I had just disembarked from the 6-Parnassus at the intersection of Haight and Masonic, staring astonished at a wall because one of my favorite murals in the Upper Haight had been painted over and replaced with a new one, when a bubble floated before my eyes. I looked around. More bubbles. In fact, a hundred bubbles floated over the intersection. I suppose that San Franciscans might love bubbles more than other folk (see here for another example); well, your faithful correspondent certainly does, and I crossed the street to a new store featuring new versions of the psychadelic tie-dyed clothing that became synonymous with San Francisco during the Sixties.
The bubbles seemed to come from the store, but upon further inspection, no. This gentleman was standing in front of the store, and blowing bubbles for the entertainment of the passersby:
Admit it–you wish you had a bubble-blowing gun like that, don’t you? My 43-Masonic was arriving, so I had no time to do anything more than shout “Thank you!” and run to catch the bus. No time for a picture. When I returned from shopping to the same bus stop, he still stood there blowing bubbles and amusing everyone as before. Hypothesis: he might have been promoting a special appearance by Wavy Gravy at the new store on May 18. So I said “Thank you” again, asked if I could take a few shots, he said yes, so I snapped 3 of which this was best, and thanked him again. Then I thanked my good fortune.
Walking home from the bus stop, I found myself behind a pair of women, 25-30, each six feet two inches tall (my height), each with very long black hair and splendidly athletic figures. One was describing her latest work issue.
Speaker: So he emails me and asks if I kept the five most recent emails he sent about the project.
Listener: Not the project.
Speaker: Yeah, the project. He said he needed copies of those emails-
Listener: Don’t tell me he lost them?!
Speaker: Yeah, he had gone on another volleyball-detox-cleansing binge and deleted all of them.
Bubbles, Wavy Gravy, and volleyball-detox-cleansing binges. It’s official: San Francisco is magic. I hope you live in a magic place, too; it wouldn’t be fair if my home was the only one.
Wondering How a Volleyball-Detox-Cleansing Binge Can Make You Lose Your Emails, I Remain,
Vonn Scott Bair