Today I left my office just after 6 o'clock, and the City was bathed in perfect light. The air was crisp and uncomfortably chilly, highlighting the sharpness with which the light delineated things like buildings, cars, and people.
This is the sort of late afternoon light you see only in winter or early spring, closer to white than gold. It's the light that precedes sunset and is on the cusp of the magic hour. It's soft and diffuse, yet blindingly brilliant.
My commute home is westbound, and there was something that revived my spirit, something about the cool air on my skin as I had to close my eyes against the silvery brightness of the waning afternoon.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Friday, March 20, 2009
Bohemia
Tonight Jason and I went to Yoshi's in Oakland to see Béla Fleck perform with Toumani Diabate. My bottle of nigori sake mellowing me out, I was so satisfied to sit and listen to banjo and west African kora and take in my surroundings.
After the show, we decided to have a quick drink at Cafe Van Kleef. I think of this bar as bohemian with a touch of the diabolical, and it's haunted- always a bonus for me. One of the first times I visited, I asked the owner about the haunting, which he matter-of-factly confirmed as he sipped a glass of red wine behind the bar. A band was playing, made up of a woman on accordion, a guy on fiddle, and a guy on bass, sounding like the band that would have accompanied the devil in The Charlie Daniels Band's The Devil Went Down to Georgia. I had fallen through the looking glass, the mood was perfect.
Tonight my mind wandered and focused (as it often does) on the idea of the bohemian proletariat. Let me elaborate... I am by no stretch blue collar, but I do consider myself among the ranks of the modern-day worker. I enjoy the fact that I work hard all day, and that makes possible my ability to go out after work and enjoy live music, a drink at a pub, what-have-you, so long as it distances me from the workaday world.
A few scenarios recur in my mind: Kafka's Prague, with his Protagonist, "K.", going out after work with the local anarchists, or Edna St. Vincent Millay, tossing back drinks at La Rotonde with her fellow Lost Generation expats in Paris. Bringing it closer to home, I like to imagine men in fedoras clinking pints at the House of Shields circa 1930, right next door to my present-day office.
We are doing just as they did, and belong to a brotherhood and sisterhood that has spanned time since the advent of the modern work culture.
After the show, we decided to have a quick drink at Cafe Van Kleef. I think of this bar as bohemian with a touch of the diabolical, and it's haunted- always a bonus for me. One of the first times I visited, I asked the owner about the haunting, which he matter-of-factly confirmed as he sipped a glass of red wine behind the bar. A band was playing, made up of a woman on accordion, a guy on fiddle, and a guy on bass, sounding like the band that would have accompanied the devil in The Charlie Daniels Band's The Devil Went Down to Georgia. I had fallen through the looking glass, the mood was perfect.
Tonight my mind wandered and focused (as it often does) on the idea of the bohemian proletariat. Let me elaborate... I am by no stretch blue collar, but I do consider myself among the ranks of the modern-day worker. I enjoy the fact that I work hard all day, and that makes possible my ability to go out after work and enjoy live music, a drink at a pub, what-have-you, so long as it distances me from the workaday world.
A few scenarios recur in my mind: Kafka's Prague, with his Protagonist, "K.", going out after work with the local anarchists, or Edna St. Vincent Millay, tossing back drinks at La Rotonde with her fellow Lost Generation expats in Paris. Bringing it closer to home, I like to imagine men in fedoras clinking pints at the House of Shields circa 1930, right next door to my present-day office.
We are doing just as they did, and belong to a brotherhood and sisterhood that has spanned time since the advent of the modern work culture.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Architectura Victoriana
Farewell to a Piece of Pre-Quake History
I was recently reading about the cottage at 1268 Lombard Street in Russian Hill that was demolished. The cottage was built in 1861, and had housed blue-collar workers through the mid-20th century until it was purchased by a family in 1945. The house had fallen into disrepair, and despite the protests of preservationists, the house came down on Tuesday. The wood frame shingled cottage was an example of Italianate architecture that was popular at the time of its construction.
1268 Lombard StreetThe Italianate style is a departure from the Queen Anne Victorians with their towers and spindles. Italianate homes featured flat roofs and broadly overhanging eaves, among other elements. The style was meant to invoke the villas of Renaissance Italy. (1)
Examples of Italianate Victorians on California StreetA Mystery Solved
The destruction of the house on Lombard Street had me thinking of old Victorians, and reminded me of the time I researched a question that constantly plagued me while I stared out the bus window on my morning commute: What did the garages on Victorian homes used to be? I mean, the homes were built before cars were in use, so they must have had some other use? My guess was that they were either stables or perhaps a place to store carriages. I was wrong on both fronts.
