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I suppose perhaps I’ve become an Ann Arbor liberal. Which admission may, in some circles, be akin to coming out of the closet if you’re gay. This evening, after a lovely walk in Nichols Arboretum, Karen and I went to eat our supper at Noodles & Co. on State Street. We decided in a moment of sheer folly to tempt the weather by eating our noodle dishes out on the available streetside dining. This was a nice idea for all of about 30 seconds.

The Baptists with Bullhorns had set up camp *directly* across the street and started gettin’ their collective freak on. Which is really something to see for a bunch of overweight, overdressed, mostly past middle age pasty white guys.

The Baptists with Bullhorns began gettin’ their freak on with a nice set of lovely hymns, which to their great credit, were very nicely sung.

While they sang, they had some clearly bewildered, sure to be scarred for life pre-teen boy anchoring a giant sign with various and sundry accusations plastered thereon. Once the hymns were done, there were a few moments of relative silence, punctuated by various forms of traffic and other street noise, during which I allowed myself the fantasy that perhaps that would be the end of things, and they would kindly pack up their freak and get the freak out of Ann Arbor.

However, such was not to be our lot this night.

I had allowed myself to become so absorbed in my fantasy that the squeal of a poorly handled bullhorn shocked me out of my reverie, which had been for a few precious moments, delight in my Thai Noodle Soup.

As it happens, Daddy (or one of Daddy’s friends) had climbed up onto a planter and begun to ready himself for really gettin’ down with his freak.

Please don’t get me wrong. I actually think that there is probably a time and a place and a proper attitude for street preaching. Call me crazy, that’s ok. These fellers, however, had missed the mark on all counts.

Humility? Absent.
Kindness? Absent.
Evidence of love and care? Absent.
All manner of unjust Accusations? Present. And then some.

It seemed to me that these men were more about being able to boast to their religious friends how they were “really livin’ the gospel, brother”, ‘cuz they were out in the trenches, preachin’ on the street in that haven for sinners, Ann Arbor. You know, that town full of filthy liberals, licentious behavior and sodomites!

For heaven’s sake, the man said that the people down in the cancer ward in the UM hospital were there because of the sin of smoking. (!) Gee whiz man!

He really got whipped up into a frenzy when a couple of gay guys started making out in front of him. He bellowed in his anger and self-righteous apoplectic rage, “God does NOT accept you as YOU are!” Now he’s really got some stories to tell about being down in the trenches, fightin’ the good fight, dontcha know.

It’s a wonder I was able to keep my supper down, I was so upset. I wanted to go up to the man, rip off his bullhorn and throw it onto the roof of Michigan Book and Supply. I wanted to whisper in his ear, “do you have ANY IDEA how much damage you and your little friends are doing? Do you know how long I’ve worked here, forged complex relationships, done practical acts of kindness in love here? And you want to come in here, preaching your peculiar brand of un-Biblical hate so you can have stories to tell your friends? Because, listen pal, you are winning no converts here tonight.”

But I did not do that. Or any of the other multitude of aggressions that came into my head during that time. Perhaps that’s cowardice on my part. Perhaps, if I am gracious with myself, it was turning the other cheek, as Jesus would have wanted.

So.

From those of us who are of like mind, to you in Ann Arbor who have been subjected to this, I apologize, really and truly.

May the end of fundamentalism be near!

And no, I’m not referring to a certain pro-wrestler-turned-movie-star by the name of Dwayne who plays a gay Samoan bodyguard in his latest outing in a poor sequel to one of the most brilliantly funny movies of the 1990s.

No, I’m talking about the first super prison built by our federal government. The site of one of the (mostly forgotten) Native American protests of the 1970s. The prison that was built to contain the worst of the worst: that is, if you pissed off the feds bad enough to land in a maximum security federal pen, and THEN you further dignified yourself by exasperating your warden there, Alcatraz is the place to which you would be sent.

After winding our way down from Seattle through Oregon and down the coast of northern California on the PCH, we ended up in San Francisco. Now, I’ve already expressed my displeasure with the denizens of that fine city in some of my earlier posts….but the fact is that there were definitely some good experiences to be had there.

One of those good experiences was at this fine example of our National Park system.

Here is a view of The Rock from Coit Tower (Coit Tower is on mainland SF):

You’ll notice that Alcatraz is surrounded by the water of the San Francisco Bay. This sea water maintains a year round chilly 50 degrees F. We learned from our park ranger about the 50/50/50 rule: there is a 50 percent chance that you will survive for 50 minutes in 50 degree water. Thus the nearly perfect escape record of this prison.

This fact, oddly enough, does not stop otherwise perfectly normal San Franciscans from swimming in the Bay on a daily basis…brrrrrr.

