Happy Cesar Chavez Day!

Jury Duty

Didn't really go as expected. . .

I arrived at the Civic Center Courthouse at 8:45 yesterday morning. After waiting around for a little over two hours in the assembly room (which resembled a grown-up version of study hall) I was called up to room 603 (along with about 40 of my peers). This was one of several courts in the building and resembled nothing like the airy, wood paneled courthouses of Hollywood. Boxes overflowing with documents lined the walls, the lawyers were all dressed in frumpy Men's Warehouse suits (one seemed to have botox jowls and kinda resembled a Dick Tracy villain) and there was the biggest container of Folgers Dark Roast I had ever seen slumped over on a nearby table. Fluorescent light bathed the gray carpet in a despondent glow.

The Judge entered, we rose, raised our right hands, listened to the oath (so help us god. . . ), and said "I do." That was probably the most exciting part of the whole day. The Judge then explained that the trial would probably last a week and a half, and that anyone who wanted to claim a "hardship" (either financial, medical, or familial) should raise their hands. 30 hands immediately shot up. Forms were passed around, filled out, and turned in. I explained that without the next week and a half of work I would not have enough money to pay my taxes on April 15th (a half-truth). I also "crazied" the form up a little, claiming that I suffered from "frequent" panic attacks (again, a half-truth). After 20 minutes of deliberation, the Judge discharged a lion's share of the potential jurors, including yours truly!

As I stepped out into the slight drizzle of a San Francisco spring morning (the rain that only seems to hit when you are moving, never when you are standing still. . . ) I was both elated not to have to return to that grey tower but also a little let down that I never got the full juror experience.

Here's how I spent the rest of my day:

1. Ate a bowl of scrumptious chicken noodle pho with giblets at Turtle Tower. Will probably bypass the giblet option next time.

2. Went to the public library to browse books on Urban Design. While washing my hands in the bathroom I was treated to a rendition of "You Really Got A Hold On Me" by some guy in a paper Burger King crown.

3. Biked up to Vesuvio, where I put off reading my Kool Kids Book Club 2010 selection (a 845 page historical fantasy novel) to read essays on rampart neoliberal city planning in Dubai, Hong Kong, and Arg-e Jadid (a California oasis in the middle of the Iranian desert).

4. Had a few pints at the good 'ol 540 where I had a conversation with a friendly chap about the function and purpose of the forward slash.

5. Saw a reading at Green Apple Books and was struck by how loud my shoes sounded on the hardwood floors.

6. Biked home where I wikied the forward slash.

7. Fell asleep to a home recording of Makoto Kawabata playing glissando guitar and a singing bowl.

This Book and this Blog. . .

. . . are consuming me.

EVIL PARADISES

BLDGBLOG

This is the first step. . .

I'm in the midst of applying for this:

Berkeley Summer Program In Sustainable Cities

Please mail your tax deductible donation to:

HOLY CRAP THIS IS HELLA EXPENSIVE

BUT IT COULD CHANGE MY G.D. LIFE!

c/o Andreas Levi

849 Haight Street

San Francisco, CA

94117

I've changed the title of this post at least four times.

Lately I've been feeling the winds of change stirring the leaves of my life out here in San Francisco. Two of my new roommates have decided to move down the street together, I've been dumped with no explanation, and cutting cheese is simply not as fulfilling as it used to be. Not to mention that a lot of wonderful people I have met and befriended and fell in love with during my time in this town have left for places with names such as Los Angeles, Chicago, New York, and the Czech Republic. I've always said I would give San Francisco at least five years, but I think what I meant is that I would give myself to San Francisco for five years.

For four years, two weeks and five days now I have let the currents of this wild and woolly city rock me too and fro: from the highs of seeing Tank Hill, Grace Cathedral and Ocean Beach for the first time to the lows of getting my wallet stolen twice in one week, my face (literally) smashed into a brick wall and the realization that (almost) everyone moves away eventually. But now I feel as if I am finally (and gratefully) washed up on the beach along with tall cans of tecate, ironic beards and american apparel v-neck t-shirts. I stand up and see the jungle before me, and beyond that, the mountains of success, of satisfaction, of a deep and permanent happiness. There is a question written in the sand, a question written by those who came before me. It reads:

"What next?"

