My.Third.Eye Photography

Human Face Followed by Abstract in Red and Black and White

Bus Stop Moment: San Francisco

Little Boy on Bernal Hill

I think he was looking for his doggie's ball, which he threw with that ball-thrower thingamabob sticking out of his back pocket.

Pointed

Remember Pay Phones? The Ones on the Street?

It's All a Matter of Perspective

Views from the Embacadero, San Francisco

 

Delancy Street Restaurant, San Francisco

Holiday Commuters

Full Moon Over Bernal Heights

Was yesterday a full moon? "Jack? Was yesterday a full moon?"

"I don't think so. I don't know."

If yesterday had been a full moon, I could blame things on that. For example, not remembering to do my daily write. Fine, then I'll blame things on my other sore rib. Turns out I did fracture a rib. It has finally almost healed after more than eight weeks. But yesterday, on my OTHER side, I suddenly, out of nowhere, felt as if I had injured another rib. It felt really sore. Hurt to touch and hurt to breathe. Just like before.

I am so pissed, but more than that, frustrated and nervous. Why is this happening again?

If yesterday had been a full moon, I could have blamed my lack of gratitude on that. But yesterday was not a full moon, so I am blaming this sore rib instead.  I want to feel grateful, not pissed. But something is amiss. The bone scan, I suspect, is not telling all.

Full moon, full moon, full moon. Whenever you were last here, you were so beautiful.

Window Cat and Vanilla on Valencia Street

Yesterday we went crazy and left Bernal Heights in order to walk Olivia in a different neighborhood. I suggested Valencia Street, hoping that the street might still be closed to traffic, which is a new thing there on Sundays. Walkers and bicyclists only. We were too late. . . the street was no longer free from traffic, but we still parked, walked, enjoyed the sun and all the new things to look at, including all the many amusing children (20 and 30 somethings). Also my vanilla bean episode.

Re: My VBE. During my Round Robin class yesterday morning, one of the class members revealed during our introductions that she was a cake maker-baker. That's what she does for a living in Texas. She was here visiting a friend and had timed her visit so that she could attend the first RR meeting, then go back to Texas and participate in the rest of the class from there. Because I had recently been re-reading the chapter on the wonders of vanilla beans in Diane Ackerman's 1990 book, A Natural History of the Senses, I asked her if she ever added fresh vanilla beans to her cakes. She answered with a resounding "yes!"

I had vanilla beans on the brain, and only the day before when I went to Good Life, I made sure to buy myself one tiny $5.49 box from the spices section that contained one single vanilla bean. I took it home, all excited, and immediately googled "uses for one vanilla bean." As you can imagine, many things popped up, and I entertained myself for at least 15 minutes, trying to decide how best to use my bean. I haven't yet decided, but am leaning heavily toward soaking it in vodka for a month, which will give me my own little vial of pure vanilla extract. Much better, I am sure, than any store bought variety. What I REALLY want to make is some vanilla bean bath oil, but I'll need lots more ingredients for that heady project.

Anyway, as we were strolling along Valencia Street, I stopped to read a small sign posted in the window of a shop, closed, that appeared to sell . . . vanilla! The sign said that you could go across the street to the ice cream parlor and get one of their vanilla beans, free.

"Oh my god, Jack! Wait! We have to go across the street to the ice cream shop. I can get a free vanilla bean there! Come on!"

First we detoured up one block of lovely Liberty Street, which was enticing because when you turn onto it off of Valencia and take about twenty steps, all of a sudden you're in another world of quiet and shimmering gorgeous trees and huge Victorian mansions. You can't hear any of the hip Valencia Street noise; it's odd and marvelous. We walked up one side then back down the other. I looked mostly at the trees, Jack looked at the paint jobs on the Victorians. Olivia looked at tree trunks and the sidewalk and the gutters.

Then we jaywalked, right in front of a police car, over to the ice cream store. I got my free vanilla bean, thus doubling my hoard! We also couldn't resist the temptation to get two sugar cones with vanilla ice cream. I had Mexican Vanilla Bean, Jack had Madagascar Vanilla Bean. All I can say is YUM. We sat on the sidewalk bench outside, under an awning but still soaking up the sun, as we ate them. So so good.

Later I saw this window cat, looking like the illustration for a children's book cover, don't you think? Or a cottage cats calendar:

P.S. 

Vanilla Extract

• 1 vanilla bean, split lengthwise
• 3/4 cup 100 proof vodka
• 1 cup glass container with a tight lid

Vanilla Extract

• 1 vanilla bean, split lengthwise
• 3/4 cup 100 proof vodka
• 1 cup glass container with a tight lid

Directions

Place the vanilla bean in the jar and pour the vodka over it. You may cut the bean into pieces if the bean is not immersed in the liquid. Cover with a tight lid and let sit undisturbed for one month. When the extract has taken on a golden color, and vanilla aroma, you can remove the beans (save them for vanilla sugar), and strain the vanilla extract.

Vanilla Sugar You can bury a fresh vanilla bean in your sugar canister or, you can save the beans that have been used for extracts, puddings, and custards. To recycle vanilla beans, rinse them off and let them dry at room temperature. Grind the dried beans in a coffee grinder or food processor. Stir the ground vanilla into 1-2 cups granulated or confectioner's sugar. Sift the sugar to remove the vanilla grounds. Save the vanilla grounds! You can add the vanilla grounds to your coffee in the morning. Place a tablespoon or more of the grounds on top of the coffee in your filter. Stir to mix. As the hot water drips through the filter, your coffee will be infused with a delicious vanilla scent.

