Let me start by saying, I came down with that horrible three-week cold that everyone - and I mean, everyone - seems to be getting this season. People who don't usually get colds, like me, caught it. I traveled and worked while sick which probably didn't really help my recovery but it was so nasty that staying home and doing nothing wasn't miraculously curing it either. Today, a final day of complete rest and the first day this year that I have felt like I getting better, not worse, I decided to let myself do at least a little work.
Typically, I think I am better way too soon and start doing things, like gardening, that wipe me out and make my sicknesses linger. So I know to fight the urge to get productive. However, my home inbox is just bursting, and I had to make some headway, which included sorting and putting away some 2012 memorabilia - you know, tickets stub and postcards and Christmas photo greetings. Saving ephemera is even more important in these increasingly digital times. In fact, archivists are concerned that historians in the future won't have documents to reconstruct and decipher us by, or even merely enjoy, because, from newspapers to photos to birthday "cards," it's all virtual. Not real. The lack of printing is a real issue.
So while cleaning out some old memorabilia - it all gets lumped together, than later I sort out the Visa bills and car repair receipts and stuff I don't need to save forever - I came across a photocopy I made of a letter I wrote to my friend R, back when I used to volunteer at Bound Together, a collective-run alternative politically left used and new bookstore on Haight and Masonic. I became part of the collective after 9/11, and took shifts at the store weekly-ish, then monthly-ish, for years. All you had to do was run the register, straighten up a little if you wanted, play your own music, talk to the interesting characters, and then at night, count out and lock up. It was fun. Here's an example of how things were, mid 2000's, from my point of view behind the counter of Bound Together:
Dear R -
I'm doing a short shift at the bookstore and it's been a typical shift. The only two customers at the moment are a soft-spoken Spanish student who just bought Storming Heaven (a history of LSD and a really good book) and a loud white guy who reminds me of a young James Caan. He's wearing white and beige saddle shoes, khakis, no shirt (a ratty tee is tucked into his back pocket), shiny sunglasses tucked into his belt and headphones. He's about to buy Storming Heaven and the two of them have hit it off, suddenly bonded by their mutual book of choice. The white guy is highly animated and is talking about disco balls and the meanings of words, such as Pepsi. "Okay, people see that word and they see 'Pep' which means 'wake up,' and 'si,' or 'see,' like 'wake up and see,' and that's why they buy Pepsi."
Oh God, now he's rapping. His name is Chris S-----, he's worked it into his song. My CD happens to be Pygmy polyphonic singing, which is enhancing rather than discouraging his rap song. I kind of can't stand him but I kind of really like him.
It's hot today and all the crazies have come in today, telling me about how this or how that. One dude spent 20 minutes telling me about how he was in Santa Cruz ding the filming of The Lost Boys, and you can see him in one scene, in the background. "It wasn't until I'd seen it 11 or 12 times, I finally spotted myself," he said. He tells me that there really ARE vampires in Santa Cruz. That's why they have so many missing people, he informs me triumphantly. Well, who knows? This could be true. I don't know.
Chris won't stop singing and rapping. He's quoting now. "25 years and I'm still trying to get up that great big hill." He's changing the words to 4 Non-Blondes songs. Oh god!
Then a very sweet guy who bought about six or seven pamphlets picked up one of our business cards and said, "Ever seen anyone make a bunny out of a business card?" "No." "Well, today you will." And then he did. It's a lovely little bunny. "I'm doing this because it's a nice day outside and we're happy," he said.
Chris has just revealed to his new friend that he only brushes his teeth once or twice a month (!!!) and he just went to the dentist and did NOT have any cavities. Now he's preaching about the merits of Easy Rider, a film I have some ideological issues with. Oh well. Chris seems happy, even if he is giving dramatic readings of pop songs. He just said, "I'm supposedly schizophrenic, because I hear voices, but I don't listen to them when they tell me to do something stupid. Like they say, jump over that ledge, but I say, oh come on, stupid voices! I'm not going to do that." Good for both of them.
I feel like had things to say of substance, before my colorful surroundings distracted me."
