my hair now.

xoxo

Never too old for this sort of thing.

2009-10-31T09:27:00.000-07:00

Ahhh, the enchanting and naughty Linda Darnell.

***

It's a good thing I live in San Francisco because I like to dress up and do the costume thang and living here gives people like me so many opportunities to do so, Halloween or not.

So I'll be emulating my favorite noir vixen, strolling/trolling Market Street with my camera-toting peeps on our first CALIBER related event.

The ad on my facebook page this morning (I have to admit, I still don't like facebook) is this: "Recommendations for San Francisco women in their 40s - including weekend getaways, beauty, wine - picked by people in the know."

My initial mental response to that ad was Oh yeah? Fuck you. (It is also my lingering, secondary response.) Probably not what this company's web ad pros had in mind.

I'm not that decrepit yet. I know what to do in San Francisco... even if I'm in my 40s!

Hope you all trick and treat well today!

CALIBER's Halloween Photowalk

2009-10-27T11:59:00.000-07:00

Photo by Troy Holden of CALIBER.

***

Join us if you can, for our Halloween Photo Walk!

Get the details here.

I'll have what she's having.

2009-10-22T17:53:00.000-07:00

Actually, I'll have more of what I'm having.

Fun!

***

I'm not going to call tangobaby the forgotten blog or the neglected blog. Now that CALIBER has launched, and boy howdy has that site taken off like a rocket, and i live here:SF is going gangbusters, especially since that article in the Chronicle, I come back here and I don't see tumbleweeds.

It's a mite quiet, but it also feels like things are settling into their proper places. Like my blog life is getting more organized.

For the cream of the crop imagewise, I'm going to be posting and writing lots more over at CALIBER. So for those of you who aren't regularly checking in there, please do. Subscribe, tweet it, tell your friends. It's HOT. I'm going to be saving my most splendid photos for that site because, let's face it: size matters. I'll be writing over there too, just like I do here, but some images and stories will be exclusive to CALIBER. (Today was an especially exciting day on CALIBER because we got written up on Thrillist and our site's stats literally blew up. And then we also got picked up by the New York Times' Bay Area blog list... yes that NYT.)

And then i live here:SF, my amazing baby. I cannot tell you how many wonderful faces and stories are waiting in the wings. Seriously. I could be doing this for 8 hours a day lately.

Sooooo, tangobaby might seem a little less action packed, but it's just that the action is getting spread around a bit more, in all the right places.

дочерний

2009-10-18T00:05:00.000-07:00

"Can a man who's warm understand one who's freezing?" ~ Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich

Yesterday I took a detour. In order to avoid waiting 22 minutes for the 44 bus, I took a walk that brought me back to age 25.

Instead of waiting near Green Apple Books for the bus to take me home, I decided to start walking, not home, but just walking so I wouldn't be standing in the bus shelter for nothing. I headed down Geary, towards the ocean. For some reason, I'm never on Geary, but it was a sunny day, fine for strolling and it seemed a lot better than waiting for the bus anyway, especially since I had no particular place to go but home.

The farther I headed down Geary, the closer I got to Russia. Ever since I can remember as an adult, random Russians (and probably Ukranians, too) have come up to me to ask me something, maybe the time, directions. But in Russian, not English. It used to make me laugh and was always a little surprising. How did they know? I grew up in San Jose. Sometimes I would ask, after explaining I didn't understand the question, and if they spoke English, they said they could tell I was one of them from my nose, my lips. My facial features gave me away.

I was so surprised. It felt odd, and oddly comforting, to be recognized by an ethnic group that obviously I am tied to by ancestry but not much else.

