Tag Archives: bay area

Holi Hindu Festival of Colors at UC Berkeley

Two people touch hands at UC Berkeley's Holi festAs Spring festivals go, Holi is among the most fun. Forget about the Maypole, during the Indian Holi festival people douse each other with bright colors. It usually takes place during March, but UC Berkeley’s Indian Student Association has their Holi celebration in April.

at Holi festival a girl dumps color into another girl's hair.The UC Berkeley Holi festival is a dance party. The DJ mixed house hits with Indian pop music.

The event is free, and you can buy color from the Indian Student Association ahead  time, or day of, until they run out. Ten packets (500 grams altogether) is sufficient but you could use twice as much so it really depends. Try to hold your colors until you make eye contact with someone. Though it can be tempting to merrily toss color into the air when the bass drops or even to toss a little color on someone’s back if their shirt is looking a little too naked of the stuff in your hand. More than once I gave in to this temptation.

Preparing for Holi

The crowd at UC Berkeley's Holi festivalThe colored powder is not paint. Some reports say it is made of corn starch, others say rice flour. In any case it comes right off in the wash, or even with a light sweep or pat of the hand. When shopping for colors make sure to get one that is non-toxic and all natural. Trust, you will get it in your mouth or up your nose at some point!

Woman dancing at UC Berkeley Holi festWhen dressing for Holi try to wear all white, so the colors will stand out on your clothes. In a sea of color splatters, the white spots on clothes stand out, begging to be marked.

There are only a handful of parking spots;  most of the students walked from campus.

Some people bring squirt guns and water balloons. At UC Berkeley’s Holi most of the water play was in one area, so you could avoid it if you don’t like that aspect.

 History of Holi

crowd dancing at UC Berkley Holi festivalHoli Festival goes back to at least the fourth century. The word “Holi” hails from the demon Holika.  The myth goes that Holika pulled a loyal Hindu into a bonfire while wearing her magic, fire-resistant coat. But Vishu saw and magically switched the coat to the loyal fellow, causing Holika to perish instead. Thus the Holi festival is a celebration of good defeating evil, similar to many other Springtime traditions that celebrate survival of winter.

Because of this Holi festivals often have a bonfire. Some say that the tradition of throwing colors comes from putting ash on the face in remembrance of the defeat of Holika.

Holi is the celebration of amnesty and renewal. Old debts are forgiven, others are paid. It is a day of cleansing oneself of regret and staring anew. In this way, though the calendar doesn’t change, it is similar to the American tradition of New Years’ Eve, but a lot more colorful.

A stranger and I toss color onto another stranger at Holi
A stranger and I toss color onto another stranger.

Check out Holi next April and join in the camaraderie. It’s a great way to talk to strangers. You are supposed to throw color on everyone, stranger and friend alike. This is the best part of Holi: walking up to someone you don’t know and having a brightly-colored laugh together.

Acrobats Perform Aerial Show Off of Berkeley Sather Clocktower

This is the Sather Tower, the best known landmark of UC Berkeley…probably the most recognizable building in all of Berkeley. It is one of the few landmarks in the East Bay you can recognize from most vistas in San Francisco.

Today the Sather Clock Tower (also known as the Campanile) turned 100. The Berkeley Clock Tower is the third tallest tower in the world (correction: third tallest university clock tower).

Campanile (Sather Tower) on its centennial

Did you notice the tiny yellow and orange dots at the top there? Those are people. Let’s get a little closer.

bandaloop aerial show campanile 100

They’re acrobats. BANDALOOP do vertical dances hanging from the sides of buildings. Today they performed to celebrate the 100-year anniversary of the Campanile.

They started on the hour, so the dance was preceded by the sounds of the grand carillon of bells from the clock tower. It was a beautiful day, typical of the Bay Area. Hot and bright enough to burn you in the sun, surprisingly chilly inches away in the shade. We sat in the sun.

It was a solemn dance to music slow enough that the dancers seemed to flow. Like kites.

When they repel off the building, I wonder how hard they land. When they touched brick, sometimes they’d steady themselves, as if from a jolt. But only for a second, and they they’d leap off again, full of grace.

As BANDALOOP danced they’d gradually lower down their ropes, the song ending as they reached the bottom. I imagine they must choose music and choreography, in part, based on the height of the tower they are performing on.

 

BANDALOOP dancer standing on Sather tower holds another dancer in a handstand against a solid blue sky. The Berkeley clock tower is not empty.

Not by a long shot.

It is filled with fossils.

Twenty tons of fossils.

You think I’m writing some kind of poem here, but no.