I contacted Stephen Haigh, of the Victorian Alliance of San Francisco, who provided me with his succinct yet thorough explanation. I love the way Mr. Haigh matter-of-factly wraps it up at the end:
On Wed, Apr 30, 2008 at 8:59 AM, Stephen Haigh wrote:
Your question regarding what the space was used for prior to garages is a good one. Depending upon the builder or architect the first level or basement level of a victorian sf home could be used for: storage of food stuffs and other house hold items, laundry services, a tiolet for use when in the garden, a downstairs recreation area or parlor. Some of the older homes had kitchens and dining rooms on this level. Most sandard row houses had at least a 7 to 8 foot high basement, which kept the main living area of the parlor and dining room above ground level and thus warmer and dryer. Windows were built below the bay. Most horses and thus carriages were housed in special buildings for that purpose so you now find car service garages housed in what were originally built for cariages and horses. This is my explanation. Steve Haigh, Pres CSF Victorian Alliance.
The destruction of the house on Lombard Street had me thinking of old Victorians, and reminded me of the time I researched a question that constantly plagued me while I stared out the bus window on my morning commute: What did the garages on Victorian homes used to be? I mean, the homes were built before cars were in use, so they must have had some other use? My guess was that they were either stables or perhaps a place to store carriages. I was wrong on both fronts.
I contacted Stephen Haigh, of the Victorian Alliance of San Francisco, who provided me with his succinct yet thorough explanation. I love the way Mr. Haigh matter-of-factly wraps it up at the end:
On Wed, Apr 30, 2008 at 8:59 AM, Stephen Haigh wrote:
Your question regarding what the space was used for prior to garages is a good one. Depending upon the builder or architect the first level or basement level of a victorian sf home could be used for: storage of food stuffs and other house hold items, laundry services, a tiolet for use when in the garden, a downstairs recreation area or parlor. Some of the older homes had kitchens and dining rooms on this level. Most sandard row houses had at least a 7 to 8 foot high basement, which kept the main living area of the parlor and dining room above ground level and thus warmer and dryer. Windows were built below the bay. Most horses and thus carriages were housed in special buildings for that purpose so you now find car service garages housed in what were originally built for cariages and horses. This is my explanation. Steve Haigh, Pres CSF Victorian Alliance.
(1) The Old House Web http://www.oldhouseweb.com/
Monday, March 9, 2009
Derby Style
In the world of horse racing, jockeys wear racing "silks" that are custom-designed and unique to the horse owner. Horse and rider are thus easily identified during a race. I love the colors and the patterns, which are often traditional symbols like stars and crosses.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Of Gentlemen and Hooligans
There are so many styles and subcultures now, that I feel nothing is shocking. I wonder if, throughout the centuries, everyone looked the same and had the same style. Were societies lacking in permutations? There must have always been some nonconformists out there.
Scuttlers
Scuttlers were neighborhood youth gangs in England that sprang up in the working class areas in and around Manchester during the late 19th century. They distinguished themselves from other young men in their neighborhoods by their distinctive clothing. They wore brass-tipped pointed clogs, bell-bottom trousers cut like a sailor's, and flashy silk scarves. Their hair was cut short at the back and sides, but they grew long fringes, known as "donkey fringes", that were longer on the left side and plastered down on the forehead over the left eye with oil or soap. Peaked caps were also worn tilted to the left to display the fringe. (1)
The gangs fought with a variety of weapons, but they all carried knives and wore heavy buckled belts, often decorated with pictures such as serpents, hearts pierced with arrows, or women's names. The thick leather belts were wrapped tightly around the wrist so that the buckle could be used to strike at opponents in a fight. The use of knives and belts was designed to maim and disfigure rather than to kill. (1)
Bartitsu: The Gentlemanly Art of Self-Defense
If you've heard of bartitsu, the first thing that likely comes to mind is Sherlock Holmes. Bartitsu arose as a response to the problem of self-defense in an increasingly urban, industrialized society. It was adopted by the middle and upper classes, who were becoming alarmed by the emergence of street gangs like the Scuttlers. That, coupled with a current fascination with Asian warfare and a new obsession with "Physical Culture", contributed to its popularity. (2)
Scuttlers