Today I did not get the questions, but some knowing, but very faint, smiles. I returned the tight-lipped smiles. As I walked, I walked further back into my past, into my twenties. I thought of my ex-husband and his family. They had left the Soviet Union, their home in Moscow, back in the mid-Seventies, during the diaspora that sent many Russians (mostly Jews) to the US or to Israel. My husband's father was Jewish by birth but had never been raised in a religious family. But his paperwork branded him Semite and that was enough to make his life difficult. My husband's mother was a Russian Orthodox. But that didn't stop the antisemitism from ruining their lives and his mother was an outcast from her own family for marrying a Jew, and his father was eventually fired from his job as an engineer for being born into the wrong race. In Soviet Russia, Jewishness was a race, not a religion. They had no way to survive or make a home for their two small boys, so they emigrated to the US. To San Francisco.

Little bits and pieces of that past life started to come back to me. I didn't meet my husband until we were in college, although I remembered him from high school. Very shy, with a very heavy accent, he got better grades in Honors American History than the rest of his American-born classmates (including me) and never talked to anyone, at least that I could tell. He had learned to speak English by watching television and had learned to read it by devouring comic books, his only boyish vice. All I wanted to do was save him. And then when I met his family, I wanted to save them too. I wanted to make them happy to be in America. Even though they could not go home, they never seemed anything but dispossessed.

The Russian people —not to stereotype, but nationalities do have their own distinctive character and I came to know the Russian one quite well— and not to be confused with the Ukranian Jewish background of my grandma Annette (and her tales of escaping the Cossack raids and her crossing to America in steerage), but the more modern, pre-Berlin Wall falling Muscovites that survived Stalin and his successors. That dark humor, developed from standing in endless lines to buy black bread, watermelons, cooking oil. The wry understanding that came from bribing officials with black market books and ballpoint pens. The plain white walls and the fake wood paneling. The meager furniture and dull, flat carpets covered in red and blue Persian rugs. The memories of the lazy summers at the dacha. The boiled chicken. The red beets. The pickles. The tea with jam.

They wanted for nothing. They didn't want anything. They only left the house when it was necessary: to go to the store, to run errands. The rest of life was spent at home, reading books in Russian, listening to the radio. I was their connection to the world: the entertainment, the storyteller, the birthday rememberer. God it was hard. It was more than I could handle in the end.

When I left, I didn't look back. Sometimes I regret that ending, but I don't know if I could have done it any other way without crumbling. I think that is why I hadn't been down Geary in a long time. I can go to Chinatown, the Mission, anywhere else in the city without having to deal with my memories. But when these random people smile at me, I feel a twinge, and I miss a little bit of that world.

I stood for a while in front of the Russian Orthodox Church and watched two men talking outside the front doors. One of the men was doing repairs. The golden onion domes sparkled so brightly under the blue sky. In the past, those domes had seemed so huge to me, like St. Basil's in Red Square. But this day, those domes finally felt small, or at least in perspective.

Meet CALIBER

2009-10-15T06:52:00.000-07:00

From left to right: Brad Evans, Stuart Dixon, me, Troy Holden, after the Apocalypse.
(Actually, it's what was the old tuna cannery, otherwise known as the TIE building down in Bayview. Photo by Troy Holden.)

***

I wanted to introduce you to a new collaborative group I'm a part of. I'm really excited about it, and really excited to share some new photography friends with you.

Brad, Stuart, Troy and I have been part of a photographic mutual admiration society for quite some time, so us forming this group, now known as CALIBER, just came pretty naturally. We've been meeting for Irish coffees after the work day, talking photography and projects and now we have something we're really proud of to share.

Stuart and Troy (to those who knew him previously as Plug1 from whatimseeing.com) are credited for creating a fantastic template in which to showcase what we feel are our best images. We have some ideas and goals for where we'd like to take this group going forward, but for right now, we're happy to share some of our favorite images with you.

Please take a visit to CALIBER and tell us what you think. Thanks!

reading someone else's love letters

2009-10-14T14:32:00.000-07:00

One of my greatest thrills about i live here:SF is when people send in their stories. Some of them, heck—most of them, are truly touched by a bit of magic.

Read Medea's story and see if you agree with me.

Sarah Silverman strikes again.

2009-10-14T12:04:00.000-07:00

This is almost as awesome as The Great Schlep video.
Thanks to Kristen for posting it first.

