Old San Francisco, Old news

One tragic trend in my neighborhood that I've noticed are all of the closed businesses. San Francisco always claims to be a city that is all about supporting its local neighborhoods and from what I have seen it is better than many other cities in that respect. However, walking along the commercial section of this neighborhood I walked past a lot of businesses that were closing down. I guess this is common in a lot of neighborhoods in a lot of cities, but it is still a shame to see a lot of the local businesses closing. What's always nice about places like these businesses is the fact that it has a greater tie to the residents near by and they have the neighborhoods interest in mind. I can't say what has caused so many of these businesses to close. This isn't to say that all of the businesses are closing because there are a lot of establishments that have been in the neighborhood for the better part of a century. It just seems that the when these things are lost the neighborhood loses an asset. And some neighborhoods need all of the assets that they can get. 

The Old Country

Something that I have always thought was weird about my neighborhood was its streets. Not the pavement itself. The neighborhood looks just like any other. It isn't grotesquely poor nor is it grotesquely posh. It is just a regular neighborhood where the neighbors try to look out for each other and their community. What I mean by streets are the actual streets signs. The giants slender giants that loom over head on the street corner. The large majority of them are named after European countries and cities. The street names are surprising and somewhat out of place in this neighborhood. The strangest part is the is the juxtaposition of the street names and the things that are found on those streets. The Italian American Social club is on Russia Street, the Chinese Hospital on Paris street, the Salvadorean bakery on Persia. Somehow Persia flew under the radar. Back to the point. It is so odd to walk down the streets here and see all of the organizations and businesses that cater to a specific national culture be on the street named after a completely different culture. 

interesting encounters

I will never say that it was easy to get people to talk to me this semester. Walking up to people in the streets to pry into what they consider personal was difficult enough. The experience was only made more difficult by the fact that people often treated me as some sort of leper. 

"Can I ask you a couple of questions about the neighbhorhood?"

"No! I don't know anything."

It was like some sort of knee jerk reaction that most people had. It was surprising to find so many people who didn't know anything. How they function without knowing a single thing is beyond my meager understanding. 

However, the people who were willing....Well when it rains it pours. One person in particular comes to mind when I think of my time in the Excelsior. His name was Winston. Straight talker is the best description for this guy. The first time that I met this man he told me to beware of anyone over the age of seven. "They always lie!" 

No, he's not some run of the mill crazy spouting nonsense for the sake of it. He is perfectly lucid and perfectly astute in his social estimations. He is a former Excelsior business owner who has moved to the Dominican Republic within the last two years. He stands about six feet three inches and with a black overcoat. His black fedora hangs low over his eyebrows and comes to a soft point around the level of his eyes. Looking past his rimless frames I saw the faintest blue rim around his pupil. He looked like he would be just as at home walking into a jazz club ready to blow out an improvisational masterpiece bound to change someone's life with its sound. He is in a word cool. 

For about 30 minutes he ranted and raved about everyone from the current police chief, to the former district supervisor, to the Ken doll look-a-like mayor. No one was safe, nor should they be. He was one of those men who calls it like he sees it and he makes no apologies because as he says "It's the truth". There isn't too much more about this I just thought that a man with such brazen honesty should be noticed. 

Mua isn't just the sound of a kiss

It was a cold and stormy night...Well not really, it was actually a really day. After a killer 10-hour work day at the dry cleaner I felt that I needed to let loose like a goose and enjoy a bit of the downtown Berkeley/Oakland's nightlife. I wanted to have a good time, but I also did not want to spend all of my money. I must have done a lot of good deeds in my past life because a friend of mine called me and told me that his friend was celebrating his birthday at a new bar in Oakland called Mua. He said there will be free drinks and there will be no cover charge. In my head I did several back flips along with a jumping leg kicker, but I kept my cool and said "I'm down." Several hours later we were on our way to this fantastically new bar. "There it is," my friend said as we passed by what seemed to be an inconspicuous warehouse. We parked conveniently close to the warehouse-bar and made our one minute journey towards the magical place of fun and booze. Upon entering Mua I initially noticed something that was terrifying odd: no one was there to check the door, let alone my i.d. Though the place looked like a run-down warehouse on the outside, the inside was beautiful. The walls were decorated with dozens of abstract paintings, the floor had dozens of lovely dark brown hard-wood tables that conveniently had candles on them, and a healthy mixture of people sat around while enjoying the calm atmosphere. I would get into details about the partying, but that is of no importance. OK I'll give a little taste; there was drinking, high fives, some hugs here and there, and a lot of dancing. In-between doing the running man and the robot I felt a bit of emptiness inside me. Maybe it was his first time or maybe he just didn't know what the hell he was doing, but the DJ was terrible. I've never once been to a bar or club where one minute the Cache-Control: max-age=0

