TEE

I remember the Trans Europe Express (I was a young backpacker traveling from youth hostel to youth hostel), which I inadvertently boarded in Brussels. My second-class ticket was inadequate. It took all the money I had in my pocket to make up the difference. I got off the train in Strasbourg, which was as far as I could afford to go. A few days later, I went to the station to meet an acquaintance; I had a strong premonition that he would be there, altho I had no way to know that. But he showed up exactly when I thought he would. He was not amused when I told him that I had foreseen his arrival.

Heroism

A Sign of the Times, on a food truck on Gough near Hayes: "Shallots are for babies! Onions are for men! Garlic is for heroes!!"

Wow!

I read something the other day, in an article about the Wow! signal I think, which suggested that we are likely known to intelligent species, if there are any, within a radius of 100 light years or so from the sun. That is the length of time that we have been emitting radio and other signals that would be detectable in radio telescopes and so on. If this is true, and if they care to reply, it could be a very long time before we receive a signal of acknowledgement. It is unlikely that intelligent creatures from elsewhere have been here, since interstellar distances are so vast, that crossing them would take millions of years. There would be no need for such travel, since interstellar communication would convey enough information to make travel irrelevant. The Wow! signal apparently came from a source 600 light years away. If its source is intelligent, that intelligence cannot possibly know about us, since our signals are 500 years away from reaching it. We may be the first or even the only intelligent species in our galaxy, but there is no way to know that. We will keep collecting signals, and who knows......?

God as an object

God is not an object of knowledge, is not knowable in himself but only by his effects, like the universe we can know. If 'objective' means 'existing whether we know it or not' or 'whether we accept it or not' then God can be thought of as objective reality. But God is not an object among other objects; he is real without being objective. Since there is no class of beings of which he is a member, there is no objective standard to which to compare him. He is not 'a' being; he is self-existent and not dependent on any discernible laws by which his objectivity could be established as a member of a class of beings in objective reality.

Great Ocean of Wisdom

I happened to be at the corner of Hayes and Franklin in San Francisco, when the Dalai Lama arrived at Daves Symphony Hall. He had a large police escort, a swarm of motorcycles, a herd of black SUVs (such as one sees for the President), lots of blue and red flashing lights, and so on. The event even had a complement of protesters (de rigueur nowadays for a world figure). I was bemused; the Dalai Lama is not the sort of person one places in the same category as the ex-ruler of the Ukraine.

Au quartier belge

The other day, at La Promenade Café, I noticed that the sign 'La Toilette' had appeared on the restroom door. I emailed the owner, to say that perhaps it should read 'Les Toilettes,' as it would in France. He replied that, in Belgium, a restroom is singular, not plural. This can mean only that the street scene portrayed on the café walls is not French, but Belgian! I remember that a French professor, in my university days, told me that I had a Belgian accent. To this day, I don't know what a Belgian accent sounds like. Like me, evidently.

Death Wish

O tempora! O pueri! This afternoon, on the 43 Masonic bus, high-schoolers dominated the passenger list. One young fellow, about 13 years old, delivered himself of rather loopy, funny, and very loud banter with his classmates. "Thanks to you," one of them said, "everyone on this bus wishes he was dead!" "I know," said the young fellow; "Isn't it great?"

A Ticket to The City

Yesterday, at Palo Alto Caltrain station, a young man asked me whether I could change a hundred-dollar bill. "No," I said. He then showed me the bill, saying, "Have you seen the new $100? It's made to be hard to fake." This is counterfeit money, I thought. I remarked that he could change the bill at a bank, a suggestion which did not meet his approval. The young fellow ostensibly wanted to buy a ticket to The City. I suggested that he use a credit or debit card. He mumbled that he didn't have enough money on his cards. I felt sorry for the young trickster.