And that is the end of the letter. I don't remember the business card bunny but I do remember the shirtless, presumably bad-breathed Chris. I miss those days, but I've moved on to other things. Still, there was nothing quite like being a staff of one on during those hot Haight evenings, whenever everyone came out, from lost tourists to tinfoil-hatties, and stopped by to browse and chat. Yet another reason I love this place, San Francisco.
Typically, I think I am better way too soon and start doing things, like gardening, that wipe me out and make my sicknesses linger. So I know to fight the urge to get productive. However, my home inbox is just bursting, and I had to make some headway, which included sorting and putting away some 2012 memorabilia - you know, tickets stub and postcards and Christmas photo greetings. Saving ephemera is even more important in these increasingly digital times. In fact, archivists are concerned that historians in the future won't have documents to reconstruct and decipher us by, or even merely enjoy, because, from newspapers to photos to birthday "cards," it's all virtual. Not real. The lack of printing is a real issue.
So while cleaning out some old memorabilia - it all gets lumped together, than later I sort out the Visa bills and car repair receipts and stuff I don't need to save forever - I came across a photocopy I made of a letter I wrote to my friend R, back when I used to volunteer at Bound Together, a collective-run alternative politically left used and new bookstore on Haight and Masonic. I became part of the collective after 9/11, and took shifts at the store weekly-ish, then monthly-ish, for years. All you had to do was run the register, straighten up a little if you wanted, play your own music, talk to the interesting characters, and then at night, count out and lock up. It was fun. Here's an example of how things were, mid 2000's, from my point of view behind the counter of Bound Together:
Dear R -
I'm doing a short shift at the bookstore and it's been a typical shift. The only two customers at the moment are a soft-spoken Spanish student who just bought Storming Heaven (a history of LSD and a really good book) and a loud white guy who reminds me of a young James Caan. He's wearing white and beige saddle shoes, khakis, no shirt (a ratty tee is tucked into his back pocket), shiny sunglasses tucked into his belt and headphones. He's about to buy Storming Heaven and the two of them have hit it off, suddenly bonded by their mutual book of choice. The white guy is highly animated and is talking about disco balls and the meanings of words, such as Pepsi. "Okay, people see that word and they see 'Pep' which means 'wake up,' and 'si,' or 'see,' like 'wake up and see,' and that's why they buy Pepsi."
Oh God, now he's rapping. His name is Chris S-----, he's worked it into his song. My CD happens to be Pygmy polyphonic singing, which is enhancing rather than discouraging his rap song. I kind of can't stand him but I kind of really like him.
It's hot today and all the crazies have come in today, telling me about how this or how that. One dude spent 20 minutes telling me about how he was in Santa Cruz ding the filming of The Lost Boys, and you can see him in one scene, in the background. "It wasn't until I'd seen it 11 or 12 times, I finally spotted myself," he said. He tells me that there really ARE vampires in Santa Cruz. That's why they have so many missing people, he informs me triumphantly. Well, who knows? This could be true. I don't know.
Chris won't stop singing and rapping. He's quoting now. "25 years and I'm still trying to get up that great big hill." He's changing the words to 4 Non-Blondes songs. Oh god!
Then a very sweet guy who bought about six or seven pamphlets picked up one of our business cards and said, "Ever seen anyone make a bunny out of a business card?" "No." "Well, today you will." And then he did. It's a lovely little bunny. "I'm doing this because it's a nice day outside and we're happy," he said.
Chris has just revealed to his new friend that he only brushes his teeth once or twice a month (!!!) and he just went to the dentist and did NOT have any cavities. Now he's preaching about the merits of Easy Rider, a film I have some ideological issues with. Oh well. Chris seems happy, even if he is giving dramatic readings of pop songs. He just said, "I'm supposedly schizophrenic, because I hear voices, but I don't listen to them when they tell me to do something stupid. Like they say, jump over that ledge, but I say, oh come on, stupid voices! I'm not going to do that." Good for both of them.
I feel like had things to say of substance, before my colorful surroundings distracted me."
And that is the end of the letter. I don't remember the business card bunny but I do remember the shirtless, presumably bad-breathed Chris. I miss those days, but I've moved on to other things. Still, there was nothing quite like being a staff of one on during those hot Haight evenings, whenever everyone came out, from lost tourists to tinfoil-hatties, and stopped by to browse and chat. Yet another reason I love this place, San Francisco.
Excellent!
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