On the ferry out to the island, you’re treated to some great approach views:

Upon your arrival, you’re greeted by this sign, and graffiti thankfully retained by the park service:

Then, you walk up the hill to the entrance:

When you reach the cell block area, there is a large patio area. When you walk to the city side of the island, you see why the Golden Gate Bridge (the superstructure of which is painted red, for the record) is so named:

Then, if you look to the left of the Golden Gate Bridge, you see one of the reasons people fall in love with San Francisco:

Then, as we made our way into the self-guided tour of the cell block, we were made aware of a whole host of reasons to steer clear of entanglements with the law:

Yep. I’m standing inside one of the solitary confinement cells. Creepy.

Here’s a shot of some of the other buildings of the compound:

So there ya have it, my tour of Alcatraz.

Ok, ok, ok. I’m sorry it’s been so long. I’m going back now and putting in pictures for the days that I missed, starting with Seattle.

So, day one in Seattle…we had spend the night with Nate and Melissa on Vashon Island in the Puget Sound, and here’s a picture of them at the Pike Street Market.

The Pike Street Market is a cute, but overpriced indoor market whose merchants are famous for throwing fish around during busy times. We did not get to see any airborne fish, but we did think it was interesting that most (4 floors) of the market are underground. Thankfully, all the fish were above ground…(whew)…

That afternoon we went to lunch at the Owl and Thistle, which is a very nice little Irish Pub in downtown Seattle. Karen found this in the ladies’ room:

You see, Kurt didn’t actually blow his brains out with a shotgun. He’s alive and well, and plays poker at high stakes Texas Holdem games with Elvis and Jim Morrison on Vashon Island, and in his spare time, he scrawls graffiti in women’s restrooms. Elvis and Jim are gettin’ kinda old and saggy by now, but they can kick the crap outta ol’ Kurt at poker. The good news for Kurt is that Vashon Island is the west coast’s premier supplier of ganja, so he can get a pretty serious bake on when he loses.

And you thought I was gonna supply a picture to prove it. Heh.

Well, you may recall that Karen and I spent some time with her uncle Bill out in Thorp (http://3rp.blogspot.com/2005/01/thorp.html). Well, on the way back to Seattle from Thorp, we stopped off in a little town called Snoqualmie. There are two cool things about Snoqualmie: they have a really cool waterfall and one of the more sad things I’ve seen on this trip: a steam locomotive graveyard.

So, here are some pics of the falls:

Now, that may not look like much, but let me give you a little flavor for the scale of this thing. Here’s the bottom of the falls:

And, here, check it out - a coupla guys fishin’ off to the right there:

Ok, so it’s not Niagara, but it’s still pretty cool.

Now, on to the boneyard. I know it probably makes me a sentimental fool, but I found this to be profoundly sad. Maybe it’s just that we’re in the age of fast food, corporate whores and other prostitutes, I don’t know. I guess I kind of mourn for the days of slow food and enjoying life…and somehow steam trains are evocative of that for me. Well, here’s the scene:

It’s like the engineers just drove ‘em up here, stepped off and walked away. Just kinda weird.

I thought this was interesting:

Hooray for Michigan. Or something like that…

I like this picture of Bill and Andrew walking down the tracks:

Right after this, we went to a local fast food (*sigh*) place called Taco Time to meet an old college buddy of mine who works at Microsoft in Redmond. We had a nice chat - turns out he’s on his way to a vacation in New Zealand, and yes, he’s going to do the Lord of the Rings tour - and he takes me for a ride in his Porsche 911 Carrera. Nice. White. (I gave him crap for driving around a large kitchen appliance…) Fast. And sticky.

Later that afternoon, Uncle Bill and Cousins Andrew and Melissa went with us on a tour of “underground Seattle”, or what’s left of it. Apparently, Seattle was originally built on tidal flats, and what’s now street level was originally floor two of the older buildings. It was pretty interesting, actually.

Here’s a shot of one of the skylights they built in the current sidewalk so that you could still see underground:

And here’s a look at it from above ground:

That night, Karen and I spent the night with Nate and Melissa on Vashon again, and the next morning we went off to collect our rental car for the next leg of our journey. First thing we did was come back into Seattle from the airport and check out the Seattle Space Needle, and the Experience Music Project.

The Space Needle affords beautiful vistas of the city and surroundings:

And the EMP (Experience Music Project) was like the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland, but with studios that allowed you to play various instruments along with tracks. It was kinda cool. They also had Bob Dylan and Jimmy Hendrix exhibits, but didn’t allow any pics.

