New Year’s Thoughts
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October, November & December Open Thread
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The Last Beajolais Nouvea
You bought it at Bev Mo on Stevens Creek and gave it to me on Thanksgiving. I finished it off last night, fearing it won’t keep til the end of January. I’ve never actually heard of one going over, but defer to those who know better, like cutting off the flirtation with the aggressive inappropriate girl in high school, fearing some sort of obscure social embarassment that of course would never happen, and instead pursuing endlessly to the appropriate girls from nice families who cut off my flirtation for the same reason. We should drink wine with more abandon.
January 5th, 2012 at 11:37 PM
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After parking, we looked up at the Towne Theater sign.
You said you still remembered the sequence of neon lights that used go on when it was a porn theater.
You remembered the Boho Cafe Leviticus next door.
I said it was no longer a porn theater then.
We paused. The 522 roared past.
I love those articulated cars.December 8th, 2011 at 4:12 PM
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It’s Getting on Xmas
Colder. The lights go up, but still scattershot. Like broken teeth on a smile. The sunsets over the Western Appliance sign seem sharper, quicker, more precise. Like a Chopin Nocturne.
December 8th, 2011 at 4:10 PM
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West San Carlos and Wilbur.
Warm October night. Where does that breeze come from, teasing the white ballons and rattling the blue and silver sparkly strips that border the used car shops. The hondas, mercedes and chryslers. There’s a hint of the North in it, but it’s also soft like it comes via the Delta. I dream of football and grass stains and smelly meals that no one cooks anymore, and marvel at the way the outdoor light above the abandoned porch attracts all those floppy flies that are neither flea nor moth.
November 16th, 2011 at 5:56 PM
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Imagine California without palm trees.
Scruffier.November 16th, 2011 at 1:03 AM
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The golf cart hums.
Feet scratch.
Motorcycles explode.
And the garbage truck is just loud loud loud.November 16th, 2011 at 1:02 AM
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Someday
Somebody should write about
The way the lights over the pool tables
Cast a perfect shadowless light
On the green felt
And only the soft light from San Carlos
Casts a little shadow on the 2 ballNovember 16th, 2011 at 1:01 AM
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(love this site!)
Your deodorant smelled.
I bet my makeup was no good
At least by that point.
The Green Day song on the radio made us be quiet.
Then it dropped out of range.
We thought about kissing but both were too cool.
So we hugged.
Not long enough.
The minimart on Stockton was still open
The light in the parking lot caught your hair
And we talked about the cement plant across the street
And how awesine the mixing trucks are.November 16th, 2011 at 12:59 AM
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It floors me.
Driving home from the new job
(which I love)
Sitting in traffic at 85 and 17
Remebering what this was like before the freeway
A gap on the map.
And one night at Peter’s house
We jumped the fence
Explored the trench
And looked up at the night sky
Some stars–like the planetarium you said
But i thought it was all washed out.November 16th, 2011 at 12:53 AM
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White skies.
Light sunburn.
Leaves dropping.
Almaden Quicksilver hike early November.
You said you never thought about seeing the valley from above it.
Now you say it looks like a cereal bowl.November 16th, 2011 at 12:51 AM
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is there a better mid afternoon dive bar song on the jukebox than Melissa by the Allman Brothers?
November 16th, 2011 at 12:49 AM
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Today, at the new Thai place on San Salvador and 2d, I heard the song “Miss You” from somebody’s car. I remembered it: when Elisa moved to London after her sophomore year. Then: touching, mournful, current. Now: it sounds lame. The song didn’t change. I guess we did.
November 16th, 2011 at 12:48 AM
September Open Thread
6 comments
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Hiking Los Gatos Creek Trail
Up to Saint Joseph’s hill overview:
Were those big balls always here?
To stop the hawks, I suppose, from decapitating themselves on the power linesThey look like beads on giant’s necklace
A gift, perhaps, to her giant boyfriend
that fell out of her pocket
And fell to the ground
But were caught, just before smashing on the ground
By a lost thread from a giant spiderwebI bet she spent some time on hands and knees trying to find them
But was looking in the wrong placeSeptember 9th, 2011 at 9:47 PM
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Grapevine can wait
We left San Jose three hours ago
Hot summer night.
Radio. Highway 5. Early rising half moon.
Ice cream from the roadside gas stations.
Car air conditioning.
Trucks.
But before we hit the incline
We roll down the windows
Cooler. Smells like manure.
And you say: I bet there’s a bar in Buttonwillow.September 9th, 2011 at 9:40 PM
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West San Carlos Barbershop, 2.53 pm, hot September day
The grey white light tides into the salon
I can hear the jukebox from the bar down the street
Ripple by the Dead
Someone’s drinking beers in the afternoon
We’re all quiet for a second, catching the rhythm
Me, the guy in the chair, the haircut lady
Then she clips some more
The kids walk down the skinny sidewalk home from school
Second hand smoke comes in when somebody opens the door
Which tinkles
it makes me want a Camel Light
Left behind long ago, but the long left parked deep down there somewhere
Saying: it’s ok. I can wait. But it would be great to have one mow.September 9th, 2011 at 9:37 PM
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You’re a fine girl
The song Brandy by Looking Glass
Plays on the jukebox at Marmist
In the middle of the day
I get all choked up
I’m sure there’s a musical trick
Whose name I don’t know
Which makes me hang on edge
Like a chord unresolved
Running deep and unwatched and unexpected
Glimpsed fleetingly in my upstairs bedroom
When I saw where that song was going
But have forgotten nowSeptember 9th, 2011 at 9:34 PM
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It feels too late to recover
Like a river down to a trickle by this point
Fading out even before Gold Street
Seeping its way into the Bay
Or maybe south
To the Sea of Cortez
When that final drop suddenly hits a rock
Reverses course
And inexplicably starts gaining speed
Running backwards
Its channel widening
amid mysterious unnamed tributaries
Which join the torrent
In a mad rush to rejoin the Sierra snowpack
The headwaters way up high
before the last cold days past
and the wildflowers begin their bloomSeptember 9th, 2011 at 9:31 PM
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I missed this, and forgot alot of it
The in-law unit you can see down the driveway
The white -rocked front yard of the duplex
The big redwood by the apartment sign
The dolls in the portrait window
The year ’round xmas tree
The stain the olives from the olive tree leave on the sidewalk
The v-cut of the genko tree amid the power lines
The smoky cheesey smell of the Round Table down the street
The coral tree at the corner.September 9th, 2011 at 9:27 PM
August Open Thread
3 comments
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Alviso, again
Out here, it’s the same as ever. Maybe the grass in the marina is higher. But the empty views across to Mission Peak, the trains like tiny capsules coming into view, the abandonedness. It’s the same.
