Just Like, The Movies.

Living through this election, at times, feels like I'm an extra in one of those cut-away scenes from period films; the ones that have nothing to do with the plot, but solely exist just to set the scene or remind the viewer what era the movie is taking place in.

You know, like how in a lot of movies set in the 1960s there's often a scene where in the background someone is watching the moon-landing on their black and white TV.

Tonight definitely felt that way as I walked down 24th Street in Noe Valley on my way home from running some errands. First of all, Noe Valley is, as always, so Americana-rific and seasonal with all its cute stores cutely decorated for Halloween - a director would love it because even in San Francisco when Fall is just Summer Part II, you'd know for sure that Halloween was approaching. (side note: I love that about Noe Valley - I can always count on the storefronts to tell me what season it is, cause San Francisco's unpredictable weather sure as hell won't.)

But today, what especially made the neighborhood feel like a movie set was the third presidential debate being shown on nearly every TV screen I could see. As I peered inside each restaurant and bar I saw little vignettes of a unique moment in American history, that, if I were to take a video of, could easily end up as one of those framing scenes from a period film on 2008 twenty years from now.

At Toast, our local chic retro-diner, every person in the restaurant, young and old, from those sitting at the tables to those lined up on the counter, had their eyes focused on the diner's flat screen TV watching the debate. At the Irish bar down the street a crowd had literally gathered on the sidewalk to peer inside to watch the debate from the tv screens that faced the patio. (the last time I saw a scene like that was in Madeira during a Portuguese soccer game). I actually stopped here myself for a few seconds - just to make sure the crowd had not gathered due to something drastic occurring. Even the local dive bar, Noe's, had the debate playing on most TVs, although the others were tuned to their normal spots on ESPN or Fox Sports.

The whole walk reminded me of the night I flew back from DC during Obama's acceptance speech at the DNC. Nearly every person in that plane had their TV tuned into the speech, and then when we landed in Oakland almost everyone ran with their suitcases from the plane and into the small bar to watch the rest of the speech - standing room only.

I didn't really want to watch this last debate - but the excitement of seeing so many people watching it on my brief walk from Castro Street to Chattanooga made me immediately turn on the TV when I got home.

It's not often that it's so very obvious that we're living in a truly special historic moment. Barack Obama's run for the Presidency has provided a number of those moments, and if momentum keeps swinging his direction, the best is yet to come.

I hope when it's all over on November 4, all this build-up will have led us to a truly epic moment in American history - the day that our country elects Barack Obama as President.

That day can't come soon enough.

Dear Muni, you're a hot tranny mess.

Photo courtesy of Flickr

Muni, you suck.

Simple as that.

Nary a day goes by you're not late, or you don't get stuck for 5 minutes, or "traffic" in the Central Subway (huh? traffic underground?) or a "signal problem" causes your over-crowded cars with either broken ACs or broken doors (remember that time you had us all trapped on Church Street for 10 minutes because the freakin' DOORS couldn't open?! Remember?!) to slowly, slowly, slowly inch their way toward the light at the end of the tunnel.

But sometimes, Muni, sometime your so f*cked up you actually work.

Case in point.

Tuesday, walking to Van Ness Station, I descend underground to the dreaded sound of a female Muni agent over the public address system;

::Attention Muni Patrons::

(this is RARELY good when you hear this...)

::The delay at West Portal has been cleared, outbound service is operating again::

(phew!)

But of course, the delay means madness downstairs. Dozens of people anxiously awaiting the long-delayed outbound J K L M or N train to whisk...no...not whisk, trudge, them home.

I get down there and look up at the Next Muni electronic display.

Next J-train, 5 minutes.

"Not bad!" I think, but I'm skeptical as any savy Muni patron should be.

Sure enough a minute goes by and that 5 minutes devolves into 8 minutes. Not a good sign.

But then, to my confusion, the automated announcer says that a J is "approaching." Hmmm.

So, I do what I've learned to do, and decide to hop on whatever train comes and then take it as close to Noe Valley as possible - then bus or walk from there.

While the electronic signs at the station flash "J-train approaching" a clearly marked K train pulls into the station.

