I Left My Clothing in San Francisco

I mean I left my heart in San Francisco. That too. I was going to make the title "I left my underwear in San Francisco," but that would be too embarrassing. I basically did the same thing that I did for the trip to Ireland: pack old clothing that I'm willing to throw out, so that my suitcase has room for stuff that I buy on the trip. Mainly books. They're better than drugs.

I didn't previously mention this, but San Francisco is Fag Hag Heaven. It's such a hoot--I saw so many gay guys there, it was like being back at Webster University. Those were the days. They're flamingly obvious, too, at least the ones I've noticed on the street and all. And the theater where I saw Valhalla apparently specializes in gay plays and has two small auditoriums. You can imagine the audience was interesting. There's a neighborhood further down Market Street that's known for its gay community--the Castro, I believe.

I'm back in Kansas, Toto, and I'm sweating. But the cats are happy to see me. They express it by sitting in front of their food dishes and meowing. I mean by cuddling and purring.

One Last Visit to the Asian Art Museum

I woke up to lots of voices outside—I can hear the voices from the sidewalks, even though I’m on the sixth floor. I just heard what sounded like a very agitated black man arguing loudly—perhaps an aggressive panhandler on drugs. I shouldn’t jump to that conclusion, I know, but it was an awfully frantic voice. A lot of people here don’t seem to care that others, strangers, can hear them—or perhaps they’re being dramatic, putting on a show because they’re aware that they’re in public. On Pier 39, a white woman on a cell phone was screaming in rage and in foul language—and this was on the fourth of July, a holiday when people were gathered around to have fun! There were lots of people around her, and they looked like they were trying to ignore her. Like, awkwardly trying to ignore her, the way I’ve been behaving with panhandlers (most of whom, by the way, are male and all are white or black, never Asian). And there’s a frantic, obnoxious horn honking right now. Well, that’s something I won’t miss about San Francisco! In Oakland in Topeka, there’s typically dead silence after ten pm. But if I lived in San Francisco, I’d preferably live in the Haight, not this downtown area.

I spent my last day at the Asian Art Museum. I went through the three special exhibits on the main floor, starting with “A Curious Affair”—the one about east and west meeting and interpreting each other’s cultures, which is a highly entertaining topic, sometimes comical. It’s certainly something I’ve noticed from the western side—Chinoiserie, for instance.

I got through the special exhibits faster than I expected and then it was just after 1 pm and I went to the café one last time and had my favorites, vegetable curry and Thai iced tea; but this time I didn’t grab a dessert/ snack, and my total was only $10 something. I read more of In Praise of Tara at a leisurely pace. (I’m starting to think that maybe I should read something lighter at the airport, but of course my suitcase is packed—very packed.)

After lunch, I went to the second floor to a couple sections I hadn’t really gotten to yet. First, there was one Japanese gallery I had somehow missed: it has a lovely and fully functional tea house, but it’s in a display cabinet (a big one, of course) like everything else, rather than in a garden (let alone on an island, like at the Missouri Botanical Gardens). There are also lots of 20th – 21st century Japanese baskets, from a collection of over 800 that a patron donated to the museum in 2002.

Then I went to the other end of the 2nd floor and looked slowly over a couple cabinets near the elevator that were full of Chinese goodies. Since shortly after I got to the museum, I had started jotting down notes on what I think is an important topic for understanding Chinese art: the symbols that appear throughout Chinese art. For instance, cranes represent longevity, and fungus (mushrooms) represent immortality. Just outside the entrance to “A Curious Affair” two very tall cloisonné cranes, probably at least six feet tall, hold fungus in their mouths, and at the very top is a spike for a tall candle. (They were made in China for a wealthy European.)

On the second floor, across the hall from a display cabinet of a variety of Chinese items, is a series of plaques on the wall describing the various meanings of particular imagery. So I plopped down on the floor and started writing this info in my sketchbook. However, a woman who worked at the museum came along and gave me a photocopy of all the exact same info, complete with the illustrations! We had a little conversation, including how in the fall there will be a special exhibit on this topic and it’ll be in the member magazine too. So in short, that’s something I didn’t have to copy down.

