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!”
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.
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.