History repeats itself...

Pride Parading

TODAY WAS SAN FRANCISCO'S annual Gay Pride Parade, where scores of people spanned Market Street to see the LGBT community in rare form. People parading in cars, costumes, dykes on bikes, music, flags and rainbows. It truly was quite the experience…something everyone should attend at some point. Just to see, and to better understand.

I've quite a few photos that I'll post over the next few days, but for now this will have to suffice:



Be well.

xo
j

How groovy is she, really?

I am slowly coming to grips with the nature of my plans. They've not occurred as I practiced for months ahead, they're not all going as they should, I'm attempting to unearth new ways to feel that I've won.

But it's not all bad news. I have what I have, I'm thankful, I know there's good all around me to compensate for the aims I've missed.

Some day I'm going to find something to be enormously proud of.

For you, Friend.

Winter, spring, summer or fall
All you have to do is call
And I'll be there

Why It Feels Amazing (to Do Something About It)

Why it feels amazing to do something about it.

There was no plane, no audience, no charter smile. In lieu of feeling validated—correct—there was a chancy wonder about, like being lost indefinitely. Boundless by a transitory doctrine, somewhere along 1988 and 2010, driven to Union, between Taylor and Jones, far away.

It's June and I'm wondering, when will passing pay off? And yet, it felt amazing to do something about it, as though I dove into a dream of geography and curiosity and all their trimmings. Though as I tried to anatomize the last dealings back home, of Dad handing me cash and Mom wrapped in her own arms, the dog sick on the floor, the car packed, the color of the lawn, the front door open, waiting for it all to end, to linger back to calm—I could not recall a conclusion. I can hear Mom's voice over the phone, Are you ready to come home? like she asked when I played at the neighbors years ago.

But this is the kind of playing you do when you're trying to grow up and be young at once, and when you're trying to do something about it. I might wake with speculation, but will later walk out the door without itinerary to any step. Streets become bright with chance. Signs suggest. Crosswalks trickle gravel bit to gravel bit, the buildings' shadows escalate the contrast of inviting ways. It's the going, going, going again, amazing, amazing to do something about it. It's simply amazing.

Then step off the transfer, and I'm lost indefinitely.

Mission

SOME DAYS I BERATE myself for being so young, and feeling so young, and wanting to do young things. I am, after all, twenty-two. When my parents were my age they had settled together and began to plan a family, buy a house, set their eyes on future comings and responsibilities. They were two honest, modest young people with love and good intentions. And coming behind them, I saw myself on the same trail.

The path they took eventually lead them to where they are, and gradually, steered me to where I am: realizing that it's too late for me to take that path. I'll never be married as young as my parents (22 and 21, respectively), have a child at the same age my mom had her first (24), trading in the car for a minivan. Their lives had long been the stencil for my life, as I set my sights on guys as young as junior high, planning future forever after 9th grade. Options were nonexistent.

Now that I'm twenty-two and I still feel young (and too, näive) I've found my recipe is not the same as my parents' model. While I respect and honor every step they've taken, and owe my utmost gratitude to them, I know my future will unroll quite dissimilarly. I've shattered my illusions—and perhaps theirs, too—of where I'm going.

It has always been the greatest disappointment to me that I haven't found my other half. It has always troubled me, deeply, that I could never keep up a relationship as I've watched others advance. And it's always surprised me that when I'm honest with myself—truly truthful—being with someone was never what I needed. Not until I meet myself.

Being in California has me on a kick, to keep rolling along in a future I feel is right for me. I hope to travel straight to my thirties, and if lifestyle allows, if I still feel young, to keep on moving. I want to live abroad before I get married, to spend time volunteering, to have an atypical lifeway, to drive across a country, to feel absolutely scared and exhausted and liberated and lonesome—a whole gamut of emotions that I can view in retrospect as the greatest moments of my youth. I want to feel that I've served justice to my intentions. And eventually, when love permits, I will alight.

What's more is, there is no stencil for any of it.

In a Round-About Way

Cash. That's what I'm going to talk about for the next 5-10 minutes. Cash, where it fits in my life, where I'm going with it, how I'm strapped for it, looking for it, finding it, feeling it's ever-present fury.