3D"SPELLING_ERROR_7">DJ plays gansta rap and the next minute he switches over to the sweet jams of Madonna. And never have I been to a place where one minute the dance floor is congested with people shaking their junk and the next they are scurrying away, hoping to find the nearest exit. I tend to think of myself as easy to please, but the DJ at Mua shouldn't quit his day job. Anyway, that was it for my interesting outing at a new bar in Oakland that I think will eventually get more recognition that it deserves. Party on!

Local Paper

One of the many characters that I've met at my favorite neighborhood cafe is this older gentleman who is a lawyer. When I met him I was doing the profile story about the Mama's Art Cafe. I didn't imagine when I was talking to him that I might get a job offer out of the conversation. In fact I didn't think that he would even remember me, but when I saw him in the cafe a few weeks after the profile he did in fact remember me. We started talking and I mentioned that something he said to me about the neighborhood being "old San Francisco" was going to be the focus of my final story. He then told me about the an idea that he had to start an online newspaper written by younger people in the neighborhood about the neighborhood, and he offered to let me write for it if they could in fact turn the idea into a concrete reality. I have to say I was floored by the fact that the man would offer a writing job to someone whose writing he never in fact read but it made me think of the idea little more. Community papers, if one can believe what they hear, are still relatively strong. Understandably, finances and resources may make production more difficult for local papers but those that stay afloat have an advantage. They are the only publications covering their neighborhoods and I think it's safe to say that people like to have something based in their own communities that speak to them specifically. The Excelsior doesn't get a much attention in San Francisco from what I've noticed outside of perhaps Jerry Day (Festival to celebrate Jerry Garcia's birthday. Jerry was raised in the Excelsior neighborhood). A neighborhood like the Excelsior which sometimes gets forgotten because it isn't a big tourist attraction could use a publication that is specifically for its residents. Whether or not the idea that my new friend has will take flight is still to be determined but the fact still remains that the neighborhood could use a little attention. 

Maria Luisa

So this is going to be third blog about food, but I really have to mention this bakery. It's called Pacita's Salvadorean Bakery. The Excelsior has no shortage of Salvadorian restaurants and bakeries but it's the first that I've tried and I wasn't disappointed. 

I bakery is on Persia street just off of Mission. Because the neighborhood is predominately residential there aren't too many businesses outside of Mission and Geneva. The fact that it's tucked off to the side confirms my suspicion that the places that are well hidden are usually the most surprising and addicting. I ignored the fact that I had to park about two blocks away to find a parking space to go to a place that I wasn't even sure would be worth the walk. Walking down the street I noticed a barbershop at the corner and a papuseria right next door to the bakery. The fact that the bakery was this close to a papuseria earned the business major brownie points for me. 

I walked in and the place was sort of cramped. I could have walked the length of the entire store in no more than five steps. The owner was behind the counter and she was shuffling around behind the counter as if she were an Olympic ice skater. "Hi" she said to me and smiled a very warm smile that already made me feel at home. "I just mopped back here. I'm trying to dry the floor," she said next. I must have had an inquisitive look on my face that I was unaware of by the sudden offering of this information. I looked at all of the goods in the glass container. Sprinkles and chocolate and frosting, oh my! I was stumped when she asked me what I wanted. It was like my brain caved under the pressure of being in a new place and being around the sweet smell of butter and sugar that hit me before I even walked inside. So naturally I did the only thing I knew would yield some results I asked:

"What's your favorite?"

"Um...My favorites are the cookies here," she said while she pointed to the little round mounds of dough that were filled with different fruit. After overcoming the decision of which fruit-filled cookie to take (guava, apple and strawberry) I moved onto the little cakes that had the a small layer of pink covering them. 

"What are these?" I asked her. She went on to explain that they were Maria Luisa's and they are a small cakes with a layer of custard in between the layers. I know nothing about custard but something that cute couldn't be that bad I reasoned and I asked for half a dozen. When I asked how they got the name she admitted she wasn't sure but she said, "I think the cook was in love with someone named Maria Luisa. Men always name things after a woman," she said. This begged the question: Why do men always name their objects after women? I'm sure Freud would have a field day with this question, but it is beside the point. I just want to put it out there. Back to the important topic at hand: pastries. I left the bakery with two large pink boxes of culinary promise. And I have to say that the guava cookies deserve much of the hype surrounding the taste. 