Scuttlers were neighborhood youth gangs in England that sprang up in the working class areas in and around Manchester during the late 19th century. They distinguished themselves from other young men in their neighborhoods by their distinctive clothing. They wore brass-tipped pointed clogs, bell-bottom trousers cut like a sailor's, and flashy silk scarves. Their hair was cut short at the back and sides, but they grew long fringes, known as "donkey fringes", that were longer on the left side and plastered down on the forehead over the left eye with oil or soap. Peaked caps were also worn tilted to the left to display the fringe. (1)
The gangs fought with a variety of weapons, but they all carried knives and wore heavy buckled belts, often decorated with pictures such as serpents, hearts pierced with arrows, or women's names. The thick leather belts were wrapped tightly around the wrist so that the buckle could be used to strike at opponents in a fight. The use of knives and belts was designed to maim and disfigure rather than to kill. (1)
A Scuttler gang photo (Greater Manchester Police Museum)
Bartitsu: The Gentlemanly Art of Self-Defense
If you've heard of bartitsu, the first thing that likely comes to mind is Sherlock Holmes. Bartitsu arose as a response to the problem of self-defense in an increasingly urban, industrialized society. It was adopted by the middle and upper classes, who were becoming alarmed by the emergence of street gangs like the Scuttlers. That, coupled with a current fascination with Asian warfare and a new obsession with "Physical Culture", contributed to its popularity. (2)
Bartitsu was the brainchild of Edward William Wright (later changing his name to Edward William Barton-Wright), who was born in 1860. As an adult he worked for a time in Japan, where he studied jiujitsu. He combined what he had learned from his martial arts studies into bartitsu, which incorporated the gentleman's walking stick as a weapon.
Bartitsu has been devised with a view to impart to peacefully disposed men the science of defending themselves against ruffians or bullies, and comprises not only boxing but also the use of the stick, feet, and a very tricky and clever style of Japanese wrestling, in which weight and strength play only a very minor part. (Barton-Wright, 1902)
The British "Teddy Boy" subculture arose in the 1950s, and was typified by young men wearing clothes inspired by the Edwardian era, such as long draped jackets (sometimes with velvet trim), white shirts with high-necked, loose collars, high-waisted narrow "drainpipe" trousers, and chunky crepe-soled shoes, or Brogues. The subculture became associated with American rock and roll music, and some groups formed violent gangs.
Boys smoking, Portland Road - photograph; photographic print; silver gelatine print
Two Teddy Girls, Battersea Fun Fair
(1) Sarah Chalmers. The First Hoodies. Daily Mail: pp. 60,61. January 17, 2009.
(2) A consequence of the Industrial Revolution was the decline in the physical condition of Britain's increasingly sedentary middle and upper classes. A new obsession with purely athletic sport and gymnasiums emerged as a result. Tony Wolf, Bartitsu.org. January 15, 2007.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Wild Beasts revisited
I came across the work of artist Paul Volker a few years back when I was searching for a memorable birthday gift for a friend. Volker paints mostly animals, married with pithy text, using house paint on plywood. He was able to create a custom piece for me and I enjoyed the quirky email exchange that passed between us while sorting out the details. Here are a few of his pieces. Check out the "wild beasts" link in the archive on his website.
Simulacram iii
Lunch on Cathay PacificImage from one of my favorite sites, AirlineMeals.net, where you can browse photos and descriptions of thousands of in-flight meals.
Butterflied prawns wrapped with bean curd skin, steamed rice, Chinese mixed vegetables, garlic bread, seasonal fresh fruit, baked pear tart with fresh berries.
Photo taken by: Luke
Route: Hong Kong-Taipei
Class: business
Photo taken by: Luke
Route: Hong Kong-Taipei
Class: business
When a good lunch goes bad
Do you ever have a day when everything goes gastronomically wrong? This morning, I skipped breakfast. So busy with email, etc., that by the time I looked at the clock it was almost lunch.
12:30. I microwave my "Vegan Burger India" meal from Whole Foods. I love these meals by a company called Fresh India. They're tasty, healthy, but not cheap. After taking a few bites, I notice a hair. I can't even tell what kind of hair. I call my coworker at our front desk and ask him if I should still eat it. He says, "As long as it doesn't gross you out, then go for it."
I stare at my plate for a long time and move peas and rice around warily with my fork. Then I decide to crawl under my desk to find the discarded hair, to really see if I can ascertain where it came from. The a hair in my recent memory begins to take on many forms: head hair, armpit hair, dog hair, synthetic fiber from an unraveling seat belt.