As I step into the crowded, hot, smelly car, the conductor says on the loud speaker,

::Attention, this is NOT a J-train, it is a K-train! I repeat. This is NOT a J-train::

"Oh well, I think." While some of the K-train passengers snicker at the conductors stern voice and need to explain something which seems so obvious from all the K-train signs glowing on the vehicle.

We slowly pull out of the station and creep through the tunnel going about an inch every minute. The train then grinds to a standstill. Minutes go by. The overweight teenage guy sitting near where I'm standing begins to sweat, fidget and audibly groan. The four year old girl standing nearby with her severely 80's banged mom looks at him with concern. I hit my head against the window and close my eyes.

::Attention, I've just been informed by Central Control that this train will be transferring onto the J-line route. I repeat, this train is now a J."

The entire over-crowded formerly K-train groans in unison. As the newly christened J-train leaves the tunnel (K trains don't do this until much later along the route) the non-English speaking passengers slowly realize that something has gone terribly amiss. Elderly Chinese women in front of me desperately try to communicate with the Russian women sitting near them to figure out why their Ingleside-bound train is suddenly veering toward Noe Valley. Everyone else begins to shuffle and gather their belongings as we approach the intersection of Church and Market so that they can all get off the train and head back into the Church Street Subway station to begin their Muni Adventure - Part II.

All the angry K-train people hop off and make a beeline toward Market Street, leaving behind about 10 pleasantly surprised undercover J-trainers, myself included.

I meanwhile, take a seat, roll my eyes, and smile; thinking about the old theory that given a million monkeys with a million typewriters, one of them would eventually type up a Shakespearean play. That's you, Muni. You freakin hot mess. You tease. Magically turning K's into J's, and letting the wrong train take me the right way home.

Is there some kind of life lesson in all this? Maybe.

Maybe this was Muni's way of giving back from all the time it's taken away.

Maybe this was Muni Karma.

Nah.

Hey Muni, your Mom called.

Dear Mom.

I don't know whether to feel embarrassed or honored that you keep sending my grandpa-related blog posts to the entire freakin' family via e-mail. I guess I feel both. Don't worry, I'm not "mad at you" you silly mom, you. ;-)

Months have sped by, but he's still very much on my mind. That said, I guess it's time to dust off the old keyboard and start chronicling more of the living that's been going on in my life.

I'm going to miss...

...the funny faces he'd always make at me.

...how he'd try to playfully punch me in the stomach, or pinch my ear or just in general try to bug me whenever I was walking by him.

...honking his big brown nose and punching him in the stomach as payback for above.

...him asking me, "Do you want a soda, there's some outside in the fridge."

...the following conversation that happened sooo many times:
---------------------------
I walk into his house from next door, see him sitting on his recliner watching TV.

"Ah Nicolas! Here, come here."

"Ya, what's up?"

"Do you like (insert snack-food name here)? Come and try one, they're very good!" (usually a sugar-less something another, or mixed nuts)

"No thanks grandpa, I'm full."

"I didn't ask if you were full, I asked if you wanted some (blank)!"

"Ok, okay. Mmmm, it's very good."

"See? If you want more the box is right here."

"Thanks grandpa."
-------------------------------
...or this frequent conversation:

Running into his house from my house:

"Hi Nick, come here and sit down"

"Can't Grandpa! My dad/Chris/My mom is using our bathroom and I need to use yours!"

"Okay, but that will be 50 cents."

------------------------------------

...how he called my brother "Chupili"

...hearing him sing along to mariachi songs.

...hearing him sing his own fake-Spanish version of Happy Birthday at family parties. "Abre Berday toooo you!" I thought that was the real Spanish way of singing it for such a long time...hehe.

...hearing him call my grandma "Hun" even if the "Hun" was preceded by a frustrated "Aye!"

...how when talking to me, he always mistakenly referred to my grandma as "your mother."

...the way he said my mom's name, not Gloria, but GlorRr-e-ah." Or calling her "Glorie."

...looking out the living room window, seeing his head poking out from above the hedge, and wondering why he was coming over and what he wanted.