Mama's

I know that anyone who lives in this city has their favorite spot. It's the place where they would go all the time if they were able. It's the place that makes San Francisco a place worth living. Some people love eating cotton candy at the Wharf. Others like to get a book and waste an afternoon at Dolores Park. However, I like Mama's Art Cafe in the Excelsior. I'm well aware that the bustling cosmopolitan that is San Francisco has a number of sights and activities to offer anyone willing to find them. For me I have simple tastes which Mama's satisfies. It's completely sunlit. The walls are a bright charismatic green with paintings of a woman vaguely reminiscent of Diego Rivera's work. there is a large couch and large tables that force customers to sit with one another and get to know someone new. Aside from the fact that the cafe has free wi-fi which makes it an excellent place to study, the cafe features a different artist each month so there is always something new to look at. There's always a very calming feeling inside. The most attractive part of the cafe is the fact that most of the people who come here know one another. Each time I've gone in there I've ended up having two-hour long conversations with complete strangers. The people that I've met there have lived there for years and their families are rooted in the neighborhood for  three or four generations. The cafe has a spirit that is welcoming because the people are completely warm and inviting. Everyone that is there loves their city, but more importantly they love their neighborhood. They see the Excelsior for its faults but they have a love for it despite those imperfections. It is always refreshing to be around people who have an genuine enthusiasm for a particular thing no matter what that thing may be. I appreciate it since this enthusiasm is not something that I encounter in others often. Perhaps if I go there enough their enthusiasm will rub off on me. One can only hope, right?

My Roommates Closet

Tired of screaming matches and cat fights with your roommate over clothes? Most girls are. Well the problem is solved with the store My Roommates Closet. There will no longer be smuggling clothes from your roommate, you will be able to find your very own gem at this store that is located at 3044 Fillmore St. in the Marina. What makes this store so spectacular? It sells designer clothes, shoes, purses, and jewelry for up to 50 percent off. Yea, I understand your astomnishment to this news, I was shocked to that a store like this exsisted. A discount store in the Marina, can be shocking to almost anyone who knows the reputation of this district. I went into the store the other day to browse around and everyone who worked there was so pleasant and very helpful. This wasn’t like a Ross or Marshalls where they lack a variety of sizes in things, they had plenty of sizes to pick from which was nice to see. They sold Vera Wang shoes, and had well-known designer brands like; Vivienne Westwood, Twinkle, Penguin and True Religion. This store doesn’t just need to inderest women, men who have girlfriends, wives, or sisters should check this store out as well. They have amazing deals on nice stuff. Their selection of dresses was pretty impressive as well. I highly suggest that anyone makes their way over to the Marina to browse through this store, you won’t be disappointed, and I’m sure your roommate wouldn’t mind if you stopped raiding her closet.

Kiss the frog

I was looking around the Excelsior a few weeks ago with a friend for a new adventure. I found one in the form of a tub half filled with live amphibians. I went into the Manila Market on Mission on a whim. There is an Asian market near my apartment, but my roomate has given it a stamp of disapproval so we've been on the prowl for a new place.  After several illegal traffic maneuvers we wound up in the parking lot and subsequently inside of the store.

I had no expectations when I walked into the store, which is how I've tried to approach most new experiences as of late. The market won me over the second I saw that they carried pluots which is one of  my favorite fruits (what can I say I'm easy to please). The market was filled with all kind of things that I'd never seen, and I frantically tried to create a mental catalog of everything that I wanted to try in the future.

 

Needless to say everything was going well. It was just one of those days where you feel like you've stumbled on something.  We were walking around looking at all of the fish contemplating whether or not to buy a talapia fish when it happened. I looked at the fish. Normal. I looked at the squid. Run of the mill. I looked at the shrimp. Boring. I looked at the frogs. Wait. I stepped back looked in and there they were. at least 30 pairs of eyes looking back at me. I lost my cool and i jumped back and made a small gasp. I looked over at the older woman who was returned my embarrassment with

 a smirk. I couldn't believe what I'd seen. It seemed so cruel to just stuff them all together and scoop them out for their final demise. Understandably it's hypocritical to want to pick a live fish from a tank one  minute and then be almost morally offended by these live frogs in second. Perhaps it was the shock of it all...perhaps it was the fact that they all seemed to be looking at me. Whatever, it was I definitely got what exactly what I asked for... a new experience. 

