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Sunday, April 29, 2012
Uptown Oakland trash pick on April 29
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Investing in the Fillmore
We were glad to see this article on the Fillmore, just down the street from Ray's place...: "S.F. Mayor Lee and Supervisor Olague Announce Increased Investment in the Fillmore"
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Many Things
Many Things A cool song by theFinalscubadivers...listen to it and dance ! He quit the final tourguides, or was he kicked out? hee hee
Friday, April 13, 2012
"C'mon, let's go!": Overcoming picker's anxiety at Geary & 25th
A few days ago I was transferring from the 38L to the 29 in San Francisco's Richmond district, heading to visit a few dear friends who were leaving the country later that day, starting a new life again in their home country of Japan. The clouds had broken above, after several days of rain, but still a very sad day. As I crossed the street to wait at the bus stop, I checked my bus schedule. 5 minutes until the bus would arrive. And this is what I saw:
Yup, your eyes aren't lying. There's a plastic big-gulp cup, a bunch of papers, a to-go container with some noodles spilled out over the concrete, and why not, parts of an orange smashed onto the sidewalk. It looks like someone(s) almost made it to the trash can, but decided to dump things right next to it. Or was it a windy night the night before they emptied the can, and there was overflow spilling onto the sidewalk. Or someone, or your local raccoon, foraging through the can in the early morning hours. A mess no matter how you look at it.
I was thinking about the time, and looking at my watch. I wanted to pick this up, such a mess! But I hadn't brought my pikstik. Then I thought--wait a minute, I have some plastic bags in my backpack. I'll just use one as a glove, and pick up the pieces of trash one by one, and drop them into the can. Kind of like dog owners do with the dog's...well, you know.
Then I started to hesitate. There were 7 or 8 people sitting at the bus stop already, waiting there with me. People dressed nicely, even fashionably, with sunglasses on, looking at their smartphones or disinterestedly off into the distance. Was I ready to start handling those noodles? No matter that I would be using a plastic bag; it still seemed like I'd be touching that trash with my hands, and suddenly I felt the stigma of being a trash guy, a trashy guy. I had the bag in my hand, but I thought about it more, buying a little time by looking down the street again. Was the bus coming yet?
And then, the most beautiful of things! An older man, maybe close to 70, and much shorter than me, had jumped right in, taken up the task, with no hesitation whatsoever! He was crouching down, reaching and grabbing at the trash with a pink bag (mine was white), dropping the junk into the can. Then he saw that I was looking at him, bag in my hand, and motioned at me: "C'mon! Let's go!" he said.
And so I did. I reached down next to him and grabbed some noodles, and then that piece of orange that you see in the picture above. Cleaning it up only took a few seconds (sorry, we didn't have the tools to take care of all that moisture underneath) and before I knew it, the man had produced a bottle of water from his bag, and was pouring it over both of his hands, washing them. He offered it to me, and though I wondered if our hands even needed washing (they were protected the whole time--was it a symbolic cleaning ritual?) I accepted gladly and he poured the water over my hands too.
We had had just enough time to shake off the water and grab our bags, smiling at this moment of unplanned partnership, before the bus came and everyone else got in line. I got on first and sat in the middle of the bus. He stopped at the door to talk to the driver, and sat down in front. And just like that, we never got to speak to each other again, but I smiled again at this picking experience. Why worry, I thought, about how it looks to be picking up trash alone. There might just be another picker right there with you.
Yup, your eyes aren't lying. There's a plastic big-gulp cup, a bunch of papers, a to-go container with some noodles spilled out over the concrete, and why not, parts of an orange smashed onto the sidewalk. It looks like someone(s) almost made it to the trash can, but decided to dump things right next to it. Or was it a windy night the night before they emptied the can, and there was overflow spilling onto the sidewalk. Or someone, or your local raccoon, foraging through the can in the early morning hours. A mess no matter how you look at it.
I was thinking about the time, and looking at my watch. I wanted to pick this up, such a mess! But I hadn't brought my pikstik. Then I thought--wait a minute, I have some plastic bags in my backpack. I'll just use one as a glove, and pick up the pieces of trash one by one, and drop them into the can. Kind of like dog owners do with the dog's...well, you know.
Then I started to hesitate. There were 7 or 8 people sitting at the bus stop already, waiting there with me. People dressed nicely, even fashionably, with sunglasses on, looking at their smartphones or disinterestedly off into the distance. Was I ready to start handling those noodles? No matter that I would be using a plastic bag; it still seemed like I'd be touching that trash with my hands, and suddenly I felt the stigma of being a trash guy, a trashy guy. I had the bag in my hand, but I thought about it more, buying a little time by looking down the street again. Was the bus coming yet?
And so I did. I reached down next to him and grabbed some noodles, and then that piece of orange that you see in the picture above. Cleaning it up only took a few seconds (sorry, we didn't have the tools to take care of all that moisture underneath) and before I knew it, the man had produced a bottle of water from his bag, and was pouring it over both of his hands, washing them. He offered it to me, and though I wondered if our hands even needed washing (they were protected the whole time--was it a symbolic cleaning ritual?) I accepted gladly and he poured the water over my hands too.
We had had just enough time to shake off the water and grab our bags, smiling at this moment of unplanned partnership, before the bus came and everyone else got in line. I got on first and sat in the middle of the bus. He stopped at the door to talk to the driver, and sat down in front. And just like that, we never got to speak to each other again, but I smiled again at this picking experience. Why worry, I thought, about how it looks to be picking up trash alone. There might just be another picker right there with you.
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