...all the times he came over to ask if I wanted to get lunch. I wish I went a few more times. I just don't like Mexican food that much! "How can you not like Mexican food, you Portagee!" He used to tease.

...seeing him sitting there in the patio waving at us as we left or came home from somewhere. Even if it was annoying cause it felt like he was our warden.

...our drives up in the hills, or to Half Moon Bay, or Santa Cruz, or to anywhere really and how much he appreciated anytime we spent with him. How he'd talk about those trips for weeks after, god, I'm really going to miss that most of anything.

...telling him about how I'm doing in San Francisco and what I'm working on.

...his big toothy grin.

...seeing him walking around his garden or asking me if I'd seen whatever happened to be blooming yet.

...watching him play with my baby cousins, knowing they won't get know him as I was able to, but glad they got to know him at all.

...hearing all the stories he had inside of him that he loved to tell.

...his short but thoughtful Thanksgiving dinner blessings.

...showing him the Christmas lights I'd put up on his house.

...wishing him a Happy Veteran's Day and reminding him that Memorial Day wasn't his holiday. You get both now, grandpa.

...being greeted by a big hug and "Oh, Nicholas! I didn't know you were here! It's sooo good to see you. Here, sit down, do you want a soda?" whenever I walked into his house after being away for a bit.

...saying goodnight to him everytime I left Mountain View. ....hearing him tell me, before I left for Berkeley, then San Francisco, even when he was ill in bed.

"Well, if you need anything, just holler."

Talking Walls

I wrote these posts in the early morning of July 12, the day after my grandpa died. It's August now, weeks have sped by, life moves along. But every morning I get up, my first thought is often about my grandpa. Reminding myself that he's not there in Mountain View waiting for me.

I miss him so much.

I wasn't going to share these entries. They're really raw. But, here they are. They're memories worth keeping.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
His room is empty now.

The hospice bed is gone, his favorite mariachi CD that played till the end turned off. The fighting fish my cousin Marisa brought him is out in the living room. Photo frames and treasured keepsakes kept near him in his last days are making their way back to their old spots in the house. His clothes hang in the closet.

A room has never felt so empty and full at the same time to me. Memories fill the space. I'll never forget that night. The walls still reverberate with the voices of my family.

"Hon? Hon, can you hear me?"
"Can you hear me hon!?" she sobbed.

"Hon, I love you." Her accent thickened as she cried. "Don't leave me."

My aunt turned toward her. "Mom, you need to tell him it's okay to go. He needs to hear that."

My Aunt gently repeated her plea to my grandma. She cried and paused, "I can't say that."

"Then just keep talking to him, he can hear you, and tell him you love him...

Dad, we're all here with you. We love you. We want you to know you can go now. We're ready to let you go."

My grandma put her head down on to his chest.

"Hon, I love you! Thank you.. so much for everything!"

She began to sob again, "Hon, don't leave me!"

"Mom, mom, we have to let him go."

I moved toward her, put one hand on her and reached out with the other to hold his hand. "Grandpa, this is Nick... I... didn't leave, I'm still here with you. We're all here with you, together, and we'll be here as long as you need us to be...but we want you to know, whenever you are ready to go, we'll be here with you and you'll always be with us."

We can't quite say for sure when his final moment of life was. His breath became very shallow with long seconds in-between. At one point, we thought he had passed, and just when it seemed like everyone was about to break down at once, he took another breath and our would-be-sobs all came out as laughter. His last joke on us.

My grandma composed herself and with the help of my aunt, began to lead us in prayers, including some in Spanish, with a voice so strong, proud, and full of love. His breathes became so shallow, they were no longer noticeable. His heart slowly stopped beating, his pulse slowly faded, and with no struggle his spirit left his body.

As it happened, the mariachi CD began to play El Nino Perdido, a beautiful, haunting instrumental that I last heard on his birthday played by the mariachi band that came to his garden window. That song will forever bring tears to my eyes now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I said my goodbyes earlier in the afternoon. I was packed and ready to join the guys down in San Diego for Matt's bachelor party. The decision on whether to stay or leave was killing me, and I was leaving it until the last minute.