Looking for a good study place?

Lately I have been looking for a place to study for finals. I need a place that has internet access and a good cup of coffee. Everyone will mention Starbucks to me, but I have yet to find a peaceful Starbucks in the city. They all seem to be crowded all the time and very little space to set up shop with the variety of textbooks I need to bring, and my laptop. Plus, I tend to think Starbucks coffee is a bit overpriced. I was walking up and down Fillmore Street the other day I the Marina and I stumbled upon this little place called The Grove. I have heard of this place before from friends. I went in for a bite to eat and to grab a beer, and I noticed it was packed, and it was a Wednesday night. It wasn’t packed with bar hoppers, but with people just grabbing a cup of coffee and studying. Everyone had their laptop out, I almost felt left out for not having mine with me. They had this huge menu that offered sandwiches, soup, salads, and chocolate-chip cookies. They had beverages that ranged from hot tea to beer and wine. People were starting to line up out the door to get a seat in this cozy establishment. For being as crowded as it was, it wasn’t very loud in there. They had Wi-Fi and coffee, it was the perfect place to study for finals I realized. I am really glad I stumbled on it. Another really good restaurant I would recommend to people who are looking for a casual place to go to if they are in the Marina District. Also, if you get there at a pretty decent time, parking on the street nearby is pretty easy to find, remember it is metered parking though.

Taco Tuesday

Taco Tuesday is a pretty popular thing for a lot of young people to attend in the Marina. Blue Light, a bar in the Marina sponsors it and they give a great discount on tacos and beer. Usually I can’t seem to get myself to go out on a weeknight, but my friends begged me to go, and since it was in the Marina I figured why not, since I am supposed to be doing reporting. My friends love going every Tuesday, they always say it is such an awesome crowd that goes and they seem to come back from it with raving reviews. I have been twice before, and I can’t say that my reviews have come back as amazing as theirs, but it has been a decent two times that I have gone, figured third time would be a charm. The crowd that I have usually encountered there is people in their twenties, usually college kids, who are predominantly white, preppy, frat-appearance type. The night we decided to go was April 7, which was the opening game for the Giants earlier that evening. When we got there it was a completely different crowd than normal. There were a lot of people sporting Giants gear and the age range varied more than usual. I would also have to say that the races varied as well. It was a mixture of all different people. The regulars who are usually there every Tuesday without fail were all tucked away in the back corner by the pool table in the back gossiping amongst themselves. They were talking about how there were too many “black” people there. I found this almost amusing that the people in this area don’t seem to grasp the concept that there are other races out there. The people who hang in the Marina are used to the primarily Caucasian race that parties on the weekends at the local bars. I think these people need to open their eyes and maybe get out of the Marina for a night and see the different populations that San Francisco has to offer.

Beauty in the Marina

The Marina is a place that can be a tourist trap. I have found a lot of people who are out of town venture out to the Marina for site seeing. I guess this is because the Marina holds a lot of beautiful views, The Palace of Fine Arts, The Exploratorium, Fort Mason, and a lot of shops and restaurants. On April 4 which was a Saturday I decided to spend my day out in the sunshine at the Marina. It was probably one of the best decisions I could have made. Not only was the weather gorgeous, but the views from the Marina green were breathtaking. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the Golden Gate Bridge was the main focus for everyone’s camera standing on the grass. It was also open yacht day on the bay, so not only were there tons of kites flying going on, there was numerous sailboats and yachts on the harbor. The view was amazing. There were people of all ages running around the green, flying kites, having picnics, walking along Marina Blvd. peering through the windows of the stores, and people riding their bikes. I understand after visiting on such a sunny day why this part of San Francisco is a tourist trap, it does provide that postcard view that people travel from all over to take in with their own eyes.

Vintage dreams in the streets of Berkeley

Lately I have been disappointed. Every time I look into my closet a sudden wave of disgust flashes in my body, giving me the feeling like I drank one too many cosmopolitans. I needed something different. Something that screamed out "This is me! This is who I am!" So I decided on exploring one of the many vintage shops on Telegraph Avenue.

The money in my pockets was low, but my spirit was high as I made my way down the street of Telegraph Avenue. Skateboarders, bike riders, and even the occasional people rambling to themselves were out on this busy day in Berkeley. My attention was diverted when I decided on checking out 510 skateboards, a skate-shop located on Telegraph. The shoes were pleasant, but the lone sales associate wasn't. This "Too cool for school" associate seemed more entertained sending text messages on his fancy phone then helping me pick out a dandy pair of shoes. I don't know if it's just me being "old school" but I thought sales associates were supposed to SELL to costumers. I made my way out of the shop, energized and ready to continue on my initial mission.