Vahl’s beckons. But I resist. It’s still early. Then: the sound of ranchera music from somebody’s boombox in a backyard I can’t see.August 31st, 2011 at 4:18 PM
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Branham and Capitol, 1998
You called out to the passersby
from the windows of your car
So I couldn’t help but sigh
And think you were having fun at their expense
They probably didn’t like it
And scorned your show of teenaged pretenseBut you of course were undeterred
And yelled and screamed though no one played along
There was always Jeff and me, though unimpressed
We would do until Adam returnedAugust 31st, 2011 at 4:13 PM
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Three Questions
If cars are so bad
Why do I drive?If strip malls alienate
Why do I buy things there?If freeways ruin cities
Why do I get that rush every time I take the 17/880 flyover?August 31st, 2011 at 4:10 PM
July Open Thread
10 comments
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Your backyard is a pirate’s treasure of OSH bargains.
The trampoline.
The hammocks.
The swing chair.
The swing set (even though Todd left for college last year)
And even the plastic standup planters.
I bet you have the power drill
That you bought one day on San Carlos
The one by the longest overpass in San Jose
With the worst sidewalks
And you have the receipt to this day because you’ve never opened it.
But still: 40% offJuly 31st, 2011 at 9:48 PM
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That’s just you being observant
Susan said when I said that the spiders were back
They’re here all the time she said
I thought about that
It’s true:
The sun comes in at a different angle
We moved the books so you could see more
And take in the August sunsets over Monte Bello
But we haven’t been here sunset time so I don’t know
But i do know the spider webs in the corners outside are growingJuly 31st, 2011 at 9:36 PM
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You can tell me as much as you want.
Gently close the door
But the gentle has somethig hard in it
walk down to the corner store on Hedding.
Come back later
Brown bag
But it’s iced tea
How disappointing
We talk, mostly you
it’s ok
You take it on more than I do
Hat tip to youBut I do envy the smell of a sole cigarette on your t-shirt the next day
July 31st, 2011 at 9:33 PM
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The House Next To Yours on Randol
I guess got knocked down and the Tuscan Villa is in its place. It looks funny, but for the life of me I can’t remember now what was there before. Although I do remember that the son of the owner sometimes sat cross-legged in the summer in the front yard and smoked pot. Your mother was torn between understanding and embarassment.
July 25th, 2011 at 8:33 PM
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The Place, south first street.
I have driven by it a million times. Is it really the longest bar in town? How do they know?
July 25th, 2011 at 8:30 PM
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What I see right now
The pollen falls from the pepper tree. A butterfly. A little one. The top of the redwood tree next door, swinging slightly in the breeze. Shingles. Sky that looks like there’s fog coming. A fence that’s falling down. A chainlink fence that isn’t. The top of a jeep.
July 25th, 2011 at 8:29 PM
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The cruel protocols of discarded things makes me embarassed that the hat I wear today has a rip in it. Even the hipsters on south first look at me like I don’t belong. Or maybe it’s just me.
July 25th, 2011 at 8:27 PM
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The kind of foggy, kind of sunny morning makes me think I have no pressing needs. No deadlines. No assignments. And so it’s ok for me to just listen to the morning sprinklers going off next door, and try to guess when the first stage starts and the next ones begin. I bet the sidewalk is wet.
July 25th, 2011 at 8:25 PM
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The San Jose Giants game
Something about the way the sun slants on the mountains, the way the bbq smells, makes me want to wax homeric. O Most Unchanged of Venues, the Rosy-Fingered sunset etches the Holy Umunuhm. Or something similar.
But i do bow, most humbly, to the great sameness in this valley of change. It’s like Dad still works at IBM and the Century Theaters are new.July 25th, 2011 at 8:23 PM
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Apologies to all who sent in submissions in June, we were away on a California Bike Trip and just got back and will start posting this week. Thanks as always for your less than 77 words of genius!
July 7th, 2011 at 5:50 PM
June Open Thread
Comments are closed!
May Days
16 comments
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After the rain, the gutters by the abandoned service yard are filled with black water. The abandoned one-quart Corona bottle in the parking strip reflects dimly; slight ripples amid the grass cuttings, weeds and fosters’ freeze cup.
May 16th, 2011 at 8:20 PM
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The real watchers of the skies
The huge satellite dishes, two of them, on top of the collapsing bungalow.
They point south, like they’re straining to catch the beep beep beep of some radio call from a distant star, sent light years previously.May 16th, 2011 at 8:18 PM
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The sound of wings at night
Do you remember? Outside the old Victorian–I think it’s at E. St. John and 17th. Stone griffons guarding the wrought iron gate. I remember you wondered if they would fly when we weren’t looking. And we laughed and weeks later, when we heard the bird sounds through Sharon’s open window before dawn, you said that was their mating call.
May 16th, 2011 at 8:17 PM
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San Salvador and 3d, 11:00 am
The guy is riding a pink cruiser. He’s wearing an old black leather jacket. A blonde mohawk. Smoking, while he waits for the signal to change.
I have lost my ability to comprehend irony.
May 16th, 2011 at 8:15 PM
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What were they thinking?
The blank freeway wall where St. John’s runs into 87: this is what happen when you design a city from a map’s bird’s-eye view, instead of from a walking homo sapien’s perspective.
May 16th, 2011 at 8:13 PM
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Not on Google Maps
They say that all the blank spaces on the maps of San Jose have been filled. I disagree: the triangle median across the street from The Place on South First Street. Those redwoods and palms and dying grass go unmarked.
