People love pictures of old men. Old men and black children in poverty-stricken situations. Maybe it's because they inspire fear and awe and guilty relief? I don't know. But what I do know is if you walked up to the average person on the street with these two pictures below and asked for a preference, they'd just love my previous landlord. They'd remark admiringly on the first photo, yes, but ohhhhh look at the wisdom and years lined in that man's face. Maybe he makes them miss their grampa. Heck, he made me miss mine, which is why I kept breaking things and calling him for repair.
In other news, I'm meeting Heather--in the first picture--for brunch today. I'm trying out Hard Knox Cafe in my neighborhood for the first time. I'll try anyplace boasting 'authentic soul food' at least once. Notably if they have a ghetto website.
SF is going through a soul food obsession right now. It's just about the hottest way you can describe something: throw in the words 'southern,' 'soul food,' or 'creole/cajun,' and you've got a hit on your hands. I'm thinking I'll have to open up a soul food joint when I get back to London and make some cha-ching. If there's one thing I've got, it's a love for biscuits. And I don't mean cookies, Eng-rand. You're about to get schooled.
Speaking of getting schooled, I went to my first Monster Truck Jam last weekend. And at the risk of losing your intellectual respect forever, I LOVED IT. And not ironically, either, despite the fact that I went with a group of San Francisco hipsters sporting trucker hats and American flags. We ALL loved it. (I don't think they were truck jam virgins, though--they all had favorites, like Blue Thunder, or Gravedigger, which made me ridiculously happy. Just when you think you know somebody, right?) But really, I had no idea that mass destruction and huge, airborne trucks could excite me so much. And you wouldn't believe my disappointment that nothing caught on fire. My transformation that evening from a rational, thinking person to a girl thrilled with a rolling truck was complete.
And on other, unrelated themes...San Francisco has once again been acting like a fierce hot mess, and I can't stop loving it:
In even further items of note, I cannot be more excited by the news that Neil Patrick Harris (or NePa, as he likes to be called) will be 'coming to Glee, going to be evil.' That's right up there with the recent addition of Dr. Horrible's Sing-a-long blog to the instant Netflix queue on 'another reason to stay in on a Saturday night.' Although when the Saturday night offerings are this and this, that's a tough call to make.
Yesterday I got into a discussion with a friend about this photo project I did centuries ago, 30 Portraits in 30 Days, and I realized how long it's been since I've done something like that. I tried--a couple years ago--to create an alphabet book for my niece PeyPey full of SF landmarks A-Z, but it ended up being too open-ended and I fizzled out right around 'J for Japantown.' I need something attainable, with a very specific start-and-end date. Maybe I'll keep it open for now--just '30 Pictures in 30 Days'--and see what happens. Unless of course you have some ideas?