I went down to see my friend Yusei today. He lives by Fifth and Market. We were going to go see the Diane Arbus exhibit at the SFMOMA but taking care of our hunger ended up taking more time than expected. "Let's go eat fast food," said Yusei. "Let's go eat in Chinatown," I insisted. "They're infamous for cheap food." We were walking down the street in Chinatown and a girl came up to us showing a menu and offering 20% off. "I'll show you where it is," she said. We followed her around the block to the place. She escorted us in the door, up the stairs, and even seated us. While we were looking at the menu Yusei held his hand up and said, "Is my hand shaking?" I told him it wasn't. It was the entire building, we must be sitting on top of a motor or something. We put our coats back on without eating and left. There's no sense eating in a shaking restaurant.
[We walk up another street to try our luck with cheap food. After Yusei asked someone directions he told me he gets aggravated in Chinatown sometimes. Because he's Japanese people look at him and expect him to speak Chinese. When he continues to speak English the Chinatowners get irritated with him like he is not upholding their traditions. I told him to say, "Can you understand me" in Japanese and they might get the picture. Aside from the Chinese community looking at my Japanese friend like he was the downfall of their culture, everything else went smooth and we ended up eating at a pretty cool place on Stockton St. called New Moon Restaurant.]
I walked through Golden Gate Park today on my way to visit a friend. It's a great atmosphere. Hippies on a bench pounded drums. They gave another park hippy the beat he twirled his staff to. I walked by the closed carousel and noticed someone skating inside. I went down for a closer look and talked to independant film producer David Driver. He is working with students interested in film production. To see some films from the Chase Art Program that also feature the carousel go to chaseartfilm.com.
[After learning that the merry-go-round had first been placed there in 1943, I spent sometime with my nephew. He's nearly a year old. His birthday is Jan 10, mine is the 16th.]
Went to the Mission Tonight. Ate a couple burritos. This place reminds me of the Columbia Heights and Mt. Pleasant areas of Washington, D.C. -- except way bigger. I stopped at an Irish place called the Dovre on my walk through. The people in there were great. The guy at the end of the bar, Clem, had such a brouge it was hard to understand him. He said that the Mission used to be an Irish area. Every year there are fewer and fewer first-generation Irish there.
[Some places in the Mission have so many signs stacked on top of one another it reminds me of a Brooklyn neighborhood.]
I always liked John Sack, since I first met him on a ship in the North Arabian Sea over two years ago. Between that time and now I have been learning more and more about him, the majority through correspondence but also through internet research. His writing style and ideology have had a great influence on my photojournalism.
[I went to visit John Sack, Esquire war correspondent and author of a dozen books. I'm glad he has time to talk. He is a good person to learn from.]
If you are looking to get in a fight, stabbed, mugged, shot, raped, killed, crack, pot, San Francisco's Tenderloin District can deliver. This is a shot of crackheads in a board meeting across from the Tenderloin Grocery on Turk and Fifth.
Ching-Ching and Hunter are two dangerous folks. I was hesitant about taking their pictures. "C" summed up their occupations as "Killa-Hustla-Pimps." I believe them. They never mentioned what neighborhood they came from but all the bad dudes show up in the T.L. at some point. They admitted that there are worst neighborhoods but none more infamous.
[The Tenderloin is a dangerous place to have a camera. So don't try it.]
I found a great neighborhood. My friend Yusei lives the. It's called the "Tenderloin." This photo was taken in front of the Tenderloin Grocery. I went in there to get a drink while I was trying to get a hold of my friend. When I walked in an undercover officer was busting a lady with about $400 in crack. I quickly discovered the neighborhood was thriving on drugs. I walked a few blocks south and stopped to use the bathroom at a Carl's Jr. Two dudes were trying to get high in the bathroom. I fought with one over our turn on the commode. He was brushing his teeth so I won out. It was terrible ... they both stopped brushing their teeth and scrambled seeking relief from the smell. The men were very seriously as I laughed my way out the door. I went back down to the Turk Street where I meet some dangerous people.
[We went to Hunan's Chinese Restaurant tonight. I have to go there every time I'm in the area. They serve the spiciest food available.]