It was fun consulting the list and looking at the stuff in the display—there was pottery, snuff boxes, jade sculptures, embroidered things such as hair ornaments, etc, all with symbolic imagery. The other display cabinet that I hadn’t looked over carefully yet was about popular religion in China, how they combined Buddhism with Daoism, etc, and I took some note son a goddess who was originally Taoist but who also took on Buddhist elements. The display had two versions of her, one as a three-dimensional white porcelain figure with 16 arms, the other as an almost flat gilt picture with 8 arms and with male Taoist deities hovering around her.

It was 3:30 when I finished looking at this display, so I decided to go up to the third floor (my favorite floor) and spent time with Buddha sculptures I had previously visited. While doing this, I drew a small bronze Cambodian Buddha (standing about a foot tall—and I think this drawing turned out well), a seated bronze Siamese Buddha, and a big—like life-size—standing Quanyin.

On the way back to my hotel room, I stopped at the Disney store (I’ve passed it every day in the past two weeks). I don’t admire their business practices, namely exploiting Chinese women in sweatshops, but I have to admit that I do like some of their films. After walking uphill on pavement, the carpeting felt good on my feet (though not as good as the bath I took later), although it certainly wasn’t quieter than the street. There were lots and lots of people—I guess they get many customers during rush hour. I looked at toy animals and at action figures, but there was nothing Tim Burton related—Corpse Bride action figures were what I had in mind. This store was more kid-oriented than that (although it has Pirates of the Caribbean action figures) and might not have had Corpse Bride stuff even when it was in movie theaters.

Since then, I’ve been back to my room, and I’m packed and I’ve taken a bath. I went downstairs and used the computer—not only to send off an e-mail but particularly to check the flight—I got the terminal and gate numbers and looked at a map of the airport. I’ll probably e using the air bus again.

I’ll be getting up at 7 am. Just to be safe. I figure that I’ll be moving really slowly down Powell Street, due to my heavy suitcase full of books, and then I’ll have to wait for the subway, and then I have to get on an air train… Before I get my suitcase checked in and my ticket printed out, and at last I’ll be at the correct terminal. Once I’m there, I won’t be nervous (of course, there’s also KC airport to deal with—particularly taking the shuttle to the parking lot and finding my car).

Fisherman's Wharf and Alcatraz

I dreamed about Janis Joplin and hippies all night long. But then that last dream I was just having was creepy---I think it was about conformity and oppression. There were all these women wearing grayish-blue dresses somewhat reminiscent of the 1950s, and their faces were covered with veils that matched the dresses, and the back and sides of their heads were covered with these somewhat fitted hoods so there was no hair showing and not a hint of individuality. They were walking outdoors as a group, about four rows of them (maybe six) and there were four or five of them in each row. The garbage truck woke me up as usual—probably a good thing. (Actually, there was a very loud ambulance siren at like 4 am.) I don’t think the streets are ever quiet here.

“Are you a princess?” he asked.
She said, “You can call me a princess, but I’m much more than a princess. This world hasn’t invented a word for it yet.”
(That was on a colorful, whimsical plaque inside a wonderful boutique that was closed on Sunday, when I was on the way to the theater to buy my Love, Janis ticket. The store sold lots of wonderful and whimsical art. A wall was covered with clocks in the shape of dogs’ heads with tongues hanging out as pendulums. Small clay sculptures looked like American folk art dolls or figures out of folk art paintings (early 19th century). I saw a clay mermaid almost identical to the one I bought at the Booktique (the Topeka Public Library’s used bookstore) and also several of the metal sculptures like the one I got there, which was surprising since I assumed the artist was local in Kansas.

I took the cable car to Fisherman’s Wharf, where I finally sat in the front part, where you sit on a bench facing outwards, and you’re actually outdoors, and the people who are hanging out are hanging out right in front of you. It was a bit scary, although we were packed together tightly enough that I didn’t really need to worry about falling out. The view was fabulous—at one point, we stopped on a hill and I looked down and could see Coit Tower and the ocean. You don’t need to twist around like in the back area.

