Oy, San Francisco residents, and guests subjected to our public transit system.
The San Francisco Transit Effectiveness Project is running a survey through the end of April. It’s pretty short, so go fill that sucker out. Let ‘em know what you really think.
I’m a little bit ashamed to admit this, but I hadn’t actually applied for a library card until yesterday. I’m not sure why, since the San Francisco Public Library is right downtown, and I walk past it constantly. It’s a pretty neat building, from the outside, and every time I go by, I think “damn. I need to get a library card.” Given how much I read, it is rather silly more than anything else.
Yesterday, Puff and I finally went. The process takes about two minutes, for anyone who has been dilly dallying, and it gives you access to a pretty amazingly awesome library. Membership is free for all California citizens, and out of staters can get visiting library cards for $10, so there’s really no good reason not to go. They also have extensive collections, although the library is a little rumpled around the edges right now because they are doing a major remodel. Oh, and they have a permanent Friends of the Library sale right by the door with some wicked cheap books.
Now, I’ve been in some big libraries in my time, primarily academic ones, like the giant library at Stanford with the underground cages and the Bancroft. But the San Francisco Public Library…it’s really big. I know this isn’t true, but it feels like the largest library I have ever been in, somehow. Maybe it’s because I associate big libraries with college, and “Public Libraries” with former morgues turned into libraries, like in Fort Bragg. Ever wondered why the windows in the Fort Bragg Library are all little and narrow? Well, now you know why.
I dipped into a few sections and came away with major book lust. It was difficult to control myself. Floors and floors filled with fascinating books in a building which is really fun and well designed. I stared at the Art Deco elevators for about 10 minutes, feeling a country bumpkin. There’s a huge gay and lesbian studies room which looks neat, and a whole Asian department…now, if only it was open 24 hours. Puff kept losing me as I cried “oooh” and vanished into the stacks, only to emerge, dazed, 10 minutes later. She finally sighed and sat down to read while I romped like an eager puppy and cruised a really cute hipster boy in the M’s of Fiction.
On the bus back, nose into a new book, I found myself suddenly surrounded by noxious perfume, and looked up to realize that a crew of slummers had gotten on the 108. It was pretty hilarious…all of these well dressed yuppie types, the women clutching their floral purses with panicked expressions and the men looking awkward and uncomfortable. The 108 wasn’t even particularly…well…108-ish, as it could have been. It was highly amusing, especially when we were trundling down California Avenue and one of the ladies said, sort of into the air in general, not directing the question at anyone in particular:
“Why didn’t the bus stop?”
Seeing that no one else heard, or cared, I pulled a headphone out so that I could hear more clearly.
“Er…what?”
“I wanted the bus to stop! Back there,” she said. “Why didn’t the bus stop?”
At this point, several of us were looking at each other, jaws agape.
“Well, er,” I said, “you kind of need to, uhm. You need to pull the cord. When you want the bus to stop. Otherwise they don’t, you know? Unless they see people waiting to get on.”
“The cord?”
“Er…” I gestured upwards at the cord.
“Why would I do that?”
“Well, ah, that’s…it’s just what you do. Uhm, where were you trying to go, exactly?”
So she told me, and we got things sorted out. But it was an entertaining interaction, because I clearly went from “threatening scary YOUTH” to “nice helpful lower class white girl, poor thing” in about 2.4 seconds. It’s just so funny to see how blatant people’s perceptions of you can be…and how often they are wrong.
This anchor is outside of one of the Island Creative buildings. There’s also a very large, presumably empty, shell casing next to it. I realize this is probably already apparent to you, but this anchor…is really big. Please note the pipes. Pipes call to everyone, not just me. See!
One of the cool things about the Island is all these empty tanks. Well, maybe I’m the only one who thinks that it is cool.
This former diesel tank is right by the water pollution management station. I don’t know about you, but when I hear those words, I imagine them actually dumping pollution into the Bay, rather than treating waste water, which is what actually happens there. Luckily for us, it wasn’t as aromatic as usual on Monday.
Unluckily for us, we actually ended up in a well secured fenced area by accident, with ominous signs which said “high voltage overhead.” It wasn’t fenced in when last I was there, so I didn’t realize how much they didn’t want us to be there until I looked around and realized that we were quite thoroughly fenced in. In a somewhat unusual state of affairs, I found myself climbing a fence to get out of a restricted area, rather than into one. I thought I smelled the faint whiff of an electrical fire as I climbed over, while Brendan took pictures.
But you don’t get to see those.