May 16th, 2011 at 8:12 PM
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You can tell spring has arrived
by the tumbleweeds of pollen
rolling through gutters
piling up against
bus stops,
Smothering windshields,
making a mad dash across the street
a twisting, fluffy chain.
Like schoolchildren holding hands.New color is added
to the flotsam in the street.
A buttercup hue
To the flaming Cheetos bag
still failing to decompose
despite the best efforts
of April’s showers.Nature tries hard
to fertilize our concrete earth.
We complain of allergies.May 13th, 2011 at 5:40 PM
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There’s a fine line between old and funky
And old and scuzzy
And old and unfair.
Let us not turn poverty and injustice into quaintness.May 13th, 2011 at 5:39 PM
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it is sad
really
to see
a city
diehand in hand
i walk with my
lover every night
before bed
through the flouride
yellow lit streets of
san josesilicon
valley
rustbeltdespondent storefronts
now homes for the desperate
hobo curled in the shadow of
a seedy strip mall
all her possessions piled
in a nest to warm her chestall you people in your
gentrified delusionsWillow Glen
The Rose Gardencan’t you see that
YOUR CITY IS DYING
but it’s okay
because if you turn
the other way
all that decay
is masked by
potpourri memoriesso here is a call to action
leave your lawns to seed
and your cars at home
take a walk
support local culture
lets resuscitate san joseMay 13th, 2011 at 3:30 PM
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Three Memories of San Jose (1999)
I.
Smoky Night.
The Cambrian Park Carousel wasn’t working.
I parked in front of your Mom’s garage and then should couldn’t get out later.
I wonder: has she forgiven me yet?II.
Shannon
I fell asleep before your prom night was over. Sorry.III.
A Toyota Camry
We figured out how to get the passenger seat to go back so we could fall asleep in each other’s arms.May 10th, 2011 at 12:05 AM
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While we sat on your new patio, looking at the mountains and trying to figure out the different types of trees, you went inside for another beer. I looked around at your new plants and roof and was pleased you kep the aluminum windows and sliding glass doors. I dreamed of Slip ‘n’ Slide.
May 9th, 2011 at 11:59 PM
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Oh Dutch Hammond
Did you ever think your middle class Spoke City
Would turn out to be so profligate?May 9th, 2011 at 11:57 PM
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Dawn on Curtner Ave
My boots scuff the gravel bike path behind Tamien station.
The freeway sighs
Litter fliesMinutes before the Sunday sun comes up over Communications Hill.
May 9th, 2011 at 11:56 PM
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The Garden Cuttings in the street on Hanchett
Your palm tree looks healthy, if a little root bound.
Why are you throwing it away?May 3rd, 2011 at 7:04 PM
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An Ode to SJPD
So they broke into my house through the window
And you came quickly, and showed me how
They walked across the room looking for cash
And finding none, they left in a flash
Leaving only the open drawers and messed up table
And you were soft and respectful and immensely able
Even though I realize now I wasted your time
With a burglary that wasn’t, but you said it was fine
It was your job and mine to report such things
And you called me ma’am in a little voice that sings
I like having a female cop come take care of me
With your short hair and manners and bravery!May 3rd, 2011 at 7:02 PM
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Overheard outside the Sharks playoff game against Detroit
“I didn’t know Caltrain came down this far.”
“I don’t dare hope they win, because I will jinx it.”
“They are worse than rooting for the Cubs.”
“This building has aged well.”
“How come the Warriors don’t play here?”
“Where was the Cow Palace?”May 3rd, 2011 at 6:58 PM
April Showers
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Thank you for your patience.
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Bent on some urgent errand I started driving to the OSH on San Carlos and forgot why just as I turned into the parking lot. So I bought glue and flowers. And that sad Keane song was on the muzak while I waited in line.
April 19th, 2011 at 8:49 PM
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To the barrista at the Naglee & Park Starbucks
You wore your glasses today, which makes you look a little bit more like an undergraduate, or at least someone who rushed to work without having time to put on their contact lenses.
April 19th, 2011 at 8:44 PM
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Come here my friend let us sit together
Here by the percolation ponds
With the clouds flirting with the top of the ride
And the ducks and geese and fisherman and bikers
And try to remember that day when we came up here on the bus
Walked the rest of the way
We smoked pot by the Portapotties
Talked about girls
And fell asleep on the picnic tables
Looking up at the hawks, circling.April 19th, 2011 at 8:41 PM
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It’s pointless to point out that the trees are all new, the high rises empty, and the restaurants full of toxins.
Wind-tousled clouds scud above the mountains.
The cupola still stands.
I like how the transience of new city things
Here seem so, well transient
And the mountains and the 20s buildings still stand
Silent, watching, with a disdainful eyeApril 18th, 2011 at 3:08 PM
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A tough night
We watched the Sharks at Caravan. This place is crowded with people who are the age I used to be. I drink one too many beers.
Dinner at La Vic. The new on Santa Clara. Cleaner.
But all the cars and noise and jerseys and boozy people felt funny.
First I thought: how vibrant.
Then I thought: how demented.
I wake up at 2.00 with that whirly feeling and wonder where I am.April 18th, 2011 at 3:03 PM
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there is something wrong here. empty storefronts and the button up club boy throwing up in front of them.
walking down First
See some advertising for luxury
highrise
condominiums
smiling white stock photography teeth
sexy views
kidney shaped pools
what city does that skyline belong to?
shining spires
fingers feeling for
heaven as far the eye can see
that is not what I see
looking out falcon style
from the top floor of
Martin Luther Kingwhat eye. see
Vacant. Buildings. Decaying
Victorians. Trees. Smog.uncanny valley of the heart’s delight
April 10th, 2011 at 3:00 PM
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I still think it’s awful.
I read the articles in the Merc awhile back and forgot to write in: Is it just me, or is the Q-statue in Plaza Park even *worse* looking that it was before? Tell me tell me tell me we all agree it should be put to a more functional use: like a bulletin board or Free Graffitti Zone?April 8th, 2011 at 5:57 PM
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Because I promised to be mindful of Muzak
It’s cold again. But warmer in the dentist’s office on Forest. I look at the ceiling and at the vent. I always do: where else to look when you’re on your back here?
Rod Stewart, Have I Told You Lately on Kbay. Boy, that’s a bad song.