My mom was getting her hair done. My dad was at work. I was waiting for him to come home to take me to SFO. I walked into my grandpa's room. He was no longer opening his eyes or responding to anyone, but we assumed he could still hear us. An assortment of relatives surrounded him.

My cousin Lisa saw me and asked if I wanted some time with him alone. I said yes, but as everyone was leaving, I asked her to stay.

We both took a spot on either side of his bed. I put my hand on his.

"Grandpa, this is Nick."

"I'm...leaving in a bit." "But I'll be back in 36 hours. On Sunday. Today is Friday...."

I kept choking up. Each sentence was a struggle to get out...

"I hope you're still here when I get back, but I just want to say to you, how much I love you, how thankful I am to have you as my grandpa, how proud I am to be your grandson.

"You're one of the most important role models I'll ever have, you taught me what it means to be a good man, and you'll always be with me.

I love you.


Thank you."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I didn't want to see them take the body out of the house. But I knew we all needed to be there for each other, for my grandma. I knelt down beside her as she sat in her chair. My grandpa's chair was moved away to make room for the men from the mortuary to take his body out of the house and through his garden for the last time.

She turned and saw the outline of his body beneath the velvet cloth and began to sob. "Oh no....I don't know how I'm going to live without him."

The aunts and uncles had all followed outside into the garden. For a moment, it felt like just me and my grandma. I held her hand tight and comforted her as best I could, and suddenly found myself surrounded by a tight circle of my cousins as they each placed a hand on my grandma.

I tried to calm her down, "Grandma, it's so hard, I know. It is for each of us. But he's still here, with you. He's inside each of us, he'll always be with us and will never leave us." She managed to smile, "I know, I know." and "but it's so hard." "Yes, yes, it is, it's very hard, but we're here for you, you won't ever be alone."

I looked up at the faces of my cousins surrounding me, and hoped what I was saying was bringing some comfort to all of us. Having them there was definitely helping me. I was trying to comfort her, but I was trying to calm myself too.

I slowly backed away once someone else took the lead in comforting her, and collapsed into my cousin Alicia's arms and broke down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Back to the present.

I realize now that seeing such a long and full life come to its end, at least in the way my grandpa passed, was in so many ways, a beautiful experience. Unbelievably sad, but every moment was filled with so much respect and compassion that it really felt like love transcended, overwhelmed, and redefined death.

When I look back on those days and weeks, they give me hope. Despite all the tears and sadness, they showed me how even at its end, in the darkest hours, life can be an amazing gift if it's filled with love. All the songs and words you hear about loss - about a person never truly leaving you if you carry them in your heart. You know, Celine Dion mushy stuff. They always sound cliche, I always wondered if they would ring true once I experienced loss first hand.

They do. At least for my grandpa. He will always stand as an example of a life well lived and he lives on in me and in everyone else who's life he touched.

Rest in peace Grandpa. Thank you for everything.

"Love is Watching Someone Die"

I walked into my grandpa's room where he was sound asleep - likely exhausted from the parade of friends, relatives, and neighbors who came to say hello today, his 84th birthday.

His last birthday.

I found my grandma there alone, sitting next to him. Her face was turned away from me, but I could hear she was quietly crying, trying in vain to get him to wake up, grasping at hands that would not hold hers in return.

I approached her and the bed railing, to say goodbye to my grandpa before heading back to San Francisco. My grandma tried to get my grandpa to wake up.

"Hon, Nicolas is here."

She pleaded, "Hon, can you hear me? Nicolas is here and he wants to say goodbye."

I also grabbed his hand, squeezed it, "Grandpa, I'm leaving now, I love you very much, happy birthday."

"I rubbed my grandma's shoulder, trying to comfort her as she sniffled. "It's okay grandma, it's okay, he's sound asleep, he's had a long day."

He continued to sleep without stirring, and my grandma started to try to wake him again but I knelt down on my knees to get to her eye level and held her hands. I knew the answer but asked anyway,
"Grandma, how are you?"
"Oh, I'm okay..." tears welled up in her eyes, "...this is, this, is so..hard."
"Yes, I know, it really is..." I said,
"But you're so lucky, aren't you? To have him here, to have all these people here today"
"Oh yes, I'm very lucky."