I bought a ticket to Alcatraz, then I watched the sea lions for a while—there were only two, but one came close up and scratched itself with a flipper. It was cold and windy, and I found not only a juggler on the stage but also a booth that sold hot apple cider. I stood drinking while watching the juggler (a college student and a volunteer), and he even juggled flaming torches. At the end, he made as if he were about to swallow flames from one of the torches, then stopped and said, “Just kidding!”

I afterwards went to the big Boudin Bakery and had a tomato, basil, and garlic pizza for lunch and also cranberry juice. Inside, there are baskets of bread circulating overhead, suspended from tracks. Outside, by the tables, there are tall poles that give off heat, and I sat very near one. Lots of pigeons and a few other birds scrounged around, and I saved a couple of pieces of crust, broke them into little pieces, and fed them to the pigeons. They were delighted.

Next I headed back toward Hyde Street, where the cable car stop is, and went through a garden/park beyond the cable car—admired the flowers—as I headed up the hill toward Ghiradelli Square, the castle-like chocolate factory that sits up on a hill and overlooks the ocean. It’s now more shopping center than factory, although the ice cream parlor does have the antique chocolate-making machines on display and still in working order, churning liquid chocolate. Swirling chocolate syrup. No Willy Wonka in a velvet frockcoat, however. Anyway, Ghiradelli Square has a courtyard containing a fountain with mermaids and lots of frogs and some turtles. I should perhaps clarify that they are all metal sculptures.

Then just beyond that is the chocolate store, where someone hands you a chocolate as you come through the door. Ummm—dark chocolate with caramel, and fortunately the caramel was melted. I went through the store and got myself a cylindrical container of hot chocolate mix (hazelnut) and got a local aunt a trunk-shaped box filled with a variety of chocolates.

(It occurred to me that I had no trouble finding stuff for some friends who they like Asian stuff, but I decided to get something for this aunt so she doesn’t feel left out—I rather suspect that she’d be resentful. After I got back from Ireland, she was resentful that I had supposedly not invited her on the trip, and I reminded her that I did indeed invite her on the trip--not because I wanted her to verbally abuse me in Ireland and thereby ruin my vacation, but because I knew she'd like to go to Ireland and would be offended if I didn't invite her. She clearly hasn't figured out that I go on vacation to get away from her.)

Next I went into the ice cream parlor next door and had a hot chocolate fudge sundae with lots of whipped cream, nuts, and a maraschino cherry on top. Yum. (It wasn’t until after I ordered it that I remembered I swore off chocolate, and it wasn’t until much later that I remembered that I’ve apparently become lactose intolerant, but fortunately I didn’t get sick this time.) And I looked at the huge antique chocolate-making machines.

I had time to wander through some art galleries. There was one that actually had lots of wood block pictures by Salvador Dali, another that had a few sketches by Whistler and two by Renoir, and I went to at least one other gallery. Oh, yes, stuff by Dr. Seuss! Not only pictures, but also weird animal head trophies sticking out of the wall. Imaginary animals, not moose. And there was a delightful sculpture of a fish walking in boots and holding up a parasol. I went to a store that was selling Hopi stuff including Katsina dolls, and somehow I refrained from buying any. Same goes for a store selling Russian nesting dolls. I guess it’s because I’ve been satiated with shopping on this trip.

One more visit to the sea lions followed by waiting in line for the Blue and Gold Fleet Ferry to Alcatraz. Really, the best things about Alcatraz are the ferry ride (I sat outside and near a railing), the view, and the seagulls. On the island, whenever I looked over a railing, I saw baby seagulls. They’re grey and fluffy, and they have black spots on their heads. They also make very high-pitched chirps. One cocked its head, looked up at me, and let out a series of little chirps. That was the highlight of my visit.

Otherwise, it was dismal and gave off oppressive vibes. I got particularly bad vibes when I stepped inside a dark solitary confinement cell—I quickly got back out and breathed deeply.

Janis Joplin and San Francisco

This was one of those I’m-not-sure-what-I’m-doing-today sort of mornings, since I totally ditched my itinerary. I had originally planned the San Francisco Shambhala Center in the morning and an African-American history museum in the afternoon. However, I didn’t feel like having any more bus experiences this weekend. I prefer walking. And considering how much trouble I had getting to the Zen Center on time, there’s no way I’d be way out at the Shambhala Center by 9 am—it’s at least as far from downtown as San Francisco State University. Also, I wanted to get to Chinatown one last time and get 1) more mooncakes and 2) another Japanese doll. I also thought I might finally get to the Chinese Cultural Museum while I was there.

