LitCrawl at San Francisco
Steph and I went to San Francisco this Saturday to see LitCrawl. We went with her friend Emily and another girl Rachel, and the troubles began as soon as we got off 22nd St Station. The station itself was busted: creaky wooden stairs, dirty sidewalks, and no maps anywhere. I remembered seeing the station on the right of where we needed to be (20th and Valencia), but it turned out that we couldn't just walk that way. So someone directs us to a bus that should take us to 24th and Valencia.
We wait about 15 minutes for the bus. The bus driver is an obese black person with thin gray hair that goes below their head but above their shoulders. I couldn't tell if the driver was a man or a woman. We sit for a while, and then Steph asks me how we are going to know when we get there. So I go up and ask him if we are going to Valencia and 24th. No response. A guy next to me tells me that this bus goes up and down 24th. So I sit back down. Then after a bit the guy leaves. Crap, guess hes not going to tell me when to get off.
I go back up to the guy. Excuse me sir? Excuse me mam? Can you tell me when we get to Valencia? Nothing. Finally I tapped the driver on the shoulder. A deep voice responds, "Don't touch me asshole". Ok, well he's probably a guy. So I say, I didn't mean to bother you, but I need to get to Valencia. Again, no response. I sit there awkwardly, not knowing what to do. Finally, I go back to Steph, tell her what happened, and we pull the thing to leave. We get dropped off on 26th and Iowa, a little bit closer to where we want to be, but now its dark, and the neighborhood is a bit decrepid. We call some friends who google Map us, and eventually we get there ok.
I won't lie, I was a little scared walking through the neighborhood. I remember saying to myself "I would be ok with dying right now, I feel as though my ideas, passion and dreams will live on" But even when a guy tells me in not so polite words not to touch him, I felt that primal fear in me. I was uncertain of what to do. I could yell at the guy and threaten him, but I don't think that would make him want to help me. I didn't know how to turn him to my side. I thought of Dale Carnegie and How to Win Friends and Gain Influence, but most of his ideas involve having a conversation with someone. Anyways, at that time, I thought that he might have a gun or something, and get really pissed off and kill me. Yeah its a stupid fear, but it was real. I did not want to die. I saw 2 women and a girl go into a blue garage between York and Bryant, and I mentally remembered it in case we needed to get help. That memory, formed with the fear of the situation, is going to be something I'm less likely to forget.
The Litcrawl itself was pretty much done by the time we got there. But we did listen to 2 authors read out of their books. The first was this fat woman in all black, black bangs and tattos barely visible on her breasts from underneath a black v-neck. She read a story about a prepubescent girl who loves boy that turns out to be a serial killer who later gets executed. Kind of creepy. The second story was from a book called Wake Up and Smell the Beer. The author was a dorky white guy with thick glasses and a loud voice. He tells a story about a DJ named T-2000 who loves electronics, but isn't really good at making music. T loves to blast the static between stations when he isn't home. He gets stoned all the time, and eventually takes to being the door guardian at parties, where he makes everyone who enters take a drop of acid. Tongue, or Door! Listening to the two stories just made me want to write. The essence of the story is its ability to allow us to lose ourselves in it. We get totally absorbed into the story, even when the words are simple, not very descriptive. In all truth, I really want to be a fiction writer, but its scary. Nonfiction is more substantial. In a way, I'm afraid of losing myself in a story that never goes anywhere.
We wait about 15 minutes for the bus. The bus driver is an obese black person with thin gray hair that goes below their head but above their shoulders. I couldn't tell if the driver was a man or a woman. We sit for a while, and then Steph asks me how we are going to know when we get there. So I go up and ask him if we are going to Valencia and 24th. No response. A guy next to me tells me that this bus goes up and down 24th. So I sit back down. Then after a bit the guy leaves. Crap, guess hes not going to tell me when to get off.
I go back up to the guy. Excuse me sir? Excuse me mam? Can you tell me when we get to Valencia? Nothing. Finally I tapped the driver on the shoulder. A deep voice responds, "Don't touch me asshole". Ok, well he's probably a guy. So I say, I didn't mean to bother you, but I need to get to Valencia. Again, no response. I sit there awkwardly, not knowing what to do. Finally, I go back to Steph, tell her what happened, and we pull the thing to leave. We get dropped off on 26th and Iowa, a little bit closer to where we want to be, but now its dark, and the neighborhood is a bit decrepid. We call some friends who google Map us, and eventually we get there ok.
I won't lie, I was a little scared walking through the neighborhood. I remember saying to myself "I would be ok with dying right now, I feel as though my ideas, passion and dreams will live on" But even when a guy tells me in not so polite words not to touch him, I felt that primal fear in me. I was uncertain of what to do. I could yell at the guy and threaten him, but I don't think that would make him want to help me. I didn't know how to turn him to my side. I thought of Dale Carnegie and How to Win Friends and Gain Influence, but most of his ideas involve having a conversation with someone. Anyways, at that time, I thought that he might have a gun or something, and get really pissed off and kill me. Yeah its a stupid fear, but it was real. I did not want to die. I saw 2 women and a girl go into a blue garage between York and Bryant, and I mentally remembered it in case we needed to get help. That memory, formed with the fear of the situation, is going to be something I'm less likely to forget.
The Litcrawl itself was pretty much done by the time we got there. But we did listen to 2 authors read out of their books. The first was this fat woman in all black, black bangs and tattos barely visible on her breasts from underneath a black v-neck. She read a story about a prepubescent girl who loves boy that turns out to be a serial killer who later gets executed. Kind of creepy. The second story was from a book called Wake Up and Smell the Beer. The author was a dorky white guy with thick glasses and a loud voice. He tells a story about a DJ named T-2000 who loves electronics, but isn't really good at making music. T loves to blast the static between stations when he isn't home. He gets stoned all the time, and eventually takes to being the door guardian at parties, where he makes everyone who enters take a drop of acid. Tongue, or Door! Listening to the two stories just made me want to write. The essence of the story is its ability to allow us to lose ourselves in it. We get totally absorbed into the story, even when the words are simple, not very descriptive. In all truth, I really want to be a fiction writer, but its scary. Nonfiction is more substantial. In a way, I'm afraid of losing myself in a story that never goes anywhere.
