I went swimming at Aquatic Park this morning for the first time this year. I used to go once or twice a week. I don't know why I haven't been back. I love it so very much.
I love to see the sun rise over the East Bay hills, and the Bay turn golden and light. The sensation when I first get in the water, and my hands and feet and face ache until they go numb. I love the smell and the taste of the salt water in my mouth. The feel of slicing through the water. On occasion there are seals. Other swimmers pass by in the opposite direction, old men wearing nothing but trunks, and movement their only source of warmth. Beneath the surface you can only see a few feet in front of your face. The water is dark and mysterious and older than nations. When I get out of the water I stumble up on the beach with unfeeling legs and feet, and peel down my wetsuit to my waist. And there's nothing like it, that walk back up to the car with the San Francisco air on my bare chest and back. Hot and cold at once from exercise, cold water, and morning fog. When I get to the car, I strip down to my swim trunks and shiver. My wetsuit and squid lid and goggles go in a plastic bin in the back. And then I wrap a towel around my waist, and pull off my shorts. Standing naked in the parking lot except for a thin bolt of fabric. Fog thick in the air. The warm and nervous feeling of finally tugging on my sweatshirt, and gingerly stepping into my track pants, while trying not to let my towel drop or pull up too high. (They cannot see me naked. These things they go away.) And then I'm in the car and the heat's turned on and so is Morning Edition, but quietly, more of a comforting ambient sound, a reminder of humanity, than news. And on the way home I stop in and get a strong espresso drink and a bite to eat, still in my track pants and hoodie. Hair wet with flip flops.
When I first heard about Hillary Clinton running for president, I wasn't excited because I didn't know her. I thought she was Hillary Clinton, the triangulator who would do anything to win. Who would vote for or against a war based on whether or not it would get her elected. But by the Fall, I thought she wasn't Hillary Clinton. She was John Kerry. Or Joe Biden. Compromised maybe, but ultimately a person with society's best interest at heart. And that's enough. I was for her. But then that didn't work out so well, and in January she turned into Lurleen Wallace. It was two for one all over again. That was just fucked up. And then in February or March she morphed into John McCain, or, well, not George Bush, exactly, but maybe a slight whiff of Dick Cheney: I'll answer the phone at 3 AM, motherfucker, and put the planes with the missiles and the hot hoary death in your ass. And I definitely wasn't down with that. And I guess neither was she, because before I knew it, she was Cesar Chavez. Or, more accurately, Michael Moore. Sucking down shots with the working stiffs of the rust belt. And now she's Mike Huckabee. Pitiable. Ultimately, of course, the problem is that she was always Hillary Clinton, and never herself.
I think Barack Obama does well because he comes across as Barack Obama.
I want to be the last to know about something again.
I want to see a small run book or magazine, or a record, or a cassette tape and wonder where it was made, and by whom. I want something to come to me from far away. I want to be amused by simple things, because there is nothing else to do. I want to wonder how life is different in big cities, and whether the big city people would find it interesting here. I want to proudly show something off. I want a new restaurant to open up, and have the whole town be excited about it. And I want to be excited too.
I'm tired of being jaded and coy and on top of things. I'm tired of reading about it a month ago. I'm tired of having tried it already.
When I saw your picture, unabashedly having fun in a place that I cannot anymore--worse, that I could not permit myself to--it made me sad. It made me nostalgic for the person I used to be, who experienced the world through pictures in magazines and tenth-generation cassette tapes re-dubbed so many times that the hiss and pop seemed to map the miles between me and What's Going On.
But now I can't be bothered. Take me to the beating heart and I can't be bothered.
All The Sad Young Literary Men seems passé and cliché, I won't read it because I've already lived it--and besides who cares about people in their 20s. The band with the new, new sound just reminds me of The Fall.
And, oh, how I wish it were not that way. It's not that I want to be younger, I don't. Or happier, I could not be.
But how I long for innocence, and the smell of honeysuckle and decay in the air. For the whole world to lie out there somewhere beyond me, unknown and mysterious and full of surprises.
It's no secret I'm a big fan of LOOK bikes. But the new limited edition (50!) 586 has got to be one of the nicest machines I've ever seen.
