9.30.2003
whoever you are, out there flying your kite in the pea-soup fog, i love you!
i see it a lot, the kite, same one, flying over the surging stand of cypress. the ancient-looking trees leaning to the right from years of wind whipping up the meteorological shipping lane that is Fulton Street to Alama square park. the fog races through there, single-minded in its desire for the bay, and the little kite soars in and out of view, quickly. with violent upswings and crashing down again, the person on the other end i'm guessing fitful, intense. the kite never flies in the sun.
today i saw an old homeless lady on the street as i sat and drank my coffe and read all the news that's fit to print at Muddy Waters, enjoying the grit and the life of the mission streets. she was taking nickels and dimes out of her cupped hand and feeding the meters that had expired because the meter-reading person was coming down the street. later, a man came out and got into his nonticketed car and drove off, probably creditting his good traffic karma.
she reminded me of my dad. that is how he has lived his whole life. feeding the meters, silently and without need for recognition, of my mom, my brother, and me. he has given us everything that he has, most importantly his heart and soul. when i sit and think about his life today on his birthday, i realize that every decision that he has made that i am aware of has been for the benefit or wellbeing of his family.
and that is why i am so glad that he went and bought himself a sick harley...
happy birthday dad, my hero
if everyone could know him the world would be a better place.
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9.29.2003
i am so excited that rob is coming to *OUR HOUSE* on wednesday that i can't sleep at night. when, oh when, will he arrive? to scare away the scary people on our oh-so-scary street. to comfort us with his presence. we will drink strong coffee and sit on the roof and stroll in the park and listen to music and play him our songs and eat pizza and drink beer and fall asleep watching the simpsons...
yay for rob!
the hoorays rock.
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9.26.2003
does anyone know of a good place to learn kung fu, hakido, or capoiera or any other similar beautiful fighting technique in san francisco? preferrable haight/ashbury area...
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Bush's approval rating has dropped almost as low as it was on 9/9, 2001.
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9.25.2003
how do you start a brand new weblog?
hm.... well, mat and i were robbed at gunpoint saturday night. two blocks from our house. a gun was pointed at my stomach. inches away. i can still visualize it perfectly.
lemons for everyone sounded like such a cheerful title when i thought of it about a month and a half ago. i pictured the happy yellow orbs that i love so much greeting those who come to the site and making everyone think wow! lemons are actually a good thing for everyone! because that is not what everyone instantly thinks of lemons -- sour, used car in poor condition, rotting ones thrown at caskets in those crazy (not that there's anything wrong with that) funeral customs in that land far away, you know basically puckered face and all that. i wanted to set out to create a happy, flowery smelling lemony place like our old back yard with the lemon tree smelling of heaven and always smiling and waving at me from outside of the window, beckoning to bring my books, guitar, journal and lay on the grass beneath her fragrant bows. anyway, i wanted to create that place for you to ease you into reading sometimes happy, sometimes horrifyingly dark and scary material from someone who loves you just for reading it.
i guess today's entry (the inaugaural entry, no less, no pressure or anything) only helps to encourage the negative lemon stereotype. but our lemon tree beckoned to me and then comforted me through my whole spectrum of dramatic -- always dramatic -- emotions. so here she is online, and i will spill my guts.
we were robbed, and my teeth chattered for an entire hour afterwards. my lips were numb (i realized a few days later that that was because i had blown off all of my co2 by hyperventilating -- that is why you breathe into a paper bag so that you can rebreathe some of your respiratory waste to balance out your system, amazing), i shook and screamed. i raced through the stages of shcok, terror, anger, helplessness, disbelief all within the next few hours of it happening.
the next morning, i was fine. and dandy, sunny day, let's go out for a stroll to our little diner. the first african american person that i saw, i jumped but kept walking. having never been racist, that reaction suprised me. after we ordered our breakfasts, i saw two kids who looked similar to the ones who pointed the gun at my stomach and took mat's wallet on that dark and empty street. the street light lighting it all more terrifyingly than any horror movie lighting consultant could conjer up. the gun, matte black but with a bit of reflected streetlight. the streetlights orange and greasy. emptying my pockets, eyes staring forward but not seeing. i was there. back there, and i couldn't begin to eat my breakfast because i couldn't even breathe and my fork shook and my vision distorted with the crushing anxiety, the terror relived again this morning. i didn't want to stay, but i was afraid for my life to go. paralyzed with fear.
so we eventually made it home and directly over the bridge to tiburon for the night. and then to sunnyvale for two nights.
and i got myself a prescription for ativan.
and ambien.
and we have the simpson's 3rd season on dvd.
let the agorophobia begin. bring it on, baby. this ride should be interesting.
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