The trouble with love is...

Kelly Clarkson:

The trouble with love is
It can tear you up inside
Make your heart believe a lie
Gets stronger then your pride
(The trouble with love is) See your heart it's in your soul
(It doesn’t care how fast you fall) You won't remember control
(And you can’t refuse the call)
See you’ve got no say at all
The trouble with love is
It can tear you up inside
Make your heart believe a lie


-30-

Our Time

This is the age of all kinds of miracles and every manner of horror. Everything changes and at such a pace that we cannot possibly keep up, not with all of it. Pick your subject -- it's exploding under the pressure of a mountain of new information.

From the profound to the sublime to the trivial, the pattern is unmistakable.

Let's start with the trivial (to most people), i.e., baseball. Tonight, for the first time since 1962 (that is 45 years ago) the New York Yankees are in San Francisco to play the (formerly) New York Giants, which for the past 49 years have been based here in the city by the Bay, but that still is not close to half of the franchise's rich history.

Between them, the Giants and the Yankees embody a major portion of U.S. baseball history. When it comes to home runs, for example, here are the current top five players of all time:

Hank Aaron 755
Barry Bonds 748 (Giants)
Babe Ruth 714 (Yankees)
Willie Mays 660 (Giants)
Sammy Sosa 600

The Yankees are, by far, the most successful baseball franchise of all time; the Giants own baseball's greatest moment -- the "shot heard 'round the world" -- Bobby Thompson's HR in 1952.

So, that is what is happening in this city tonight -- the Yankees are playing the Giants here in the prettiest park anywhere. (I'll watch the game on TV; I have not been out to a single game this year.)

My point is that this kind of event could not even be imagined a few years ago, but in baseball, like in everything else, change is the name of the game. (Sorry for that cliche.)

***

Wanna know one thing I love about living in San Francisco?

Today, after riding the subway and taking a cab to the place where my car was being fixed, I ended up having a long conversation with the guys there, both of whom happen to love flowers.

I explained my mission, to find some green flowers, in case they turn out to be useful in the table settings I will be designing this summer. These guys immediately told me about three green flowers -- a carnation, a hydrangia, and a cala lily.

Then they sent me on my way with my newly cleaned and fixed automobile, plus the three fresh new carnations pictured above, though none of them are green.

:-(

-30-

The longest day of the year

We are at a pivotal moment in our year. Today, tonight, we are experiencing the longest period of continuous daylight we will know in 2007. The year has peaked; after this, all days will shrink and all nights will grow, until we are once again in the grip of maximum darkness, next December, six months from now.



For now, all is sunlight and heat.

The plums turn red almost before my eyes, as if they were embarrassed as they reach their ripening age.



My housemate continues to beautify our yard, planting new flowers here and there, which delight me at night, after work, when I discover them.



Other flowers climb the fence.



On my back porch ledge, I continue to experiment with green, which probably should be our favorite color, all of us, world over, going forward, right?

Unless we all become Greens, we are doomed as a species.

I say: Let's survive.

Thus, green, that is the color, with all of its variations and richness and symbolic hope. May our future be green!

-30-

As plums ripen...

Sorry, dear reader, I have been rather ill lately and unable to write much. Probably just another relapse of my Peace Corps illnesses, or maybe something rather less romantic and much more prosaic. I hope these images, all of which I shot tonight, might entertain you. Let me also try to tell you a story.



It's so nice here! Last night, at sunset, my housemate and I grilled hamburgers out back, then went up to her place to eat them. I'm not sure how long it's been since I tasted a hamburger, but this one was yummy. I couldn't get Steve Martin's "French" dialogue with his "teacher" in the latest Pink Panther movie out of my mind.

am-bor-grr!

Gotta practice my French; will be there soon.



The theme this summer is green.



My mission is to experiment with all kinds of shades of green.



All of us hope to be diagnosed as healthy, sane, good to stay (as opposed to go.) But it can't always be that way. Some of us must be weeded out of the pool, so the species can go on.



Tonight, I am reflecting on a certain Sunday morning some 18 years ago. I'd just been diagnosed as "severely depressed."



I was in mourning over the end of my first marriage, and the fact that my actions had precipitated its collapse, at least according to conventional wisdom about these kinds of things.

But I was lost at the time, beyond anyone's reach. I was enduring what we like to call a "mid-life crisis," which, if you've not had one, is not at all fun. I was living in am empty house in Mill Valley. (Soon, a U.S. Senator on the lam would join me, but that's another story.)

I have no idea why I was in Berkeley on this particular Sunday, but I was. Maybe I was buying a book about psychology, trying to discover, in mid-life, what "feelings" were.

That's right, at age 42, I still had no clue. How sad is that? Meanwhile, my feelings were running away with me, or at least, with my heart.

I'd fallen in love with a lovely someone in Paris, but she was not with me now. I was all alone. As I passed a bus stop on Shattuck Street that morning, I saw a family -- a man, a woman, their kids, happily laughing, and I felt a horrible pang in my chest.

Why couldn't I be in that picture?

What was wrong with me?

How was it that I was alone on this Sunday morning, the father of three, but no longer welcome in my own family?

Tonight, listening to one of favorite contemporaneous poets, I felt that old feeling once again in his words. So I will leave you with this, because that old pain is back in my chest, here alone again, of course.

And Lord, it took me back to something that I'd lost
Somewhere, somehow along the way.