This year LOOK is introducing only fifty, built to order LOOK 586 Mondrian Limited Edition frames. Each will be numbered and will come with a signed certificate of authenticity from Look President, Dominique Bergin. This will be in commemoration of the 1986 Tour de France, this frame represents the soul of LOOK Cycles, harking back to the heritage that brought our brand to fame. This “nouveau retro” frame will become an instant collector’s item.
Frameset only: $4499
With the 586, LOOK offers a single-shell frame with flowing and elegant lines. A pioneer in the technology of single-shell carbon frames, LOOK has always featured innovative design and technology.
Everyone who turned out should feel cheated. Along the Embarcadero route, Beijing's backers and the groups opposed to China's policies in Tibet, Burma and Darfur didn't get a glimpse of the flaming torch. Casual observers who wanted to take in the torch's only North American stop were likewise left out. In effect, the event was canceled.
This was San Francisco's chance to show how it respects and handles vigorous political dissent. It is also the hub of a region with great pride in its Olympic alliances. Thousands gathered to see the torch and express their passions, positive and negative, about the upcoming Games. Regrettably, our city leaders chose to run away from them.
I agree with that, but I'm also realistic. I hadn't been sure if I was going to go, and the mayhem in London and Paris had left me leaning towards not. But at the last moment I thought to myself that I was about to miss an amazing spectacle, and figured I could stay out of trouble. Although I was busy, I thought I could take off at 11, and be back by 2:30. Besides, Harper was there. And so I changed out of my ironic-shirt-du-jour, jumped on my bike and headed down Market Street.
It was a gorgeous day in the city, and it felt like falling in love to ride through the middle of it at mid-day.
But when I got to Justin Herman Plaza, it was a circus. Harper and I (amazingly) found each other right away, and within minutes were approached/harassed by some Fox News clown with an agenda. We split, heading south towards the ballpark.
Years ago, when I was sad, I would go sit out on the Embarcadero at lunchtime all by myself and eat a burrito.
Today, there were thousands of emotional people with flags along the water. Thousands. I saw so many confrontations between pro and anti China groups and individuals that I find it hard to believe you could have run the torch up Embarcadero and not had very bad things happen. I was right there during The Bussing that's been cited repeatedly on the news. It actually was pretty alarming. One woman was trampled, several protesters were nearly run over, and then the crowd went apeshit on the vehicle.
This wasn't your average protest where you've got, say, 30,000 protesters who are against the war in Iraq and 2,000 cops who are against those protesters fucking too much shit up. There were two distinct and very pissed off sides (and I don't mean China vs. Tibet; there were all kinds of anti-China factions) and both were out in force. It would be a pretty reasonable assumption that something could go wrong.
And, plus, let's face it, it's San Francisco. You can't really predict it.
So they switched up the torch route, and left everyone guessing. The misdirection was fantastic. Was it on the water? Heading up 3rd Street? Taking the N Judah? All the sudden there was a rumor it was on Van Ness.
It was like a challenge. A game. Us vs The Olympics.
But we had bikes, and an "Eye in the Sky" (a friend was watching on teevee and updating via d messages on Twitter.) All they had was a plan. And so we were off, hauling ass through the city.
We caught up with the torch at Van Ness and Bay, we actually arrived at the intersection just moments ahead of it. The Eye confirmed the torch was on the way. Harper busted out her Tibetan flag. I got my camera. We had different priorities. I only saw one or two protesters there, definitely a lot more in the pro-China camp. And then it took a left on Bay.
We didn't follow, as it was a madhouse right behind the torch procession. I was thinking of heading back home. But then we decided to go for it again, and we were off, heading towards the helicopters.
We pedaled hard up the steep hill from the Warf into Fort Mason, and cut across over to catch it again as it rolled by Marina Green. There were several police and other law enforcement kinda boats heading towards Ft. Baker, and we thought maybe the torch was going to head under the bridge then get on a boat back to the Ferry Plaza--it's intended destination.
And we caught it again at Marina Green. This time it was under constant harassment from anti-China protesters. But the torch was fine. Nobody was doing anything to go after the torchbearers or to put it out. (I did yell at some punk kid to get off my lawn when he tossed a water ballon, but it looked incident-free) Not that it wasn't nuts. It was:
But I didn't. Nor did anyone else, and when the torch headed West, we pursued. I thought it was headed to Ft. Point. The gate. Some sort of watery exit. All that. But then rumors went around that it was headed to the bridge. So we beat it there.