Well, children, I think that may be all for tonight. Stay tuned…

Today, I’m sorry to report that I fell out of love with San Francisco. There is an angry vibe in this town that rivals Manhattan of the pre-Giuliani years. We came here expecting and hoping to enjoy ourselves - we have both heard enough good things about SF to start believing that it’s a veritable Shangri-la. Perhaps our expectations were too high? Perhaps we haven’t given it enough of a chance? Hard to tell.

Things started off well - we drove in, had a good time driving around the city - the hotel we reserved far exceeded our expectations (it’s sweet, quaint, staffed by kind and helpful people, fastidiously clean, perfectly located and wonder of wonders: affordable) - so it’s not the bad accomodations. Our dining experiences have been fantastic when we’ve elected to actually spend money - so it’s not bad food. The city is picturesque in its own way, but not nearly the paradise that the promo literature would have you believe.

Sadly, I think it comes down to the people.

It’s not uncommon to be walking down the street and hear a cel conversation that goes something like this: “How dare you speak to me like that?!”

The children that you do see are atrociously behaved.

Drivers in this city are worse, if anything, than advertised. And that’s saying something. The Lonely Planet we bought says that we should take the time to do some Zen preparations before venturing out to drive in SF (this is not a joke). That doesn’t help you when you go out to walk, though - you really have to watch yourself to not get run over. And then you’re just as likely to get flipped off and cussed out for being in the right in a crosswalk…

There is a level of anger boiling here that defies simple description. Perhaps it has something to do with GWB getting a second term. Perhaps it has something to do with the gay marriage amendments getting soundly trounced. I’ve been trying to get my arms around this since I’ve been here, and I wonder if it has something to do with privelege.

Karen and I were walking around in a farmers’ market this morning in a well-traveled part of the city. The way people look at you and treat you is remarkable - several times I thought that I had become doggie doo that someone had stepped into - other times I’ve been run into by pedestrians - not even so much as a rueful or apologetic look - nothing even approaching an apology. When I thank someone for service in a restaurant, or just for answering a question, they pretty much haven’t a clue what to do with my courtesy.

What’s happening here?

As I was walking around this market this morning, I remember seeing perfectly coifed men and women, wearing beautiful clothes - the men are perfectly moisturized, the women are perfectly made-up……..and I remember thinking that there is probably more money walking around on the faces of these people in this market than some third-world countries have for their entire monthly GDP.

There is a curious impotence that comes to rich liberals. It’s a combination of being able to see the problems (of which there are admittedly many) of the world we live in, but not having anything approaching a coherent strategy or set of answers to answer the rampaging Republicans. So, there is no plan, and there is no willingness to lift a finger to address the issues. I want more social programs from the government, but I don’t want to pay more taxes. I want better environmental responsibility, but I’m not willing to get rid of my Lexus SUV for something more efficient….

This was my primary critique of the John Kerry run for the Presidency. It’s not enough to proclaim “anyone but Bush”. While we may agree with the sentiment, there needs to be an alternative that captures the hearts and minds of voting men and women in America. It’s “the vision thing”. Sadly, oddly, GWB has it (as Bill Clinton did before him) and John F Kerry did/does not.

But back to SF. We took the “F Line” up to the “Castro district” today. The “F Line” is the line of restored trolley cars that runs from the Fisherman’s Wharf up Market Street. “Castro” is the gay district here in SF. It’s no exaggeration to say that it’s the epicenter of gay activism in America. Both Karen and I expected an experience kind of like South Beach in Miami FL - that is, happy gay folk celebrating their gay-ness. What we actually saw was a great deal of commentary on gay porn (in shops, magazines, news rags, cinemas, etc.), and gay folk holding hands. We did NOT feel safe, I’m sad to report.

I know, by now you’re probably pissed at me, saying that I haven’t given the place enough time to grow on me. Maybe you’re right. But I can tell you this: I’ve been to a lot of cities in my life, both here in the states and in Europe and Asia. I’ve not felt this unsafe in a place since my early teen trips to Manhattan in the early to mid 1980s.

We’ve still got a couple of days here. Perhaps things will change.

So, another travel day today. On to Seattle. Actually, Vashon Island to stay for a couple days with Melissa Burr, Karen’s cousin.

But before we get there, a picture from my last night in Victoria:

And, here’s one of the Seattle skyline taken from the ferry to Vashon Island.

And, one more for good measure. Spike!

OK, now it’s time for bed. See y’all soon…OH, and if you want to comment, I’ve turned the sign-in thingy off. This means that you can leave a comment without any trouble at all. If that’s what you want to do. [You must do what you feel is right, of course…]

OH, this is important: there are some new pictures inserted into the stories below which I think you’ll like.