I first went to Union Square to check it out. I’ve been walking past it every day and only get glimpses of the center. It turned out to be less than interesting—I think there ware sometimes art shows there, and that would have been cool, but it wasn’t yet 10 am on a Sunday morning when I got there. I saw a couple of little shops, including a café in front of which people sat (presumably for a late breakfast or just coffee). The column in the center, it turned out, commemorates the barbaric and oppressive behavior of some military type named Dewey, during the Spanish-American War. John Dewey, as in the Dewey decimal system, was a pacifist. There were beautiful plants—particularly big purple flowers—around the edges, but I wanted most of the concrete to be jack hammered and replaced with more plant life. So I walked through Union Square and up to Chinatown.

In Chinatown, I didn’t stop in stores as much, since of course I’d already been there and knew that a lot of it gets repetitive. I did, however, get not only the Japanese doll I was seriously thinking of getting (an old grey-haired man in pale silk, and he looked quite old), but also a small and whimsical girl doll. A major theme on this shopping spree was cats, cats, cats! I picked up lots of cats, but not any that need to be fed.

At one place, there was a cage crowded with about a half dozen beautiful pure white doves—the cage was up on top of something else, in front of the store. I stood and looked at the birds, and they looked back at me as if to say, “Let us out!” The other things this store sold were dead, skinned birds. Um, it’s time to change the subject.

The AIDS walk was going on, so there was a lot of honking, shouting, and singing off and on throughout the day.

I didn’t find the museum, but the travel books that I checked out from the library date to before 2000, so it could have moved. Or I could have, who knows, walked right past it. That’s when I decided to go have lunch—after I walked up Broadway and didn’t see the museum.

I have undergone the dim sum experience. I much prefer stir fry and spring rolls, but I kind of thought I had to try it while in San Francisco. It was a bad sign when I got up the stairs (it was above a store) and the place was noisy and crowded. They set up a small table so it only had one chair, and as I sat down, I saw a roach or beetle scurry up the wall, and it wasn’t Ringo or George. I expected the dumplings to be firm—something like bean buns—but they have an outer wrap that is like transparent rice noodles, and when you try to pick a dumpling up with chopsticks, they squeeze the dumpling and it even pops open, oozing out onions, garlic, and mushroom. So I picked up the bamboo container, even though it was hot, and dumped the dumplings onto my plate. Maybe that’s why they’re called dumplings. The tea was OK, and I drank a whole pot myself.

I got back to the hotel really early this time—3 pm. That’s after I found the Marines Memorial Theater and bought a ticket for the musical Love, Janis. At the hotel, I took a bath and a nap before going to the theater.

The play was marvelous! One actress playing Janis spoke the letters and the interviews, and the other sang songs in between—and she was quite a Janis Joplin impersonator. The band was on the stage all the time, upstage. I’m thinking I’ve got some groovy ideas for clothing and jewelry.

Janis Joplin died about a month after I was born. According to Tibetan Buddhism...and Doctor Who... two incarnations of the same person can have overlapping lives. A bit off the topic—I think just about everyone else in the audience was old enough to remember Janis Joplin. I was definitely the youngest person in the audience.

Another Visit to Haight-Ashbury

I got up at 7 am and tried to be quick, but it was 8 am by the time I left the breakfast room. I went down Powell and couldn’t remember which bus stop I stood at last weekend; was it the one in the middle of the street, where there’s a railing for street cars? (This seems to be an easy mistake to make in San Francisco—I had sort of the same question last night, after the play.) So it was at least 8:45 by the time I got on the bus, and I was thinking, “So much for getting to the Basic Meditation class on time!”

After I got off the bus, it didn’t take me long to get to the Zen Center. So last Saturday I was late because I got lost after getting off the bus, and this morning I was late to get on the bus. But this time I went up the steps and into the lobby after all. I told the receptionist (or whatever I should call her) that I came for the basic meditation class but was relying on public transportation and unfortunately arrived too late. She explained that they were downstairs and getting preliminary instructions and that I could go into the hall when they came back up. I went with that idea, and in the meantime I went into a little courtyard garden.

