Divis

I left work early yesterday for a doctor's appointment, followed by a haircut appointment. The salon I go to, and have gone to for well on 7 years now, is in the Castro, and I take the 24 Divisadero bus from the location where our old office used to be to get there.

The route goes through a fairly typical SF street, full of shops, restaurants, and apartments. Tascha once said, "Divisadero is a pretty happenin' street", which I openly laughed at, since it had always reminded me of the baleful task of going to and coming from work.

My first trip through Divis on the 24 when I was a faun-ish 22-year-old, I wasn't prepared for the ups and downs of the small hills, the cricks and cracks of the ancient-ass street. I had to stand pretty much the whole way, and being the high-strung young 'un that I was at the time, I strove to stay stick-still and not bump into a soul all the rollercoaster way to work my first day.

In the four years I lived in Ingleside, and then the Castro, and took the 24, I couldn't have given a rat's behind about the colorful stretch of winding SF street. It was just transitional background that couldn't have mattered less.

Yesterday, with time on my side and an actually seat on the bus, I enjoyed the chance to take it in without feeling rushed: Thai restaurant, comic book shop, gas station, health food store, butcher, used CD store, bar, Popeye's, school for the hearing impaired.

None of that sounds exactly galactic, but it's the revelation of actually paying attention to something that's always been there.

Princess Toadstool

I bought a big new red suitcase over the weekend in preparation for NYC. I resisted buying an equally fruity luggage tag out of fear of it being a bit excessive, but now regret it, as my MO is to make sure no one hauls off with my suitcase at the airport, and the red color and polka-dotted luggage tag could have jointly assured that.

I enjoy having my very own special mug. I'm not talking about my face, I mean my coffee mug, which I use for tea in the evenings before hitting the hay. It's like a big, warm hug.

At some point you lose your interest in certain things, just as certain people become less interesting. An apt cue to move on.