So I woke up in Petaluma, and drove down to San Francisco. What would happen? How would it be? I was a little scared. I wanted it to turn out neat. I had had it in mind to find a cool street in the northwest section, like the Sunset District, to start out, and then go to City Lights. Before I crossed the bridge, I stopped to take some photos. I intended to run all the way onto the bridge, but I wanted to get out there to do some sales. I drove into the Sunset District, didn’t see anything that said Yes, and drove towards City Lights bookstore. I get there and talk to Matt at the desk. He thinks I’m a kook and says if I leave a copy he’ll be sure they read it.
I stand out front and start selling books. "Hey, you read any good books lately?" I sold five or six in an hour and here comes L.F. I tell what I’m doing and sign a book for him. "Thanks for the book," he says going into his offices. I’m out there another hour, talking to someone, and I see L.H. walk out and down the street. I watch him look into a window at a piece of art as I’m making a sale.
Beforehand, I walked across to get an espresso, and looking across the street, all along the top floor windows of the space where common sentiments on posters: diplomacy not war, end corporate personhood, health care for all. So when I finally caught up with Ferlingghetti that second time, I told him about the convention clause, and he asked why I wanted to tear up the Constitution. I explained how it’s not that, and he asked what I wanted to amend to the Constitution. "An effective national standard for voting and registration."
"Congress can do that. All you need is legislation for that, you don’t need a constitutional amendment."
I look over at him and he looked just like Richard C. Clark. I had heard the same thing from him last summer at NN08. Can you imagine that? Can you imagine how I felt? I’ll write about it. It will be great, you’ll love it.
Identify that plane.
Driving to the first tower.
The second tower--trying to capture that key shot.
Got it.
L.H. was headed to Francis Coppola's restaurant. There was someone there to greet him at the side door. I asked him to take a picture. Lawrence said he was freezing right then and buttoned up. It was pretty cold the way the wind was coming down the street right then. The guy took one, and then said "One more."
There's me with a tire visible. No exercise and not the best eating habits on the road.
I went back to the car to get a jacket. It really was pretty cool out.
A woman's center in the Mission District.
Headed out of town, I saw a sign for the Cow Palace: http://en.wikipedia.org/...
I missed the first sign, and I started struggling about whether to turn around. "No, I'm too tired." Then, "No, you idiot. It's the Cow Palace, you mention it in the book. You have to go back and take pictures. You have to."
Turning around I stopped to take this shot. Identify that stadium.
If you were pulling into San Francisco some evening.
Getting to the Cow Palace, another wrong turn.
Headed back to the car, glad I had stopped to get shots of the Cow Palace, I realized this was an area where people had herded cattle at market for years and years. I walked into an area, and it was where people had overlooked and facilitated the goings on. I imagined ranchers from across the country doing business, sipping sodas, passing the time. Even though it was dusk and quiet, I knew a lot of commotion and fascination had gone on here.
I mean, can you imagine the ranchers that have looked across the yards from here?
I imagine lots of folks have sat on these steps and had a soda and smoke, across from all the pens.
A leaf in the dusk.
Wild iris.
Away from Monterey, headed to Santa Barbara.
Windy in Santa Barbara.
A familiar sight. Going to get my mail first, I wondered how I'd end this diary.