How SF, (or maybe what a cheater)
Today I am posting pictures I took yesterday, and now, that I look at them, exemplify my neighborhood.
And my friend Veva, who is in these pictures at Farley’s, a fairly uber cool coffee house where very cute middle-aged grease monkeys often hang out, (I have to say, ever since Barry, the smell of axel grease has been a turn on). Why am I attracted to those bad boy/men? Part of the SF nomenclature, part of my resisting aging; as they too resist it.
Do young people look at us aging hipsters and think we are foolish? It’s not like I’m at bars making young friends or seducing young men, and OMG I had so much attitude about older people doing anything in public when I was young, maybe it’s payback time.
But me and Veva, who is 10 years younger than me and as cute as a button, live blessed lives. I mean look at those pictures. It is a leisurely, if strenuous walk up and down some of SF’s meanest hills to get a hot drink. But this is six or so blocks from our homes, (she lives around the corner).
We walk and kvetch together. She is amazing, and yet suffering from some of the same dum dum diseases as me. I can’t go into detail because this is my blog, and that is her life, but WTF. Look at her. Gorgeous, amazingly accomplished, funny, full of life and what…
Taking pictures has helped me appreciate my life. Rich, full, varied, full of light and color, people, events, and love. When I am in my poopy mood I think that I am so accustomed to my well grooved habitrail that all the places in my life have been seen before. But that haven’t, and what I realize, when my eyes and heart open, is that there is always so much more to look at, beauty and intrigue everywhere. On the same old paths every day.
But today I knew from when I woke up that I did not want to take one goddamn picture, that I was in one of my furrowed brow moods, and more pressing than anything, I needed to get, and keep my butt at the desk. I actually put my gym clothes on this morning and it’s 9:51 and I am still wearing them and I have not been to the gym yet. At least they’re comfy.
But today. Hmmm. Kind of torturous and sequestered artist bullshit stuff, like I think I wrote about yesterday. In fact I just got an email from a production company in LA who is friendly, but on set in Louisiana until mid March and can’t come to the LA House Party next week….I have fantasies of falling apart and going on long vacations and taking a tenure track job in Ohio.
But look how pretty my neighborhood and SF is in early February. And I get to practice being an artist everyday and while no one here thinks that’s weird, everyone assumes we can do this while we are paying our basic monthly, and FYI mine is so low compared to other lifestyles here, and yet feels so high in the big, very big picture.
It’s all so scaled and relative.