This vintage trolley was built in 1929. It originally ran on the streets of Porto, Portugal. It is now part of the San Francisco Municipal Rail or MUNI. Today the car was part of the F-line that runs from 17th and Castro down Market to Fisherman's Wharf. "No Main Street in America has had rail service longer than San Francisco's Market Street," boasts a MUNI pamphlet I picked up on the car. I picked up this picture at 17th and Noe using a Sears tripod borrowed from my brother. Tonight we all ate homemade raviolis. There was no white flour in the house the night before when the raviolis were started so half of them were made with whole-wheat flour. Everyone said the whole-wheat variety wasn't bad at all. I took their word for it.
[My mom, sister, and niece are flying back to Florida tomorrow. I get a renewed familiarity every time I visit my family. When we part there is a painful feeling of wanting them to be there. If you get that feeling from your family you might consider yourself lucky.]
Today, New Year's Eve, I walked all over San Francisco. From Castro to Golden Gate Park down 14th St to the Embarcadero, nearly twice. The second walk was the most exciting. I didn't start it in time to see the fireworks. I saw their reflection off the buildings at the end of Market. I was walking straight into the enormous mass of people who were leaving the fireworks by the Bay Bridge. The mob walked straight down Market. People were setting off big, illegal fireworks in the streets. San Francisco's Finest was suited in riot gear. Teenagers were being detained by police all over the city. Teams of officers were running down the streets after perps. Fire trucks were blazing down the blocked off streets. Bottles were breaking all over. "Happy New Year," was shouted in a thousand different voices. Kids were fighting on the side walk. Cars were being pulled over. Trolley cables had to be fixed. The Wharf was cleaned by drones of street sweepers and men armed with brooms and pressure washers. Newspaper boxes had been smashed into cars. Girls were riding home in shopping carts instead of taxis. We danced. And now the city and me are tired.
[My New Year's resolution is to get better at taking pictures.]
I woke up in Oregon ready to escape the next wave of Nature's snowy wrath. After some careful arranging and leaving behind some large items, we were able to fit everything in the car. I practiced putting on the tire chains, just in case. We took one more joy ride through downtown Eugene before we hit I-5 South. The snow-covered land between Oregon and Redding, CA is some of the most beautiful I've ever saw. The highlight of the breathtaking drive was probably Mt. Shasta National Park. Mt. Shasta's elevation is 14,162 ft and one of the few places that rivals Yosemite.
[We stopped for a bite to eat in Yreka, CA at a little joint called Grandma's House. How could they do this?! They slandered Grandma with bad cooking and poor service. Then the bill came ... Grandma must be senile too.
We planned well in advance. The car was rented. Our bags where packed and ready to go. Snack food items for the long drive, check. The only thing we didn't do was consult the Weather Channel. If we had, we might have realized we planned to start our journey from Eugene to San Francisco in the middle of a snow storm. A blizzard that closed nearly 100 miles of Interstate 5 between the Oregon border and Mt. Shasta, California.
[Luckily we all have flexible schedules. We were able to enjoy the weather that I always imagined of Oregon. Of course our traveling group didn't mind staying for another day. I went sledding with my nephew and my sister. Built a snowman. Watched cynically as neighbors tried to make it up the hill in their small expensive cars. And of course, like every night, after dark we all gathered around the table for family games ... like Uno. (Our favorite!)]
Like much of my holiday, today was spent entirely with my family. When you don't see each other often enough it sure takes a long time to "catch up." In the morning we all gathered around my mom and talked. The conversation went from my 16-year-old niece's vague memories of playing in her backyard as a toddler to my mother recalling her early childhood, and growing up during WWII. I am the baby of the family by far, my closest sibling being 20 years older than me. I never even realized my mom was alive during WWII! One of her oddest wartime memories was created as a little girl in first grade. She said the students would line up in the school's hallway for rations of prunes and grapefruit juice.
[The holidays are always a great time for family games. Tonight we watched my 6-year-old nephew Hayden put on a magic show. Then we played Trivia Pursuit while Hayden kept insisting we play poker. We finally compromised with him and played a two-hour hand of Uno.]
