Eze

Off 24th Street
The Mission
Thursday morning

***

San Francisco.

You call it what you want. It’s just as simple as that, period. I been here for 27 years; born at General Hospital and been raised here ever since. I told a friend one time “I’m going to buy a house here in the city and I don’t care if I have to use candles to light my house and be the poorest home owner on that block. I will own in SF.” It’s still my goal after all these debts disappear...

Ever since I was younger, I have never been one for school books. School books in my opinion seem cold; impersonal, lots of writing, and no pictures. Granted though, their job was to give us information that we may use at some point in our lives. But I guess I’m a person that needs pictures. I need imagery to let me understand or relate to something that is read or something that is described to me. That is why San Francisco cannot be put into words. It is a place that can’t be explained on paper and if you try to, you risk missing something about this city that may be dear to someone else. Also, on the flip side of that if I were to put what San Francisco is famous for on paper, the next person could say “I have a bridge in my city,” or “ I have a pier/wharf/(insert similar item common between cities here)What’s the big deal?” Well…it is a big deal. San Francisco has to be experienced firsthand. This place is DIFFERENT than anywhere else. You may walk down one block and see a guy and a girl kissing and on the next block two girls (or guys) are doing the same thing. You could be on one side of town and it could be foggy as hell but about 3 miles down, it’s clear and sunny. You could see the rich on one side of town with the million dollar mansions and on the other you got the homeless sitting on a bench asking for money when you pass by. Every moment in this city is an experience – a mental picture that the person was able to capture.

Now some people may argue that things are changing in the city for the better and others will say it’s for the worse. A friend of mine gets mad when he walks by Pops bar on 24^th because it used to be neighborhood regulars and drunks and now its fixies and more fixies. Some things are for the better though – years back the Mission used to be VERY heavily gang populated and I remember when the park near my house had initiations that had huge crowds that rivaled something like Dia De Los Muertos crowds. Police would come around and they would scatter like ants from under a rock. Now the same park has a soccer field and a basketball court and the same area has a ton of coffee shops next to the taquerias and liquor stores. Change is inevitable I guess but change also brings out new things and better things that make this city stand out from the others.

San Francisco is magical. It is mysterious. It is grimy. It is beautiful. It is just there like an old friend or it is like that new opportunity that is placed in front of you. It is something that is planned or something that is at a moment's notice. It emits an aura that brings people from all around the world to come see and experience it. Just drive back into the city on one of the bridges and you can just feel San Francisco radiate just because it is one of a kind.

People want to come to San Francisco and I think you should too.

***

You can see the rest of Eze's photo shoot here.

His flickr account is here.

You can find him on twitter here.

Nani

Lilac Alley
The Mission
Tuesday afternoon

***

The City that I Love
June 25, 2009

Man in cream colored suit, pedaling away
one hand carrying a bouquet of stargazers.

Ten-week old soft puppy
Hello, welcome to the world
You are so golden.

A song I, yes, have heard before
Drowning in the sea of love
Where everyone would love to drown.

Waiting in line at the Castro theater
someone behind me regretting
jalapeños in his sandwich.

A gray night in June.
I came here eleven summers ago.
My heart is now open
where two cable cars
can pass each other in opposite directions.
No, I don’t mind contradiction at all.

Journal Entry: September 23, 2008

I walk home from the Castro station; I take 17th street as usual. I appreciate the outside air – windless and calm. There is a young woman, a high school girl in uniform, who starts singing once she gets off the train. She starts singing like an opera singer and walks energetically. I follow behind her, to get a feel of her world – vibrating, loud, confident.

***

You can see the rest of Nani's photo shoot here.

Nani's blog: http://www.allthiseveryday.blogspot.com/

And the website of where she works: http://asianamericanmedia.org/

Clare

Outside Pirate Cat Radio Cafe
21st Street, The Mission
Saturday morning

***

Mills College in Oakland was the only college located outside the Midwest I applied to, so naturally I chose it above all others. I left my hometown of Minneapolis in 1996 at the age of seventeen, arriving to pursue my degree and the ultimate education: living in the Bay Area. During those four years I interned with the Harvey Milk Institute on Castro Street under the guidance of the organization’s executive director, Kevin Schaub.