Always a view.

2009-10-13T13:42:00.000-07:00

E. on the steps near one of her past residences.
Near Union, in North Beach

***

I've been wanting to share this story with you for a few days now, but other things kept interrupting me and I wasn't able to get into my writing mind long enough to tell this story. Today, it's rainy, the first rain of the season which, in the Bay Area, is enough to drive every other story off the front page because... well, because it's raining.

But because it's raining, I've had to cancel other plans and now it's that quiet, wet afternoon with the windows speckled with water and the cars swooshing by, that I can write about E.

***

E. was the first person to contact me after the article in the Chronicle came out. She briefly explained that she'd lived in San Francisco for over 40 years and had a project she wanted to talk to me about. We played a little phone and email tag over the next day.

When we finally got to talk on the phone, I heard an intelligent conversationalist on the other end of the line. Her voice was strong and a little commanding. She sounded a chipper 60 years old, not the age of 81 that she'd given me. She told me that she wanted to go around the city, and take photos of all of the places she's lived and worked for over 40 years here. We compared notes on buildings and places throughout San Francisco that we loved. We compared favorite San Francisco movie scenes. "I've lived in almost every neighborhood in the city," she explained. "And I've always had a view. The only room in my place now that doesn't have a view is the bathroom." She laughed.

I told her how excited I was to meet her and help her with her quest. She said that normally she would have taken the pictures herself, but given her health lately that would be hard to do. She wanted to make a book of photos of these homes and offices as gifts for family and friends, who have helped her so much in recent times.

"I don't want you to feel sorry for me," she said. "But I'm recovering from a brain tumor. You know, like what Ted Kennedy died of."

We made a date to meet a few days later, and start her trip down Memory Lane together.

***

E.'s apartment is lovely, with a picture perfect view of the Marina, Palace of Fine Arts and the Golden Gate Bridge. It looks exactly like a postcard view that was blown up to window size and then pasted to the wall, that's how pretty it is.

Her apartment is filled with books, art and photographs. Antiques and more books. I spied several books that I wanted to borrow, and even more that I had read. She took me around, showing me photos of her children and her grandchildren, herself as a young woman, her parents in their beautiful wedding attire and framed in gilded wooden frames that hung in her bedroom, near her bed.

Instantly I had this fantasy that E., with her lovely manicure and silver jewelry and stylish fall ensemble, was the worldly, educated grandmother that I never had. She spun tales of North Beach, and working in the cocktail bars in North Beach where she knew Miles Davis and Mort Sahl. Her brother had met Alfred Hitchcock while he was in town, filming Vertigo. Imogen Cunningham and Ruth Asawa had been neighbors. Cunningham had taken her portrait years ago, but she hadn't liked it, and had ripped it up. (I shuddered at the thought.) She pulled out books for me, books she knew I'd like, that were written about San Francisco's history. She seemed to know each of the authors. I was smitten.

We started our walking tour in Russian Hill and then North Beach, where she'd lived in several apartments and homes. We climbed hills and I took her arm to steady her. Amazed that she was able to climb these hills, albeit slowly, that winded us both. We stopped to admire the views. I took photos of the places she'd lived and she told me when she lived there, if she was married at the time, how old her children were. She told me what buildings had been torn down, what used to be where and her memory for the way the city used to be was amazing to me. At one point we encountered an 87 year old neighbor that she hadn't seen since the early 1970s. We were invited inside for a glass of water as the Blue Angels tore up the sky, practicing for Fleet Week.

The photo above is the last place we took pictures that day. A studio apartment that was only $95 a month, and the light from Alcatraz's lighthouse routinely made her bedroom glow at night. She described the sound of the foghorns and how they made her feel cozy at night. For anyone, myself included, who's lucky enough to hear the foghorns off the coast regularly, you know what it means to hear them at 3am. You don't mind it at all.

Anyway, I hope there will be more to tell about E. and that we'll be out in other places of the city soon, her health permitting. I hope she'll be a part of i live here:SF, but either way, just taking E.'s tour of San Francisco is a pleasure I won't soon forget.