I decide it's just not worth it and I toss the whole meal. Now I've wasted half my lunch hour and need to go out and spend money on something else to eat. Outside, I settle on a salmon/smoked salmon sandwich. Normally I would really like this, but today I just couldn't deal with the slimy texture of the smoked salmon. I end up picking it apart, extracting the cooked salmon, lettuce, and fennel, and eventually only eating half.
Today I was just not meant to eat. Maybe something's telling me to only eat when hungry, and eat more simply. There's a piece of fruit in my desk that I'll probably have later. That should work out well.
12:30. I microwave my "Vegan Burger India" meal from Whole Foods. I love these meals by a company called Fresh India. They're tasty, healthy, but not cheap. After taking a few bites, I notice a hair. I can't even tell what kind of hair. I call my coworker at our front desk and ask him if I should still eat it. He says, "As long as it doesn't gross you out, then go for it."
I stare at my plate for a long time and move peas and rice around warily with my fork. Then I decide to crawl under my desk to find the discarded hair, to really see if I can ascertain where it came from. The a hair in my recent memory begins to take on many forms: head hair, armpit hair, dog hair, synthetic fiber from an unraveling seat belt.
I decide it's just not worth it and I toss the whole meal. Now I've wasted half my lunch hour and need to go out and spend money on something else to eat. Outside, I settle on a salmon/smoked salmon sandwich. Normally I would really like this, but today I just couldn't deal with the slimy texture of the smoked salmon. I end up picking it apart, extracting the cooked salmon, lettuce, and fennel, and eventually only eating half.
Today I was just not meant to eat. Maybe something's telling me to only eat when hungry, and eat more simply. There's a piece of fruit in my desk that I'll probably have later. That should work out well.
Monday, March 2, 2009
I'm Nate Jones
Normally I wouldn't write about lunatics on public transportation because everyone's got these stories, but this morning was an acute reminder of why I avoid taking the 38 Geary.
I missed the 2 Clement by seconds. It's a longer bus ride, but without a doubt more innocuous. Mostly filled with downtown commuters and elderly Chinese and Russians going to Clement Street markets. Instead I was forced to walk the couple extra blocks to catch the 38L. All was status quo until we reached Divisadero.
You know that your commute is destined to suck when a passenger gets on the bus and the first thing he does is lock-and-load his mop. Yes, a mop. The sort with the plastic ringer that you slide up and down (that's what he locked and loaded). I looked up at this man and his jaw was trembling and he had crazy eyes. He was wearing fuzzy red socks without shoes, and his sagging sweatpants exposed about 4 inches of butt crack. Water from his mop splashed onto my shoes. Of course, he sat directly across from me.
The next half hour was an unrehearsed dance of passengers moving away from wherever this man sat or walked. He leaned over me to shut my window (I held my breath), and proceeded to shut every window on the bus within reach. The ranted and swore, each rant punctuated by a swift thud of his mop handle on the floor of the bus. My concern was that he might go off and whack someone with it.
He moved from my sight to the front of the bus, and his rants became more intense. Some choice excerpts:
"Hey, what's your name (to another man standing)?
Look I got these (pulls pack of AAA batteries from his pocket)
I sell 'em to you. I stole 'em from Walgreen's.
Sixteen dollars. Sixteen dollars. Sixteen dollars. Sixteen dollars..."
"Why you keep looking around? Are you a cop?
You in the military? Why you keep looking?
You a cop? You a cop? You a cop...?"
"Stop that beeping (bus makes beeping sound as it lowers). Stop that beep!!
Turn it off! Stop that beeping! Stop that beeping! Stop that beeping!"
"I'm getting off at Jones Street.
I need to get off at Jones Street! Jones Street! Jones Street!
I'm Nate Jones! NATE JONES! NATE JOOO-OONES!!!"
And finally this (as bus driver maneuvers through double-parked delivery trucks downtown):
"Man! You crazy! You crazy m'er-f'ker!! You crazy m'er-f'ker!!
You almost hit that woman! You hit that man!! You f'ker!!
You crazy m'er-f'kr!!! Let me off this f'ing bus! LET ME OFF THIS BUS!!!!"
Thankfully we arrived at Jones Street and breathed a collective sigh of relief after the guy left. Ah, those fleeting bonds with strangers over street person craziness.
(remove bazooka and shoes, insert mop)
The Far Side, Gary Larson
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