On Wednesday afternoon, J’s folks came to stay with us. We surrendered our bed and inflated a vinyl-scented mattress as a temporary replacement.

Despite production ramping up at work, I was able leave at reasonable hours.

On Friday evening, we drove down to Baker Beach with enough time to watch the sun set on the rippling horizon. The silhouettes of pelicans and gulls marked the peach colored sky. While not misty, the air was bitingly cold.

Brown pelicans flying in formation during a Baker Beach sunset.

Beach plants.

J and her parents.

The sun hits the rippling horizon.

In darkness, we went for a seafood dinner at the Cliff House Bistro. It didn’t feel as touristy as I feared. The food was pricy, but tasty. Our waiter was almost creepily chipper, like a Botoxed Zach Morris.

During the dinner, emergency vehicles busied themselves with an incident by the beach.

Full of fish, we came home and played a heated games of Spades. The men’s team was victorious, despite an insurmountable lead the ladies carried at the start.

On Saturday, we went on a one hour boat cruise of the bay. Our vessel was the standard Blue and Gold tourist boat you see plying back and forth all day. The fare: $19 each, plus a $12 convenience fee for the group for buying online.

Our boat departed from Pier 39, ramming countless sea lions and belching black marine diesel exhaust into the clear sky. It was windy, and the waves had more white heads than a room full of boys playing Dungeons and Dragons.

Sea Lion.

Old warship getting towed for fun.

Pier gear.

Our boat, the Harbor Emperor.

Sea Lions resting at Pier 39.

Sailboat.

Another view of the sailboat, this time with a red boat chasing it.

Heading under the Golden Gate Bridge.

Windsurfer without wetsuit. He’s either stupid or impervious to cold.

The skyline seen from the water.

The edge of Alcatraz with the Marin Headlands in the background.

The ride was great, despite the blaring narrative playing on the weather-resistant speakers. The story tried to create a heightened sense of adventure, but the format depended on swelling music and Captain Nemo as host interviewing horribly overacted characters from San Francisco lore. The accents were so thick I could barely understand what was being said. I feel for any of the tourists where English was a second language.

Riding on the bow, I got splashed. I also saw dolphins again. Are they plotting a takeover?

For a late lunch, we took the packed F-Line to the Ferry building and ate burgers at Gott’s.

From there, I parted company to meet V for some coffee and Bionic Commando. J and her folks went to Union Square to watch a free outdoor showing of Hitchcock’s “Rear Window.”

That evening ended with another victorious game of Spades.

On Sunday, we hung about the house before heading to the airport. After the parental parting, I did my best to cheer J up. I went through my whole repertoire of annoying songs, voices, Guy Noire detective narration, and scenery commentary. She was either annoyed or entertained. To me, the difference is vague.

The weather was excellent, so we met V for a taco lunch and decided to go on an epic drive around the Bay. Our two checkpoints were a park in Tiburon and IKEA in Emeryville.

Along the water we passed nature, wealth, and industry.

Blueberry pancake.

Fog.

Old St Hilary’s Church in Belvedere/Tiburon.

Paradise Drive.

Looking out towards San Quentin Prison over the weird settlement of Paradise Cay.

V looking a little like Bond.

Marsh.

Mailboxes.

Guard tower.

The Richmond-San Rafael Bridge.

Supports in black and white.

Ruined Terminal One port facility at Brickyard Cove in the Point Richmond area of Richmond. More information on these structures can be found on this page

Inside the warehouse. I admit, it was a little scary.

Another view of a marked wall.

The other half of the warehouse.

A makeshift door.

Abandoned train tracks falling into the water from the old Santa Fe Railroad’s western terminus.

Fire damage on the pier.

Another view of the pier.

Oil storage tanks in the hills.

Severe tire damage.

One of three garish motorcycles on the highway to IKEA.

Traffic on the Bay Bridge as we headed home in time to miss sunset.

That night, we returned to our luxurious futon. No longer would we drift into restless sleep on a squeaky raft.

It was fun having J’s parents in town. I hope both the city and I were good hosts, and I look forward to when my family can visit too.