Somehow, I've managed to spend too much money in too little of a time frame. This could have been anticipated (e.g. feeling like I'm on "vacation" all the time) but alas, it's pinching me more and more as the days advance. I have no job (I'll get to that in a moment), no sugar daddy (yet), and no intentions of soliciting myself on Broadway to earn a dime. Shopping isn't even fun anymore when you feel like you're slitting your wrists to buy a secondhand sweater at "The Best Thrift Store in the World" (or so the sign said). Okay, I'm whining.

Here's part of the story: When I arrived, I thought it was really cool to buy this $30 bag from American Apparel. I don't even like American Apparel—they're A) overpriced 2) overrated iii) over-trendy (really, there's a point where the geek glasses are beyond ridiculous) and 4) you can't walk into the store without seeing 12 ladybits poking out of short skirt/vinyl leggings/fishnets/questionable jumpsuit. Their ad campaigns make me sick, and I'm generally not bothered by that kind of thing. At the time I had $30 to blow…so I did. And now I don't. Bottom line: Stupid.

So I had buyer's remorse about the purse I purchased from AA. I felt like a tool carrying it around, it had an over-used typeface splattered all over it (read: Helvetica) and I felt like I had contributed to not only a repulsive company, but also a 17-year old AA employee's paycheck that enabled her to buy (another) shiny rhomper. I'd already ripped the tag off and used the bag for an afternoon, but for my $30 back, there was definitely ways around that.

I got crafty. I affixed the pricetag back on the bag in a tactful way. Then I took the bag back into the store, slapped it on the counter with my receipt, and said "Refund, please."

The kid that was helping me was, to say the least, ridiculous. I don't want to judge anybody here—I'm certainly not one to judge—but in oversized yellow plastic "eyeglasses," (prescription, no doubt) I couldn't take him seriously. He told me my choices for the return were: EXCHANGE, or store credit.

I wanted to tell this kid—who was easily wearing $200 in AA purchases on his bony frame—that I didn't want any more of the store's exploited garbage, just my cash back that I paid for the item. That's the reason why I was returning the bag in the first place: to buy things that I need, like toothpaste and food. Not to exhange it for some $26 deep v-neck crap. For crissake. He looked at me and asked if I wanted to shop around to exchange. I looked at him. And I felt like he should have felt silly at that moment, in his silly glasses—but it was me that felt downright foolish, and angry for good measure.

I lost. I walked out the door with store credit that I don't know what I'll do with. Still poor.

But there's a happy ending. Yesterday I was walking up Union and craving a fresh peach, decided to cross the street and go to the market before heading home. After purchasing the fruit I continued up the hill, on the opposite side from where I usually trek. I looked down. There, right in my path, a crumpled $20 bill. Not a person in sight.

It was as though Jesus knew that American Apparel was going to screw me over today, and he wanted to prepare me for it.

In a round-about way, I win. And the AA store credit I received? It's the last $30 I'll ever spend there. The end.

And finally, I said I'd touch on my job situation. I've applied at a restaurant that will remain unnamed, shown up to the restaurant seeking employment five times, spoken with the General Manager twice, had three interviews with three different restaurant employees (they maintain I've only had two interviews, no one can figure out who the "Michael" is that interviewed me during my first "second" interview) wasted upwards of an hour of my time waiting for interviewers to show up/locate my application (only to find the interviewer is actually on vacation and not coming in to interview me) and finally, am now waiting for a phone call to have my second "third" interview (which will actually be my fourth interview). When they call—if they call—they'll "let me know if they're still hiring." Needless to say, the whole place is bogus, but I'm broke and will put up with the place for a month and a half if it means redeeming myself financially. And if I don't get the job? I'm going to lay into the GM. And I don't do things like that.

Now that I've relayed more money talk than Suze Orman (minus the tan), I'll leave you with this: I saw a tranny today.

Be well, friends.

All About Dad

The voicemail my dad left me on my birthday this year—says it all.

"Bye bye" translates to "Love you."

