A San Francisco 4th of July...

San Francisco, CA

July 5, 2008

The city was jam packed all weekend long with tourists in town for the long weekend. After a short run down the Embarcadero; avoiding the steadily growing crowds along Fisherman’s Wharf and Pier 39, we headed into Trieste seeking refuge, coffee and some conversation.

We sat down at a table with Karen and Brian—a local couple we met at Trieste a few years ago and caught up on their busy lives of work and training for a marathon. Even though it was a holiday Karen had to head out the door for a day in the office, we shook our heads in pity, and turned back to our conversation with Brian.

A man in his mid fifties with a heavy beard and hat sat down next to us. He wore jeans and a flannel shirt to keep him warm with the foggy chill in the air. He took off his leather vest before he dumped out the contents of his canister of French’s Potato Sticks. Inside the container were dozens of dollar bills folded into different shapes—origami like. Some of the shapes were hard to distinguish, such as Yoda, but others looked like flowers, hearts, or insects.

As the man meticulously set-up his arrangement of dollars, he turned to Marc and said, “wearing that hat is like wearing a dead baby on your head.” Marc, who was wearing a Nike running hat, calmly listened to the man for a few minutes as he continued his rant about Nike’s unfair labor practices. He explained that Nike buys children from China and South East Asia and has giant sweat-shops where they are forced to make their shoes and clothes. He went on to pontificate on how Nike is enslaving African Americans for advertising dollars —last I heard LeBron wasn’t complaining! Marc turned to the guy and said, “Dude you can stop. You convinced me when you said I was wearing a dead baby on my head.” We quickly finished up our conversation with Brian and headed out—we had other things to do besides support child labor.

The streets buzzed with activity when we left Trieste and headed for home. People with maps stood on almost every street corner—trying to navigate their way through the city while taking in all the sites. The day was perfect to be a tourist—not too hot, not too cold. Regardless, we decided to get out of our neighborhood for a round of Disk Golf in Golden Gate Park.

The crisp air in Golden Gate Park was refreshing. The fog lingered throughout the 18 holes of Disk Golf, but you could feel the warmth from the glow of the sun hiding under the protective blanket. I tried to perfect my throw, still taking 3 shots to get down the fairway, and laughed the whole way. Well, maybe there were a few curses under my breath.

When we made it back to our neighborhood we were pleased to find no cars blocking our driveway. We were concerned with the 4^th of July parking frenzy, already underway, that someone might “mistake” the empty space in front of our garage for a legitimate spot.

As the day started to turn to night Michael T., Mama T. Marc and I headed over to Angela’s house for the main event—no, not fireworks—the incredible spread at Angel’s of Russian Hill. Being around a group of great people, eating incredible food prepared by Angela and was a perfect 4^th of July. Well, minus the fact that this year’s fireworks display was trapped behind the blanket of fog that still lingered in the bay. As luck would have it, an hour after the grand finale, the fog lifted and treated us to panoramic views from one of the best views around the world.

The night was termed Angela’s Independence, or Ange-Palooza and re-release into society—very similar to Mitch-a-Palooza without Snoop or… streaking. (Sorry, no shirts)

For fun, we published "A Very Happy Redneck Third of July" from 2005.