I leave for a few busy days of production in LA tomorrow. Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll be able to visit any of my friends or foes down there. This trip is strictly for taking care of business.

Take that rickets! Take that mushrooms, mold, arm moss, and scooter rusting salty mist! The sun is here, and he’s pissed.

On Friday, J and I met a couple that had just moved to the city. The group enjoyed a Thai dinner on Haight street that included more conversation than I thought I was capable of.

On Saturday, J and I went went to one of the last hill parks we hadn’t been to: Grand View. From the zenith, we assessed the weather. The morning was still foggy, but downtown was beginning to see hopeful rays of sun.

From the park, we drove over the hill and into the Mission. Our destination was a street food festival. The place was packed. Six blocks were closed and full of rich smells, long lines, and hungry people. Waiting in the lines was frustrating, so we only sampled a few items. The rest of the time was spent people watching and walking along the less crowded backsides of the stands to get a better look at the food.

Here’s Isaac Clarke battling a polymorphic, virus-like, alien infestation which turns humans into grotesque alien monsters called “Necromorphs” on board a stricken interstellar mining ship named the USG Ishimura. Or maybe it’s just a welder.

Produce market on Clement.

423

Stairs to one of the last hill parks J and I haven’t been to: Grand View Park in the Inner Sunset.

Mr. Roger’s San Francisco seen from Grand View.

A road leading to the ocean.

Ferns on a tree.

Bench at the top of Grand View Park.

Crowds at the street food festival in the Mission.

Dancing.

Cultural drummer.

Breading chicken.

Gourmet sliders grilling.

Delicious slider made with brie, mustard seeds, and caramelized onions.

Oil.

Cutting meat.

Prosciutto-wrapped figs on the grill.

Garbage.

Minstrel.

Door.

Another door.

Gate.

Luchador masks.

Little guitars.

Alley.

On Sunday, I took a basket of laundry on my head to the laundromat. When the clothes had been cleared of the blood and feces, I was anxious to get out into the sun.

There was a free Rogue Wave and They Might Be Giants concert in the afternoon at Stern Grove Park, but we decided to scooter across the Golden Gate Bridge and into the Marin Headlands.

Poppies.

Road construction in the headlands.

The view from the headlands.

Another view looking towards Rodeo Cove.

Massive barn or disguised blimp hangar?

Bunker.

J and the dead tree.

My old clogs. They’ve seen a lot of sights in the last four years.

The buildings of Fort Cronkhite.

Rodeo Lagoon.

Surfer spots something in the water. Shark!!!

Nope, just a pod of four dolphins fishing along the shore!

Trail.

Cargo ship passing under the Golden Gate Bridge, seen from Horseshoe Bay.

It was a fast feeling weekend with its share of wasted time. But the moments in the sun were sublime. Plus, I got to see dolphins in their prime.

On Friday, J and I went out to dinner and then played pool at one of the few dedicated halls in town, Family Billiards. We played for an hour, watching the crowds fall and swell. Final score: 3 to 2 wins, my favor. By the time we left, the place was packed. Like everywhere else in our neighborhood, I felt like I was in China again, as the place was at least 90% youth of Chinese ancestry.

On both Saturday and Sunday I had work do do, which I did at home as efficiently as possible. I was bummed to not be able to completely separate myself from the money teat, but ultimately it forced me to make the most of the remaining time.

On Saturday, we walked to breakfast and then through Golden Gate Park to check out the Outside Lands Music Festival. We decided to get tickets to Sunday for $75 each. After lunch, I took care of business.

In the evening, we finally saw Inception. Thought-provoking and compelling, the film is ranked in my top ten. Though this isn’t the type of movie I’d want to watch again. Since I know how it ends (the DiCaprio character is actually a woman), there’s not much point. Nolan is a master of keeping the tension flowing and treating his audience with respect. Inception makes the Matrix trilogy feel like Barney and Friends.

I left the theater feeling in limbo between reality and dreams. I was exhilarated by the filmmaking and depressed at how much a filmmaker ten years my senior has accomplished compared to my feeble achievements.

Shooting pool on a Friday night.

An abandoned bank on Geary.

Old French car in need of repair.

Faded movie poster.

Wood and bin.

Yellow brick.

