"Watch your back Ellington Parrot. You are too loud in the morning. Nobody needs you to greet them so many times in such an annoying voice because eventually your greeting will backfire and become more of a slap in the face or a symbolic kick in the pants. You are a winged car alarm that is always going off. You are like something you buy in the back of Boy's Life with cereal receipts and then regret forever. Although your plumage is pretty I wish it had a mute button. People may be amused by your mimetic qualities, but these people must also hate themselves." -Overheard on Ellington
Gustave's "natural" habitat, including proximity to Ibuprofen and William T. Vollmann's Rising Up, Rising Down.
Gustave makes quick work. . .
Go Gustave Go!
The Ellington Lounge has a new resident: Gustave the Snail. He emigrated from the lovely yet clearly "boring" Cayuga Gardens to live in the nonstop booty-shaking residence of Maxima Poonani and Pierre Comelovely. He likes lettuce, exploring, pooping, faces, and textbook paper. And exploring faces too. A combination for intrigue if ever there was one. Initial appearances suggest he is a rather docile version of your common California garden snail which, I've been told is analogous to those French snails that taste so delicious. Never fear though, Gustave will be spared!
I was on my way back home with a bag full of freshly-harvested greens when I was sidetracked by a sidewalk sale. It was your typical spread: cheap Chinese-style vases, t-shirts, compact discs, lampshades and of course, a giant bin of PORNO MOVIES. And a gentleman in dark sunglasses, a windbreaker and a comb-over was eagerly rifling through this bin of prurient pleasures, and giving me a distinctly disturbing grin. I don't want to insinuate that he looked like your typical avid consumer of pornography except that he did and I don't want to lie to you, my gentle readers. Of course there is also the vehicular version of porn, as I've seen on several occasions in my neighborhood. Such as this monstrosity:
The 4 D-bags of the apocalypse will come riding into town at the helm of a Hummer stretch limo and I'll be ready for them. But luckily recently, as I was riding around in a car with Seth we came across the following, which constitutes a "sweet ride" and not really a "death car of the Apocalypse." If you zoom in you can see the sinister pilot of this sweet ride staring at us.
So I know I exaggerate and am prone to flights of romantic whimsy. But I sincerely believe that my 6 years of residence in San Francisco (with some time in Oakland) has only been leading up to what I discovered yesterday and just now returned to, camera in hand, heart in the highlands. The following will be the subject of many other posts/investigations but right now I want to post just a few of the representative images from what I came across. In my lazy jog-walk yesterday through the hinterlands of Crocker-Amazon/Excelsior, it wasn't my intention of stumbling onto the Garden of Eden, but I did. And I have proof. I also many other photos besides these. For the time being enjoy. BONUS POINTS to anyone who can guess where this is... I'll reveal it at a later date. For now I want to cherish the secret. And am genuinely curious if anyone has been here besides me.