One July afternoon while we were out for a smoke on the steps, Kevin pointed out a mural of Harvey Milk I hadn’t noticed before, though it was directly across the street from our office. The portrait (by Josef Norris, 1998) is partially shadowed by a luscious tree. It is as though Harvey is looking down on the shop, bemused, checking in on business. The mural also includes Milk’s message, You’ve gotta give ‘em hope! “That was Harvey’s camera shop right down there,” Kevin told me, pointing to the storefront below. Less than a week later I finished reading the biography of Harvey Milk in tears on the 22.

The following spring on Easter Sunday morning, my interning duties led me to a street fair hosted by HMI and the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence. I arrived thinking I’d be manning the HMI booth, but first Kevin tasked me with providing general support to the Sisters in their dressing room. All morning I mixed cocktails, zipped dresses, pinned hats, buckled shoes, and fetched accessories. I was harshly, and quite fairly, admonished by several Sisters after I mistakenly referred to one as a “he” – even though the Sister in question was dressed as the Pope. “We’re all ‘she’ when we’re in drag, honey.” They were gossipy and bossy, and I was becoming increasingly cranky from the task of perpetually indulging the Sisters rather than the other way around. But after all the fuss was over, each Sister emerged quite suddenly, full of grace, into the sunshine, beautiful with their painted faces, hats adorned with butterflies and silk roses, and delighted the gathering crowds the way they do.

I returned to Minneapolis in 2000 and stayed for years. I visited the Bay Area a couple of times a year, and missed it dearly. But there in Minneapolis, a wintry city of fortitude, I fell in love, got married, went back to school, learned how to cook, sang in a band, gardened, made lifelong friends, loved my work.

And still, after all that, when the opportunity arose to move back to the Bay Area, the answer was yes.

Rediscovering the city now is resonating. One can never be nineteen again, so it must be the city itself, ringing.

Today I pursue the education in experience that is doing research with ISKME, and living here in the deep of the Mission.

***

You can see the rest of Clare's photo shoot here.

Clare is a Research Associate at the Institute for the Study of Knowledge Management in Education (ISKME): http://www.iskme.org/ http://www.bigideasfest.org/

Follow Clare at http://twitter.com/clarebear

Autumn

The Women's Building, Lapidge Street side
The Mission
Thursday afternoon

***

Some cities are like love affairs, beginning with butterflies and thrills, then going through adjustments where you aren’t sure if this is the relationship you want at all, and finally to the realization that this force (or person, or city) has completely changed you for the better and you aren’t the same without it.

Coming to SF was a fluke-- or was it? I am a girl from the small town of Pittsburgh, PA who was supposed to vote Republican, have babies , cheer for the Steelers and conform.

It started out as a surprise-- I came to the Bay Area with my running partner (and inspiration) to run the Big Sur marathon in 2000 and decided it was about time that I lived somewhere beautiful and close to the ocean. I hadn’t expected to fall so hard for this amazing place, but it happened.

In 2005, my love affair with San Francisco began. Initially I lived in Palo Alto which, much like new love, was shiny and not quite real. As much as I wanted this polished life, it didn’t quite fit.

Then I moved into the Sunset and was an N-Judah girl, still in the flush of love-enjoying days at Java Beach and runs on the ocean. Then, much like any romance, the bloom was off of the rose as I experienced the cold summer days and nights in the Sunset (where is the sun I ask???).

Finally, I found my home on Polk Street and my love with San Francisco matured. Polk Street, much like myself, is a dichotomy of things-not as glitzy as Russian Hill, not as rugged as the Tenderloin. Instead, it is a bit of both: amazing boutiques and cafes, bars that are lit on fire on the weekends, dirty streets and genuine smiles. I can walk around sweaty from yoga or dolled up for a night on the town and Polk Street always treats me like a Lady. It is here that I embark on adventures past and present-cocktailing at the Fillmore-heading out to spin fire poi at Ocean Beach or teaching yoga in the Mission. No matter what I do, I am loved and accepted.