Pink wall and glass knob.

A good way to live.

Watching concrete getting poured.

J on her new phone.

Sunflowers.

Woman looking at produce.

Gaspare’s Pizza sign.

The Golden Gate Bridge seen from Fulton along Golden Gate Park.

Chilean Rhubarb.

Metal detecting.

On Sunday, we spent half the day at the music festival. There weren’t a lot of great bands that day, but the highlights for me were Amos Lee, Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros, Al Green, and Phoenix.

We left before the Kings of Leon went on, so that we could go to the coast in time for sunset. We scoped out Sutro Park, then went to a seafood dinner at the cozy Pacific Cafe.

Outside Lands Music Festival crowds on Sunday. Taken with iPhone.

Dried grasses in the woods.

Complicated flower.

Wall.

Hula girl.

Paving equipment.

The view into town on a surprisingly clear Saturday.

The old army hospital, nearly finished being remodeled and ready for tenants.

J in Sutro Park.

The setting sun.

Ocean Beach.

Trees.

Path.

Container ship heading west.

According to some sources, these crab cakes from Pacific Cafe are the best in town. They better be for $16!

With weekends like these, who needs friends?

I do.

On Sunday, I got most of my work done by noon. J and I went on a walk from our house to the beach. It was cold and misty, but I needed to stretch my legs and hear the sounds of the shore. We stopped for a filling Hong Kong style dim sum lunch at the wonderful KL Restaurant on 45th and Balboa. It’s a popular eatery in the area, and packed entirely with those of Chinese descent. This was the second time J and I dined there, and again we were the only old foreigners. The food was cheap and delicious, but meant to be shared amongst a large group. We ordered BBQ pork buns, shrimp and cilantro dumplings, dry fried green beans, spicy eggplant over rice, and black sesame balls for dessert. Cost: around $20.

Between working in Chinatown, living in the Richmond, and going to this restaurant, I feel like I might as well be living in China. At least I can trick myself into feeling like I’m still adventuring.

After lunch, we walked down to the beach and up the coast to the Sutro Bath ruins. The mist was coming in thick, so we didn’t linger long.

Little sinister house set back from the road.

Everything is turquoise at house 749.

Tree.

Flowering shrubbery and another turquoise building.

Faded ad.

Balboa Theater marquee.

Orange and cream.

Two homes, two sets of stairs, one rail.

A row of pastel paint jobs.

Infection-like cracks in the sidewalk.

Green and peach.

KL Restaurant on Balboa.

Sweet black sesame balls with crushed peanut and rice gluten coating.

Dry fried green beans and spicy eggplant.

More colorful houses.

Plants.

Crooked warning sign at Ocean Beach.

The promenade.

J identified this flock of birds as Caspian Terns.

The Terns taking flight.

Skyward, Terns!

J-DAWG JAMMYFRESH at the beach.

Poop rock and container ship.

Red ice plant on the cliffs of the Cliff House.

Old stairs to the Sutro Baths.

Soggy.

Old brick wall.

Looking into what was once the laundry rooms of the Sutro Baths, at least according to this map.

Bird going for a dip.

I’m looking forward to the end of summer when the weather gets nice again. Counterintuitive, yes, but that’s the way the Outer Richmond rolls.

Total Recall is slowly becoming part of my identity, much like Jurassic Park, Tremors, and Full House. If my brow were any higher, it would be scraping the firmament!

On Saturday, J and I met V at the Renegade Craft Fair at Fort Mason. After browsing, we walked down Crissy Field and ate sandwiches from the Warming Hut. While we waited for our bus back from the Golden Gate Bridge toll plaza, we kicked the feather.

Steve Zissou in his personal sailboat near Fort Mason.

Crane.

Warning sign.

Double decker walkway.

Poster.

Woman walking on pier.

Emblem.

Fallen soldier.

San Francisco is starting to look like China sometimes.

A barge named VORTEX.

Gulls sitting in their own poop.

A sneaky, beautiful heron on a pier.

Wedding party walking along Crissy Field.

Secret tunnel near the Golden Gate Bridge.

