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The Way I Am Writing Friday evenings are not good evenings to write a journal. There's a certain "I'm one long week tired, looking forward to the weekend let's watch a movie and drink beer" reality that keeps me away from the keyboard. I picked up a roll of film today that I've been shooting over the last ten. Not much on it. The banner photograph was taken outside my doctor's office, for example, and although the flowering tree is quite beautiful, the flowers are pointed up toward the light (where else) and all I got (so to speak) were the backs of their heads. Today was sunny and clear. If even half this weather carries into the weekend, I'm going to take BART to San Francisco and shoot some film on Fisherman's Wharf. I haven't been there in ten years and I'm curious. Maybe have a decent dinner. When's the last time I had a decent dinner? When's the last time I cared?
Another thought is to drive over and shoot some film in my old
I've been drinking a Scotch whiskey as I write this named
Glenmorangie. Single malt Scotch whiskies have become a big deal
Saturday morning: I just finished reading some of my earlier journal entries. What do you do when you don't like your own writing? When it reminds you of some prissy asshole trying to be clever? I don't know. I'm not going to stop, but I do not like the way I am writing. |
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neighborhood at the base of Potrero Hill out toward China Basin. It
was deserted on a Saturday or Sunday when I lived there 20 years
ago, but this is the area in which they plan to build the new baseball
stadium and housing, I've been told, is outrageously expensive. Well,
we'll see. I need to do something. San Francisco, Napa, I need to get
out of here and go somewhere with my camera. Maybe shoot some things
in the evening.
and I've read about them. Chris had a number of bottles in
a glass fronted case against his bedroom wall at the Cliq cooperative
when I had dinner with him some weeks ago and