-- Johnny Cash (written by Kris Kristofferson)
Sunday Morning Coming Down

-30-

Outsourcing Sex.1

This same image appeared earlier on our sister site, Sidewalk Images. I just love it:

"Open to..."

Open to what?

On that site, my main goal is to capture what I think the streets around here are saying to me. Every now and again, like tonight, this street where I live seems to be screaming at me, and this is one of those times.

***

As some you know, dear readers, I spent a lot of years as an investigative reporter. You can take the boy out of the field, but you can't take the investigator out of the boy.

Following is a tale that may shock or offend you, though I hope not. It is a typical thing for someone like me to do. We like to probe the edges of society and figure out who's doing what to whom.

So: There's a thriving online sexual service industry that I have recently discovered. It is based in the Philippines, and consists of dozens (maybe more) of young women on webcams. They are dressed in skimpy clothes and visitors can "chat" with them for free.

These chats are predictable: "Show me this," or "Show me that." The visitors, almost all men, post in multiple languages, which is one of the most fascinating aspects of this business, from a web perspective.

Of course, there are sexy webcams here in the U.S. and probably all over the world, with women similarly displaying themselves.

But, intrepid reporter that I still am, I have managed to meet a couple of these webcam girls in Manila and environs. Here's the deal: Men pay $29.95 for the privilege of spending 15 minutes in "private" with these young women. The company that employs them takes 60% of that, so they earn about $.80 a minute for undressing and performing sexual acts with their paying clients.

Furthermore, if a performer does not reach her "quota" of private visits on any given day, her "boss" pays her nothing at all.

Exceptionally few of the men who visit these sites actually "take" them private. Most just badger them, beg them, to show some skin, to dance, to act sexy, to do whatever.

Each girl has a room with a bed, some personal effects (like a teddy bear), and a fan, because it is so hot there. Their long black hair is always swishing in the wind.

Some of the girls fall asleep online. If this happens, men show up and start getting mad at them. "Wake up, bitch," they say, or something equivalent.

Eventually, when they do wake up, the girls yawn, get a cup of tea, and get back to work.

Welcome to virtual sex, circa 2007.

One of the women I've met is 23 years old, a single mom, and she is doing this work to support her 7-year-old daughter. Another is 22, and she is helping her brother-in-law get the medicines he needs; he is seriously ill and in the hospital. She has a degree in Computer Science and hopes to find a job abroad.

She says business has been "slow" lately in the webcam world.

In other words, these are real people serving others with their bodies, or at least the images of their bodies. They are so surprised when a paying client shows up who is not interested in sex, but in who they are and why they are doing this, that it takes them some time to get dressed again, adjust their webcams, and get down to talk.

When they do, the result is wonderful, if sad and painful.

These are lovely young women. Is the best and only role our global economy has to offer them the role of sex object?

I hope not.

-30-

p.s. My quest continues. It's slow-going. This will be a process, but ultimately, I will succeed in slaying my dragon. Or I won't. Either way, the world will go on turning, with or without me.

Mondayisms

The biggest news here on the west coast of this continent is that my grandson, James, is producing his first tooth! You may be able to make it out by clicking on this photo. (Remember, all photos expand upon your click.)



Here our little star is with his Dad.



Among other local news, Julia's flower girl dress arrived today. This is her second chance as a little girl to play this role and she is very excited. But, for now, she is camping in the mountains, so I'll have to wait to show her it this Saturday when she gets home.



Ahem. My "art" continues to evolve here, as the heat fades and a giant wave of white fog towers above Twin Peaks, soon to blanket this city.



I cracked up my Safeway clerk tonight by noting that the looming fog was our fate. After all, we've enjoyed days of tropical-like heat. "We'll pay for it," I told her. She said she was going to quote me on this mattter.



Please don't be bored by my colored bottles. I'm working something out here.

Meanwhile, Apple's stock continues to soar.

-30-

Inner Artists Playing

The heat continues, and with it our fantasies expand. Me and my imagination took ourselves out to the very edge of the continent today, on a mission.



Ocean Beach is very much an urban coast. As we walked alone on this beach, the Pacific washed over my feet, and I rolled up my jeans. I was seeking seaglass -- green seaglass -- but my visit was at the wrong tide (high), so I would be coming home empty-handed.

All I found was a perfect oval-shaped sand dollar and a green stone.



Green was the mission. I'll explain why in a future post.



Tonight, my friend Mary came in for a visit. The minute she entered my flat, she noticed my bottles.



Mary's an artist, a very talented designer, and a wonderful friend I've known for more than a decade, while we both have gone through more changes than either of us could have imagined.



She recognized my obsession as play. As we talked in my backyard, eating burritos and fresh guacamole from El Matate, Mary helped me realize something.

My art (writing) is not what I can easily monetize in Silicon Valleyese, thus I playfully display my art in this blog and elsewhere.

As she studied my bottles, Mary noticed a certain soft glow they emit as the night sky approaches, darkening the rear window of my kitchen. She took my camera, turned off the flash and shot a set of closeups. Her goal was not to capture the bottles, but a certain subset of colors they contain, when backlit.

The thrill in this for me was not only her reinterpretation of my project, but the possibility that these colors, which I've created, may be useful as a backdrop in her upcoming book, which I will be promoting here in my blog.

Below are a few of Mary's shots. Aren't they sexy?








It almost makes you want to caress them...

-30-