On Sunday, we popped some Vietcong sammies for lunch then went on a scooter ride to the industrial area south of downtown. Our destinations were an garden center called Flora Grubb and the scrap material mecca of Building Resources. The former place was a large mostly open air place stocked with a wide variety of plants, places to sit, and a coffee bar. The latter, a collection of creatively organized scrap wood, doors, fixtures, toilets, and more.

Old pier in the industrial area south of town.

Shack and highway.

Pink doors on a warehouse.

Car covered in plants.

Ritual Coffee on the patio of Flora Grubb.

Pile of sand near a cement plant.

Riding on my scooter. Photo by J.

Graffiti on a warehouse.

Home made weather vane at Building Resources.

Sign.

Reclaimed building materials.

Fountain.

Old power plant.

Half a massive door to the old plant.

Tanker ship backing out of a repair dock.

That evening, I went to my second pro baseball game. The match was between the LA Dodgers and the SF Giants. The game wasn’t nearly as entertaining as the spectators. Note to reader: Insert David Foster Wallace quality description of humanity here, almost like you’ve channeled his thoughts on an Iowa state fair.

Mascots on the field.

Panda.

The Giants up to bat on the baseball diamond.

The view south from our stadium seats. Notice the same smokestack from the power plant.

Sports fans.

The Bay Bridge at sunset.

Two days was just enough to recharge. I need my weekends.

To see J’s take on the weekend, click here.

Dordle ho!

But all was not lost. We went to breakfast at a cafe, then took a walk down to Baker Beach. In the early afternoon, we met two friends for brunch at a delightful open air restaurant in the Mission called Foreign Cinema. The food was delicious, though my dish had a piece of brown paper towel cooked into it. I’d rather not know how it got there.

Afterward, we walked to Dolores Park and ate some chocolate cake. The Mission was sunny, and it was hard to leave.

J and I decided to go to Heath Ceramics in Sausalito to look at pottery. Traffic across the Golden Gate Bridge was backed up in both directions due to what looked like a suicide jump that had just happened. Police had blocked off the lane nearest to the city-side pedestrian walkway and were looking over the edge. J claimed to have seen a Coast Guard boat below once we pulled off the bridge.

Traffic was backed up all through Sausalito. After looking at finely-crafted ceramics, we tried waiting out the traffic. But it wasn’t getting better. Instead, we treated the scooter like a bike and rode up the shoulder the whole way, saving us time and filling the stuck car drivers with unbridled jealousy.

Edward Glove Feet.

Stuffed dog looking out.

Video Hut.

Breakfast.

Corner store sign.

Car in deep driveway.

Shipping container.

Hidden path by the beach.

Plant blocking the way.

Net on a Mission St. building.

Abandoned theater on Mission.

Snow flakes.

Chipped paint.

Interceptor for private use.

Birthday cake in Dolores Park.

Flowers.

Watch out for translucent green children in the street.

Boat repair area near the Heath ceramics factory in Sausalito.

I wish someone had warned me that this is what happens when you get engaged.

All in all, it wasn’t a bad day. But it wasn’t a perfect day either.

Happy birthday, J. I guarantee next year will be a show-stopper.

In the meantime, here are a few photos from the trenches.

Berkeley or China? Hard to know just by the photo.

Overlooking the East Bay.

Old car and flowers.

Urban garden.

Blooming artichokes.

Macaque.

Art car turtle line.

Pirate kite.

My styro plastic beach.

The fire escape by work.

Golden Gate Bridge and fog.

Gull.

Mr. Bing’s.

Cautionary colors.

Blanket in stairwell on Stockton.

This is what I’ve been asking myself all this week.

Wall.

Dragon.

Motorcyclist hauling his bike.

Colorful walls.

The view home on the one commute that involved daylight.

I’m pooped.

We were meeting friends from LA. The driving time was equal for both parties.

Traffic was surprisingly light except for a traffic jam near Pleasanton caused by two car accidents. Our route took us west over the Bay Bridge, along the 580, 205, 120, and then south on the 99. Yellow grassy hills transitioned into a fertile irrigated valley of nuts, grapes, and other crops. Subdivisions encroached on farmland, industry mixed with abandonment.

