Chris came by to see me yesterday. I was having a rough day, and he was worried about me.

It wasn’t particularly difficult, I had just lost my sense of humor. You HAVE to have a sense of humor over here, or you grind out.

So, he helped me feel better, just by being there. As I was getting sleepy, we had this conversation:

“I have to be up very early in the morning. Tell me something.”

“What do you want me to tell you?”

“Sleepy things. Tell me a story.”

“I don’t know any stories.”

“Well, tell me what happened in the world today.”

“Let’s see….Do you know about Skull and Bones?”

“…other than their literal meaning, I couldn’t tell you. What are Skull and Bones?”

“I was listening to the radio today, and this talk show guy was talking about Skull and Bones. They are a secret society at Yale; this guy claimed they controlled everything.”

“Oh yeah…I remember hearing about them. They control everything?”

“That’s what this guy said…”

“If they control everything, I want to talk with them. There are a few things that need some improvement. How do we get a hold of these people?”

“This guy was claiming that they orchestrated the Kennedy assasination, and the Mars landing.”

“We need to find these guys and put them to better use. If there is somebody controlling everything, I say good. Too many things are out of control.”

Pause

“Chris..You’re going to become that guy, aren’t you?”

“what guy?”

“That guy who works from his home and listens to talk radio all day and turns weird.”

“I do NOT listen to talk radio all day! I only listen to it in my car.”

“WHATever. Next thing you know, you’ll be staying up late listening to that one talk guy.”

“Oh…Yeah…that guy…But he’s not on anymore. You mean Art Bell. They have another guy doing his show now. He only comes on for special occasions.”

“See? This is what I’m talking about. You already know all this stuff. You are gonna be that weird extremist right-wing guy.”

“I am not. What about you? you listen to NPR all day. Are you gonna be a left-wing extremist.”

“NPR is not extremist anything. They are all about the money. Do you know they play different songs depending on how the market is doing?”

“They do?”

“Yeah. If the market is up they play, ‘da da dedada’.”

“‘We’re in the money’…”

“Yeah. I don’t remember what song they play if it’s down. I don’t pay attention to stocks.”

“Yes, you put your money into your condo.”

“Right. But that just shows how NPR is all about the money. Whenever they do bring up some social cause, it’s so far away you could never do anything about it, so you don’t have to be distracted from worrying about your stocks.”

“Well…What’s the left-wing equivalent of the talk shows?”

“Pacifica radio. They are the ones who incite the peace marchers.”

“oh yeah. They’re weird.”

“I don’t listen to them very often.”

I already mentioned my new flower baskets. I love them! It is marvelous to have a living display of pretty flowers right out my window.

When I went to the nursery to pick out these flowers to fill my baskets, I chose out all different kinds of random flowers. I thought I would have some sort of theme, but them I figured, what the heck? I’ll jsut pick whatever i like.

As I was happily browsing the flower aisles, I came across these most interesting plants: they had a hairy stem and a hairy bud. They were iclandic poppies.

As soon as I saw them, i flashed back to 4 years old. Back in Alaska, we had all kinds of flowers, wildflowers, everywhere. Of course, I loved to pick them and present them to my mother. She loved it too.

But once, I picked a new kind of flower, a very pretty flower different than any I had seen before. It was growing by the side of the new freeway, and I couldn’t resist picking it and showing it my mother.

“Oh! Oh no!” She laughed. “You shouldn’t pick those flowers.”

“Why not? Isnt’ it pretty? Don’t you like it?”

“Someone planted that flower. You should leave it tere for everyone to enjoy.”

Well, I had never heard of that. Someone planted a flower? Flowers sprung up out of the ground. Why would you plant one? They were everywhere.

It turned out that the new freeway had been planted with Icelandic poppies to beautify it. This was the first landscaping I had ever encountered, and it confused me very much. Flowers were for picking. I couldn’t resist picking them, and only afterwards I would remember that THESE flowers were forbidden.

They never actually took off that well, anyway. A very few poppies dotted the banks of the freeway. They were rare enough to cause excitement when one was spotted.

But when I saw those poppies in the flower nursery, I remembered the feel of the hairy stem in my young hand. I had to buy some right away.

I bought the one that didn’t have any blooms on it yet. I wanted to watch it unfold and pet the furry blossom pod for a little.

I’m in san francisco again. For work. Again.

But I managed to run out and see some friends. Even some friends I didn’t expect to see (Hi Jay!).

I am staying in the kind of hotel that I only stay in when someone else is paying for it. The Omni, right off California. It’s beautiful. Gorgeous marble, expensive chocolate mint by the bed. I even got complimentary bath salts. Very nice.

The work I had to do here was not easy, unfortunately. A lot of pressure, so I didn’t sleep as well as I could have wished. But I finished the hard part yesterday, and I took myself on a walk through the city.

Down to Market street, and to Union Square. I love this city. I love it so much I always cry, or at least feel like crying, when I come here. It is so beautiful. I love the rain here, and the fog here, and the sunshine. And when all three happen at once, which they do sometimes, I can’t stop looking at the sky.

I walked along, looking at all the amazing buildings, and the people dressed in black. I passed all kinds of shops, Macy’s and Loehman’s and the Gap. I was not interested in seeing things that are made in hundreds. Those pants and sweaters can be seen all over the place, but the building that holds them can’t.

Then again, the Virgin Megastore pulled me in. They were playing some music. I forgot to pack CDs. I went inside to see if they had different kinds of music for sale than in LA. I had barely started to move around before A huge crowd of people started clapping. I hadn’t noticed the stage.

“…INTRODUCING EPIC RECORDING ARTISTS…PHANTOM PLANET!”

hhaaaahhhh

The crowd went wild. And the drummer kicked in.

A really awesome little punk band, I have to say. They looked very young, which probably means I am getting older. But I haven’t heard that kind of tight energy in a while. I may buy the album.

After a little bit of headbanging, I moved on into the street again and I found Union Square. A true delight for the eye. I couldn’t stop looking at all the buildings and signs and the big interesting lines of the palm trees. I walked up onto the main square, and a new salsa rhythm was coming from the cafe. I slinked my hips across the top, thinking that I love cities because you can dance to all the beats.

But I was hungry. At Kearny and somthing…Stockton? I found an alley of restaurants. They looked so inviting! Christmas lights were strung over the top, making an airy ceiling over the white tablecloth seats.

There were four of them. I picked the one that looked the tastiest. Tiramisv it was called. The one next door, called “plouf” had a very flirty waiter trying to get me to come in. He was young and cute, but the menu wasn’t what I wanted right then.

I was tired and hungry, so it was very welcome to sit down. The meal was marvelous, especially the dessert. Mmm..Profiteroles with hot chocolate and butterscotch dipping sauces.

I finished it all off very pleasantly and walked home slowly. My belly was very full after my hard day. I thought about how my life is now filled with elevators, and I wondered if that is the sort of thing an artist should be worried about.

Perhaps artists should avoid places where people live and work stacked up on each other. Perhaps artists should not go for slow rides among those who follow dress codes and wearing routines.

Perhaps.

But then again, I like the places that elevators can lead to, and I like the energy that bounces off the tall walls and gives these cities that j’ne sais quoi that makes me want to cry when I see it.

My expectations did not include elevators. But expectations change. Maybe one day I will leave elevators behind for narrow roads and small, hidden buildings.