Foiled again. We stood around for a while, getting bad intel from our Eye (thanks for nothing, Eye!) who eventually clued us in that the torch was headed to the airport. Then we got a text from the SF Team Tibet folks telling everyone to head to SFO.
And then we were besieged by the remaining media on the bridge. We were surprised to learn we'd seen more of the torch than they had. Harper was interviewed by a passel of journalists. She made the Chronicle, at least online.
And then it was really late in the day, so we left and rode home. We stopped and had a beer and Taytos on the way.
The torch completed a seven-hour journey from the new Wembley soccer stadium in northwest London to the principal site for the 2012 Summer Olympics in Stratford on the city’s east side. Along the way, numerous protesters seeking to reach the torch were wrestled to the ground by police officers. One man carrying a fire extinguisher narrowly failed to reach the person carrying the torch, but he set off the extinguisher anyway, dousing police officers with foam.
(snipped)
But for all the safeguards, the organizers had many tense moments when the denouement many had feared — the torch’s being seized or extinguished — was only narrowly avoided.
By God, that sounds like a contest to me! San Francisco, London may have beaten us out for the 2012 Olympics, but when it comes to irrational-beyond-all-measure protests, they can't even carry our gasmasks. (Well, at least not since Thatcher.)
So come on, San Francisco! We can do this! Are we going to let London beat us when it counts? Hell no. We've got something to prove now. West Coast, baby. Let's show them what Democrazy is all about.
Seriously, does anyone know where I can get a fire extinguisher? A big one? It's for, um, the kitchen.
update Er... After what happened in Paris yesterday, I feel compelled to point out the above is sarcasm
"I never felt that I was in a dangerous position. I never felt being in a sense of peril, or 'Oh, God, I hope I'm going to be OK when I get out of this helicopter or when I get out of his tank... What kind of president would say, 'Hey, man, I can't go 'cause I might get shot so I'm going to send my wife...oh, and take a guitar player and a comedian with you.'" -- Sinbad, March 10 2008
"I remember landing under sniper fire. There was supposed to be some kind of a greeting ceremony at the airport, but instead we* just ran with our heads down to get into the vehicles to get to our base.... Everyone else was told to sit on their bulletproof vests. And we* came in, in an evasive maneuver. ... There was no greeting ceremony, and we* basically were told to run to our cars. Now, that is what happened." -- Hillary Clinton, March 17, 2008
*We = Hillary Clinton, Chelsea Clinton, Sheryl Crow, and Sinbad.
"You know, I think that, a minor blip, you know, if I said something that, you know, I say a lot of things — millions of words a day — so if I misspoke, that was just a misstatement." --Hillary Clinton, March 24, 2008
Other Misstatements, About Which Senator Hillary Clinton May Or May Not Have Misspoken, Possibly Due to Sleep Deprivation, Or Perhaps Not, Some Of Which May Continue To Be Considered Accurate, Until Video Proves Otherwise
Did not, as previously stated, serve as Army Colonel during Vietnam War. However, did protest Vietnam War, which, you have to admit, is pretty much the same thing.
Accidentally claimed to have received Nobel Prize in Physics. In fact won middle school science fair for working model of volcano. Maybe. Unless there is evidence to contradict this as well. Which hopefully there is not.
Mistakenly referred to self as "Dr. Hillary Clinton" when, in fact, subsequent review of academic record indicates that at no time did Senator Clinton attend medical school, nor, as mistakenly misspoken, did the Senator practice medicine in the state of Maryland for 25 years during which time she was not, in fact, Chief of Oncology at Johns Hopkins where she, technically, did not cure cancer. However, the Senator has certainly seen a doctor in the past five years. She regrets the misstatement.
A review of archival video footage indicates that, contrary to the Senator's clearly accidental statement, she did not play the role of Arthur Herbert Fonzarelli on Happy Days and was not, in fact, referred to as "Fonzie" on a regular basis by her good friend Ritchie Cunningham who is, upon further viewing clearly former actor Ron Howard. Nor did she, in retrospect, turn on the jukebox at really, really key fucking moments by hitting it on the side, or sometimes, just snapping. The Senator does, however, stand by her statement that "everyone wants to direct."
"I was sleep-deprived, and I misspoke." -- Hillary Clinton, March 26, 2008
