San Francischronicles, Chapter 9.

Lombard Street. I drove our rental car down this stretch of madness to prove my worth as a San Franciscan driver, wondering all the while why it was that I felt nervous and inadequate in attempting to manipulate this crazy road. Then I realized that I should not be the one feeling weird and insecure about myself- it's the fucking engineer of this road that should! What kind of insecure city planner would put the residents of this particular street through the daily misery of having to navigate this monstrosity? I imagine it must have been some sort of personal vendetta- perhaps the person in question was beaten by his drunken father repeatedly on this street, and hoped to design a road that would eventually kill him in his state of inebriation. Either that, or some weird Oedipal thing that I haven't quite been able to surmise yet.

At Chrissy Fields. Rebecca's nonplussed look likely comes from the fact that I was probably complaining about something- the kite flyer's lack of form in the distance, the fact that I was really, really tired, or that "this picture would be so much cooler if the bridge was on fire."

SEE?!?

At Baker Beach. We're European!


"Zees art, zees life- ees stupid. Een my homelahnd, een Gearmany, we live life dat ees real. Zees- Zhees is all illusion. Fake American boolshit. Would that I hang myself with rope from zees picture."

At Seal Rock, where not one seal was to be found. Unless seals have wings and shit on your car while you're driving. Man, how awesome would that be...


Sleepytime at Seal Rock.

TELESCOPIC ART!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Another house Rebecca grew up in. The man in the top left corner of the photo was quite perturbed that someone was standing directly outside his front gate, and by the time we left, he had moved into the kitchen window directly above Rebecca with an economy sized jar of giffelte fish and was ready to hurl them at us loiterers had we been there much longer.. Our exuent was hasty. Though, if Shaw was here, Creed's "Arms Wide Open" might have blared from somewhere off in the distance and good times would likely have ensued.