She lay in bed all night watching the colours change She lay in bed all night watching the morning change She lay in bed all night watching the morning change into green and gold

Toasting

Many lovely photographs taken this evening (all but last by Sir Adam) on the rooftop. Adam left for Berkeley tonight, so I'll be on my own in the San Francisco loft for the remainder of summer. It's going to be strange without him around, as we we've been travel companions and roommates for nearly three weeks. This morning we got up early (7:30) for mimosas to celebrate our final day living together.



Adam, when you read this, know that I'm holding myself back from calling and saying, "There's something wrong. Nothing's attached at my hip." You will be missed!

That said, I'm going to call it an early evening (Friday even…kind of disappointing I'm not out clubbing) so I might wake early and make it to the Farmer's Market at the Pier. I held back from buying produce tonight so I could snag some fresh picks at market. Then I'm off to my internship—which I'll update on later. There's a lot going on, kind of.

Take good care and be well, all—

j

I made this movie during winter vacation, 2009...and never finished it. Kind of sad because there was an entire adventure behind it where I braved the cold and six-foot drifts. Oh well, you get the idea.

Glory days.

Today. I have work! At a photo center. I start tomorrow a.m.!
Hooray!

Marching On

Pieces of a trip, tales of two Midwesterners, an ode to summer—

I couldn't have said it better myself.

Fisherman's Wharf has all the køøl stuff—the hella køøl stuff!

Lots of walking today and…


I bit the bullet and bought new kicks. How about that.

Golden Day

I spent a golden afternoon walking along Crissy Field, dunking my body in the sand, sun-soaking and people-watching, meandering along the shoreline to the Golden Gate. I was so concerned with walking across the landmark that I'd completely dismissed the idea of fantastic views. As I reached the first railings, I recalled that 220 feet up garners a panoramic paradise. It was nice to take a step away from San Francisco and see the tall buildings in the distance, the Bay, and all the boats scattered throughout the blue.

I walked for many miles by myself and never felt alone. It was just the day I'd hoped for—every bit of it, peaceful.

Another Taste of San Fran

Quick recap on today—

My aunt called me early this morning to see if I'd be interested in joining her and the twins, Edward and Estelle, at the Farmer's Market. Going to the market is a usual Saturday occurrence for the Emery's and the best way to scope out fresh, local produce, etc. Naturally I was completely excited to join.

We drove down to the market, set up along The Embarcadero at the waterfront. Amy and the kids were equipped with plenty of totes to carry their goods in, and we created a plan of attack. There was so much fresh produce! Beautiful varieties of organic peaches, nectarines, pluots (plum/apricot hybrid), delicious cherries, strawberries and gobs of green vegetables. I marveled as my aunt and cousins had their selection process to an art: scoping the prices, sampling, purchasing the best of the best. We sampled the morning away, skipping from fruits to sea beans to all sorts of dips: chutneys, lemon quarks, hummus with capers, zesty garlic spreads, walnut and olive tapenades. The most delicious flavors I'd never think to try, and instantly developed a taste for. I sipped on a lemonde as we strolled in the heat (it was HOT here today, quite unusual for San Francisco, I'm told), people-watching, poking through the pier's various shops, and filling the totes with fresh goods. It was a neat, neat experience.

After the market we made our way to "The Haight," or the area of town more famously known for the 1960's hippie revolution and Haight-Ashbury. I was excited to see where it all went down, and feel a new San Francisco vibe (all the districts I've visited so far have their distinct atmospheres). Haight was not short on excitement, from top-knotch thrift and vintage stores, homeless hippies with guitars singing for change ("Ain't got no dolla's for Doritos"), tie dye and good grub. We stopped for lunch at Cha Cha Cha, a funky Haight staple serving Caribbean cuisine. Amy was quick to introduce me to new food, including fried plantain (similar to bananas) smothered in black beans, warm spinach salad, and "real" sangeria (none of that Applebee's wannabe sangeria). It was all so new, and so delicious. I feel like I've been missing out on worlds of food. I could have really dug in to the Haight, but the afternoon was tiring and being under a time restriction, I decided to return soon to further investigate.