All good love stories deserve a happy ending as I am told-well, I can tell you that I have found my bliss in San Francisco. Bliss while hula hooping in Dolores Park, bliss in a late night Bob’s Donut, bliss as I run and touch the handprint on the Golden Gate Bridge, bliss in a well mixed drink at Bigfoot and bliss as I thank the Gods for delivering me to my True Love.

I found my heart in San Francisco…

***

The rest of Autumn's photo shoot can be seen here.

Ariel

Orange Alley
The Mission
Tuesday, late afternoon

***

Some things I’ve had in San Francisco:

A Dream

Actually, I don’t remember the dream. But I remember exactly what happened right after it ended.

I sat up, turned to my girlfriend and said: "The thing to remember is that even though the fact that someone as inept as Gary Canter is needed for the system to grow, which is a failure, the fact that the system can continue to thrive despite absorbing someone as inept as Gary Canter is a success."

She said: "What?"

I said: "I dunno. I guess that was the last part of my dream."

She said: "That was weird. What was it about?"

I said: "Yeah. I dunno."

She said: "Who is Gary Candler?"

I said: "I dunno."

A Walk

Going home at around 3:25 AM Wednesday morning. As I walk out the door onto Capp Street a man on a bike tuning a boombox is the first to greet me. Possibly a full moon tonight? The clouds above me like argyle wallpaper. A beauty of a night, either way, between rainy days. Five men stand on the corner of 17th & Mission, doing various things. They stop as I walk through. They all glare at me in different ways. One is menacing, one is hesitant, one is annoyed, etc. The last and oldest of them stretches a belt out across my path. He seems to be thinking that if he doesn't me hit me with it, he'll just sell it to me.

"Nice belt," I say.

I smirk at him. Eyebrows jumping, I decide to laugh about it later right now. He’s making his mind up without me anyway.

20 seconds later I'm alone under the deep sky, taking a long breath before it exhales again. On Sycamore Street my footsteps sound like gunshots. I am the violence in the night.

A Thought

Watching the neighborhood fill up with these familiar brands, getting so damn recognizable you don’t know where the hell you are.

A MUNI Ride In The Mid-Nineties

Get up before dawn. Put on David Bowie, Modern Love. Get dressed for high school. Walk from Dolores Park to Church Street station in the dark. Wait on the MUNI platform. Watch the MOceanView pull into the station. Check to make sure she's sitting in that seat. The seat she's always in. Get on, not taking your eyes off of her. Notice that she doesn't turn to look at you. Even when you sit down next to her. Notice the smile that she can't help releasing as you do. Go to school. Sneak into the back classrooms. Kiss until the bell rings.

An Unexpected Trip

Boy and girl have been together for 6 years.

Boy breaks up with girl over the telephone.

Girls is sad, drinks.

Girl lives on other side of bay.

Girl sleeps in my bed.

Pukes.

I spend some time at the 24 Horas Fiesta Wash & Dry.

A Feeling

The texture of the walls in Lilac Alley.

A Smell

The waxy smell all over the city on the cold nights.

A Sight

The crowd from Skylark mingling with the crowd from Esta Noche.

Another Walk

About 2 a.m. at 21^st and Bartlett. Walking East on the South side. I pause to put alcohol in my body. Directly across the street a man walking West on the North side pauses to push alcohol out of his body. A bus passes. A blonde woman with her hood up and her head pressed up against the window, eyes closed, wishes she was home now. At least we hope she does.

***

Ariel is one of the four founders of The Secret Alley (www.thesecretalley.com).

He also wrote and produced the short film, The Grind (www.baycat.org/thegrind).

The rest of Ariel's photo shoot can be seen here.

Tucker

inside the San Francisco Motorcycle Club

Folsom Street
Wednesday noon

***

I first moved to the bay area in 1997. I was burned out at college, so I took a semester off and moved in with some friends in a house in Oakland. Before I went back east to spend my last year in college, I swore I would move back here when I was done. One year, one month, and one day later, I was back.

I decided to come to San Francisco originally because I have family here, and it was about as far away from college as I could get without needing a passport. When I came back in 1998, I lived with my aunt while I looked for an apartment, no small task during the dot com boom. I finally landed a place in Hayes Valley and got a job in South Park that gave me a front row seat to the rise and fall of the startups. It was a spectacular time to be young in San Francisco.

