Staying with
friends. We headed over to the Mission
for my final dinner. Simple place there
on Eighteenth Street, out past Van Ness with huge black and white photos of
what I finally figured out were classic Mexican film stars. It took me a while to realize the guy who
looked like Clark Gable wasn’t. All the black
and whites were from films I’d never seen.
We all had the pasole soup
with cilantro and oregano in little bowls for us to sprinkle about. My friends warned me, there was a lot coming. Undeterred I got myself a steak burrito as
well which was definitely too much. I
feel as though I’m wearing all this rich, starchy Mexican fare of the last week
around my waist now that I’m homeward bound.
Staying down in a basement apartment. Everything is comfortable and convenient but
there is some kind of problem with the internet. Things intermittently come to a grinding
halt. It ruined a scheduled call I had
this morning. Now the streaming music is
pausing, catching up, resuming. There
are two available networks. I keep
switching back and forth expecting one or the other to resolve the issue. I never thought I’d be missing the
connectivity of Beijing.
The Times had a good summary of how challenging the
situation in the Ukraine is for China. On the one hand they have long believed in
non-interference in other country’s affairs.
On the other hand they do not want to see any place overthrowing corrupt
leaders or regions within sovereign nations suddenly declaring their
independence. That is far too close to
home on Xinjiang, Tibet and of course Taiwan.
Russia is their frenemy ally
with whom they predictably vote with in the security counsel. But in this instance their support is muted,
at best. If sanctions are set by the
West, it will invariably expedite the long delayed Russian gas deal in China,
though it is Russia that will be in the mood to reconsider price suggestions
now, , not China.
Driving around this afternoon on the way back from Palo
Alto, and Jesse Chuy Varela on KCSM was playing the music of the hard bop
flutist and sax player Mr. David “Fathead” Newman. Didn’t recognize the rather memorable name,
but I took a mental note. I’m trying to
listen to his 1962 release “Fathead Comes On.”
There’s a lovely, somber version of “Summertime” playing. But it keeps dropping in and out and it’s
hard to concentrate or enjoy in the back.
Born in Texas in 1933, he apparently got whacked in the head
and called “fathead” when he was looking at a score upside down one day during
band practice at school. The Wiki
article suggested that he didn’t mind the name, but preferred to be called
David. One can only imagine. Ray Charles, whom he played with for years
preferred to call him “Brains.” He lived and passed in 2004 up in Kingston New York, near my home in the Hudson Valley. http://www.nytimes.com/2009/01/23/arts/music/23newman.html
I’ll be on my way home, the other direction, tomorrow. I’m ready. There are so many dear friends here in SF. Every corner I find something that charms and reminds me of all the mighty components: beauty, familiarity, and innovation that make up this town. Parking is a challenge, but not that bad. I never looked for more than a few minutes. The drive to Palo Alto, on the 101 nor the non-rush hour ride back were bad. And despite the rain last night, every morning, it is lovely outside and as mentioned, it doesn’t seem very drought-like at all, though there was a building on fire today, driving past one of the new construction sites in SoMa. Missing a turn, passing through corner of Golden Gate Park with hundreds of other cars, windows closed, the cedar smell was striking and strong, truly苍松翠柏[1]. Every day reconnecting with old friends, with whom you can relax and laugh. None of these things will I miss.
Once again San Francisco is surging and that is alluring. But it also exudes a familiar kind of off-putting. No one’s story seems good enough. Even those with great stories are striving
frenetically for the next thing, the bigger exit, the larger flip, the better
place. Ownership entry soars ever
higher. Fewer and fewer people not
associated with the technology ecosystem can afford to remain. I get tired just thinking about it,
considering it on every block I pass, for a few days in a row now. This plays itself out in Beijing, as well, of
course. But its different as the
disparity is broader, breadth of activity beyond tech, far wider. Here it is all America and the competitive
possibilities actually feel narrower and more prescribed. After a few days little remains exotic about one's homeland.
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