list no. 2 - things that make you feel alive

1. Flying down a hill after cycling up a steep incline on the flipside.
2. Diving into a wave, especially if it's into the chilly waters at Ocean Beach.
3. A kiss that takes your breath away.
4. Losing yourself on the dance floor.
5. Crying tears of joy or sorrow.

so many definitions for the word

love [luhv] noun, verb, loved, lov·ing.
–noun
1. a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person.
2. a feeling of warm personal attachment or deep affection, as for a parent, child, or friend.
3. sexual passion or desire.
4. a person toward whom love is felt; beloved person; sweetheart.
5. (used in direct address as a term of endearment, affection, or the like): Would you like to see a movie, love?
6. a love affair; an intensely amorous incident; amour.
7. sexual intercourse; copulation.
8. (initial capital letter) a personification of sexual affection, as Eros or Cupid.
9. affectionate concern for the well-being of others: the love of one's neighbor.
10. strong predilection, enthusiasm, or liking for anything: her love of books.
11. the object or thing so liked: The theater was her great love.
12. the benevolent affection of God for His creatures, or the reverent affection due from them to God.
13. Chiefly Tennis. a score of zero; nothing.
14. a word formerly used in communications to represent the letter L.
15.

funeral/fog

It always befuddles me that the fans of the SF Giants wear black to show their support and devotion to their team. Black is a color that we commonly wear to funerals, when we solemnly remember those who have passed, or when we remember somber events in history. For example, I remember in 1989 when I was at UCSD, and the massacre at Tian An Men Square happened, and all the Chinese students wore black, or black arm bands or head bands, to show support for their brethren back home who perished on that day and those still battling against the powers that be that brought on that horrible debacle. So why is it that we go to support a team that should bring us joy that we wear the color of death? Perhaps we wear black because we know what's coming. We know it's a hopeless case. We know we are doomed. As we march up the ramps to find our seats at the stadium, dressed in black (and orange--the colors of Halloween), we are marching on to the gallows with our dying team.

So when this baseball season is over, I truly hope to see a new Giants team reincarnated next spring, with fresh new faces, who can really play ball. Even though we missed a 9th inning rally last night, my dad and I couldn't help but take off at the top of the 8th. It was such a pathetic display of professional baseball, where the only thing the fans get excited about is when Barry steps up to the plate. I don't feel like I can rally for one player, even though he might hit that historic home run. We go to the stadium because baseball is our national pastime, not to watch batter after batter strike out or ground out. And for the price of our tickets, not to mention the price of peanuts and beer, we fans deserve a little more satisfaction than being able to watch Barry have about 3-4 at bats at best, and a team that leads the Majors in double plays.

But every time my dad invites me to a game, I will cancel all plans and don my best black and root for the home team, and usually return home frustrated and saddened, having suffered another loss.

Wearing black to the game is a paradox quite like summer, a season that anywhere else typically conjures images of balmy nights and scant clothing, but where here in San Francisco, we bust out our sweaters and scarves, always prepared for the thick fog to roll in and gusty winds to plow through the streets. And so we must wait until these boys of summer, dejected, leave the field, when the Indian summer begins, and the looming grey dissipates, in order to clearly see the light of the sun through the dense fog, the glimmer of a new hope.

love child

OK, so, here's what happened. About a year and a half ago, I got the Mayor really, really drunk (easy enough) and then took advantage of him. This Sunday at the Stern Grove Festival, we finally made the first public announcement of his illegitimate son and our clandestine union. I think it'll do wonders for his campaign.

louis loves his checks

Once a month, Louis Gourmeau receives his Social Security check from the U.S. Treasury at his home in Roquefort-les-Pins, Département des Alpes Maritimes, France.

seeking new horizons

Suxata la Xara, just outside Xàbia:

your identity crisis is unclear

Jessica and I found out yesterday that our proposal for funding from Dance Films Association for our film was denied, but they offered these words of advice: "we applaud your efforts but urge you to consider clarifying the identity crisis..." Uh, isn't that the point of an identity crisis? That you don't know how to identify yourself?

list no. 1 - Mt. Tam in the summer

1. the wind in the long golden grass against a grove of dark green coniferous trees
2. sticky monkey flower
3. the North Side Trail on a warm, sunny day
4. the bed of fog that covers the Pacific Ocean and the City
5. picnic lunches with friends at Potrero Meadows

this thing

Lately I've been thinking, what if one day I were to stop writing this thing? What is all this blah blah about anyway? Is it entertainment for others? Or is it narcissistic of me to spend so much time writing my daily thoughts and to even think that others may read them [or not]? Or is it the need to feel that people know that I'm here, or out there [in cyberspace]? Is it a plea to be noticed? What is the purpose of this? Is it for me or for someone else? Am I giving you too much of myself, more than you want? Is it worth anything? Or am I wasting my time and yours? What if one day, you came here [to this site] and found nothing?

That said, I've been debating all day whether to write about my thought of the day. It's about The Rolling Stones. I was listening to Sucking in the Seventies this morning on my way to my mom's office where I'm killing time and getting paid. When Mannish Boy came on, it seemed to me that Mick Jagger was trying so hard to channel Muddy Waters, and not doing such a bad job at it. I imagined that Mick Jagger must have shot up so much heroin that he actually thought he was a big black man from the American South.

my new favorite local hangout

Le Velo Rouge on Arguello and McAllister. They serve Blue Bottle coffee, have live broadcasts of Le Tour de France and zinc all over the place. They also have a prix fixe menu every Wednesday and Thursday courtesy of Radio Africa & Kitchen.

one of the many reasons why i love SF (updated)

Chloe has called our attention to this not-so-atypical candidate for Mayor of San Francisco.



Chicken John now has a blog about his campaign! Read his campaign statement. It's quite convincing!

independence

This year, I had quite a memorable 4th of July in Sausalito. Although I didn't get to partying until sunset, we had good times out on Stephen's boat, which is docked right behind the Trieste. We sailed only 1000 feet (or yards? can't remember) into Richardson Bay (as far as the Coast Guard allowed us to go), just in time for this magical sunset and one of the clearest nights for fireworks on the Bay that I can remember. After the display of light and color and smoke cleared from the sky, we blasted The Stones and danced like crazy with Stephen's collection of maracas to Sympathy for the Devil. Now that's my kind of Independence Day Party.

The docks hold a ton of memories and nostalgia for me, and now here's another night that will make me always think fondly about this special place.

Click here to have a look for yourself.