She turned toward my grandpa, still sleeping, and said to me, "You know, I've been in love with him since I was 12..." She smiled. "But he didn't notice me till I was 18, when he came back from the war!"

I nodded and smiled back at her, getting teary eyed myself. I've heard the story of their courtship many times. Their love for eachother never ceases to inspire me.

As my grandpa's condition has worsened, she has somehow managed to fight dementia and pull herself together to be there for him. For so long she was content to just sit on her recliner wearing the same clothes for days on end. Now, every day, she puts on makeup, for him. She remembers to change her clothes and wears nice outfits, for him. She's wearing jewelry, for him. She demands to be there by his side.

Standing in that room with her, it was hard to hold back the tears.

I had already let a few loose earlier. The family's gift to my grandpa on his last birthday was truly one of the most beautiful and bittersweet moments I've witnessed. At 5:30pm, we turned my grandpa's hospice bead toward his bedroom window, overlooking the garden he once so carefully tended - a garden that at the moment is lush with beautiful blooming rose bushes he planted many years ago, pink, yellow, white, and deep red.

One by one, members of his favorite mariachi band stepped on to the garden's lawn, behind the rose bushes and, while facing his window, began to sing Las Mananitas. Behind them, my extended family had assembled themselves throughout the garden and beyond on to the sidewalk. The three youngest cousins playfully ran about the lawn while the rest of family looked toward the window with smiles and watery eyes. As the mariachis began to play, my grandpa opened his eyes, raised his hand in time with the music, and began to sing along.

My grandma sat near his side, smiling, mouthing the words to the song too, and crying.

I held a video camera - awkwardly tasked by my parents with the responsibility of recording the mariachis, but not really doing a good job of it - overwhelmed by the power of the moment and the flood of memories of all the times I'd heard my grandpa join in to a mariachi band's song.

...knowing that, this would be the last time I'd probably ever hear him sing.

Midway through their second song, I walked out of the room and into the garden to join the rest of the family. As the mariachis played on, neighbors began to notice. Some akwardly scurried by the odd scene of a maraichi band playing in some random house's front garden, with a multi-ethnic assortment of people, all facing toward a window.

One half of the young gay couple next door got out of their car, looked at our gathering, quickly rolled their trash can out, and then went into their house...the house I knew growing up as belonging to an old-time MV Latino family, the Ochoas. The neighborhood has changed quite a bit since I was a kid, and changed almost entirely since my family moved our house there in 1969. One group of power-walkers from the nearby office park looked especially confused. A spandex body-suit-wearing old man, who was what could best be described as jump-walking, led them down the street past the yard. My uncle jokingly shouted in an extra-latino-ish accent "Welcome to the neigggggh-bor-hooooood!!!" as they power walked out of hearing range toward California Street.

But other neighbors came out of their houses and gathered on the sidewalk to listen to the music. A mother and her son, out riding bikes, stopped across the street and watched from a distance. An Indian man and his American wife came from down the block, holding their newborn baby and introduced themselves to the family as they listend to the music.

A 1st-generation Mexican family from the apartment building a few doors down first gathered in their own yard to listen, but then slowly inched their way toward the street. They quietly approached my cousin to ask the reason for the band. They all left then, only to return a little later with a vase filled with beautiful freshly cut roses from their own garden carried by their oldest daughter. I don't know if they had ever even met my grandpa, but as they walked into the house to present him with their flowers, I started to cry.

It was truly a beautiful and heartbreaking moment. Overwhelming. My family's love for my grandpa had literally spilled out of the house and on to the street as the music filled our corner of Old Mountain View and drew us all together as family, friends, and neighbors.

Even though it was so bittersweet, I felt more at home in that moment than I have in few other places in my life. Surrounded by the flowering rose bushes my grandpa once cared for, the family he started with my grandma, at the house he helped build, in the neighborhood where he helped raise me.