I mean this literally. There are 300,000 pieces on five levels within the tower.

Hauled out of the La Brea tar pits, the fossils have been at the Campanile since 1913.

Maybe that’s not relevant to this story.

Or maybe it means something that they do their perilous dance over a building filled with death.

They also did a jaunty swing number. The big band music piped through the speakers was impressively balanced: full, but not too loud. The fast pace was a nice contrast from the other song.

 

Just like swing dancers.  In fact, looking at these pictures, it’s easy to forget they’re not only dancing. But for the rope, it’s easy to think perhaps we’re looking down on ordinary dancers from above.

So we zoom out.

aerial swing dancers on the Campanileaerial swing dancers on the Campanile

 

aerial swing dancers on the Campanile

Did you know Carillonists play the clock tower bells with their feet as well as with their hands? It’s true.

Just one more photo of the aerial show.

Maybe this is off topic (again), but this morning I read a news story that declared the three worst places for renters are in the Bay Area. Oddly, instead of thinking, “gee, I should move,” I thought, “I hope other people see this and decide to move so the price of rent will go down.” I’m hooked on this place.

Maybe it’s not pertinent. But I see something like this, on a perfect day like today, and it feels all kinds of relevant.

aerial swing dancers on the Campanile

A Walk in Oakland

Small Bits of Beauty Between Temescal and West Oakland

My friend Jennifer has a tumblog, Mission Walks, where she chronicles the stuff she sees when she walks her dog (Poe) through the Mission. One thing I love about her blog is the spontaneity. It’s not that she sees the most interesting things you’ll find in the city. Instead each small item captures the weird and random detritus of a bustling metropolitan ecosystem. Maybe you didn’t know, but I too have a Bay Area tumblr blog wherein I strive to take a photograph of everything I see that makes me excited to live in the San Francisco Bay area. Sometimes I feel like the photographs I take on my own tumblog can’t capture how amazing NorCal is because each photo of each item is isolated. The odd things I find could be miles and weeks apart. But they’re not. Today on my walk to the post office and I decided to document all the little things. Many of these things aren’t spectacular on their own, but together these tiny things fill my world with joy on a daily basis.

vine grows on a wall in Oakland
Near where Shattuck meets Tele

For example, I was pleased by how thick and strong this vine was (just South of the post office near 51st and Shattuck). It was so thick I imagined a skinny girl could climb right up the wall. Is this worth photographing? Probably not, but seeing this lush vine made me one point happier. The vine was enough, but I was equally amused that this tightly entrenched plant, which basically covered the majority of the building, was not on the hallowed brick halls of a fraternity house, but on the side of a parking garage. A FREAKING PARKING GARAGE. I can tell you, in Florida they don’t grow vines on the side of parking garages. I don’t know why. But California is relentlessly verdant. The Berkeley Wal-Greens actually has a green wall, because it too is covered in vines. Passion flowers, their odd stamen waggling like the antennae on an alien specie, frequently grow on the wire fences of parking lots. Few people keep lawns; you’re more likely to see an abandoned garden that’s continued to thrive and is slowly taking over the property.

A short walk in Oakland will reveal attention to beauty. When I reach the post office, there’s a small shady bench surrounded by mosaics tucked away behind an otherwise generic shopping plaza. On the way back I pass the huge building that the owner allowed muralists to cover.  There’s graffiti and sticker art everywhere. All of these things were created by fellow humans, expressing themselves. The city itself is speaking to me, through the voice of its art, from the writing in the sidewalk to the architecture.

My desire to capture the random awesome of an Oakland walk started with this truck. The art on the truck isn’t outstanding compared to some of the paint you see in Oakland, but I was intrigued by the random WTFness of the artist’s placement of the ice cream cone.

painted truck seen on a walk in Oakland Caption: The art on the truck is not the only random thing in this picture.
The art on the truck is not the only random thing in this picture.

Though I like the quick and dirty nature of this graffiti (in style, it reminds me a bit of Josh Petker), there’s tons of great street art in Oakland so normally it wouldn’t make the cut of stuff I’d blog about. But there’s something else going on in this moment, and it’s that for no explainable reason there’s a toy rabbit chilling on the ledge of the truck.

The next thing I spot that’s photo-worthy is this art car. By far not the most elaborate art car I’ve seen around here, but really a car that’s been used as a canvas is a rare enough thing in the rest of the US that any art car is worth noting. The hood of the car had a painting of Munsch’s The Scream (sorry bad photo doesn’t do it justice…too much sunshine).

But here’s the thing. You might think this random bit of awesome was several blocks from the previous one…but in fact that truck you can see in the second picture is the same one with the beanie baby and the ice cream king. And when I look up in the distance, I get the Oakland hills.