The building is very pretty and Victorian inside, with large arched windows, tall ceilings and fun detail. I think some French doors too. In the courtyard, there’s a water fountain in the center that appears to be carved as a Triple Goddess and that contains lilies and tiny goldfish. There are benches, Buddhas, plants and flowers of quite a variety around the outside of the path that circles the fountain. Opposite the doors is a gallery with arched windows, and on the other walls are other arched windows looking into rooms (and I could see a classroom with lots of people seated on cushions and meditating). It’d be nice to have a house with this feature—I mean the inner courtyard.

When I spotted the people coming upstairs, I was feeling very timid about approaching them and hesitated a little. The instructor was just about to close the door behind them all, when at last I caught her eye, mentioned that I was late due to the bus, and asked if I could join in. She said yes and asked me to close the door behind me, so I took off my shoes (lots of shoes were lined up outside the door) and went in. The basic course was more instruction and explanation and questions and answers than meditating, which I kind of think we did for about ten minutes, but I got a lot out of it—particularly posture. Also, it turns out that zazen is done with the eyes open typically (like dzogchen in Tibetan practice), but someone asked if it’s OK to have your eyes closed and the instructor said, “Definitely.” It’s mainly to prevent falling asleep. Someone pointed out that it seems like your thoughts are less likely to wander if your eyes are open, and I think she had a point.

After the class, there was a lecture in the same room, and at some point I thought, “Dude, this is like organized religion,” while people were silently coming into the room and sitting down. I'm generally wary of organized religion. Most placed their hands together in prayer position and bowed to their cushion and then turned and did the same facing the front of the hall before sitting down. The room got crowded.

An older black man delivered the lecture; he wore festive bright yellow robes with metallic gold threads—maybe he was the abbot or whatever, because the others wore sober black robes and in some cases just navy blue aprons (basically, they were dressed like Genjo Sanzo in the anime series Saiyuki, except he wore white robes and had sutras draped over his shoulders). The lecture topic was spiritual teachers, how it’s important to have at least one (he has ten) helping you along the path. And he talked about helping out lots of displaced Southeast Asians in, like, 1979. They lost home, family, etc, and there were lots of suicides—it was like what we’ve more recently seen in Louisiana, with Katrina victims.

I got on Haight Street and at about noon spotted a Thai restaurant, where I had a yummy lunch (and a tall glass of ice water) for $5.75 plus a $1 tip. That’s my kind of price. I also started reading In Praise of Tara, a book I picked up at the Zen Center's bookstore.

After lunch, I went to Buena Vista Park and found a spot on a short stone wall and under the trees, to sit down and read. That’s after I nearly sat directly across from a homeless person sleeping in the bushes. They sleep during the day because the signs say not to sleep in the park at night. I communed with the scent of pine, with a very well-behaved bulldog that came up and sniffed me, squirrels, and loud-mouthed crows. After about one and a half hours, I got up and headed along the path and further down Haight. I was remembering a beautiful Tara amulet that I saw at the Tibetan Style store, but before I got there, I stopped at Dreams of Kathmandu to see if they had it, because the books were sort of heavy and it was a shorter walk. Besides, it looked like an interesting store.

It turned out to be a wonderful store full of beautiful things—masks, embroidered bags, Buddhas and Ganeshas, pendants and rings. They did have the pendant, but it was $124! Eek. I said I’d have to pass, but I was very gracious about it. So I headed up the street again. I looked around at the interesting crowd—there were quite a few punkers and hippies. The sidewalks were full of people, and there were lots of interesting, colorful stores.

I did indeed get back to Tibetan Style (that’s the name of the store) and there were lots of customers there and a different assortment of clothing. There were dark wool shirts or jackets instead of the light cotton ones that had been on sale a week ago. . I didn’t experience the same special and tranquil atmosphere I had on the first visit, because of the crowd. I noticed that some of the customers were looking at things that weren’t Tibetan, such as toe rings, and someone made a comment that there was a lot of gaudy stuff. Well, not everyone likes turquoise, coral, and silver, but it’s a very Tibetan style, and I like it. I bought a much less expensive amulet—it was $39 and is silver, coral, and turquoise.