April 7th, 2011 at 8:22 PM
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I know that tree, Ida
What’s really funny
Is that in this town that used to be man-made orchards by the square mile
We can hardly ever find anything deep-rooted.
Much less a tree.April 7th, 2011 at 6:06 PM
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The redwood at the bottom of south first street
You can’t see it, but you can tell:
This is one deep-rooted tree.
Funny, how the ones in Plaza Park look smaller.April 7th, 2011 at 6:06 PM
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Thank you Back After
You prompt me to remember the One Big Question about establishing a sense of place is establishing a Canon of Place Experience. By which i mean: What places are essential. I love your memories as I sense your places may be like mine.April 4th, 2011 at 2:59 PM
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Back After reminds me
The first thing I did when I came home from college was to walk to Rosegarden, and count the number of redwood trees. I realized in my time away that the best thing about the Rosegarden wasn’t the roses, it was…the trees.
(is it possible the # was 67?)April 4th, 2011 at 3:24 AM
March Musings
11 comments
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Today, I dedicate myself to being mindful of the muzak i hear around me. Paseo San Antonio: Ella’s Old Devil Moon.
April 1st, 2011 at 3:36 PM
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I have one week before my job starts.
Not working on a sunny afternoon.
A matinee? A game on the tv? A nap?
Instead I bike through Naglee Park.
Nicer than I remember.
And, astonishingly, completely saved from the ravages of the 60s onward.
I bow to ye homeowners.April 1st, 2011 at 3:35 PM
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A baseball game
A musical
A mall
A coffeeshop
A movie
A parking lot
Is it ok to like American things yet?April 1st, 2011 at 3:32 PM
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Revisitingt Cinebar after 11 years is like tuning into a pirate radio station broadcast coming from the capital of a lost republic.
March 31st, 2011 at 6:04 PM
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Another London memory
Waiting for Caltrain at Diridon
I expect the soft breeze of the Tube as the train comes in, but I remember I’m here, not there. The soft breeze from the mountains comes in insteand.March 31st, 2011 at 3:13 PM
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London memory
Why is it that I remember being able to see into people’s flats at nighttime when walking by:
making dinner, eating dinner, watching TV
But here, the lights seems never on as you stroll by.March 31st, 2011 at 3:11 PM
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Lunch at the bar at Original Joe’s
But, please believe me! only because the counter was full.
Goodness: baseball again.
My heart quickens and I think about Timmy.
GO GIANTS!March 31st, 2011 at 3:05 PM
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There’s one dead leaf from last year hanging out on my Chinese Pistachio. One hopeless romantic who thinks: if I just hang on a little longer he’ll change his mind!
March 30th, 2011 at 8:20 PM
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Back after 11 years
First: thanks for the site, my mom told me about it. It’s touching.
Here’s my submission:
The walk downtown seems the same
The planes, the park, the jacaranda
The not-quite-filled in quality i came to miss.
You can be anonymous here.
Susie wanted to go into the Hedley Room
So we did, and when we talked about those times
Everyone was awkward because there was a name we couldn’t mention
What a surprise: You still hurt me so.March 30th, 2011 at 8:16 PM
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These light rail busses give new meaning to the term “see-through.” Why do they run them when nobody’s in them?
March 23rd, 2011 at 3:11 PM
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China Chen
Simplicity itself.
The broth.
The chicken.
The brown noodles.
What am I supposed to do with the scissors?March 6th, 2011 at 12:45 AM
Open Thread February
22 comments
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the moutaintops were white all the way up the coast, like somebody had sprinkled powdered sugar on the peaks of the purple brownies. The new terminal is so clean. I missed the smell of cigarettes outside. When did that stop?
February 28th, 2011 at 9:36 PM
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And I thought I was alone
Good to know there are other parking structure aficionados. The other day, when it was raining, I tried to get to the top of the Vallco structure, but it was roped off. So I parked on floor 3, watched the rain come down, marveled at the spring green on the tops of the trees, and pondered a starbucks cup on the wall-edge in front of a beat up Acura.
February 27th, 2011 at 9:03 PM
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Thanks Susie for reminding me
The tops of parking structures give the only place to get a view
If you’re not on the top of the glass towers
From Vallco, I remember it being like a treehouse
You only see the tops of the redwoods
Like you’re up in the mountains, climbing a pine
Except the cars on wet Wolfe road are loudFebruary 25th, 2011 at 9:51 PM
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The first time i visited san jose
I went to a matinee of the movie Action Jackson.
It reminded me of the St. Francis theater in s.f.
Loud patrons, sticky floors
Wonderfully direct B-movies.
Then I got a taco.February 22nd, 2011 at 12:58 AM
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Thanks susie for reminding me
When I first moved here i thought:
wouldn’t it be amazing to get into the bofa cupola.
Still do.February 22nd, 2011 at 12:53 AM
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From the top of the Camera 3 Parking Lot
You can see the footprint of the older city.
Italianate cupolas on the old BofA building.
The stone arches on OJ’s and the Ballet
And the way the top of the Studio Theater sign nods forward into South First Street
Like an old grandma falling asleep.February 18th, 2011 at 7:05 PM
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Valentine’s Day 2000
You said: Let’s drive to Santa Cruz.
So we did, and walked out on the jetty by the harbor.
The fruit trees were blooming there, too along the San Lorenzo, like along Los Gatos Creek. White blossoms.
You said: I know you will leave me.
I said: Don’t be so sure.
11 years later, we’re still not sure.
And while that doesn’t reassure, time counts for something, doesn’t it?February 15th, 2011 at 12:58 AM
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It was 1999
The college applications were in. All yours looked east, mine south. Your team nearly won league in basketball. I just finished Eagle Scout. So I remember: after the theater party, after the patty melts at the Cardinal at midnight. you squeezed my hand as we walked toward your mom’s Malibu. It all changed for me after that. Thanks.
February 13th, 2011 at 2:10 AM
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Even then, I could sense something in the back of the room that didn’t seem right. There was something in your insistence on your love that made it seem it might run out somehow and you wanted to get everything you could out of it before it died. I remember standing on the mound in Guadalupe Gardens watching the planes coming in and you dismissed some stray comment of mine with a level of disdain and sharpness that made me know that this flight didn’t have much longer until landing.