Here’s a goddess, instead.
If you’re wondering what the deal with the weird plaster statues is…the Navy dug them up while they were checking for soil contamination. No shit. They were part of the World’s Fair, and apparently somehow got buried in the chaos when the fair was taken down and the base was built. And then they popped up, some sixty years later. I think it’s pretty neat. They are in front of the Administration building. Brendan got a little friendly with the goddess, while I took pictures.
But you don’t get to see those, either.
Instead, I’ll leave you with my favourite sign on Treasure Island:
My friend Brendan visited yesterday, and we wandered around the Island in the growing haze and fog. It was awesome to see him again, since I have not clapped eyes on him since he helped me load the U-Haul to move.
Brendan also brought his camera along and took some awesome pictures, and I thought I would share some of them with you, dear readers, since I assume that you are as image starved as I am. Don’t get too excited, though, because he took his camera away with him at the end of the day, sadly.
(For anyone interested in technical specifications, the camera was a Canon EOS-10D with a Canon 80-200 f4/L, and yes, I would like one. Very much.)
We started out ambling in the direction of the Administration Building, because I had to pay the rent. The Administration Building is really cool, and is one of the only structures left over from the world’s fair.
It also has a strong aeronautical theme, as evidenced by this god-like cameo and his plane.
This was one of the shots I took. I had a rough time giving up the camera afterwards. I thought about throwing Brendan into the Bay and running off into the sunset, but I thought that wouldn’t be very nice. Also, Brendan can run faster than I can.
More pictures tomorrow…I wouldn’t want to overwhelm your minds with a visual feast, after all.
The Scarab and I went scavenging in the late afternoon recently, on a day when the evening was balmy and nice, and the sunset was so vivid that even the hoodlums skulking at the bus stop commented on it. While we were walking down Avenue N, I commented on my deep longing to get into the fire training school. It’s one of the few places on the Island that we have not penetrated, and it’s intriguing, and it is presumably filled with hot firemen.
We also have a fire station, which has a really sweet garden. But we were not at the fire station.
Apparently the gods were with us, because when we were walking along the north side, a gate had been left open.
At first we just peeped through it, but emboldened by the lack of humanity, we walked in.
The first thing we saw was this:
The Scarab’s dad is a firefighter, so I was kind of surprised when he looked at the structure and said:
“What the hell is that?”
“It’s probably for fire practice,” I said. “I’ll bet they set the inside on fire and then go put it out. The fake storefronts are for…realism?”
We ambled closer, and the jumble of material inside proved my theory.
We looked around inside a bit, and then popped out to peer around the grounds of the school. There are actually a whole bunch of structures in there which are clearly used for practice. I should start lurking around the school to see if I can catch them setting anything on fire.
I’m not sure who the school is for, exactly. Well, I mean, firefighters, obviously. But I do not know if it is affiliated with the City of San Francisco, or what, although the Internet suggests that it may be part of Cal Maritime Academy. Sometimes I see cars there, and I have been joking about leaving a note on their door:
“Dear hot firefighters. You guys are probably way too cool to use Craiglist, because you are busy learning how to fight fires. Would you like to go on a date sometime?”
Alas, just as we began to truly explore, a man with a cup of coffee appeared. We waved at him and then briskly hoofed it to the other side of the fence before he could realize what was going on. However, the adventure gave us hope for future exploration. I should probably just call and ask if they offer tours, but that would take all of the joy out of it.
The Scarab and I wandered around the Island during the sunset yesterday, reminding me of my tradition of evening walks with Cap’n Boysenberry, who is away in the South. For a moment, all of the cares and chaos of the last three weeks disappeared, and I was simply myself, strolling in the gathering dusk and investigating the world around me. The sunset was stellar, rich bands of yellow, orange, red, purple, and blue looming over the City, with the spike of the TransAmerica Pyramid seeming to pierce the heavens. I felt at ease and momentarily happy in my freshly patched pants while we peered up into the olive trees and looked into the campus of the fire training school before racing off to evade a man with a coffee cup.
We walked a few feet apart, hands bundled into our coats against the gathering chill, and talked about nothing terribly important, just to hear ourselves speak. The Scarab and I have never been practiced at the companionable silence.
Walking along Avenue N, we noticed a hole where there hadn’t been one before, and we stopped to peer into it with a flashlight. The dimly illuminated space inside had blankets and other sundries, suggesting that it was being used as a squat, and the sprawling building looked relatively virginal inside. The dingy white exterior with the faded blue shutters reminded me of Greece, and I felt sad for a moment, walking under the olives.
