7 posts tagged “sf”
I guess it's a little late to post a 2008 retrospective, but things have always been a little different around here @ cobalt_blue. Right now it is 3:45 AM and again, I cannot sleep - even after watching Steven Soderberg's CHE earlier this evening, which is four hours long. 30 minutes of Che brushing his teeth? That was a little excessive. Note to self after watching CHE : Facial hair is bad-ass and I must cultivate more of it.
So today I canceled my Penske truck reservation that was set for April for my move to Portland, Oregon along with rescinding my application to the apt. which I had put myself on the waiting list for. It was a nice place, glass from floor to ceiling in some parts and it even had a dishwasher - wait it gets better- it had a disposall in the sink. Sure, most of you may scoff at such things but keep in mind that I live in a grungy mission apt with 4 dudes, and before that I lived in yet another shit-hole where I had a crack-head, roommate moonlighting as a prostitute in my apt. So, yeah Portland - My now ex-girlfriend and I were going to move there, run a small company together, have a little yard for the dog to run around in and start our adult lives together. I moved in to her place and things went really, really well. In fact I can't even tell you the last time I was that happy. We had so much going for us, an entire future to plan out - there was even talk of marriage too. We spent some evenings after cooking dinner cuddled up next to the computer looking at places to live.
"I'd prefer hardwood floors". She said.
"Totally. We can do better than that place, and besides - did you see the kitchen?". I'd respond.
Occasionally, we would find the perfect place and wish that we could just leave now instead of waiting a year. Months later we flew up and visited. She was quiet most of the time, didn't want to be intimate at all. It was then I started having the sleeping problems. When we got back home we sat down on the big brown couch in the living room. I held her hand and said
"Look, I seemed to get the vibe during the trip that you were not totally sold on Portland. I just wanted to talk about it and see if both of our goals were similiar and whether or not they could be achieved in Portland. I'm not asking for an answer now - please take your time - there is not a wrong or a right answer. The only right answer is what you feel is good for you."
She said she was unsure of what her goals were and that she had not made up her mind, but I knew - the look on her face at the fancy restraunt that night in Portland said it all. Then the fade out began. I had to move out of her place 2 months later. This year has been a study in feast and famine. At one point I was working two jobs for a total of 60-70 hrs per week. It was a nice setup because the proceeds from one job went entirely into my savings acct, which was my funding to go to Portland and then some. That job ended last april when the housing crisis really started to take hold - yeah I miss the money, but I can honestly say it was one of the worst jobs I EVER had. It has been exceedingly difficult to find a second job since then - especially one that does not make you want to kill yourself, but at this point I will do anything (just msg me for my resume, ok?)
I had the love of my life, I was living in a good apt with good roommates and the future was so incredibly bright. Within a couple of months I had lost my girlfriend, my second job and the future seemed not as bright. Sure, I had enough money to go to PDX, but is now the time to pack up, leave everything and everyone behind - especially during this particularly nasty recession? If you think the recession is bad in California (the world's 9th largest economy) it sure as hell isn't going to be any better in Portland. So, for the indefinite future I have decided to stay put. It's funny that I felt I needed to go to Portland to start my adult life, when it was already happening here - just listen to how adult this sounds ! " I have decided to indefinitely postpone my relocation to the pacific northwest due to macroeconomic factors." I'm all growns up.
So, lately I have been trying to put a positive spin on this whole thing. For starters I opened an etrade acct and bought some stock (it's affordable now) and have been learning how to invest what little money I have to pay off in the shorter term and long term. It's hard to find a job now, but I know I will find one soon, and since I have no time limit I can keep plugging away saving money until times get better, or that I have enough to cover rent for at least 6 months when I move, and in yet another kick in the teeth - my laptop and business plan was stolen from my car last week. So, I have another opportunity to give it another go - and make it better!
2008 - I wouldn't call it the best year - definitely. But some moments were the best of my life and I would go through all the suffering just to relive them again and again and again. Look, I'll be honest with you things kinda suck right now - but tough times don't last - tough people do.
A few weeks ago I woke on a Monday morning to grab a cup of coffee at the place on the corner whose coffee is pretty shitty, but I get a chance to flirt shamelessly with the cute girl that works there. She's really attractive, but I doubt she has an interest since she can most likely see the rebound/dysfunction/desperation fumes coming off me. Sometimes I feel like walking up to her and saying :
"Hey, would you like to grab dinner with me tonight, then go on a long walk through the city which hopefully will make you feel that you have spent more time with me, which in turn will hopefully allow me to sleep with you? I'll be honest - I'm going to be thinking about my ex the entire time and if we have sex I will most definitely be thinking about my ex. If you are really lucky I might yell out my ex's name during sex if you don't totally suck dick at having sex. Have I told you about my ex???"
Moving on. On my way to the coffee shop I pass my car. I stop. The words DO NOT MOVE THIS VEHICLE emblazoned on a sheet of paper is attached to my windshield. For those of you that do not live in SF this means that my car has been booted. I craned my head to the right and yes, my car had indeed been booted. I was hoping that between the time the notice had been placed on my windshield and the car being booted the DPT had gone on strike. No such luck.
Apparently, this increase in dosage of medication by my doctor is working because I did not scream or yell one profanity aloud. It's strange the way these meds work - simultaneously the highs and lows are muted in life so existence becomes one big "meh". Meh.