February 11th, 2011 at 7:10 PM
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Valentine’s Day 1989
Two day’s previous, he had stood me up at the Phoenix bookstore. This would not rise again. i called him to cancel our date at the Headley Room on Vday. He left a kind of sad message. I didn’t return it. Sigh.
February 11th, 2011 at 4:02 AM
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You wanted to meet at Good Karma but knowing what I had to say, I couldn’t. So I said the Dive and you said OK. I could tell you knew. Thanks for making it easy.
February 10th, 2011 at 8:22 PM
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Summit Can Wait
God, it feels like a summer night the wind is coming from the valley and it’s dry and warm. In the car, I wonder if I should turn on the air. I want an ice cream and think I see TV lights coming out of windows and screen doors. But I just open the windows. It smells like manure, somebody is planting.Trees silhouetted blur past. The tires scratch on the turns. I feel like I’m going through the back of the wardrobe.
February 8th, 2011 at 10:41 PM
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At the zinc bar on Santana Row
The French singer in the background on the stereo nearly succeeds in distracting us from the basketball game, muted on the tv above the bar.
February 7th, 2011 at 4:55 PM
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The oranges are turning.
Still small, but turning.
The lemons wait.February 1st, 2011 at 11:10 PM
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It’s only a false spring if you think
That a season has to last four months
If a season can come and go in a day
The year is very fullFebruary 1st, 2011 at 7:20 PM
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Every year
I promise to put a dagger in the chest of the devil.
Promise to wrap my heart in cotton.
Promise to let the wave slide over me.
This, while the flowering pear blooms early.
Then it gets cold again.
Wait til April to plant.January 27th, 2011 at 8:06 PM
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Shimmering
I had lunch with a friend in one of the downtown highrises. The panoramas of the mountains stun. Mt. Hamilton Observatory is like a 50’s dream. But the best part is looking down on the palm trees, the way the fronds catch the sun.
January 20th, 2011 at 12:35 AM
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Driving back up the wintry coast on 101 from Sandy Eggo you notice something: somewhere around Carpinteria, Southern California starts to look like Northern California. Santa Barbara is an in-between place, SLO is decidedly No Cal. Something about Victorian houses near a central commercial district.
January 3rd, 2011 at 7:01 PM
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Besides the Genko tree dropping its leaves
And the people down the street on ladders at dusk on Sunday put ting up their lights
And the traffic at 280 and 17
And the mobs downtown on weekend nights
And the big band Xmas songs on the radio
And the girls in UGGS
You’d just think it was another fall day.December 16th, 2010 at 4:00 AM
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I see Drew’s point. But I’ve always viewed vernacular Christmas decorations and pageantry as a wonderful subversion of the heaviness of Abrahamic religions. No wonder the Puritans didn’t like Xmas, either: it’s a pagan co-opt.
December 8th, 2010 at 5:54 AM
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neon light ferris wheel
hands stuffed in coat
pockets warding the chill
children in antlers playing
reindeer games in california
churros ain’t no substitute
for roasted chestnuts
all these robots singing
carols heads rotating
back and forth
poor emulation of life
hawaiian frogs really
teenagers with blood
shot eyes and resined
fingertips think this is
tradition but like the faith
that spawned it
this robotic holiday event
is an empty collection
of ramshackle ideas
automatons parading
in the parkDecember 5th, 2010 at 1:33 AM
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The frost on the lawn looks like the dusting of snow on the sloping mountains above Gorman, as you drive up Highway 5. But that’s snow. This is frost.
November 30th, 2010 at 3:50 PM
Last Week’s Topic: Used Clothing Stores
Comments are closed!
Previous Week’s Topic: Take Out
3 comments
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15 extra pounds.
China Inn is responsible.
November 16th, 2010 at 10:23 PM
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If Gulzaar’s on West San Carlos
were in Lebanon, would it still be fabulous? I let the cartons sist in my kitchen for 15 minutes before I open, to the the smell of the Levntine fill my house.
November 16th, 2010 at 10:22 PM
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Las Palmas on the Alameda
I used to marvel at the Windmill Palms on your corner. Is that where you get your name? Or is it the Big Palms in front? Your unredecorated inside defies convention, which endears you to us.
November 16th, 2010 at 10:20 PM
The Construction Zone
Comments are closed!
4 comments
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CPA
The kid on the bike goes in circles around the white polar bear. If I count right, he is creating the 13th circle i can see, counting the inside ramp. The is one loopy building.
November 7th, 2010 at 4:21 PM
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The Old MLK Library on San Carlos
If art is on a spectrum
Beginning with Ugly
Then becoming Kitsch
Then Vintage
Then Classic
I think you are now Kitsch.November 2nd, 2010 at 5:38 PM
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When I die, I want to be buried beneath the patio of The Flames on Winchester. Undernearth the mature Bird of Paradise. They tell me this used to be a Bob’s Big Boy. I–a vegeterian–am happy with that.
November 2nd, 2010 at 3:26 AM
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For years, we looked out our dining room window at the Western Appliance neon Fork. Or Transistor. Or Whatever it is. Now we know it’s architectural, and we feel better.
November 2nd, 2010 at 3:25 AM
Admit it, you go to Starbucks!
3 comments
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Gladrags and Handbags
At 8:00 pm last night I heard a song in the Starbucks on the Alameda & Julian that I hadn’t heard in about 20 years. It was one of those songs you remember hearing only on the radio, and you don’t know the name. But because they have the monitor telling you what you’re hearing, now I know it. This is problematic for me.
October 26th, 2010 at 8:58 PM
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The Starbucks on Coleman by Costco
Not so long ago
I was part of the third
Wave coffee cult
Pulling 28 second
Espresso shots
With perfect crema
Artful pouring of
Pefectly steamed milk
Making leafy heart
Designs, but now
I spend an hour of
Every work morning
Drinking my daily cup
Of coffee at Starbucks
Like all the other
GrownupsOctober 25th, 2010 at 9:39 PM
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Naglee and Park
For a long time, I avoided you. Corporate brand/killing independent coffee chains/sameness/success, etc. But at a certain point I gave in to convenience and simplicity and the fact that you’re on the elbow of most of my trips. I now see I was wrong and unfair. Sorry.
