Ever since I moved here, life has been crazy. Good crazy, bad crazy... Well most of all just crazy. But I find that I have very little to complain about.
My favorite neighborhood Italian place was closed so we ate at the deli. After dinner I wasn�t ready to go home just yet, so I parked by the harbor. It was raining. We sat in the car for at least an hour, just watching, spellbound by this view so beautiful I feel I don�t deserve it. I sang, comforted by the reflection of the lights on the water at night. I looked around me. The Golden Gate to my left, the lighthouse on Alcatraz to my right, the soothing sound of foghorns calling back and forth to one another like they do every night. I turned to HB. �You realize this is as boring and unspectacular as it gets?' (Meaning, �fuck, could it be any prettier?�) It�s probably the slowest, most humdrum ordinary night of the week where we have nothing �better� to do, so we �settle� for watching the lights dance on the water of what I�m humbly convinced is the most beautiful stretch of bay on the planet. I could have stared for hours longer, and it isn�t as if I haven�t seen this same landscape fifty trillion bajillion times before. (I counted.) This place still takes my breath away every time I step outside. It baffles my mind. I don�t know if it has the same effect on everyone, but I�d rather be a bum in this city than go back to hicktown or suburbia a millionaire. (No offense, hicktown.)
I wish I could tell my papa about my art show. All of this drive to succeed in art is partly for him. He may well have been the only person in my family who really understood why I paint, because he did it too. Of all the people in my family, he was perhaps the most human, and I guess I inherited that too. He was the type who could be moved to tears, from something as simple as � watching the bay collect raindrops�the Golden Gate to his left, Alcatraz lighthouse to his right, the sound of foghorns calling back and forth to one another like they do every night� I feel closer to him here, where he grew up. It left its mark on him, and now it leaves its mark on me. I�m too busy being insane half the time to recognize how stupidly fortunate I am, but I know I�m finally where I belong, and I think I�ll manage.
11:19 p.m. - 2006-11-13