Found Treasure vol 3: What is the What


I found Dave Eggers What is the What on the sidewalk in the Mission.  It was in a small pile with a half a dozen others, all with a price tag of one dollar on the cover.  Nobody was around, so I considered it to be found.  To my wonderful delight, upon opening at my house, the title page is autographed by Mr. Eggers himself.

Found Treasure vol 2: Hermes 3000

Walking home from work last week, a subtle blur of mint snuck in my peripheral.  I nearly ignored it and kept my pace, but doubled back to ease my curiosity.  I bent down in the the gutter to examine a dusty matte colored block of metal sporting a worn vinyl handle.  I knew straight away by the color and simple finish that it was late 50's early 60's office equipment.  I struggled to get the key in and open the latch, once I peeked inside I knew this treasure was mine and I had to get it home ASAP in case it's previous owner had a change of heart.

A few minutes on the great Google immediately got me up to speed on all things Hermes.  She was made in Switzerland in 1958, the first portable machine to have lightning margins.  My searching soon found other 3000's going at auction for $400-$500.  Christies just sold Kerouacs 3000 for $22,500, it was his last typewriter, used from 1966 until his death in 1969.  I "find" lots of treasure in thrift shops, garage sales, estate sales and on Craigslist, but this may trump them all, and an actual, honest find.

On Practicality

Today Yuuko called me practical.  I was offended.  Now I am not.

True Street Art

I found this painting in the gutter today, now it is on my wall.

Sidewalks are For People

Prop L on the ballot next week if passed will ban people from sitting or laying on public sidewalks in San Francisco, including sitting on objects on the sidewalk such as chairs, or the hobo favorite:  milk crates.  In related news, this guy in the orange jacket tried to get me to friend him on facebook after telling me that he has been behind social justice since the late 50's when he did North Beach sit-ins with Kerouac.


I can't possibly think of a better way to spend one hundered and eighty cents.

Day 43

I arrived in San Francisco 43 days ago, over the course of my short life, I have spent 43 days in many places.  Until now, this very day, every minute of those 43 days has been a blinding overture dedicated to the instinctual act of survival.  I do mean survival in its most primitive sense; food, water, shelter.  Seems simple.  When preformed for myself and another the simplicity strips away with incredible ease.  With my senses heightened, I havnt the energy to waste on selfish indulgence.  Today, that weight and fear climbed off my back, if only momentarily, it was away.  I tap a fine peaberry grind into the lower chamber of the Italian espresso maker, it later rolls across my tongue in perfect tune with Max Richters Infra.  86 degrees and sunny is a rare occurrence.  Gliding through the Mission on two wheels, sunglasses from the supermarket, pants cut into shorts, sockless feet sweating into faded banana yellow slip-on vans, drifting in and out of awareness with nowhere and everywhere to go.  My eyes are free for the first time in 43 days to gaze at the color and grace of my neighborhood, I smell fresh tortillas, the whisper quiet clicking of my rear tire tells me "you are free today".  My eyes open and close in long, slow exaggerated blinks, I am on Valencia, a blink later drifting around a stopped bus on Harrison, the next I'm laying on the grass of Precita park.  As though the playing dogs are in on my involuntary exercise of time and space, they seem to run and jump for a lingering frisbee in the same dreamy half speed that my legs pedal me through the ocean of vacant cars that flood this city.