Edward Scissorhands* made me cry. I guess I’ve always felt like a topiary sculpture, and seeing the suburbanites stop appreciating the beauty of topiary made we wish I could travel to another place. On Friday night, I felt the weight of the civilized world on my mind.
Saturday, J and I drove the scooter down to the Mission to walk around, pick up some custom Dordle prints, eat gourmet ice-cream, and contemplate purchasing a small $30 scented candle.
Little deliberation was needed to decide that buying such a candle would be the point of no return for me and my money.
The prints turned out perfectly, though the moody female behind the counter couldn’t have cared less about service.
We saw an encaged massive dog, a flattened pigeon bursting with gore, and ate lunch at one of my favorite restaurants. SanFrisco** has a lot of cheap Burmese/Chinese places with limited counter seating, small wiry haired staff, and freshly made food, but Yamo is the best.
International truck of mystery.
Budget couch delivery.
The man with the dripping hair.
But it wasn’t a rock, it was a rock…wall covering!
The life of an urban dog.
Lord of the flies.
Death of a pigeon.
Bi-Rite ice cream: toasted banana and salted caramel.
On Sunday, J, my perineum and I hopped on our bikes for a 22 mile round trip ride along the bay. We ended up “discovering” a part of town I’d passed many times but never knew about: the surviving fishing industry around Pier 45. I never realized that the “Fisherman’s Wharf” of Fisherman’s Wharf was still a real, functioning fisherman’s wharf. But the fishing boats, warehouses, traps, cages, loaders, and salty dogs swapping stories about their non-deadliest catches make it so.
The highlight of the ride was finding a dumpster at the end of the pier that was surrounded by fighting sea gulls, ravens, and at least seven brown pelicans. They appeared to be fighting over scraps of fish.
It’s the simple things in life that are beautiful.
The dying gull.
Italian hair styling station.
Small finish boats including the famous “Nicky-D”.
High voltage garbage electrocuting device.
A coil of rope.
Boat and tackle.
Scoma’s. Sounds like a disease, eats like a restaurant.
Fish storage nets on Al Scoma Way.
Sandra Bullock stars in “The Nets”.
Looking down the fish lockers.
A shed at Pier 45.
Despite all my cages, I’m still just a man with some cages. Then someone will say what is lost can never be caged.
Door within a door.
Door between traps.
The shadowy dumpster docks smelled of fish, guano, and sadness.
Desk of smelly fish.
Some of the dumpster diving pelicans.
He mistook me for Heidi Klum.
A massive hit and run back in my hood. Seems endemic.
We reached the far point of out ride at Pier 40, south of the Bay Bridge. I needed to poop.
We pumped our kicks up an unusually empty Market Street, then wiggled to Golden Gate Park and home. I had to turn sideways so my legs would fit through the doorway.
* The movie, not the character.
** According to Yuppy Hipster Magazine, that’s what everyone is calling this city now. “Frisco” is so disco.