As we rounded the corner, I noticed a white truck, and I moved to the side of the road to allow it to pass. It did not pass, but stopped, and the man inside must have said something, because the Scarab turned, and so did I, and a tall older man who reminded me of a heron was strolling towards us. Something about his controlled, even gait put me on edge, and I instinctively pulled my hands from the pockets of my loose sweatshirt and kept them low, palms facing the man, while I halfway turned, so that he could only see my profile.
He had Navy issue plates and desert issue camouflage, and he stopped about two feet away from us.
“What are you guys doing,” he said, in a low, measured voice.
“Oh, we’re out walking,” the Scarab said.
“You aren’t going in any buildings, are you?”
“Oh, no. There was just a hole, so I had to look.”
“You guys have flashlights…”
“Oh,” I interjected, “we’re way too fat to fit in there.”
He visibly relaxed, as did we, and the Scarab put his hand out to introduce himself, as did I.
His hand was cool and dry, and his handshake assertive. I could tell that he was taking our measure, as indeed were we.
“What are you guys working at out here?”
“Er…we live here,” I said.
“What house?”
The Scarab and I said our house numbers simultaneously.
“What street?”
The Scarab spoke alone this time, and the man nodded.
“We’re just out for our evening perambulation, you know,” I said. “Checking out the state of the world. Seeing what there is to be seen.” I swept my arms to the blazing sunset behind us. “Watching the sunset.”
“Well then,” he said. “You take care now.”
“You too,” we echoed, and we stood silently facing his truck while he walked back and drove away.
Over the last couple of months, there has been a frequent and annoying incursion on my enjoyment of life here on the Island, in the form of a noxious youth, not wearing a helmet, on an unmuffled motor scooter. He zips up and down the roads of the Island at all hours of the day or night, and it is extremely loud, and really rather unnecessary. The King has mentioned that he has been strongly considering tossing a brick at the rider’s head the next time he sees him, and Puff and I were talking about stringing some strategically placed wire. We’ve been mean mugging him when we see him, to no avail.
The question I have right now is where he comes from, because it has already been established that he is annoying. Perhaps if we can get to the root of the problem, we can bring it to a merciful end…although given some of the parenting I see on the Island, the solution may not be as simple as having a chat with the youth’s parents.
Lying on my bed in a torpor today, I heard him again, and wondered if he was coming from the Job Corps, since it was right around the time that school for them gets out. I think this is unlikely, because I imagine that the Job Corps has restrictions on personal vehicles, including scooters, and that something like that would be hard to hide. The person obviously lives on the Island, though, because of the frequency, and I’ve also seen more than one person out at once. A single household, maybe, or is the craze spreading.
At the last neighborhood watch meeting, I meant to ask and spaced it. I certainly will ask next time around, because I’m curious to know if he irritates anyone else other than our households, and what we can do about it. One of the things that was mentioned at the last meeting was that, as a group, we have lobbying power that we do not have alone as single households.
The San Francisco Department of the Environment actually has a noise abatement department, which includes a hotline (553.0123) to call for reporting human-caused noise problems, including motor vehicles on public streets. I called them today, just out of curiosity, and got a recording that said “voicemail is currently disabled,” hardly a heartening thing to hear. I’m glad that I finally tracked down the right department, though, as it is the kind of thing that the San Francisco Police Department probably has neither the time nor the inclination to respond to.
Having tossed my share of melons and squash from buildings, I know what happens when a hollow thing with a thin shell hits pavement at force. Maybe Darwin will take care of this one for us.
So I went into the City today to meet my childhood best friend, since we’ve been living across the Bay from each other for quite some time and have not yet actually seen each other in person since I was living in Fort Bragg. Being a master planner, I figured I would take the 108 into the City half an hour before we were supposed to meet, assuming that I might get stuck in traffic on the Bridge.
We were shooting for 4:15…I was out waiting for the bus at 3:40.
And there I sat, until 4:15. Now, it’s a Friday, and it’s during the day, so the 108 should have come by at 3:45, and again at 4:00. But it didn’t.
When I finally boarded, the bus was packed with people. I believe that Job Corps ends around 4:00, so there was a flock of Job Corps kids on the bus. It was so crowded, in fact, that I could stand without hanging out to anything without fear of falling over, and the bus labored slowly along the route until it got to the second to last stop on the Island proper, at the Job Corps centre.