We stopped for a burger at an In-and-Out packed with an assortment of characters. The table outside offered a good view of the drive thru traffic jam, and the air smelled of charred wood.

The sun was setting as we turned onto the 198 at Visalia. It was dark as we curved along the shores of Lake Kaweah.

Off the main road, we were in the countryside. The smell of dust mixed with the sound of bullfrog croaks. Fragrant dried grasses mixed with chirping crickets along with the rushing water of numerous streams. We kept the windows rolled down and tried to soak it all in.

The directions to the cabin were as complicated as a David Foster Wallace footnote. We identified turns through a combination of distances and landmarks: turn right 100 yards after the general store, turn right again at the donkeys, go for a while along a road until it becomes a single lane and you see some mail boxes on the right. Pass a one lane bridge, orchard, and a variety of fences. Then park behind the yurt.

The friends had already arrived. We chatted with heavy eyelids, then retired to our rooms.

Saturday morning, I woke before sunrise and walked around the property. Kaweah Cottage sat on many acres of rustic valley along a roaring, snow fed stream. There were gardens, horses, and great views of the hillsides. A large variety of birds and squirrels called the place home. The squirrels took turns standing on the fence and a pile of rocks to sound the alarm when they saw a fox. We saw a fox once.

Grassy hills and hundreds of windmills at the 580 pass.

Our cottage.

Sitting area on the front porch.

The yurt.

The barn.

J examining the herb garden that was free to use.

Ladybird.

Antler collection.

Sunrise on the valley wall.

Mosses at the riverbank.

Another view of the riverbank.

Long exposure of the rushing river.

Another for good measure.

Moss.

Wild figs.

Rocky hillside.

The owner of the property gave us a tour before lunch, explaining the better swimming holes, the history of the place, and how to deal with ticks and rattle snakes. Figs seemed to be growing everywhere.

Our first day was leisurely. We hung around the house, cooked some meals, pulled ticks off a dog, played Settlers of Catan, and hung out on the rocky river banks. J and M were brave enough to get into the numbingly cold water. JK and I were not.

The owner’s dog leads the way on the tour of the property.

Rushing water.

Berries.

Trail in the grass.

Horses.

A view of the cottage from the horse field.

Lizard.

Squirrel on the lookout for foxes.

Burrs.

Whale rock.

Algae infested pond.

Lake Kaweah.

The road to what used to be a parking lot before they raised the water level.

Submerged tree.

J.

Me.

M and JK.

Sunset over smelly waters.

Junk.

The abandoned BBQ stand shaped like a cow.

Sunset.

On Sunday, we drove into Sequoia National Park. Past the gate, the curving road took us up a valley and into a land of trees. As expected, the sequoias were massive. Many had charred areas from forest fires. The park was crowded and parking was difficult. Around General Sherman, the pathways were thick with people speaking Chinese or Spanish. But off the main paths, the forest became solitary and quiet.

We took a hike from General Sherman to the visitor’s museum. Along the way, we spotted two groups of black bears! We were both amazed and terrified, as mothers with cubs are a dangerous combination. The first group popped out of some plants in a clearing and walked along a fallen log. One of the cubs stopped to rest in a shadow, then nuzzled his mom. We watched from maybe 50 yards away, hoping that we wouldn’t become bear food. At the moment, I think we all forgot what to do in case of a bear attack anyway. Make a lot of noise? Climb a tree? Play dead? Stab it in the duodenum with a key tied to a stick? Instead, we cautiously walked away.

Farther down the trail, we spotted another mother and her cubs trying to blend into the charred base of a giant tree. She studied us for a moment, then led her cub away from us.

The view leading up to the sequoias.

Moro rock.

Giant tree and visitor museum.

Flowers.

Visitors taking a photo.

Massive fallen tree. Use the people hidden on the path on the right for scale. Use them!

Trees.

Brown bear and cubs!

Off flowers sprouting in the sunlight.

A bear cub!

The trail.

Fern gully.

Stump.

Hiking up Moro Rock.

The view from the top of Moro Rock.

Another view looking down the valley.

My photos of these bear encounters suck like a bear sucking out honey from a sucky bucket.