October 25th, 2010 at 5:05 PM
The Closest Dive Bar
6 comments
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The Red Stag
I can remember when you used to rewrite the idea of ’strip mall dive bar.’ You’re nicer now, more of a k aroaker place. But still, in the afternoons: your door opens onto the parking lot, the click of poolballs, hank williams on the jukebox. Like a bubble iin a storm.
October 23rd, 2010 at 1:49 AM
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The Bears on West San Carlos
deserve an award. Not just for the biker clientele, the smokers out in the back parking lot, the Grateful Dead on the jukebox. All that’s great, but mostly this: You front the street with windows. Full floor to ceiling windows. So people can look in. And people can look out. No dark hideaway this, no incognito: this is open and transparent and defiantly so.
October 20th, 2010 at 6:24 PM
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Some movies catch this idea. Dark inside. People talking. Jukebox acts as soundtrack. And then the outside door opens and you realize it’s daytime. A shot of light. Then another beer. Another pool game. Another shuffleboard.
October 20th, 2010 at 2:16 AM
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cinebar
Tacobilly scene queen
Totters past the projected
Paintings of Marilyn Monroe
Hank Williams &
Robert Smith
Rolling gait
A sailor on the deck
of a ship
PBR on tap
Outside
Fixies chained up to
Parking meters
I saw a guy throw up
Against the wall
While waiting to use
The bathroom
What the hell?October 20th, 2010 at 12:15 AM
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The Caravan turns its back on the Greyhound station on a day that started out wet and now is clearing. I come in a little warily, it’s my first time. Bartender nods, so do the regulars at the end of the bar, quietly chatting at noon. But something else is in here, you can feel it. Something touched here last night, some camraderie, some crazy joke, some amazing pool shot, some perfectly-chosen jukebox song. Maybe all of that. It’s like a warm shadow that lingers, a whiff of fading incense, a warm wall even now that the sun has set. Community strikes here, brotherhood of drinkers, and while it may not be here right now, it waits patiently, and so do we.
October 19th, 2010 at 8:23 PM
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Cinebar on San Fernando Street.
Afternoon. Light slants. The door’s open. Guys on stools at the bar, evenly spaced. No women, but I walk in. And nobody looks at me. Not even the bartender. They’re all watching JFK on the High Def TV above the bar. During a downtime the bartender notices me. I order a PBR because everybody else does. He nods. They nod. I watch the movie. This is like being at home with my brothers.
October 19th, 2010 at 12:53 AM
The View From My Upstairs Window
5 comments
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I am poor
Or rather a working
Class artist with paint
Tangled in hair
It gets cramped
With canvases
And wood
Easels competing
With my couch
And my bed
My studio is my home
And where I live
Upstairs windows
Up the rent
by another grandOctober 15th, 2010 at 3:46 PM
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You can see the empty lightrail cars. The tops of the office buildings. The way the valley flattens out to the north. And those planes looking like they’re dive-bombing the Guadalupe River.
October 14th, 2010 at 12:00 AM
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The top of the sycamore tree is getting crinkly. The Diablo Range peeks through the apartment houses and is brown and dry. If I crane my neck just right I can see hwy 101.
October 13th, 2010 at 5:48 PM
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Well, RGD, I had a second floor bedroom, too, growing up in Portland. But instead of those craggy California Coast Range mountains, I had a cloud-enshrouded Mt. Hood peaking out like some weird Japanese woodcut. But I mostly remember the pitched roofs of Portland. Now, I see tiled roofs and solar panels.
October 12th, 2010 at 10:44 PM
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I can remember as a kid looking out over the flat San Fernando Valley to the lavender San Gabriel Mountains. Now, I see the flat Santa Clara Valley and the green Santa Cruz Mountains. With the holy Western Appliance neon fork punctuating the landscape.
October 12th, 2010 at 3:06 PM
Getting Dark Earlier
5 comments
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You know its getting to be that time of year when you get to the Rosegarden for your 7.30 pm stroll to the fountain with your kid, and the gates are already locked.
October 7th, 2010 at 5:59 PM
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If I were a dog I would come in earlier.
If I were a bird I would disappear sooner.
If I were a car I would turn on my lights more quickly.
If I were a shadow I wouldn’t last long.
If I were me I would think There Goes Another Summer.
Not bad, this one.October 6th, 2010 at 2:58 PM
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August 1943:
The last bumpy bus ride from the orchard.I watched the sun slowly hide behind the old tower,every day this week it’s gone down before we get home.At last, the end of prune picking for this summer. I can hardly wait for school to start.October 5th, 2010 at 9:01 PM
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Where’s the halo over the mountains when the sun sets? Where’s the long shadows creeping across the street in front of my apartment? Where’s that sly feeling you get when the glass of wine at 7.00 is still drinking in the daytime? Nuts.
October 5th, 2010 at 3:35 PM
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Last night we noticed it. 7.00 pm but that kind of medium light gray coming down early. It felt like we had to come in early from playing football in the front yard, and mom was cooking something (now considered) unhealthy in the frying pan.
October 4th, 2010 at 6:20 PM
The Taxi Ride Home from the Airport
3 comments
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Awkward Silence by JMPhagan
Piling our things and ourselves into the cab, we pull away from the airport.
The driver’s never decide their own route anymore, always asking, “Which way do you want to go?” so you end up driving yourself home with them at the wheel. An awkward silence falls, randomly interrupted by the crackle of the CB radio.
Home, and the driver helps unload the bags, leaving the last in the middle of the street as he pulls away.September 29th, 2010 at 1:59 AM
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Boy it’s hot outside still.
The windows down air rushes.
The Coleman Tunnel.
This cab lilts to the left, strangely.
Dangerously.
It dies for a minute on the freeway.
Restarts.
Drivers says it happens all the time.
Don’t worry.