As the hour drew to a close and the band sang its last songs, I could see though the bedroom window that my grandpa had closed his eyes, with a peaceful and content look on his face. My grandma remained by his side.
---------

Swirling in my head right now is a mixture of the mariachi music who's words I barely understand, and the simple lyrics of a death cab song I played on the way home.

"Love is watching someone die."

I don't think that's the most accurate description of love, but for today, for the moment I stood their watching my grandma trying to hold my grandpa's hand as he soundly slept, hopefully still with fresh memories of music, family, friends, and strangers who all were there to honor his birthday and life...well, today, those lyrics felt about right.

Moments of Clarity

My grandparents are nearing the end of their lives. This has been something that's been very clear with my grandma, who hasn't been very healthy for a few years now. Her short-term memory is severely compromised and she rarely leaves her recliner other than to spend long spans of time in her restroom. Nevertheless, she's still with us and her personality, sense of humor and love for her family still there. So I don't mind so much that she constantly has to be reminded that I've graduated from school and am living in San Francisco.

In recent weeks, though, my grandpa, who's always been so strong...seemingly indestructible, has rapidly begun to fade due to the inevitable worsening of his prostate cancer. I feel like we've all been mentally preparing for this phase of our family's life, but the fact that it's finally here has been hard.

I'm slightly removed from all this in my San Francisco bubble. I've been going home more often, twice last week. My grandpa is currently recovering from chemo in bed - and hopefully he'll recover enough that we'll be able to bring him out of the house again during his remaining time....but the reality is he might not have even that.

Every trip to Mountain View to visit him is so bittersweet...he's so happy anytime he sees me, but then we're quickly faced with the very harsh reality of having to say a last goodbye. A goodbye to a man who's always been there for me, someone I truly admire and deeply love. Ever since I left home for school, he'd always say to me before I left, "If you need anything....just holler!"

He doesn't say that anymore.

I give him a hug, say "I love you, see you soon" and he says quietly, "I hope so, I love you too." And he gives me a kiss on the cheek, which he never did before...

But even in this moment of darkness, there are sometimes surprising bursts of light. My mom sent an e-mail to me and the family today recounting one that happened today and I just wanted to share it:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"As you all know, there have been better times in our life as Sias children. And in the upcoming days, weeks, months they are not going to get any better. However, there are glimmer of old times still be found.

Here's one: Dad's in bed and Mom's in the rest room. She FINALLY gets out and heads to her room to change. Mark checks on her and asks "Emma are you OK?" She states yes, I have to change. I think "hmmm did she have an accident?" - and no, she didn't.

She finally comes out of the her bedroom. She has on a new blouse, put on some make-up and even put on some scented lotion. She has a determined look at her face when Becky and I ask - "Mom where are you going?" She answers - "I am going to see your father" - we say "No, he's in bed asleep". She states, "Well, I am his wife and I am your mother and I'm telling you that I am going to see your father."

Becky and I feel like we are little kids again, we look at each other - like we did something wrong and Becky says "OK - but only to say good night" - she says "Of course". So we follow her into the room, he hears her coming and is OK with the interruption.

She maneuvers her walker close to his bed and carefully, leans over and: "Oh my gosh, my parents made-out!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That is love.
That is hope.

That is what life is about.

Spring Moments

Random tidbits from the first weekend of Spring, 2008.

You're in the South Bay Now, Moment:
Cruising the streets of San Jose with the windows down on a warm summer-like night...in March. Heading through Downtown, where the sidewalks are bustling with Mexicans wearing cowboy hats on their way to concert and Sabercat fans on their way to the Arena. Cruising down a way-too-wide San Carlos Street where all the buildings and neon-signs look straight out of American Graffiti, then heading to Santana Row where all the posh West Valleyers look confused, then smile, then start to dance in the sidewalks as a guy wearing a neon green mask on a neon green motorcycle blasts "Don't Stop till You Get Enough" as he makes his was down the Row.
---------------

Ooops...Hahah...Sorry, Moment:
After an early elimination from the annual Sias Family Easter water balloon toss, initiating a guerilla water balloon attack at the entire family with my cousin Marisa...hearing the screams and laughter from the other side of the garden fence as we scurry back into the house laughing so hard it hurts, and then, finding out, that unfortunately, the main victim of the renegade attack was my cousin's baby. Oops! :P
---------------

You're Not in the South Bay Anymore, Moment:
[After driving five blocks away from my apartment to park my car (grrr), while walking down 24th Street looking scrubby carrying my laundry bag.....having some random middle aged dude start whistling at me from his car, then pulling over on the other side of the street to see if I would approach. Creepo!
----------------

Drunk Gay Idiot, Moment:
While hanging out at the Mix on 18th Street (because Ian's roommate Sara wanted to have a drink somewhere with an outdoor patio).