The Oakland hills looking East from near Telegraph Ave
Any given glance North or East will give you a view like this.

Again, this isn’t a breathtaking view that you would download and set as the background on your desktop. But it is quite nice. So this is one sweeping moment in Oakland: two very different kinds of street art and lush vistas in the distance. Here are some of the houses I passed on my walk, which Map My Walk tells me was .88 miles.

With the fancy houses and artsy cars and hella hills and beanie babies, life is feeling good. Like Alice in Wonderland, Oakland is a Fairyland of whimsy. Curious and curiouser… But what’s this? While standing across the street from the second house, I realize someone has left a note wedged to a telephone pole. Remember how exciting it was in grade school to get the opportunity to read a note someone meant to pass along to another classmate? This is like that. It’s exactly how the protagonist of To Kill A Mockingbird would hide notes in the hollow of a tree, if Scout Finch were older and maybe a homeless junkie.

Of course I read it. Most of it contained professions of love, written in handwriting I’d associate with a thirteen year-old girl. The rest of the note indicates that she is going to purchase some entertainment for the evening, and has already acquired an evening coat appropriate to the occasion. Ah the rumblings of sweet love. How she woos!

Note stuck to telephone pole
Not for my eyes, but I read it anyway

 

Private note reads "Bought you a jacket already I'm still going to buy some speed. =)"
“Bought you a jacket already! I’m still going to buy some speed!” To be fair, the rest of the note was very romantic.

OK, I admit that maybe this note is an example of the kind of thing that drives the baby-mamas to live in Berkeley and shout “NIMBY!” And true, this isn’t thought of as a “good” neighborhood. I think of the miles upon miles of boring, good neighborhoods in the monoculture where I grew up, and tiny bits of beauty like this were few and far between. It’s worth mentioning that even when Oakland is filthy, on the same streets with the soiled condoms and the broken glass, there is so much culture and beauty.

We Lost A San Francisco Legend Today:RIP Kathi Kamen Goldmark

It is perhaps odd for me to write a eulogy for Kathi Kamen Goldmark because in truth I Kathi Kamen Goldmarkbarely knew her. I can say this: she always volunteered to speak or answer questions for the NCBPMA, and because of her friendliness and approachability she was one of the first local producers I knew by name. She was one of those vivacious people that seems to be everywhere, and always smiling to boot. Being a producer is a tough job, and yet she never hesitated to answer a question or offer an explanation about why a certain guest would or wouldn’t be a fit for her show. She somehow managed to do this job while writing books and performing in the literary group the Rock Bottom Remainders.

As I’ve embarked on this journey in the Bay Area publishing world, I always imagined the day when Kathi and I would be friends. Not because she was some milestone of important authors (though she was!) but because she had that kind of warmth that made me think I could do this, that the writing and publishing scene isn’t a clique, but a community.

In the coming weeks there will be numerous posts from people who knew her well, that will explain better than I ever can why the loss of this luminary light will affect the Bay Area forever. I only wish to contribute this to make it known how many lives she touched, even among her acquaintances. It breaks my heart to know that I will never be able to tell her what a role model she was for me, and for so many others. But perhaps if you are reading this now, it will remind you of all the lives you may touch, and the special place you may find if you keep following your dreams. A space that is all your own—like Kathi, whose presence in the literary world is irreplaceable. Kathi Kamen Goldmark, you are missed.

 

The 800 Bus

The 800 is my favorite bus in the Bay Area. This is the bus that goes back and forth from Downtown San Francisco to Berkeley and Oakland in the wee hours of the morning. You have your bar staff getting off work, one-night stands, forlorn lovers and, mostly, working-class partiers. This is the bus that runs only during the hours it is too late to catch the train. The evening is over and there are a lot of stories in those faces.

Most of the time I ride public transit I wrap myself in a book. But on the 800 I’m usually with a friend, and either too pooped or too pumped to read. Instead I find my plots in the desperation of the singles and the eavesdropped sarcasms of couples. I find my character in the swagger and slick coifs of the lovers and the heavy-lids of the night shift workers.
The first time I caught the 800 I sat behind the tall hair of a drag queen. The second time I sat surrounded by a tourist group from Eastern Europe. The whole ride home they sang Communist Party songs while a drunk hobo ingratiated himself into their clan. The most recent time I caught it was the worst. I caught it after a run-in with some bitches itching for a fight at the Denny’s, post-party (Twelves at the Mezz), post-breakfast, indeed so late it was almost early. It seemed at that hour things were a little less festive, a lot more tired and wolrd-weary. But the stories were still there.