Crosswalkers

I've come up with a new way to take photos. I put my camera around my neck when driving, and whenever I stop at a red light, I whip my head around every which way in hopes of seeing a good shot. It makes me nervous because I'm scared of what might happen if the light turns green when I'm in the middle of taking the picture. What if someone HONKS?

My nervousness makes me hesitate. But I have a plan. I'm going to count to see about how long stoplights are, and then I'll count while I'm trying to get the shot, and if the stoplight is 60 seconds, I'll lower my camera at 57 and get my hands back on the steering wheel before anybody can get mad at me.

I got brave at 18th and Castro and snapped this shot lickety split. I liked the way their limbs were moving so quickly and also in sync, yet both walkers were unaware of their synchronicity as they rushed along their separate, opposite ways. 

I can't remember if I was on the way home from delivering flyers in the Haight, or if I was on the way home from getting my three tumor marker tests up on Parnassus. After the tests, on my way out of the medical building, I acted on my plan to reward myself afterward with a treat. I got myself a piece of moist but not too moist pumpkin cake and an expresso. Sat at the windy outdoor table and watched a man in blue scrubs and a beard hurry by with a can of coke in his hand. The phlebotomist who drew my blood was apologetic when I asked why no one had returned my voice mail messages, two of them. She said she'd been alone that morning in the lab, and that the second she got there, people started coming in. Thirty-two people before 12:30. So I forgave her for not checking the phone messages and wondered what all the reasons had been for the people who had been there before me to get their blood drawn or their urine analyzed. Hundreds of vials with different colored caps - red, blue, lavender and orange - crowded the shelves across from where I sat on the special chair with wings where you can rest the arm that your blood will be taken from.

I always turn my head away and close my eyes when the blood is drawn. It doesn't hurt that much but the sight of the blood being sucked out of that tender crook of my arm, into not one not two but three long glass tubes, is something I prefer to avoid. 

I didn't realize expresso drinks were so tiny. I ordered expresso, which I don't normally do, because my writing group explained to me the last time we met that it has less caffeine than regular coffee. I never knew that. Has to do with how long the beans are roasted. Or something. Maybe it wouldn't have seemed so tiny if I hadn't ordered it to go and gotten it in a paper cup. Don't they have special tiny ceramic cups that are made just for expressos? if not, they should.

I have little else to report. The Writing Salon website registration page still isn't working right, and...surprise!... I took Olivia for another walk. When we walked by the cement wall that used to have a mural but was recently painted over, I took pictures of it anyway, trying for something strikingly minimalist, but got nothing except three retarded looking picture of cement.

Ooops, almost forgot. Dionne Warwick, 69, and Connie Francis, 70 or 71, will be performing together in Las Vegas. The two of them were on the Joy Behar Show. Warwick was wearing a SWEATSHIRT, ugly gray, and a pale pinkish baseball cap. You couldn't see her hair. She wore glasses. She was fattish. Francis was more glammed up, but my god her face was plastic surgery'ized in a most offensive way. I was so repulsed that I immediately googled her, which led me to a 15-minute, highly satisfying perusal of websites featuring botched celebrity plastic surgeries. Alien faces are the worst, but dented boobs are pretty weird too.

I fear for Courtney Cox, who looks almost still okay except for the slight paralysis of her mouth, because she said in an interview that she will definitely be doing more. Said her whole family is vain, and she doesn't at all care for aging and will do whatever it takes to fend off authenticity.

I can only surmise that Joan Rivers is her inspiration. But don't get me going on Joan. 

Diane Keaton, as we all know, is authentic. I loved her in Something's Gotta Give.  

---

Harry Sanborn: I can't get past your damn turtleneck.
Erica Barry: Cut it off!

Bus Stop Figures

Bus Stop Figures
Originally uploaded by my.third.eye

I've always been intrigued by the bus stops in San Francisco because the lines on the glass create all sorts of visual effects that grab me. I'm not sure why this is -- I mean, I'm not sure why they grab me the way they do. Emotionally.

I suppose if I thought about it long enough, I could come up with a reason or two..or if not a definite reason, some artistic or psychological theories. But I'd really rather just post and run, so that I have more time to make new photos or futz with old ones.

Also, it's sunny again in SF today, and I'm thinking that a late morning walk with Ms. Bouchet might be wonderful. If I pick a time when I don't usually walk her, the light and shadows will be entirely different, and I will notice things I've never noticed before, even after the hundreds of walks we've already taken in this neighborhood. Or thousands. Yes, maybe thousands. . .

We've Come a Long Way, Baby

I'm posting this today because one of the "admins" for the Flickr group called 500x500 chose it for his "Photo of the Day" pick. You can see other "photos of the day" on 500x500 HERE.

I snapped this shot as I was walking along 24th Street in the San Francisco Mission District. I was mesmerized not only by all the hot pink and orange in this hair salon, but by the fabulous conjoining of Audrey Hepburn, Frieda Kahlo, Hilary Clinton (sticker on Kahlo poster) and the Anonymous "Every Woman" sitting on the chair. (Oh, and then we have the incidental man on the right.)

What does this impromptu gathering of women mean? I have no idea! But I liked it. I was taken back to my 70s feminist days, because all these women strike me as being very strong artistically and/or politically. I don't know Ms.EveryWoman personally, but all you have to do is look at that face of hers to know that she is strong.

Have a good Monday, April 26th, everyone. We've got one more day of warm sun in SF before the rain arrives this evening.