Suddenly something caught my eyes. The neon lights, which read Sharks, and retro look of this place sucked me in like a vacuum. I had to check this place out. The smell of used, old clothes hit my nose the second I stepped inside the building. I was at home. The shop had everything from Member's Only jackets (which are popular now) to hats that look like they were made out of a rabbit. Unlike the shop I went to earlier I was actually happily greeted by the associate. Her name was Lacey and she had the style of someone out of the 80s. She had bleach blond hair and wore all black with a stone-wash denim jacket that covered her tattoo-filled arms. To be honest she reminded me of Kat Von D from LA INK (A reality TV show about a tattoo shop owner). I found out she graduated from San Francisco State with a degree in fashion. We instantly became friends. She showed me to some of the cooler things in the shop such as a black Victorian dress that sold for $300. Kind of pricey for vintage clothes, but I didn't mind, dresses aren't my forte anyways.

Digging and digging through the racks of clothes I found nothing. Either the clothes were too big, overpriced, or just not my style. My body wasn't feeling it anymore. My stomach was in control and I decided on calling it a day and grabbing a greasy slice of Blondie's pizza instead. Lacey told me she works at another vintage shop, Mars, and that I should check it out. I vowed that on my next journey that I must conquer this shop!

First walk into the Castro

After coming out of the Muni tunnel at the corner of Castro and 17th, there are several conflicting shops that do not seem to belong together. On one corner is a huge Diesel store, the other a real estate office, and on the other a bar and cookie shop.

I walked into the cookie shop named "Hot Cookie," probably having a duel meaning, because the walls of the mini shop is covered with pictures of magazine clippings and pictures of previous and current customers. Those in the pictures are provocative, giving off the impression that this shop is one that does not care how others perceive them.

I must admit the pictures intrigued me to walk in because the shop itself is big enough to hold about two customers at a time and a door way about as wide as a telephone booth door, leaving it difficult and strategic to enter and exit. Once you come into the shop the smell of freshly baked cookies is overwhelming! They are definitely fresh and hot.

After asking the employee standing behind the counter, I soon realized the Hot Cookie was a well known icon of the neighborhood. The pictures themselves prove that the neighborhood does not care if they offend tourists with their sexuality.

After seeing these pictures I researched the neighborhood and came to find that the majority of the neighborhood is unmarried and between the ages of 30-40 which lets me know that they are down to party.

Gregory Pike in the Marina

I have been spending more and more time in the Marina lately, not just for reporting but because I have a lot of friends who venture out into the area. I have found in the last few weeks it is the same scene with the same people. The majority of the people I have come in contact with are white middle-class people with a lot of money on their hands or so it seems that way. Bar hopping and going from restaurant to restaurant is a popular thing to do on the weekends in the Marina. This last week when I was out searching for contacts or something interesting to write about I started to get bored running into the same people with the same stories about the nightlife that the Marina has to offer.

Then out of the blue I see this dog and then on top of the dog was a cat and then on top of the cat was a rat. It was the most peculiar sight I had seen yet in the Marina. A lot of people around me were talking about it, and the man who was the caretaker of the animals seemed to know a lot of people that were out. I approached him figuring he would be one of the more interesting people I have come across yet.

His clothes were old and tattered, along with his bag that he carried. His name was Gregory Pike. He considered himself a street performer. He was telling a group of us that gathered around him that he has trained these three animals to love each other and get along. He was informing the crowd of the history of the animals and how long he has done this. He travels from California to Arizona to Nevada collecting tips in his small tin can from a variety of different people. My main question was, why the Marina?

“It has the best money,” is what Mr. Pike told me. He went on to say that he frequents different parts of San Francisco, but the Marina is where he has acquired a place to stay for right now. I can see where the money is good in the Marina, and there are always people out eating and shopping that are always looking for something to spark their interests. I know his animals and himself sparked mine.

Gregory Pike and his animal performance can be found on youtube.com. All he said was to type in dogcatrat, and he has a few demonstrations up for people’s enjoyment.

