Tag Archives for whimsey

Last Night on Ocean Beach

Back in ye olden days, one million years ago when the Internet was young and full of whimsey, we could do a thing called “hand-coding” HTML with any text editor, and if we had a Web server in our kitchen or knew a friend with one, or if we bought an ebusiness plan from one of the upstarts up and down Mission Street, we could upload it either via FTP or with a click of the “publish” button and voila! All the world could see what we did. Although it didn’t quite yet fuel IPOs or influence bias or elections, it was literally magic, to me.

My heroes at Monkeybrains hosted my first Web site back in those days, and in a moment of nostalgia I just went to visit it. I can’t quite convince the guys to update the certificate so that a 20-ish year-old Web site can load without complaints, so I decided to render the main poetry below via the sorcery of The Screen Grab in case it should one day vanish for good.

Of course there are hidden pages — including a collected interactive self-built resume, a love letter to and pictures of my then girlfriend and now wife, and an alternate site propped up by the thankfully forgotten architecture of frames that enable navigation through my curated list of favorite early jokes that people sent in long “FWD: FWD: FWD: FWD” email chains — but thanks to NOINDEX NOFOLLOW they shall probably remain secret like a hidden track on vinyl or even CD. And for some reason I didn’t want to lose these words below, probably because they are so impermanent, which really, isn’t everything?

Thusly without further ado, to nobody in particular just like in the olden days when it didn’t need a point, here it is: my home page, my first Web site, my …..

hand-coded-html.jpeg

Orchestra For Natives Of The Future

The Orchestra by moyalynne
The Orchestra, a photo by moyalynne on Flickr.

Orchestra For Natives Of The Future is a group of sound-making metal sculptures near the Plover Group Picnic Area in the almost-left-behind Candlestick Point State Recreation Area. The Orchestra was created in 1988 by Bill Buchen, Mary Buchen, and Pat Fitzgerald.

Candlestick Point may not be the most beautiful park in the Bay Area, but its low-key natural vibe in the middle of the urban hustle (and practically right on top of Candlestick Park) make it a valuable natural gem. The shoreline is mostly craggy and rocky and extends out on a finger into the Bay between SFO and The City. With views to their backs of the relics of Hunters Point’s naval shipyard, anglers stand out on a pier and bring in lots of fish (mostly smelt) to take home and feed their families, to toss on barbecues right there, or to sell somewhere else later. The ground is littered with rodent holes and I’m pretty sure the common squirrel owns the territory and can be found everywhere you step. This is a calm park in general and you can hear birds singing against the distant freeway and airport roar. And with the hidden secret Orchestra, it makes the park a great place to explore and a good meeting spot for a picnic and a jam session.

Between Plover Group Picnic Area and the Orchestra area, there are about 10 picnic tables, at least one of which is in shade at 11am when I was there this morning. This is a good place to come when the rest of the Bay Area is foggy — if there’s a chance for sun or at least warmth, it should be found here. Though the grass is weedy and unkept (and looks basically dead), there are plenty of bathroom facilities (whether they’re open or not I’m not sure, but the outsides look clean), and barbecues and water. Dogs are allowed, on leash. Aside from people fishing and people jogging, I’ve seen barely another group here enjoying any of the other picnic areas.

And we’ve nearly lost this state park. In June 2012, the park was one of 16 scheduled for closure in the Bay Area, but although the others had received temporary reprieve due to an influx of cash from various “deep-pocketed saviors,” Candlestick Point, located in one of the City’s poorest neighborhoods, had no such savior forthcoming.

By August, “sufficient public dollars have been found to keep Candlestick Point Recreation Area open next year”, but the rangers I talked with during my visit today seemed to think they just have to take it day by day: “As long as we’re standing here we’re still open.”

To find the Orchestra For Natives Of The Future, go to Candlestick Park, driving all the way around to the bay side, and you’ll see the state park signs for Candlestick Point. Park in the state park parking lot, which is literally right across the street from the Candlestick Park parking lot.  Parking is closed Thursdays and Fridays and comes at a premium on days when the 49’ers have a home game, so you should avoid those days if you’ve come to picnic.

After you park, walk up one of the access roads to where the bay forms a cove, and you’ll find the Orchestra in an open space next to the Plover Group Picnic Area.

You can’t reserve specific sites, but you can come when the park opens (at 10am?) to sit at the Plover Picnic Area if you want to barbecue next to your drumming jam session.  The rangers say to call them for a ~$50 special event permit if you’re planning a party for 50 people or more.

You can visit this special place and contribute to keeping your valuable state parks open today!
[This Report In Pictures]

Return of the Sun

Light

Light

We went to the Morrison Planetarium the other day, where despite Whoopie Goldberg’s reassuring voice, I felt the usual claustrophobia at the limitlessness of space and yet the finity of our Sun. My daughter was scared most of the time, but we’re not exactly sure why.

It’s my birthday tomorrow and I’ve been wondering what my daughter, and generations to come, will find (and make) of these digital scribblings then of the past. My domain will have expired, and likely my WordPress blog underneath it too. Will there even be domains anymore? What of the Internet itself? All those pictures on Flickr? And What of Facebook? Will my Twitter archive be available?  What about those picture books we’ve printed from Flickr and the blogs we’ve turned into Blurb books? Seems like the newer things are, the shorter they last.  Will there be no hard-bound dusty spined volumes in our girl’s future? Perhaps nothing but an old Google cache — maybe even accessible by some odd unforeseen device such as a private air, space, and time machine… There’s a thought.

It’s odd to know that something entirely new – something inconceivable at present – will then exist to provide the history and context.  As we stand over the brink of one year and look into another, I marvel at how it is that sometimes we can’t really know — and sometimes we know better only in retrospect.

And on that note… I feel it’s impossible to wrap up the year 2009 on its last day, but after the passage of time I begin feel a little clearer about that other old year, 2008.

That was the year we lost Prop 8; we got married, and we also got banned from marrying.  It was the fuel for the worst of days in which I wish we never got up and fought so that people could be so legally ugly to us, and call us psychotic and worse, hurt us, and blame us right here in our homes.  It was perhaps the set-up that led to Question 1 in Maine, confusion in New York and New Jersey and elsewhere, and most profoundly atop much hard work, strife and sadness within the LGBT organizations while “Protect Marriage” rubs its hands in mean glee.

And then I shake my head and I see it there — a brief glimpse of the future, in the light by the sea where we got married.  I see the light in our family and in our friends’ eyes. I see the light in the field across which my daughter runs, stretching towards the brightness of the moving sun, and I know we’re never going to pack it all up and go home, because we LIVE HERE, in this warmth of love and kindness, together with our friends and family, in the light by the sea.  No longer is it the year of failure and loss, but it continues to be the year meanness loses and kindness follows the sun, as day follows night, every single moment of every single day.

I asked my daughter if she learned anything new after our visit to the stars of the Morrisson Planetarium. “I learned that the Sun is a star,” she said wonderously. Twinkle twinkle, little star. To my wife and child and family and friends and community: All the best wishes as one year switches to the next.  You light up my life.

And we begin again.