San Francisco

Some observations.

In the Haight: An upper window with the iconic Che Guevara picture in it. Just down the street is a window featuring the now iconic Barack Obama image. Barack is the new Che.

Just off Haight Street in Buena Vista Park: Two guys sharing a joint.

In the Castro: An upper window with a "No on 8" sign. Another window with a campaign picture of Senators Obama and Biden together at the DNC.

On the corner of Castro and Market: A Pottery Barn.

On Lyon Street: A "for sale" sign in front of a house. Calderoj checks his i-Phone to see how much. I guess $750,000 for the house. (I lowball). I'm close. $749,000 -- for an upper floor condo. 811 square feet.

You know you are in Chinatown when you see the laundry drying on the fire escapes. There's no gradual transition. Suddenly, you are just there. Cross Green Street going toward the water and suddenly you're in North Beach. There's nothing Chinese. Now it's Italian.

Downtown: Shoppers. All of the women wearing their skinny jeans tucked into Uggs. And scarves. Long mufflers. Lots of those long, puffy coats. I passed a woman wearing my Rebecca Taylor gray coat with faux fur collar from last year.

From our window you can see Nordstrom. For two days in a rown now there has been a demonstration agaist the Israeli attacks on Gaza, in the plaza across the street from the store. People marching with candles and Palestinian flags. On Sunday they shouted, "No peace without justice!" I couldn't make out what they shouted last night.

Two Operas

We were in Santa Fe for a few days last month to see the opera. Specifically, we saw two operas, Benjamin Britten's Billy Budd, and a 21st century opera called Adriana Matter. They were both well-staged, sung, and acted, of course. Santa Fe doesn't do anything half way.

I liked Billy Budd, but was not wowed by it. After seeing Paul Bunyan a few years ago at Central City, I was expecting more. Paul Bunyan was brilliant -- its American themes captured so perfectly (an accountant going to Hollywood to be an accountant there? Of course!). Billy Budd, not so much. Perhaps the two Britons who created the piece -- both incredible talents -- Britten himself and E.M. Forster (imagine my surprise) -- were just not ready for an American novel yet. There was much more emphasis on duty and honor than there was on the struggle between good and evil.

Adriana Matter was a masterpiece. I had chosen it because Peter Sellars was directing, and I felt I couldn't go through life without seeing one of his productions. Beyond Mr. Sellars' excellent staging, Adriana Matter had everything you could ever want in an opera: war, rape, deceit, the possibility of patricide, atonality.

But the best part of this opera was not anything that a human could engineer. The evening was typical for Santa Fe in July -- wet and cold. For this reason I really don't like the outdoor venue in Santa Fe. Indeed, I wouldn't attend the opera there if it didn't stage really good, new, and interesting stuff. But just after we were seated for the second act, when the singers came out into a set built to indicate a war-ravaged city, the fog began to roll in over the stage. The mood it created was both dark and thrilling. I have never experienced anything like it.

To Billy Budd I wore my gray, Grecian dress by Lanvin with Steve Madden open-toed booties in neutral suede. To Adriana Matter I wore my brown Rick Owens rocker dress with Tara Subkoff suede open-toed, wedge sandals with ankle ties, and a Stella McCartney oversized sweater coat. I carried my cobalt-blue Alexander Wang clutch both nights.

Peter Sellars wore a red kimono top over black pajama pants.