Jeez.September 28th, 2010 at 11:16 PM
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I miss the old airport with its funky ramps and 60s bad design sensibility. There’s hardly any of that left in San Jose. These hot days make me remember driving around in big cars with the air conditioner on. No traffic. Brown hills. Bare feet on asphalt. But then, catching the late night taxi home from the trip to L.A., windows down, remant whiffs of incense in the cab, the crunch of the tires on the street, I think the driver gets it even though we can hardly communicate where I’m going.
September 28th, 2010 at 3:30 PM
Riding Caltrain
7 comments
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Sunday morning twacked out
Sunrays brighter than the flashing
Lights pounding pounding to the
Incessant bass beat of the night before
Damn everything is sore and the train
Seat couldn’t be soft enough
How long is the line from the City to
My new home, San Jose
I couldn’t sleep even if wanted to
So this trip lasts longer than the
Whole night before
The sweat still haunts me
Clinging like the memory of a stolen kiss
To my shirt and my scalp
Messing up my hair
Friends with dilated eyes hidden
By oversized gaudy tinted glasses
Look like e-tarded zombies
Swaying to the dying echoes of
Half recollected music
All thought this trip redefines misery
I am so glad that I decided not to driveSeptember 25th, 2010 at 4:36 AM
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When I first moved up here for college, I can remember taking the Southern Pacific (as it was then called) from Palo Alto to San Francisco. The train was really late. We sat on the ground and smoked Dunhills. The passenger cars were the old single deckers in which you could flip the seatbacks, depending on which way you were going. They smelled like cigars.
September 24th, 2010 at 4:08 PM
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Going north, the stations get closer together, there are more trees, you feel the ocean, fog, and city approaching. Like you’re going to a cliff. Going south, it’s like liberation: the stations stretch out, the sky gets bigger, the mountains farther away, it’s sunnier. By the time you hit Mountain View it’s like you’ve lost the posse and are home free.
September 24th, 2010 at 3:05 AM
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Philosophers of urban living often comment on how the best wayt o experience a c ity is to be in it and out of it at the same time; to wit, the view of a streetcorner from a balcony allows you to see and hear the bustle below, but now be in it. I think Caltrain takes an interesting t wist on that idea, letting us glide through the city in a bubble–seeing but not hearing its underside, its backside, and those few places (like palo alto and sunnyvale) where the c ity actually turns to face the station and welcome it as an entry point to the town.
September 22nd, 2010 at 6:28 PM
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I once spent three years without a car, living in sj and working in palo alto. Caltrain was my personal monorail. I never listened to the radio. I read loads. And I marveled at the graffitti and fencing and overpasses and the kids getting on and getting off and the abandoned newspapers from up the peninsula and the water towers and the crossing lights. I miss it. I especially miss shopping solely at Molly Stone’s on Cal Ave.
September 22nd, 2010 at 2:46 PM
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We speed by so quickly I don’t have much time to violate the backyard privacy of homes by the tracks. I don’t even recognize my old high school as we pass by. Because apparently at baby bullet speed a weedy patio looks similar to a football field.
Or possibly I need new glasses.
September 21st, 2010 at 6:56 PM
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There’s a quiet inside the passenger cars, a certain air-conditioned clean-ness that makes you feel like you’re in a bubble going past the backs of buildings and the abandoned parking lots.
September 21st, 2010 at 5:25 PM
Watching the Planes Come In
5 comments
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I cannot help but wonder
as I visit this fine town
of what’s on top or under
or blue or black or brownand so that’s why i ask you
in words quite soft and dear
isn’t it like an aerial zoo
to have the planes come in so near?September 17th, 2010 at 5:51 PM
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Reverse Days
You can tell when it’s windy in San Francisco because the planes take off to the south. It’s like the puff of smoke from a smoke signal letting you know that far away, someplace you can’t see, something is happeinng. The dominoes are falling.
September 16th, 2010 at 4:27 PM
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From the Mound in Guadalupe Gardens
If you sit just right, looking south
The lights of the planes align perfectly between two Lombardy Poplar trees
That used to be in somebody’s back yard
Before they ploughed this neighborhood
To make room for the approachSeptember 14th, 2010 at 10:17 PM
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Sometimes I hear you before I see you.
The rumble.
The sound bouncing off the office building walls.
My first thought: something’s wrong.
But then I grow used to the intrusion.
It’s Southwest.
Maybe from L.A. I guess.
Then it’s gone.September 14th, 2010 at 3:30 AM
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Context
“This is it?” We’ve been sitting on the side of the road for an hour. The pretty blue runway lights have lost their charm, and the mosquitoes have discovered ours.
“Yes.” A luggage cart drives by.
“Really? This was the romantic spot to take a date in college?”
“Yes.” A pause to swat a mosquito, “Of course we used to get drunk first.”
“Oh.” Imagining an alcoholic rather than a blood-sucking buzz, “I can see that.”
September 14th, 2010 at 1:54 AM
Waiting at the Traffic Light
4 comments
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Once he had checked his hair in the rear view
Once he had got that piece of lunch out of his tooth
Once he had checked the gas gauge
Once he had checked out the girl on the bicycle
Once he had fiddled with the radio
He realized he had nothing more productive to do.September 10th, 2010 at 6:06 PM
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The Guy at Julian and Stockton
He heard something over by the train tracks
And watched it like it really mattered.
I was next to him and couldn’t track it.
I thought maybe a freight or a Baby Bullet;
But no, all I could see was the top of the Shark Tank.
Then he turned, still craning his neck to something I failed to fine.September 9th, 2010 at 2:49 PM
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The Red Light at Hedding and the Alameda
I remember reading an old Alan Hess column about why this white building with the stunted redwood trees in front is supposed to be so great. Frank Lloyd Wright acolyte or something. I don’t get it. The sycamores are starting to lose their leaves. The left-turn arrow seems short. The 22 bus is idling next to me.
September 7th, 2010 at 8:07 PM
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Finally, a moment to relax. Notice the overhead wires. Change the radio. Consider getting the inside cleaned, it’s a mess. And sneak a peak at the guy next to me. Alas, he disappoints.
September 6th, 2010 at 10:15 PM
3 comments
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The Birch on the last day of August
Right in the middle of your body
One single leaf
Has turned a yellow brownSeptember 4th, 2010 at 7:09 PM
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This morning, as the sigh of the freeway and the rumble of the cars next door woke me up, I heard the scratching of something downstairs against the door . At first, I thought it was a rat or squirrel. When I went down to look, it was some dry sycamore leaves swirling in a little circle against the bottom of the house.