I took Obama on his challenge, put my action where my anguish was and volunteered to help count homeless people on Jan. 27, 2009, as part of a nationwide count of people living on the streets, in cars, encampments, boxes and shelters. More than 400 people had volunteered here in San Francisco. After our brief training, my team tramped up and down a less than 10-block slice of the city that from one street to another, and sometimes on the same block, encapsulated some of the city's most opulent hotels and restaurants, smart boutiques and nightclubs, restaurants and art galleries and, simultaneously, skanky single-residence hotels, humble ethnic restaurants, and darkened buildings covered with graffiti and the grime of the city.

We didn't know whether to count the black transvestite who hassled the throngs of fancy people on their way to dinner or the theater, trying to get four quarters. Maybe she wanted them for the bus. It wasn't clear. "I've got the dollar," she kept saying, her skinny legs naked on a very cold night in San Francisco. Our instructions an hour earlier had been vague. We weren't to ask anyone if he or she was homeless. Sometimes it was obvious, possessions stuffed into a black plastic bag, a shelter of sorts created in an alcove of a Muni station. Sometimes, as with the transvestite, how did you know?

A block further, an even thinner woman, skeletal really -- no teeth, a clump of snarl for hair, clutching a thin black coat around her caved-in frame -- begged money for food. "I'm starving," she repeated plaintively as people rushed by.

In less than two hours, we counted 82 homeless people -- huddled in small groups, shivering in wheelchairs, passed out on the concrete, selling dumpster trash and stuffed in a sleeping bag or singing, playing the saxophone, screaming "Shut up! Can't you play anything else?"

The transvestite was ignored by two businessmen engaged in conversation outside Kuleto's, an upscale Italian restaurant in wood and glass where the wine flowed generously and the veal chop cost $37. A few blocks away, tourists waited for the cable cars at Powell Street while the lankest, most pitiful human -- man or woman, I couldn't tell -- hawked the Street Sheet, a newspaper created by homeless to address their issues and concerns. It didn't look like anyone was buying. Was the person homeless? I thought so but where to put my checkmark: male or female?

Where I lived on Octavia, most of the homeless were white; here, they were eight to one black and their appearance and health appeared so markedly worse than the homeless I'd encountered daily in my previous life in San Francisco that I thought several might be dying, especially the toothless woman pleading for food money.

Later, after I'd left my group and headed back to Market Street, I retraced my steps past the upscale Hilton San Francisco with its ornate lobby outfitted with two-ton chandeliers, its penthouse suits and the rooftop Starlight Lounge with a million dollar view of San Francisco. Chauffeurs were depositing guests or packing up their expensive luggage and purchases into limousines with darkened windows. Guests hovered on the sidewalk in long wool coats, in fur, shivering nonetheless in the brisk air, while the wraiths of the neighborhood trolled for soft sells, anyone with a handful of spare change.

I was watching all this when I heard a man in a handsome leather coat over smart trousers tell his equally well dressed companion that he would be in Killington next week. The word Killington reached into my head, tired and overwhelmed with the clash between those who were guaranteed graciousness in our fair city and those for whom the word graciousness, never mind choosing between premier and king-sized, was irrelevant. Killington was a ski area near the Vermont city where I live part-time. When I asked, the man said he'd "just bought a sweet get-away home there, in the woods. Deep in the woods."

Just then, the skinny woman with no teeth wandered our way. She still clutched her stomach "Please," she whined. "Please, can't you spare something? I'm awful hungry." The man and his woman friend scurried quickly into a cocktail lounge packed with other spenders.

And later, on the J-train home, I let my eyes explore the body of the woman sitting next to me. She was big. She smelled badly of drink. Her face and hands, the only parts of her body not swathed in clothing, were covered with sores. She cleaned her filthy fingernails with a Swiss Army knife then juggled an avocado. Her hands were never still as, over and over, she checked for the papers stuffed in a pocket, her keys, her knife, the avocado.

The woman got off at my stop. I started to follow, to see where in upscale Noe Valley she might live. But the woman crossed 24th Street and headed downhill. I was hungry, tired, and I needed Daniel, my sweet Maltese dog. My own tiny rooms, crammed with the things that give me comfort -- books, plants, music, art -- awaited. And when Daniel gave me a thorough face washing in praise of my return, I hugged him gratefully.

ReportingSpring300YD is a group blog produced by students in Yvonne Daley's Reporting class at San Francisco State University. Each week, students will post observations, photographs and videos, links and resources that reflect their experiences covering the neighborhoods of San Francisco. These postings may prove useful to residents and visitors to the city. We invite you to click on the links to the right to view the students' postings and learn more about these communities.