After grabbing my coffee I hop on the BART train to go to the "MTA Customer Service Center". It's funny they call it that because no one willing wants to be a "customer" of theirs - ever. Being a customer of theirs only requires having a car or motorcycle in this fucking city and to be a recipient of the DPT flat tax.
I prepare to walk into this strange wasteland where time, reason, compassion and logic do not exist. I opened the door and was acknowledged by a private security guard who halfheartedly manned a walk through metal detector. His posture was poor, he was slim and his uniform draped off him like a curtain. I glimpsed at his face. Stoned. He was wearing a duty belt cinched tightly. Absent from it was a firearm, which if given the opportunity would have set off the metal detector every time he went to the bathroom.
I walked to the nearest counter which had enough ballistic glass between me and the "customer service solutions provider" to defeat an RPG at close range. It was so thick that when I moved ever so slightly her face warped a little.
"Hi, I recieved a boot on my car this morning and would like to get it removed."
"Name and License plate number please."
"Cobalt_Blue, xxx-xxx."
"You gots two boots on two cars!"
"No, I have one car with one boot, there must be a mistake."
"Well, the computer sez you gots two boots - here take this number and wait for a manager."
"Thank you."
I tried to make sense of the aimless numbers displayed on the computer screen. Of course, it didn't make much sense. My eyes scanned to the top of the monitor frame and I did see something very recognizable. PROPERTY OF LOCKHEED-MARTIN CORPORATION. Not only were these military-industrial-congressional complex motherfuckers responsible for maufacturing very expensive weapons to kill very poor people they also run the computer system for parking tickets in San Francisco. Does this really surprise me? No.
I waited briefly before an electronic and faceless voice read my number and window to go to. I appraoched, behind the window was a corpulent black woman who had an oddly attractive face in this Jill Scott kind of way. Also, I didn't mention this before, but there is no electronic speaker system that passes through the glass so you kind of have to genuflect whilst trying to speak through the port to hand over your money, only making the experience more humiliating and degrading.
"Hello, there seems to be a misunderstanding. The system shows that I have two cars, when actually I have one and also the balance of 800 dollars was paid off in July when I renewed my registration."
"Ok, can I see your license?"
"Oh, of course."
She spung into action and remedied the problem with great ease and effeciency, even for a public service employee. In fact, she removed a few late charges. Nice.
"Ok, that will bring the balance to $512.00." She said.
"Do you take checks?"
"No, people were writing hot checks to get their car unbooted"
I shook my head. "The nerve of some people. Disgusting."
"Well, I'll just put it on my card then."
I slid the card under the slot, her bejewled hand (cubic zirconia) gingerly sliding it away from me. I signed and returned the pen under the slot. I bent down even lower to make sure she could hear what I was about to say.
"I understand." I said to her in a reassuring tone, while making eye contact.
"What?"
"Look, I know this job is hard. People come in here and assume you are the badguy, as if you were the one who gave them the tickets and that you are responsible. I mean being at a job where people are angry and yelling at you all day. I've had jobs like this and I know it's hard. It must wear on you and it probably doesn't feel very good"
"Well, yeah I mean like it's my fault that you didn't move your car for street cleaning and yeah, people do yell at me all the time and yeah it don't feel too good"
I moved closer to the port and while making this gesture of holding my hand over my heart I said:
"I'm just like you. I just want to be human. Just like you and we have this glass separating us - like prisoners."
"It's so unfair." she whispered as she moved towards the glass, her eyes still looking into mine.
I slid my hand under the glass and we held hands.
"Can we be human?" I asked.
"You can come back here anytime"
We let go and I walked out of the office and into the BART terminal. I got to my house 10 minutes later - the boot had been removed from the car.
Alternate ending will be posted tomorrow
Whenever I go to this place I feel like Harrison Ford in Blade Runner.
Recently, the leader of the Hells Angels Motorcycle club was killed in a retaliatory attack a few weeks ago behind my house. This incident has had me scrambling to take appropriate security measures to prepare for the massive retaliation that will soon occur. Hells Angels chapters will be converging on SF for a booze fueled shit-quake of epic proportions. It is almost certain that without these precautions I will most certainly be killed or maimed by stray gunfire, whiskey bottle throwing or incendiary device of some sorts. The past week has been spent sandbagging my room (even the windows, people ask where I got those great curtains) Sleeping in a flak vest that I bought from an army navy store and only traveling when necessary and then under the cover of darkness and even then I don't use my blinkers for my bicycle. Will update soon.
Last night my friend and I finally made it into the Bethlehem Steel admin building. This place was built in 1917 and was abandoned in 1989 after the earthquake. This is a pretty historic site, many battleships were made here during world war one and two. One of many shipbuilding sites that as a whole produced an average of one ship per day during WWII. Getting in was difficult, but incredibly rewarding. I can't wait to go back during the day when I don't have to make 4-5 minute exposures, plus it will be slightly less creepy. Remarkably, the place is pretty much intact, other than copper pipe being stripped out of some of the bathrooms. A wonderful Beaux Arts building with some Art Deco details. This place has an abundance of wood paneling and marble walls and floors. Even some of the office supplies are still there. Due to time constraints we only took photos of the first two floors. Credit all photos to Andre Hermann.
So this magazine that I shoot for, they are 5 GODDAMN MONTHS LATE PAYING ME.
I am so fucking sick of having to hunt these fuckers down. 10 phonecalls within 4 days (no one is there) 2 nasty emails and 2 office visits. To no avail. I will hunt these fuckers down and get paid.
