Ego-Bruising Poncho Debacle
Okay. So it rains in San Francisco. In March. Who knew? I never thought I'd say this, but thank god for the multitudes of those little cubby hole tourist traps that line Fisherman's Wharf. When the heavens opened up, the only real split-second decision to be made was this: which one of the roughly 74 vendors I was equidistant from looked slow with a sharpie? The reason: I'm pretty sure the price of rain ponchos was about to double. I suppose I shouldn't feel too embarrassed. I'm told that every San Franciscan, about a month after moving in, makes a single trip to the Wharf, never to return. So there was a good chance that all of us were tourists. I, however, seemed to be the only one wearing a bright goddam yellow plastic poncho. Small children formed queues behind me at the crosswalk. Cars stopped for me. I directed traffic for an hour and a half, and let me just say that except for that old guy with the walker who really needs to learn how to scream a little louder–'cause hello? Big-ass poncho on my head, duh!–I did a really good job. Bless his ancient little heart, that dude could really move once the cross-traffic (that's what we traffic directors call it in the biz, “cross-traffic.”) got moving. I don't think he really needs that walker. Well okay, he might really need it now.
For me, the highlight of the Game Developers Conference wasn't so much about being at the epicenter (doh, forgot we don't use the “e” word out here) of the electronic entertainment industry, as it was me visiting a college friend in San Francisco the following weekend. It was a blast, and while on the topic of GDC, let me just say Mr. Dismissive Microsoft poopy-head, nobody flipped me shit for my Mac. Quite the reverse actually. You open up your fancy-schmancy Dell Opinioron out here, and you're libel to get a Birkenstock up your ass. (or you'll at least cop some serious buzz-kill…man.)
Here's a shot overlooking Fisherman's Wharf. It's hard to tell because you can see further than 5 feet, but this was actually taken in San Francisco, I shit you not. Seriously, I thought we got fog in Monterey, but no. What we get in Monterey is just practice fog. It's the fog that hasn't quite made it to the majors yet. It's farm team fog. The stuff I saw over the weekend is Alex goddam Rodriguez fog. (I had to google that. I know fuck-all about baseball.) In Monterey when it's foggy, we turn on our lights and slow down a little. In San Francisco, they bring out modified snow plows to move the fog out of the way. Kids build these cute little forts out of it. If you've never been beaned with a really tightly packed fogball, they kinda hurt. Going out in the fog, people tie one end of a rope to themselves, and the other end to their car or their house. A rope breaking brings tragedy and grief, because months later when the fog finally lifts, there are people all over the place walking around with shattered minds, gibbering and holding one end of a broken rope. Just before I took this shot, a woman and 3 children ran into the street and grabbed the father, who had been wandering around in front of the house for 11 years. He just kind of waved his little frayed bit of rope around and drooled. Tragic.
More to come.
March 29th, 2006 at 1:44 pm
Have you seen the fog coming through Pacheco Pass? My daughter, who is terrified of drowning, thought the sea had risen up to get her when we drove into that wall once. (Her other favorite place: That sharp cliffside turn past CHOMP heading to Pacific Grove where it looks like you're about to fall five thousand feet into the Pacific).
SF fog is bad… In Pacheco Pass fog, signs warn you to make sure your scuba gear works.