Well, I have been wrestling with that question for the last month now. At first I thought I might move to Portland. Then came the fever dream of becoming a cartographer. This was extremely vivid, and included both a name ("Parsnip") and a gimmick (navy blue boarders on all the maps) for my future artistically-bent map making company. Along the way I thought I would buy a car, a mid-eighties Mercedes-Benz station wagon converted to run on vegetable oil to be precise. Bi-weekly camping trips would surely clear my head. Or perhaps I would take up Zen practice more seriously, maybe even become a monk. Hell, maybe I would finally put my BA in Theatre Arts to use and look for work at a reputable San Francisco or Portland based theatre.

I attempted to get back to my childhood, to think of what made me happy as a child. I was so much wiser then. I remembered drawing plans for secret clubhouses and maps revealing their locations. I remembered creating whole cities out of legos and populating them with tiny yellow people. I remembered reading science fiction stories of settlements on the Moon, of aliens coming to Earth in peace, of spaceships charting the unthinkably vast heavens. I remembered wanting to be the first man on Mars. I remembered "Tintin" and "Little Nemo In Slumberland." I remembered when I first struck on my personal concept of beauty, sometime around 7th grade perhaps. It went something like this: "A mountain range, a dense forest, a shining ocean. . . these things are not beautiful to me. A single rose growing in a dilapidated alleyway, this is true beauty." I even remembered the first day I received a letter from Andrea Liliana Zambrano Rodriguez, the child I am sponsoring down in Ecuador through Children International. It made me feel so very, very happy. And I still do, every time I look at it.

The notion is forming in my head that I will go back to school and get a masters degree and somehow end up at a creative, environmentally and socially conscious non-profit or government agency. I'm hovering around the ideas of urban design, of architecture and landscapes, of city and regional planning, of transportation reform (Bicycles!), of fusing my love of theatre (public speaking) and music ("Architecture is frozen music") with my fascination with cities and my desire to make them more habitable, more environmentally sustainable and more beautiful for everyone, everyone, everyone.

When I moved out west four years, two weeks and five days ago I had a mantra:

"I will go to San Francisco, I will get hired at the Rainbow Grocery Cheese Department."

At the time I had no idea how difficult it was (I was the first hire from outside the store in 12 years!) but I believed (and not even with all my heart!) that it would come true. And it did. And now I have a new mantra, a mantra I will be repeating for the next eleven months, two weeks and two days:

"I will be accepted into a Masters of Urban Design program on the West Coast."

"I will be accepted into a Masters of Urban Design program on the West Coast."

"I will be accepted into a Masters of Urban Design program on the West Coast."

PS I know this might all come off as too optimistic, too naive, but I believe it is precisely these two qualities which allow anyone at all to succeed in this big, dumb, beautiful, perfect world.

March Forth!

Today marks my four year anniversary in San Francisco. Some things I did today include:

1. Received hundreds of pounds of cheese from various delivery people and moved them around between various coolers and the retail floor. At one point I had 6 40# blocks of vermont cheddar on a hand truck and I tryed not to think of how the math added up.

2. Witnessed some dude in a Rascal run a red light on Market Street at rush hour.

3. Got an MRI of my neck and was comforted by this video:

4. Write this post, after which I will stare off in the distance and quietly reflect on my time in the Magic City thus far.

6. Call my friend Terri and wish her a happy birthday.

5. Take a nap and dream happy dreams of you.

6. Attend a performance my "old buddy" (I met him a few months after arriving in town) Arvel set up at some place called Crowdflower later this evening.

I always said that I would give San Francisco at least five years. It's given me so much, but I think the best is yet to come. . .