It's difficult to know where to start. On Saturday was Halloween. I mean Sunday. I mean both Saturday and Sunday. On Monday the Giants won the World Series and then on Tuesday we voted. And also celebrated Día de los Muertos. Wednesday was the victory parade. Tomorrow I think everything will go back to normal. It's abnormally warm right now. In the seventies today. Very nice temperature! One of the guys I was standing next to, under the hot sun, outside of city hall with 100,000 others (as it was reported), dumped a cup of his piss on the ground. At that point it had been an hour and a half of waiting and I'm not actually that into the Giants. I mean I'm happy for them and their fans, and apparently there are a lot of them, like, enough to cover every square inch of the entire down town, but personally I don't have much of a relationship with the Giants.
Except for this t-shirt that I'm wearing. Once I invest money into something I feel compelled to take it more seriously. Like when I got an Athletics hat I felt like I should know a little bit about the Athletics, so as not to appear as a fraud. Wanting to be on the inside. Authenticity, or the appearance of it, is important to me. It's why I value my frayed and ripped hooded sweatshirt. Who knows why. Today's analysis is OVER. Last Saturday I went to go sell some books and wandered into the local science-fiction book store and found this guy giving a really interesting talk about "cognitive dissonance", aliens, and military secrets. I sat down and listened. It was kind of crazy but pretty interesting. The most interesting thing he said was about Milwaukee, where he lives: "The culture of Milwaukee is really interesting because Milwaukee doesn't know it has a culture." Which kind of makes sense to me, being not too far from there, that people who live in Wisconsin aren't all that conscious about living in "Wisconsin." Unlike, say, San Francisco, where I'm constantly reminded that I live in "San Francisco."
Not that that's bad. I love living in San Francisco. But it seems like an urban thing, to be conscious of where you're living. Maybe we can blame sports teams. And those who riot after sports teams claim victory over the other urban sports teams. Maybe the trick is to remain unconscious for as long as possible, like a baby, a cat, or a newborn foal, unfurling its little legs and wobbling up to its mother. And then bleeting a little. Or maybe that's a newborn lamb, actually. Regardless, the guy in the bookstore said its a comfortable thing to live in a place that isn't so aware of itself. It was more of an aside than a main point, but for some reason the thought stayed with me. In other news, two black birds on Saturday afternoon flew around Valencia, as I watched them from the room, with nuts in their mouth. Looking for a place to crack them, drop them on the pavement and eat the inside. Saturday afternoon is a busy time: a lot of people and traffic. They circled for a while and then flew off. November.
Except for this t-shirt that I'm wearing. Once I invest money into something I feel compelled to take it more seriously. Like when I got an Athletics hat I felt like I should know a little bit about the Athletics, so as not to appear as a fraud. Wanting to be on the inside. Authenticity, or the appearance of it, is important to me. It's why I value my frayed and ripped hooded sweatshirt. Who knows why. Today's analysis is OVER. Last Saturday I went to go sell some books and wandered into the local science-fiction book store and found this guy giving a really interesting talk about "cognitive dissonance", aliens, and military secrets. I sat down and listened. It was kind of crazy but pretty interesting. The most interesting thing he said was about Milwaukee, where he lives: "The culture of Milwaukee is really interesting because Milwaukee doesn't know it has a culture." Which kind of makes sense to me, being not too far from there, that people who live in Wisconsin aren't all that conscious about living in "Wisconsin." Unlike, say, San Francisco, where I'm constantly reminded that I live in "San Francisco."
Not that that's bad. I love living in San Francisco. But it seems like an urban thing, to be conscious of where you're living. Maybe we can blame sports teams. And those who riot after sports teams claim victory over the other urban sports teams. Maybe the trick is to remain unconscious for as long as possible, like a baby, a cat, or a newborn foal, unfurling its little legs and wobbling up to its mother. And then bleeting a little. Or maybe that's a newborn lamb, actually. Regardless, the guy in the bookstore said its a comfortable thing to live in a place that isn't so aware of itself. It was more of an aside than a main point, but for some reason the thought stayed with me. In other news, two black birds on Saturday afternoon flew around Valencia, as I watched them from the room, with nuts in their mouth. Looking for a place to crack them, drop them on the pavement and eat the inside. Saturday afternoon is a busy time: a lot of people and traffic. They circled for a while and then flew off. November.