Drunk at 1:00pm Guy: HeYyyY. Wha-wha-where are youuuu fRoMmmm?
Me: I live here, San Francisco
Drunk at 1:00pm Guy: Noooooo, man. I mean, where are you FRoMMMMMM?
Me: Well, the South Bay, Mountain View.
Drunk at 1:00pm Guy: (confused silence) NoOOOOooo! no. Quit playing with me! You know what I mean, I mean whEre ArE yoU frrrom???
Me: You mean, where are my parents from?
Drunk at 1:00pm Guy: Yeah yeAh! Like mine, mine, are from Venezuela.
Me: My parents are from here, too.
Drunk at 1:00pm Guy: Oh, that's cool.
Me: (blank stare)

[Drunk at 1:00pm Guy walks away, confused and defeated]

The Candlelight March

On November 27, 1978, San Francisco Mayor George Moscone and Supervisor Harvey Milk were gunned down by fellow Supervisor Dan White. This occurred during the same week as the Jonestown Massacre, where hundreds of people, mostly Bay Area residents, died in a tragic mass murder-suicide. San Francisco was reeling with shock, sadness and anger - no more so than within the gay community, which lost its first true public leader, Harvey Milk.

The events of that week were before my time. Like many people in my generation, Harvey Milk was someone I knew little to nothing about.

However, the first time I saw the documentary on Harvey Milk, it stunned and moved me - nothing more so than the moments shown in the video above. Despite its profound sadness, San Francisco's reaction to this tragedy was, perhaps, one of the most poignant and beautiful human moments in the City's recent history. The silent procession of tens of thousands of people down Market Street the night of the assassinations started in the Castro but grew and grew as people from all over the City joined the march as it made its way to the Civic Center. Gay and Straight, young and old, of all colors and ethnicities - people silently and peacefully came together to honor the lives of Milk and Moscone. All this, for a gay political leader and a gay-friendly Mayor in era when most of American still saw being gay as a sin, if not a crime.



Before Harvey Milk died, he said:

"If a bullet should enter my brain, let that bullet destroy every closet door."

Since 2005, I've been slowly kicking my own closet door open after a few failed attempts to creak it open when I was much younger. As I've learnt more about Harvey Milk and the times he lived in, I've become increasingly grateful for what he fought for and what he represents. It's because of Harvey Milk and other people from his era that I no longer need to hide or feel shame over who I am. I wish I knew his story sooner, it might have helped me get through some rough times when I was a teen.

So when I found out that Gus Van Sant was filming a movie on Milk's life, right here, in the very place where it played out, I was excited. When I found out they wanted extras to recreate marches...especially this Candlelight March, I knew it was something I wanted to be a part of.



Helping recreate the marches, but especially the silent beauty of the Candlelight March, was important to me...and it had nothing to do with the chance to get some face time on a major Hollywood film. The marches gave me a chance to connect with the history of a community that I was once so deeply afraid to associate with out of fear. It gave me a chance to feel proud, and in my own way, give a silent thanks to those who came before.

The recreated march, on Friday February 8, was nothing like the real one, I'm sure. But it was still an amazing moment. I managed to wrangle a few friends into coming along and we gathered with thousands of other volunteers. The original march extended miles, this one was still impressive - a solid block of people taking up the east bound lanes of four blocks of Market Street starting at Van Ness.



Once filming started, and everyone had lit their candles...the street went silent. People got teary eyed. Every so often a wave would ripple through the crowd as people raised their candles into the air. It wasn't too hard to imagine how people must have felt on the actual night, 30 years ago. I know I felt something pretty special.