Time for the drawing!

2009-10-13T10:08:00.000-07:00

You know me... I can never pick just one person. I just can't do it.

So my random lottery picking device picked three. And now I feel better!

And the names are...

Dina
Katie
David Dunn

***

thank you all for playing along... I will be reading over your suggestions again and making changes over time. But all notes and advice were much appreciated.

Dina, Katie and David, please email me your mailing addresses and there will be a tangobaby package in the mail to you soon. (Before Christmas! LOL.)

Talkin' 'bout my generation.

2009-10-12T18:25:00.000-07:00

Just another Psychedelic Saturday.

This past Saturday I went to the Festival of Rock Posters Fair over at Golden Gate Park's Hall of Flowers (you may remember past visits to the ikebana festival and the Anarchist Book Fair). This poster festival features rock poster artists and dealers from around the country, and is the one show not to be missed by poster collectors and all fans of rock art.

I went to see my new boyfriend.

Meet Dennis.

I met Dennis when I started working with Cyril Jordan and Paul Kopf and taking photos for their band, Magic Christian.

Dennis Loren has been creating the amazing posters for the band, and he's known Cyril since his Flamin' Groovies days. He's now working on a tour book for the band, when they're in Europe at the end of the year, and so yours truly is supplying the photos for the book. (Needless to say, I'm super excited about that. My first time in print!) After handing Dennis a disc of images, he gave me a personal tour of the show, and introduced me to all of the artists there.

It didn't take me too long to figure out that not only is Dennis beloved by everyone in the rock poster world, but he's highly respected and his work is sought after by new and old bands alike.

We had fun looking through his past work, Dennis telling me about how he made the poster, how it was printed, etc. (we've been geeking out on print shop talk now for a while). That Jimi Hendrix poster is a reprint, but Ray Manzarek of the Doors is holding out for an original, if it's still available. (Yes, this is a name-dropping sort of place. But the cool thing is that these artists actually know the musicians, who love their work and inspire more.)

Then he took me around the room to meet his friends.

I totally loved this poster. The artist said his daughter won't hang it in the house because of the kids. There's some non G-rated action going on there, apparently.

This guy, Victor Moscoso, is one of the granddaddies of the psychedelic rock poster art and did tons of posters for the Fillmore. He was a character, to say the least.

There's also a new crop of artists who are expanding and carrying on the rock art lifestyle. This guy, Paul Imagine, was hilarious and his work looks like Dr. Seuss's world gone very very awry. But I liked it.

He's showing me his drawing callus.

The other reason I mention this is that there's a super cool documentary about these boys and their world called American Artifact, the Rise of American Rock Poster Art, where you can see clips and interviews and stories with these artists. There's going to be two screenings and Q&As at the Roxie Theatre at the end of the month, so if you find this interesting, you should go.

I'll be there to see Dennis participate in the Q&A. (Gotta support the boyfriend, right?)

Below is a trailer for the film.

***

After the expo, The Boy and I were invited to a pizza party with the artists. I couldn't believe the stories I was hearing, but since they weren't G-rated either, I won't repeat them.

Let's just say now I know how to grow my own pot, and why I should very strongly dislike the manager for Jefferson Airplane.

Yes, the sticker on his head says "I Am a Huge Poster Nerd."

Now I really miss the Sixties.

it's a matter of how you see things.

2009-10-12T12:05:00.000-07:00

And right now it seems like I'm seeing a lot. Hard to keep up, frankly.

This photo was taken yesterday at the old tuna cannery in Bayview, also known as the TIE building by those in the graffiti world.

It's part of a something bigger that I'll share on Thursday, but I couldn't not share the photo, at least. I really like how looking through the broken glass makes you focus on the world outside this building.

More on the shoot, and what's behind it, and all kinds of stuff soon. And for those of you inclined, I'm still open for comments on my new site if you want to get into the drawing that happens tonight.

xoxo