In 2003, I left San Francisco. I was feeling a bit stuck, so I sold most of my belongings, shipped the rest to my parents, and rode my motorcycle across the country to settle in New York. I quickly remembered why I had moved to San Francisco in the first place, and moved back within a year.

In 2006, I found the SFMC. It was a great place. A room full of friends once a week, and fun rides to boot. During a particularly tough time in my life, the club was an incredibly important support. It gave me stability when everything else felt very unstable.

This year I'm the club's Road Captain. It is a great deal of work, and no small amount of hassle, but it is my way of giving back to the club. I look at it as paying my dues. The club is more than pine walls and trophies. The people here are family, and the organization is a living piece of history that I am proud to be a part of.

There is no better place to be a motorcyclist than the bay area. The weather is just about perfect most of the year, and the quality and variety of roads is unbeatable. I really can't see myself living anywhere else.

ps.: This summer I'll be going on a motorcycle ride in New Hampshire to benefit the Norris Cotton Cancer Center, where my sister's cancer was treated two years ago. They were a great help in a difficult time, and this is my own small way of giving back. If you can afford it, any donations are greatly appreciated.

***

The rest of Tucker's photo shoot can be seen here.

Brittney

Orange Alley, the Mission

Sunday morning

***

As a child, when people asked me what I wanted to be, I said a writer. If they pressed further I'd say I want to write in a big city. Didn't matter which one at the time--Chicago, New York, Los Angeles--I just wanted to be near the pulse that comes from an urban environment.

Then I went on vacation to San Francisco, and decided right then and there that if I could live anywhere I'd been, that would be the place. I wrote letters to friends promising that one day I would move to San Francisco. I put the dream on the about page of my personal blog.

Then it happened. I was offered a job, writing, in San Francisco just a few months shy of my 30th birthday. Just when I thought I might never leave the Tennessee town I grew up in, I got the call of a lifetime. It was finally on.

This crazy parrot-having place I landed in could not be more different than where I lived for the entirety of three decades. When I think of trying to put down into words how it makes me feel to to see a palm tree in my peripheral vision, I go numb. Which is crazy, it’s just a palm tree. What could be so fabulous and compelling about a palm tree that I cannot manage to convey its impact in writing? The issue isn’t the tree itself, it’s the unexpectedness of it. It’s purely foreign to me. A palm tree, to a girl who always lived in Tennessee, is an exotic thing. It is a large, looming figure of otherness; an iconic beast that exists in postcards and at the movies and on vacation. Never when you are walking the dog. So, when I see it out of the corner of one eye my chest brims with the thrill of not just something new, but a regular something new. Something different from what always was, and I can see it whenever I want. I just walk outside.

I am still experiencing culture shock a year and a half later. I am often stopped where I walk. I am struck still by a brand new experience almost every day, some as tiny as a speck of glitter. But, oh, do they shine. They are made up of elements I've seen before, but each behaves in a way that I am completely unfamiliar with. It's kind of been like being on vacation for a long time (and just as expensive!), save for all the working and chores and washing your own towels stuff.

I have skills now I never would have gotten had I not moved. I don't have as much street smarts as I'd like, but I've learned how to walk through sketchy neighborhoods at night without too much fear of harassment. I can almost always hail a cab, provided they are available, and after some time I'm finally able to tell the driver which route I prefer. "Mission or the freeway?" Now I know, depending on what time it is, whether or not it's Critical Mass and if there are any protests planned, which way to tell the cabbie. After some time, I know when riding in the back of a speeding cab when to brace myself. Sitting in back, the taxi taking jutting hills at break-neck speeds, I find my breath trapped in my lungs. Sailing over the crest of the hilltop, all my air is tight in my chest. Sometimes I swear the tires leave the pavement. But sometimes after topping one of San Francisco's notorious summits the bay waters will spill into sight. Then I exhale.

All the thrills, the sights, the people, the bay air: It all feels like what I thought home would feel like.

***

Brittney is mastermind behind Eye on Blogs, the blog for CBS 5.

The rest of her photo shoot can be seen here.