When we got back, I polished up my resumé and sent it off to a photo studio that I'm —fingers crossed— hoping to land an internship or such. I've applied for a job and have been looking for other work, but it's slow—then again, I've been here not a week. Money goes fast here and I'm hoping for some sort of income, or at least a way to kill time that's not also killing money. If things don't work out soon, my sights are set on volunteering somewhere in the area, to fill time and add accomplishment to the summer.

Dinner was a delicious collection of market purchases, and I once again got to re-sample the foods I'd helped select this morning. Amy and Michael are fantastic cooks and have been serving fantastic fresh meals, for which I'm very grateful.

The meal was followed by perhaps the most interesting event of the day: Edward and Estelle's rats' funeral. The rats, Herb and Mo, died roughly six months ago and have since been frozen in Emery's kitchen freezer. Tonight Estelle placed the rats in their monogrammed burlap sacks, while Edward dug a hole in the backyard garden.



Then proceeding to the grave site, the entire family took part in the ceremony where the appropriate interment music was played, a series of candles were lit, an impromptu eulogy was recited, burial ensued, flowers placed over the grave, and that was that. Closure. (Three photographers documented the funeral, arguably the biggest event in the Bay area for those fifteen solid minutes.) We all moved back inside as though it'd never happened.

Then recalling that it's Saturday night—our first Saturday night together in San Francisco—Adam and I went out for a beer and good people watching in North Beach. I'm in early with hopes of waking up early, digging into the city once again, getting my morning coffee, going for a walk, finding a park or a shop or a street that fascinates me.

Today was a treat. This place is a treat.

Who, What, Where, When, Why, How

THE PEOPLE RAN DEEP, hot June day on a bus to Mission, streaming along Van Ness with jolts and jots and drops, 'stop requested's' along the jalopy way. Stings of scents from strangers—pleasant some, others of filth and sweat and unwashed jeans, urine—lofted through. Through the window, a teenager took a hit from a pipe on a church's steps, homeless man's belongings hung on a fence, treasures scattered on the sidewalk, change-begging. Produce fresh everywhere, fresh faces, neighborhoods blended by delis and dives, dogs and drifters.

And making no eye contact, following no path to any feet or forearms that could lead to a stare, I watched the window, and the buildings blitz by two blocks at a time as riders shifted on and off.

I couldn't remember what I was doing here.

Cait is Adam's friend from High School in Sioux Falls. Tonight we went to her place—a cozy den in the Mission district—for a delicious meal and company. Once again we are spoiled with awesomeness!

The blue yonder dreams and second hand shoes
Are so far gone that you live to lose
And it's too late to go home all alone
You're the tar in that old cigar
And the worn out cable on a cable car
And you're too tired to admit you've got to choose

Today:

Sleeping in, a long walk to Crissy Field with the Golden Gate in the distance, a hunt for city shoes (unsuccessful), lunch by the bay, Trader Joe's extravaganza, a long walk back, relax, hop on BART to Berkeley where there was dinner with good company, and now home to find success tomorrow…

Goodnight, friends!

Settling

WE ARRIVED IN SAN FRANCISCO LAST NIGHT, after one of the most significant drives to date—or during my lifetime, for that matter. The scenery from Portland, trailing through Oregon and blurring to Northern California, the Redwood Forest, and coastline was invaluable. We took Route 101 and saw age-old trees, astounding in size and humble beauty. Moving forth left no question of our own size, as we were towered by cliffs and river valleys while rolling along a road marked into the sides of mountains proclaiming their magnitude. Then driving through the sweeps of forest-spangled inclines spanning south to Sonoma, wine country, as sunshine sweated over clean parallels of leaves, branches, grapes. Just beautiful.

When the miles started to tick down—Eureka, Petaluma, San Rafael, Sausalito—we readied ourselves for the entrance. And as we drove around the final corner, and I saw the Golden Gate ahead, well—it was the best kind of bliss. That moment was perfect. We drove across, windows down, music loud, feeling free and new and alive! So alive. I couldn't believe where I was or how I'd arrived, but nothing could have been better. A quick doodle down Lombard and we arrived at Union Street—"home."