The bears must have messed up my bowels on a primitive level. I had to go. And I had to go bad. I told my empty-colon companions to go on ahead, then I wandered into the bear-filled woods alone and did my business.

The woodpecker that flew away must have lost respect for me. I know I did.

We ended our time in the park with a hike to the top of Moro Rock. The rocky pathways were crowded and steep, but the view from the top was beautiful and vertiginous.

That evening, we ate and played Catan again. I won. Afterward we pulled some blankets and chairs into the front lawn and turned off all the lights. Above, a vast field of stars twinkled. We were lost in them.

Standing on the porch, stargazing.

Breakfast in the morning light of the back porch.

On Monday, we ate breakfast on the back porch while watching birds and horses. Another two games of Catan later, and it was already the afternoon. J and I needed to get going. We packed up and said goodbye. We were sad to leave the little cottage in the middle of nowhere.

We made good time on the way back. There was a horrible accident that somehow involved both an overturned SUV and a motorcycle. An emergency helicopter was airlifting someone on a stretcher.

The sun was setting as we passed through the hundreds of wind turbines lining the yellow rolling hills. It was a beautiful sight.

Fog and cool breezes greeted us when we opened our doors. While I have no preference for hot and dry over cold and wet, it was a clear reminder that the weekend was over.

Or was it?

Yes.

But this sweet desk was temporary. Its rightful owner came back from holiday, and since yesterday I was relocated to a dark room off a hallway of glass-walled creatives. In another two weeks, I’ll be moving again to a “permanent” desk, though this building is so packed with people that the seating arrangement feels like a Ponzi scheme.

Work has been pretty good so far, as far as work goes. I’ve been “learning the ropes” as they say. I’ve been climbing ladders, synergizing, thinking around the box, smoking cigars, slapping asses, shaking hands, burning the midnight oil, basically just taking care of business in a can-do attitude sort of leadership role.

Since I’m right at the edge of Chinatown, I’ve been taking breaks by walking around. For all the complaints of inauthenticity and touristy feelings, Chinatown feels foreign. Off of Grant, everyone is speaking Chinese. Old ladies are shuffling up steep hills with the patience of a tortoise. Cheap produce is picked through by crowds of chattering people. The smells of Asia are everywhere: incense, garbage, dried fish, oil, chili, sewer, sour, sweet. Old men and women play heated games in the park, hanging out all day in the sun.

If not China, the neighborhood at least feels foreign. And while my wandering ways are on hold, I can trick my mind into thinking otherwise by just going for a walk.

The windowsill at work.

The view of laundry drying on Chinatown rooftops.

Park with lady on phone.

Cabbages.

Two cooks eating in an alley.

Truck with boxes.

Unloading garlic.

Banksy mural protected with plexi.

Emblem.

Konami Code.

The weirdest cookbook I’ve ever seen. Two words: cash in.

A takeout lunch from a Korean cart.

The AT&T building.

Stoplights.

Desert naan stuffed with dried fruit.

Last weekend was sunny. The whole town was in a gay mood, in part because of a gay/lesbian bike parade that ended in concerts. One involved the Backstreet Boys, minus one member (not Lance Bass). Dolores Park was swarming with characters over the weekend, and it made for amazing people watching.

J and I went scootering to eat, see the scenery, and enjoy the weather. We also acquired a fancy-pants futon and frame, at great expense to me.

Police horse in the Presidio.

Abandoned house on Dolores.

Chairmain Bao, a delicious mobile food cart serving high-end buns.

Our bao.

Abandoned used car dealership in the Mission.

Metal walls and deck garden.

Buddhist center.

Colorful alley.

Man with tattoos and cruiser bike.

Another alley.

Dolores Park walkway.

Stairs.

Fog spilling over Twin Peaks.

A big pink cloth for what is either the terminus of a breast cancer marathon or Christo sculpture.

Greenery.

Line of fog seen over the water from our apartment.

A big rainbow flag in the Castro.

Steeples.

Entering Stern Grove to go to a free Hawaiian concert.

The performers.

Grasses by the lake.

Massive koi in the pond.

Now when I sleep, it is on the layered fibers of cotton rather than a mattress filled with vinyl-smelling air!