August 31st, 2010 at 9:59 PM
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The Chinese Pistachio in our back yard is the first one to start, every year. The top leaves crisp and yellow in the final heat waves, and crinkle on the ground as the fogwind marks the upcoming change.
August 30th, 2010 at 8:23 PM
Back to School
One comment
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You guys look great walking across the street to the big buildings. I don’t understand your fashions but I get that it’s groovy and I like the way you guys hug and say hi and, for a week at least, seem to be one big group, not riven by cliques and race and demographics. Try to keep it that way.
August 25th, 2010 at 8:22 PM
The Way the Fog Hugs Monte Bella Ridge
2 comments
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If you flew here from the east for the first time, you’d think you were still in the middle of the country. The parched mountains to the east say: desert. But the forested western mountains suggest something different: why so green? But then the tops of the redwoods and pines start to shake and rattle in the late afternoon gl ow, and you see the white bearded fog hover on the top of the ridge and you know: there’s an ocean out there. The fog is its messenger.
August 20th, 2010 at 2:56 PM
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You look like shaving cream overflowing the sink when the kids get ahold of the cannister with no one looking.
August 19th, 2010 at 12:14 AM
The On Ramp
One comment
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i wish the entry to the freeway tried a little harder to make me like what I am about to do.
August 13th, 2010 at 4:10 AM
The Expressway
One comment
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I used to think you were ugly. A scar across the valley. But then I was told that you were designed by the county way back when in anticipation of freeways that never got funded. So now, I see you instead as a provisional solution that seems to have become permament. Sort of like a a guest that came for a weekend and then, over time, moved in.
July 28th, 2010 at 6:13 PM
Trash Pick Up Day
4 comments
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They give me two bins
In which to place trash
Recycle and refuse
blue and brown
So, like a good hipster
I separate painstakingly
Glass, plastic, and paper
From everything else and
Put the result at the curb
On the proscribed day
Only to see those hardworking
Waste management specialists
Not pay attention to
sustainable intention
And treat both bins
like garbage
Dumping them both together
Into the back of their
TruckJuly 22nd, 2010 at 3:33 PM
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I remember the battered metal garbage cans. When they were cans. I remember when we brought newspapers and bottles in ourselves for recycling. It’s better now. I like that our waste is no longer a statement of status.
July 21st, 2010 at 4:05 AM
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I remember the battered metal garbage cans. When they were cans. I remember when we brought newspapers and bottles in ourselves for recycling. It’s better now. I like that our waste is no longer a statement of status.
July 21st, 2010 at 4:05 AM
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You’re better than an alarm clock.
I hear you down the street.
A moment of panic: Did i forget to put the containers out?
Then relief–i remembered.
You come.
Rattle around.
Then go down the street.
Your sound diminishes.
I fall back asleep.July 20th, 2010 at 4:13 PM
Newly Planted Street Trees
6 comments
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I always feel sad
When I see trees
Planted against their
Nature in an alien clime
You see, San Jose is
Not naturally home to
Blighted palms and
Magnolia treesJuly 18th, 2010 at 11:36 PM
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I think that I shallnever see
The clouds break out in puffy glee
Nor skylarks sing abandonly
Nor eagles fly with history
But if i walk determinedly
Surely I’ll find a newly-planted tree!July 15th, 2010 at 6:05 PM
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Years from now photographs will show
A stick here attached to another stick.
Some kid will see it and say
Boy the trees have grown alot since then.July 15th, 2010 at 6:03 PM
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It makes sense that a tree is a signifier: the older redwoods, pines and palms bespeak a different time and sensibility–dark wooden interiors, wool jackets, hats with brims, wood-paneled studies and the smell of pot roast. The empty, paved-over parking strips recall another time: practical 1950s, easy to clean, frictionless driving, no obstacles. And now, the new tree: a statement that we want time to pass, want the full blown leafy street tree,and wish this sapling would grow fast. It’s transitional, and the stick next to it is like training wheels on a bike.
July 14th, 2010 at 7:59 PM
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It’s a called a parking strip because people used to park there. I wonder when they became tree strips.
July 14th, 2010 at 3:10 PM
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When I see you in rows, you look kind of orderly. By yourself, with the bamboo stick holding you up, I think you look like me. Lonely, but holding on.
July 14th, 2010 at 3:49 AM
Abandoned Front Yard
3 comments
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Why do we even have front yards?
Imagine if all that grass were squash and fava beans and pumpkins and chard and kale and strawberries and fruit trees.
Hats off to those that abandon: it’s a ridiculous concept.
July 7th, 2010 at 2:23 AM
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Patchy brown lawn slowly
Reclaimed by native flora
California poppies
Wild strawberries
Some sorta trailing leafy vine
Poison oak undoubtedly
Along with artichoke and
Dog roses
A Big Wheel wreckage
Now home for a fat
Black widow spider
The GMC truck in the
Driveway, a proof of life
Yet, this yard has been left
To seed long ago
What a strange scene
For white bread
Willow GlenJuly 6th, 2010 at 3:26 PM
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The House on Magnolia
I can’t tell if you’re being lazy, drought-conscious, or nobody’s there. I walk by every day for a week wondering. But the newspapers pile up. You’re gone.
July 6th, 2010 at 3:23 PM
Marguerite says:
The Christmas Decorations on Shasta
glimmer in the early morning light the way the palm trees catch the slanting sun. The big boxes, cut out reindeer I think look better now than they did during Christmas week: a certain lack of concern improves them, as they dawdle days after they should’ve been taken down.
January 10th, 2012 at 12:11 AM
roger the baron says:
Post Christmas at the Caravan
Dark. No Windows. A light yellow glow from behind the bottles. I guess the year round christmas lights justify their presence now. The barmaid treats me like I don’t belong; not mean, just someone who doesn’t matter,who won’t come back. As I walked outside, saw a guy smoking wondering if he should take his jacket off or not, the sunny winter weather throwing him for a loop.
January 10th, 2012 at 12:09 AM