Ben

On a rooftop in the Mission, near Valencia
Saturday morning

***

I was born in SF General but didn't grow up in San Francisco. My family moved to Sebastopol when I was two years old and I no longer have any memories of the city from that period of my life. However I always loved coming to the city as a kid, there was always something about coming out of the tunnel on 101 and seeing the SF skyline while driving across the Golden Gate Bridge that awed me. It jut seemed so big and exciting.

I found the city really interesting, especially all the different neighborhoods and how distinct they all are. From the grungy back alleys of Chinatown, to the tall buildings in the Financial, and the quite streets of the Sunset, or the sunshine in the Mission. I still find enjoyment just walking around areas of the city I've never been to before.

Here's a short list of my favorite things about SF:

• Sutro Tower, I love it because you can see it pretty much anywhere in SF
• The cement slides on Seward St
• The Indian summers, but not the fog of actual summer
• Laying on the grass at Dolores Park
• The craziness that happens on MUNI
• Free concerts in the park
• The noodle houses on Clement St
• Baker beach, the clothed side.
• SFMOMA, I can get lost in here for hours
• Bay to Breakers, and all the awesome costumes
• Kickball with my friends
• All the taquerias in the Mission
• Riding my bike down Market
• Getting lost in Golden Gate park
• The view from Twin Peaks

***

The rest of Ben's photo shoot can be seen here.

Cari

inside the Marsh Theatre
Valencia Street
Sunday afternoon

***

My name is Cari, and I've been a San Franciscan for four months, one week, and six days.

I move around a lot. I've lived in three countries, dozens of cities, and I've visited just about everywhere at least once. In my four months, one week, and six days in San Francisco, I've already had two different addresses.

But I've never lived somewhere like this. I'm still shocked that I can go to work, take a yoga class, meet some friends for dinner, see a show, and make it home without ever getting in a car. How is that possible? Every day, I try to take a different route to work and I find something different each time. (Today's discovery: vintage hats for $12, just down the street from work!)

About eight months ago, I fell in love with a boy and the city he lived in. I moved here to be with them both. After a little while, the boy and I stopped seeing each other, but the city and I grew ever closer. Without my tour guide, I was worried I'd be lost in the city alone. But San Francisco took me in.

In four months (etc.), I've made more good friends here than I ever had elsewhere. I go out more often; I find more things to do. The city draws me out and makes anything seem possible. I was afraid I'd be swallowed whole, but just the opposite is true. For example: I've been trying for years to put my theater degree to good use, and to no avail. Two weeks after I moved here, I saw a cute little theater on Valencia and 22nd, gave them a call, and a week later I was working for The Marsh. Just like that.

This city means something different to everyone. That's part of its magic. To me, it's a blank slate, a followed dream, and a great love (or two).

I think I'll stay a while this time.

***

The rest of Cari's photo shoot is here.

Soad

in the Mission
Friday afternoon

***

I grew up with my Egyptian Muslim father and with my Basque-Italian-American Catholic mother, first in Egypt, and then in California, and since 1997 here in San Francisco. All my life I’ve actively participated in different cultures, customs, and languages. I have learned to navigate the nuances of difference and have found comfort in the fluidity of my mixed identity. While the experiential variety of my life weaves a colorful tapestry, the awareness, knowledge and skills rising from such mingling of ideas and perspectives generates endless explorations for my artwork.

Our interconnections visually, emotionally, spiritually and intellectually are continually fascinating and inspiring to me. But to notice and really see, feel these connections, I have to continually refresh my ability to be present and to live in the moment. Everything in life has the potential for beauty and vitality if we just take the time and attention to be still, to use all of our senses with open minds and open hearts, and to allow ourselves to be moved. Eating well, traveling (even at home), dancing, painting, listening to live music, learning something new everyday and enjoying intimate conversations – this is what invigorates and helps me to see and to feel beauty or connection and then be moved to paint it.

San Francisco is a place I adore, a city where I continually get refreshed, where my desires are fed deliciously, where new ones become, and where daily I am reminded, often with a smile, of the wonderful variety in human expression encouraged to flourish here. Living in San Francisco feels like home more than anywhere I’ve ever lived - I love it!

Soad's website (www.studiosoad.com) is here.

***

The rest of Soad's photo shoot is here.

Jacobo

Lexington Street
The Mission