I Left My Heart In the Mission District

I ended up with an extra two days off from work so my best buddy Ray and I decided to take a much coveted vacation in my favorite city in the world, San Francisco. Never mind that S.F. is less than an hour from my doorstep. I saved the money on a plane ticket so I felt free to spend carelessly all week.

My vacation started off slow, as we went to three places that were closed. Our first stop would have been the South Park Cafe. But being closed, I enjoyed watching artists work their easels in the park. Leaving South Park, we happened upon a fantastic gallery that runs there own printing press. I watched the machinery print rather unspectacular cards and realized that I am in love with every part of the book-making process. This gallery had, in addition to standard art, many hand-made books.

Failed destination #2 was the Arkansas Friendship Garden. We climbed high on Potrero Hill to not get there. On the steepest streets, instead of sidewalks there are stairs. No wonder the people of this city are more friendly and tolerant. I would have been impatient at all the false starts if the views weren’t so spectacular. The sun glinting off rows of cars on distant city streets looked like mercury floating in rivulets down the side of the hills. And this isn’t Nob Hill; this is standing next to project housing. Already tired and hungry, we trek to the Mission to sign up for a mural tour, which only runs on the weekends (It was Thursday).

Backtrack a bit, the Mission and North Beach have been in competition for my favorite ghettos of the city. The former is Mexican and the latter is Italian, though also known for being the site of the Beat Rennaissance in the sixties. I had been to some mediocre bars in the Mission, primarily around 16th and 17th St., but I had never spent a day walking through the neigbhoorhood’s South side. Every other building is brightened by colorful murals, most of which honor revolutionaries, activists and their ideals. 24th St. is mostly restaurants and small groceries, with the ocassional shop or gallery.
We got a banana for a quarter at a local bodega and some fantastic pastries for a dollar each. Then we caught lunch at La Nueva Fruitlandia. I haven’t had Cuban food so good since eating my Cuban bisabuela’s recipes as a child. We tried to stop at a gallery for local hispanic radical artists but, keeping with the theme, they were closed to prepare for a big opening night. So instead we happily browsed the shops. One shop sold mostly carnival accessories for Day of the Dead and little Mexican dresses for girls to wear to church. But they also carried a lot of Zapatista products and we walked out of there with Zapatista (light roast!) coffee and coffee flavored honey. I also acquired a wrist warmer with Che’s visage for only $2.50. That’s something you won’t find in North Beach.

We turned North onto Valencia, which is more of a commercial main drag. Valencia St. is low-key bars, vintage and kitsch shops, shamelessly radical bookstores and vegetarian chow.

Ray and I happened upon a small side street, more like an alley that goes through, that was entirely covered in graffiti art. I should say, murals, because most of the work was not stylized in the typical graffiti style and you could tell they were all by different artists. Stepping into the alley, we could hear a woman wailing but this did not deter us from taking in the artful walls. I thought the woman was in the thin walls of one of these muraled studio apartments but about half way we found her sitting indian-style with her head in her hands. She appeared to be holding some sort of pipe. Her face was ragged and wrinkled and dirty. She was likely homeless. Her suffering moved me. I asked her if she wanted a hug. She said “sure.” Then she stood up and I held this her in my arms while she sobbed and sobbed. I held her tightly and didn’t let go until she did first. She asked if I had a cigarette and of course I didn’t. We left her still tearful, but no longer filling the corrider with her anguished sobs.
Then a strange coincidence happened. I have hugged a tattered old San Franciscan once before, when I was drunk at the Bar in the Castro. This was after a conversation about her manic depression, as I recall. The first place we went after the alley of art was a small boutique. As I was entering the shop, that same woman I hugged in the Castro was leaving. She didn’t recognize me.

We stopped in 426 Valencia, which is Dave Eggar’s program that teaches creative writing to kids. The project is partly funded by the pirate shop at the entrance. The pirate motif is also a ruse to entrance the kids into getting excited about writing (426 Valencia has been very successful, so you might have heard of other centers around the country). I was hastily filling out a volunteer application when I heard the guy behind the counter telling people it was closing time. I didn’t look up, but I overheard a dejected couple responding. In coindidence #2, the dejeced couple was Lawrence and Cecily; they were staying at my house for a few nights before they move to L.A.
Later we meet up with Lawrence, Cecily, Jeremy and my sweetie at Delirium to have drinks. We barhop to Zeitgeist, a biker bar with fantastic bloody marys and terrible music. Day two of my vacation continues with a youth hostel, North Beach and the search for the perfect San Francisco bar.