I stopped walking when I got to a bus shelter that listed Route 71, which I know goes downtown. The bus I climbed onto was definitely the most crowded I’d ever seen—it was a challenge to even get behind the yellow line to stand, but a nice woman in the front held my book bags in her lap, till she got off at Van Ness Station and I took her seat and held the books and purse in my lap up Market Street.

More Theater and Art in San Francisco

I went back to the Asian Art Museum (in spite of my itinerary) because that’s what I felt like doing. I not only got through the Indian and Perisian galleries as planned, but I also got to the Korean stuff I missed before and to most of the Chinese stuff on the second floor. And I went to the museum shop and finally got a book on Siamese art. I went out when the museum was about to close.

From there I walked to Van Ness Avenue, and I got my ticket to see Valhalla—a hysterically funny and campy play with two related storylines, one of them about King Ludwig II of Bavaria, and the other about a gay guy from Texas. Actually, it was about truth, beauty, and dreams, and about being yourself. Ludwig would have been appalled, certainly not because of the above themes, but because he was extremely ashamed and neurotic about being homosexual, and the play was very open about it (and also made him very open about it). Also, the play portrayed Sophie as hunchbacked, which struck me as odd—I’ve seen photos of Ludwig and her, and they both were beautiful, and I certainly didn’t see any hump. It would have been mentioned in the biographies, I’m sure. I think the real reasons nobody wanted to marry her were: the way her mom peddled her for suitors all over Europe, Sophie was a notorious flirt, and her mom was probably too pushy about marrying her off and ironically discouraged suitors. A hump was an obvious physical flaw, which may be why the play did it—simplifies things.

Communication Skills in San Francisco

While I walked to the Asian Art Museum yesterday morning, a dirty old man said something like, Miss, you have a fine chest.” I kept looking forward and walking at the same pace, as if I hadn’t heard, but I said quietly, “Get castrated, asshole.” Not exactly nonviolent communication, but at least I didn't say it audibly. I was wearing cargo pants and a very loose, long-sleeved navy blue T-shirt while carrying my purse and raincoat. Not exactly an outfit calculated to attract harassment.

I also made the mistake of going up the side steps when I reached the museum—thinking that would discourage more situations. Instead, there was a group of people sitting against the side of the building and smoking pot. Not wanting to look scared or inquisitive, I walked right past them. Fortunately, they didn’t say anything. I’ll stick to the sidewalk!

On a totally different subject…. I didn’t write down how, yesterday, I saw another Tibetan monk! I was in the Chinese galleries—Tang Dynasty critter pottery—and out of the corner of my eye I saw a flash of moving red—and there was this tall monk in blood red with a yellow bodice. That was exciting. They wear such pretty clothing. And they even match the exhibit.

In the evening, I took a bus to San Francisco State University to attend a rather timely seminar.

Nonviolent Communication Introductory Seminar
Based on the writings of Marshall Rosenberg (book called Nonviolent Communication)

Needs
1) All beings have the same needs
2) Every action a human makes is an attempt to meet a universal need.
Connection that you care about my needs/both people getting what they want or at the very least aware that they’re concerned about each other’s needs. “I’m sorry,” suggests you did something wrong—you are meeting a need.
3) Self-responsibility—hope that nothing outside of me causes my feelings (didn’t cause anger, etc)
How you make meaning of something—(reaction is “I’m in pain” not “This person is a jerk.”)

Empathy, listen nonviolently—listening to someone else’s needs and feelings
When to speak, when not to speak
What this person was thinking, feeling—guess or ask (either is fine)

NVC question:
Were you feeling ____ because you needed ______?

Connecting with your heart instead of expressing the same judgment as they’ve expressed.

NVC

Empathy / Connection
---------------------------
Empathy / Honesty

(Honesty—my observation of what happened)

Nonblaming, nonjudgmental = make a connection

Clear observation rather than judgment. Request, not demand. When you’re saying no, you’re saying yes to something else.