Today I took on the city, or attempted to. The best thing right now is there's no itenerary. I left the building this morning with not a single plan or direction, and ended the day quite the same. Spontanaeity is a beautiful thing. I was lost, tired, scared at times. I feel powerless and insiginificant here, but I know better. I try to walk with conviction, even though I have no idea what corner I need to turn next. This is the happiest uncomfortable experience of my life.

There is so much opportunity in this entire endeavor, the problem is I don't know how or where to begin. I need work, and experience. I'm so happy, but I'm so, so scared. I'm nervous. I want to turn around, but I'm going to keep marching. This place is made for realizations. That's why I came.

Tomorrow will be much the same, with a little less fear. Beginnings are scary, but I crossed the Golden Gate into this city in the most perfect way. The ripples from that moment will spread, eventually.

This—this San Francisco, the first day of a new, new lifestyle for a short while—this has been unforgettable, will be forever.

For Me This Is Perfect

1. Fresh berries picked in Stanley Park
2. Path, Stanley Park
3. Carving and cutting dinner
4. Ingredients
5. The indulge
6. After dinner record, Neil Young's After the Gold Rush

•••••••••• • •••• •• ••• • ••• • • • • •• • ••• •••• •••••• • • • • • • • • •

These past two days have been nothing short of extraordinary. Adam and I have been trekking our surroundings as though they'd crumble if we dismissed them. Our adventures have been rewarded with photographs, bodies sore from walking, people watching, realizations and satisfactions. I'm happy.

Today we were excited to get the day started—so excited that we wandered the streets and scraped past closed shops, empty sidewalks and quiet traffic. We decided to venture through Stanley park, Vancouver's trademark playground studded with forest, shoreline, gardens and paths. It felt otherworldly—staring up at the trees during our walk, I didn't feel like I was anywhere I could readily compare to somewhere I'd been.

After our park exploration, we found lunch downtown. A long walk through the downtown grid made for an eventful afternoon, and an exhausting day. We reveled in coming back to our lodgings, the upstairs unit of a house that Adam so cleverly discovered, to make a homemade meal and relax. Which is exactly what we did! We made delicious food (well, mostly Adam did) and for a moment (however brief) felt like true urbanites.

The traditional after dinner walk pursued, first to McDonald's to partake in the traditional Canadian dessert of various flavours of McFlurries. We continued walking to a park near the neighborhood we're staying in, and upon making a steady climb through gardens, reached a summit and discovered the Vancouver skyline before us, beautiful white and colored lights speckled at the mountains' feet. It kind of hit me, what's happening. I'm here. I've been blessed with this place, and this opportunity. It's unbelievable.

We rounded the conservatory and reached a fountain, where dozens of sychronized sprays danced at different levels, spouting for moments and evolving to silence. And wandering home, as we were lost, and found, and finally found home, I felt so right, and I knew I'd sleep well.

Tomorrow we're headed south, back into the States, to Seattle, a place I haven't brushed since a summer visit some years ago with my grandma and sister. I can hardly contain the buzz and yearning for the city, markets, parks, coffee, people, streets, life. The best of the buzz is, this is just the beginning.

Love from Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada! As much love as I've earned for this city since I arrived—
jc

Of Vancouver

We made it to Vancouver, B.C. this evening—a nine hour drive with one stop. Walked around and got a feel for the city after a lovely dinner (we opted to try something other than Subway), and I'm definitely feeling it's a fantastic place.

It's safe to say I'm exhausted, and will find much more to explore and document tomorrow. Vancouver is my oyster! Also, I have a camera, and I'm willing to use it.

xo
jc

Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost

We spent the day at Lake Louise, Banff National Park, Alberta, Canada, a truly beautiful place (photos of myself taken by Adam Hurly, my trusty cousin and partner-in-travel).

















Tonight is an evening in the quaint mountain town of Golden, British Columbia. Tomorrow we're pressing further west, toward two days in Vancouver, B.C. before shooting back into the States. So far, so wonderful!

xo
jenny