Hopefully, Gus Van Sant will do a good job telling this story - and our efforts to recreate some of its key moments will translate well to the silver screen. Hopefully, the movie will be a way for the general public to learn more about Milk and all he did and stood for.



At the very least, it gave me a memory of my first year in San Francisco that I'll always remember.

Imaging SF [January-February 2008]

Another long time between updates. Life has been busy, in a good way. Living in San Francisco still rocks. At least once a day there's something I see or do that makes me feel so lucky to call this city home. I'm usually carrying my camera around in my bag everyday. Never know when I'll be out doing a site visit on the waterfront for work, if there will be an amazing sunset that I see on my way home, or if there'll be some movie I'll be an extra in... ;) So, on to the photos:

Between some pretty intense January storms, we had a beautiful set of days. On January 13 my friend Ian and I walked from Noe Valley, to the Castro, up to Corona Heights and down into the Lower Haight. Here's a view of USF from Corona Heights with the Marine Headlands on the horizon.
The View of Downtown San Francisco from Corona Heights.
Here's a view of the Mission. The green in the middle is Dolores Park, I live a few blocks to the left of the park.

On the day of the Primary Election, my primary mode of transit to work, the J-Church Metro Line, had a big stall so I got off on Market and Church and walked to work. Every intersection had people holding signs for Obama or Clinton. It was pretty exciting. Hillary had some slick signs.But the grassroots nature of Obama's campaign won over San Francisco.

One of my main projects is working as the Lead Urban Designer on a new Public Realm Plan for Fisherman's Wharf. Had an early morning meeting at the Cannery one day and got a nice shadow shot of the sign.

Like many San Franciscans and Bay Area natives, I always kind of felt that Fisherman's Wharf didn't offer much to non-tourists. But the more time I spend there, the more amazed I am by what a great little piece of the City it is - if only for its amazing setting. The Hyde Street Pier is a hidden gem - you can walk out on the pier and see all the historic boats - including this old auto ferry from the pre-bridge era when the Pier was *part* of Highway 101 (notice the sign).

From the Hyde Street Pier you can get a cool view of Downtown's skyline.

And I nice view of the Golden Gate Bridge too!

The restored marquee of the Castro Theatre marquee - looking pretty for its Hollywood debut.

The past month Gus Van Sant has been filming a new movie starring Sean Penn on the life of Harvey Milk - the first openly gay person to be elected to a major political office. Milk was the unofficial "Mayor of Castro Street" in the 1970s and was elected to the Board of Supervisors in 1978. His life was tragically cut short when he and Mayor George Moscone were assassinated by fellow Supervisor, Dan White.

If the film is as good as the effort the crew put in turning Castro Street back to the way it looked in the 1970s, then we're in for something good. On Monday, February 4, they asked the community to help them recreate a few major marches that occurred in the mid 1970s. In exchange, we got a free screening of the Oscar-winning documentary on Milk, complete with speeches by various directors, James Franco, Emile Hirsch (both in the upcoming movie), friends of Milk who are still kickin, and a performance by the Gay Men's Chorus. I couldn't get any friends to come with me and almost didn't go, luckily I bit the bullet and went alone. It was awesome.

The film crew set up lights and cameras on the roofs of the Castro Street buildings where they took shots of the crowd (numbering in the thousands) that gathered in 70s outfits to recreate two marches. One was lead by Milk (played by Penn) and the other by friend and fellow activist Cleve Jones (played by Into the Wild's Emile Hirsch) You can see some of the era-appropriate signs that were floating around in the crowd, likely held by the paid extras.
Towards the end of the night's filming, I got hungry and tired and was hanging out toward the back of the crowd outside the filming area eating a pizza. Then one of the directors popped up and told everyone to gather around for a special surprise. Carrie Fisher then popped out of the Muni Station to thank us all for being there by giving a parody of her Obi Won Kenobi speech from Star Wars....went something along the lines of "Help Me, Gay Men...."

With that odd end to the evening, I called it a night and walked home. I'm going to write a separate post to talk about the next night of filming for ease of navigation!