While it would be cheesy to say that the new rooftop sculpture garden at SFMOMA is a little slice of heaven, sometimes the cliches are apt. I had a great moment there yesterday afternoon. I can enter the museum for free now with my Academy of Art ID, which is very satisfying, and the garden is a place that I will enjoy returning to again and again at different times of day. I sat sipping a delicious decaf Americano out of a ceramic cup with saucer and watched the Calder sculpture swing in the stiff breeze. I am accustomed to seeing Calder mobiles attached to the ceiling and undulating underneath. Here, the mount is below and the swinging metal arm is closest to the sky.
There were lots of neon wigs, grass skirts, dance parties on wheels and Coit Tower on foot, but less nudity than I remember from previous years. I had heard that Bay to Breakers was supposed to be more subdued this year, but I thought the public outrage was such that the new rules were scuttled. In any event, I spent an hour this morning at the corner of Hayes and Van Ness. The participants had not yet been tested by the hills that lay just ahead. Of course, the runners had passed long before, and this part of the race belonged to the casual strollers. Here are some photos as well as a video.
For the past four months I have been engrossed in my first university studio art course, an introductory drawing class called Sketching for Communication. The final project was to complete a storyboard that combined a narrative with all of the drawing topics we studied. All semester I wondered what I would choose as a story for this assignment, but on the day we began working on the project I quickly settled on the anecdote I related in “It Will Come Back to Me Someday.” Artistic license made the project both less and more difficult: The string quartet was replaced with a lone guitarist so there were fewer people to draw, but the setting was moved up the street to the Castro Theatre, a site with more interesting architecture. I regretted that decision many times while struggling to decide how to simplify the neon, the tiles and the decorated facade. I owe much to the detailed coaching (or ”art direction”) of my instructor. There is more hard work than talent in evidence here, but the end result shows that I learned a lot.
Last night, on the 103rd anniversary of the earthquake of 1906, the Castro Theatre showed “San Francisco,” the 1936 film starring Clark Gable and Jeanette MacDonald. I had never seen it, and while my current Personal Economic Austerity Plan (PEAP) does not permit me to see movies, I made an exception.
I am fortunate to live near a movie theater that can turn ordinary movie-watching into a memorable event. There was the night the Mosaic Cadillac was parked in front for the premiere of the Burning Man documentary, “Voyage to Utopia.” I was thrilled to watch “What’s Up, Doc?” on the big screen once again with a San Francisco audience and Peter Bogdanovich answering questions afterward. Seeing ”Milk” there was a stirring experience for the record-breaking crowds reliving for two hours the history that had occurred in that very city block 30 years before.
While this was not one of the sing-along presentations that are becoming more frequent there, a Castro audience is one primed for participation. Applause after the songs, hissing at Trixie, laughter at the bond that Clark Gable’s and Spencer Tracy’s characters shared that might now be construed as something more — all were there. There was one small disappointment: That brave Jeanette did not stand there in the ruins and sing, like Judy always told me. Oh, she sang her heart out moments before the earthquake hit, and she pulled at heartstrings with her rendition of “Nearer My God to Thee” in the park afterward. Just not in the ruins.
Prior to the screening we were entertained by Blackie Norton’s Paradise Club band, a New Orleans-type jazz combo with banjos. As always, the curtain opened with “San Francisco” played on the Wurlitzer organ. I hope the musicians don’t mind if I share some of their performances here.
Thank you, Stephen Colbert. This time your irony is not too much for me! As he says, the gay “threat” to marriage won’t be solved by clearing out your web browser!
A notable Castro tradition is the annual Easter Sunday celebration in Dolores Park organized by the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence. There is nothing dolorous about this Easter observance; it is all very gay. I have yet to attend the children’s Easter egg hunt in the morning, but today I managed to stake out a stage-side spot for both the Easter bonnet contest as well as the main event, the Hunky Jesus contest.
Contestants had their moment not only in the glorious San Francisco sunshine but on the stage, during which they played for the crowd’s favor with their attire (or lack of it) and a clever name chosen for the occasion. It is easier to direct you here for photos than to describe the indescribable.
Unfortunately, I was not able to get photos of all participants, including the Jesus contestant who wore a huge stuffed lamb around his shoulders and had a winning way with the microphone, uttering choice lines like, “Do not forsa-a-a-a-ke me!” Somehow even he was upstaged by “Livestock Jesus” who arrived with not only two live sheep on leashes but a miniature donkey as well. This year’s Hunky Jesus winner was a duo, two men who called themselves “Brokeback Jesus.” A quick-witted Sister murmured into the microphone the line that summed up perfectly the outrageousness of this event on this day: “I wish I could quit you, Jesus.”
This evening I walked down Castro Street and stopped in front of Cliff’s Variety. A string quartet of young musicians had set up there and were vigorously making their way through the Allegro movement of “Eine Kleine Nachtmusik.” Others gathered, too. A small boy delightedly mimicked the bowing motion of the violinist. People smiled and fumbled in their wallets to find a dollar to deposit in the open cello case.
Then a young man walked up and parked his shopping cart in the center of the crowd. Visible on top of the cart were two old quilts, neatly folded. Was he thinking that he might have to wait a while before his spot for the night in the recessed doorway opened up? He smiled widely and enjoyed the music. Soon he pulled out a dollar bill and dropped it in the case. Upon returning to his cart he grinned at someone in the crowd and said quietly, “It will come back to me someday!”
I pulled out my own dollar and thought how clever it might be if I gave it to him and said, “It just did.” But the music ended, I left my dollar in the case and resumed my walk down Castro. I wanted to reward the man who had little for his generosity, but in that moment it seemed better to allow him to feel good about his own contribution. I do hope it comes back to him soon.
I can’t help it — I walk by this place almost every day, and I have to look in. But I had never before noticed this conveyor in use. I haven’t seen a machine like this since I read about the doughnut maker in Homer Price. The bakers weren’t at the window today or I would have asked if the machine has a purpose beyond entertainment.
A notable Castro tradition is the annual Easter Sunday celebration in Dolores Park organized by the 