Now, you understand, I know the frustration of sitting at a stop, waiting for a bus, and having it slide right by. But there were seriously 50 people there waiting for the bus, and the bus was crowded, and as the driver slowed down, a cry of “noooooo” rose from the ranks within the bus. So the driver sped up. And all was well, except for those left behind, who boiled over into the street to express their displeasure.
But really, they needn’t have been so wrought up, because we sat in traffic on the bridge for 20 minutes.
My final arrival time at our meeting place? 4:45.
But we had fun anyway, wandering around the City. It was fun to see an old friend, catch up on various events, tell tales of woe, and wander the City together. I hope that we will be seeing each other more often, now that I’m more established here and she has a regular work schedule in San Francisco, so she cannot hide in the East Bay forever!
We went to the Chinese New Year parade last night. It was most excellent.
I took about 173 photos with my cell phone, but I have to email them to myself, one by one, as Verizon has crippled the software that would normally allow my phone to sync up with a computer. Also, they came out very poorly. So I may or may not post them. These people took some great photos, if you want to check it out…it’s pretty wild.
At any rate, I ended up getting separated from the crew, which was not really anyone’s fault, really, but did leave me at the corner of Third and Market jostling desperately for position amongst a frantic throng. People behave very strangely at events like this, I must say: as a collective mass, I was pretty disappointed.
For about the first half of the parade, I was standing behind this woman who was incredibly rude, constantly snarking at people for being in her way, and generally making an ass of herself. A very nice cop actually came over and talked to her because she was raising such a scene, and she was rude to the cop, too. I wish she had been arrested. I could not believe her attitude. No parade fun time for her!
I sort of got jostled about by the crowd, and a couple of people stood in front of me so that I couldn’t see, but I really tried to stay in good humour. I mean, no one was intentionally blocking anyone’s view, and we were all out for a good time. The only time I really lost my cool was when I was kneeling in the street and someone stepped on my foot and it hurt, a lot. Like, a lot. I thought my toe might have been broken, and was understandably a bit upset, and a very nice Indian man asked me if I was ok, or needed any help, which was very kind.
But in general, things went well, and it was really fun. I wish more of my pictures had come out, because there were some amazing floats. Lots of dragon dancers, people with fans, cultural delegations from all over Asia, a float of gay parents, an Asian American Donor Association Float, random city officials…it was a good time, and most of the people around me were really nice, mellow, and fun to talk to.
Especially once rude lady left and we all started bagging on her. Yeah.
I love parades…and I tell you what, I really miss living right on the parade route, sitting on my roof watching the parade wander by. I didn’t realize that it got so cutthroat on the ground!
The route with the best on-time performance is the 108-Treasure Island, a little-used run that shuttles people across the western span of the Bay Bridge to the Transbay Terminal in the South of Market and back.
This from the Chronicle, which says only 70% of MUNI routes run on time.
Uh…the 108? On time? And little used? It’s the only way for some residents to get off Island, and without it we are trapped…late for work, late for appointments, late for…everything. My friends in the City always add half an hour to my traveling time, thanks to the 108.
As a regular rider, I beg to differ with that on time assesment, in a pretty major way. I’d say that I ride the 108 at all hours…and on all sorts of days, and it is on time about 15% of the time. If that. The other night, we waited in the Trans Bay for over an hour for a bus that was supposed to be coming every twenty minutes, and ended up taking a cab back to the Island, because we could not handle waiting any longer. This is not uncommon.
I’d say, in fact, that majority of the time, the 108 is not even vaguely sort of on time, and whoever did that study is full of the proverbial. Indeed, the 108 is notorious, not only among Island residents, but anyone who has ever ridden the bus, because something crazy almost always happens on the 108.
The other night, the driver did not know the route, and we had to guide him across the Island.
Normally I’m actually a big fan of MUNI. I think it has a lot going for it…pretty good coverage of the City, pretty good hours of service…usually I get where I need to go in a reasonable amount of time, assuming I can catch the 108 into the City successfully. It’s relatively clean, the drivers are nice, I’ve never been hassled, really.
But…yeah. The 108. Not on time.
I have watched 108 drivers sleeping their departure time away, skulking in the bus while a mass of humanity throngs outside. The bus runs reasonably on time in the early hours, maybe, but by 3:00 PM, the 108 is catch as catch can, so I’m really dying to know who collected those statistics. It never leaves the Trans Bay on time, unlike, say, the 38.
Fools!
Read Along With RSS | Design by: Derek Punsalan | Powered by: Wordpress | Top