Hi Tops

How To Win Friends & Influence People. A few days ago, in the Caltrain station at 4th & King, two young men got to talking. One was straddling a bicycle, the other was seated beside me. The young cyclist was wearing green Converse hi tops. The other remarked on this. Apparently, in Hi Tops' company, workers in various departments identify themselves by the color and style of their footwear. The other expressed an interest in Hi Tops' company; Hi Tops asked for a resume. They boarded the train together, deep in conversation.

Imagination

Washroom Wisdom: "Those who lack imagination can't imagine what is lacking!"

A Sign of the Times

A Sign of the Times, beside the cash register in a cafe on Market Street, near The Castro: "Boss will beat me if I take a bill larger than $20. I'd rather you spank me!"

The Cafe Formerly Known As Zephyr

O tempora! O mores! In The Cafe Formerly Known As Zephyr, have appeared garlands of imitation ivy, draped along the walls, walls which portray an outdoor street scene, an imitation of a Parisian neighborhood. And notices have gone up, announcing the imminent arrivals of poetry readings and musical performances. For years, TCFKAZ has been a quiet haven for high schoolers and college kids, working on their assignments. Are they to yield to lovers of bad verse and worse music?

Sweetness.

With a friend, I went to the Hockney exhibition at the De Young for my fifth visit, and his first (and only, probably). It was refreshing to be with someone unmoved by the art ("candy," he called it; "sweetness"), and unimpressed by The Great Man, of whom he had not heard previously. I admired his independent spirit, his refusal to be swept along by popular enthusiasm for Hockney. I've never been in such a large crowd at the gallery. The museum was busier than an airport before a holiday.

Nativity 1990

When I first came to southern California, in 1990 after 22 years of Central Canadian winters, I found the weather on Christmas Day impossible to believe: 72F, sunny , flowers blooming in the gardens, green grass in the lawns, leaves on the trees! Nah! A movie set, surely! Not real. To complete the effect, I took myself to Santa Monica, to walk along the beach. Ever since, every Christmas Day, I head for the ocean, even in northern California. Tomorrow, I will visit Ocean Beach, only a few blocks from home. Ah, winter!

December 22, 2013. Ketchup.

A Sign of the Times, outside a restaurant on Church Street: Roses are red! So is ketchup! Buy a burger, vegan, veggie, beef, chicken or turkey!

December 17, 2013. Caltrain.

On Caltrain this afternoon, the conductor announced our approach to one station thus: "Belmont! Belmont! Party town! This is Belmont!" And the next station: "Hillsdale! Home of a really big mall! Go shopping! This is Hillsdale!"

December 10, 2013. La Promenade Cafe

Café Zephyr, my usual hangout in the neighborhood, has a new name: La Promenade Café. The interior walls are being painted, a little each day, to create a French street scene, as though the cafe were out of doors. The owners have another location, Café Enchanté, at 26th and Geary, embellished in the same way.

December 4, 2013. Moishe's Pippic

I went by Moishe's Pippic on Hayes this afternoon, intending to have a meal there, since I had heard that it would close December 31. But, alas, I discovered that it had closed on the 2nd. Workmen were dismantling the interior. Feeling rather melancholy, I took myself to Hayes & Kebab nearby. There's very little left of the Hayes Valley neighborhood as I knew it in the early 90s. Sic transit.

November 28, 2013. Something in the Water

I heard Linda Ronstadt say on the radio this morning, that "there must be something in the water up there in Canada" to account for all the great poets and singer-songwriters in the country.

November 22, 2013. JFK.

I was 17 when JFK was murdered. At first I didn't believe the news, since I imagined that such a thing would not be possible. But the agitation of my fellow high-schoolers and our teachers soon convinced me. For the past week or so, there have been many programs on radio and television about JFK's life and death, about his killer, and about the physics of the event itself. All this has brought the period back to me. At the time, I was impressed by the drama of the succession, the grandeur of great events in high places. The human dimension of it, its meaning for his family and others, reached me only later. Ever since, I've had a strong sense of the unpredictability of life, of what the old Prayer Book calls "the changes and chances of this fleeting world."