My Dream Beat is the World

beat--(noun) a regularly traversed round; the reporting of a news story ahead of competitors 

 http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/beat

UPPER HAIGHT STREET BEAT

TEARSA JOY HAMMOCK
Blog1
J300-01/Tansey
08/31/10

    A bald, middle-aged man moseys by as the terrier on the end of his leash stops to sniff every living thing along the pavement. An array of bicycles locked to posts break up the line of trees along the sidewalk. One bike leans out from the rest with an orange furry seat, handlebars, and even a tail!
    It is a typical foggy day in San Francisco, Calif. An over-exposed-like sky shines a strange, dark light that encourages sunglasses even with clouds. A light breeze blows, but it is not terribly chilly.
    Distinctly marked by dress and manner, tourists and out-of-towners blended with the local scene kids. Both long- and short-, clean- and dirty-haired people of all ages and ethnicities--a melting pot of shoppers and window-shoppers--rub elbows with each other.      



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TEARSA JOY HAMMOCK  BLOG1: 2/4
    Eccentric, but modern may be said of the Upper Haight district. It’s funky groove winds like an urban river of colors down the main street in and out of shops. Punks and indie rocker hipsters/wannabes are common sights milling about the trendy shops.
    Clothing is the commodity to be had here. Fashion ranging from Bohemian to pin-up to thrift and vintage to skate to American Apparel, more preppier types hang in the windows.
    Contemporary, commercialized name brand establishments boldly stand alongside smaller businesses with generations of greater seniority. 
    Caffeine-eager customers define the coffee shop’s namesake as they come and claim the People’s Cafe as their own. European Spanish, French, German, and a middle Eastern dialect mingles with Cali English and a diversity of other languages.
   





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TEARSA JOY HAMMOCK  BLOG1: 3/4
    A homey ambience flows and settles in the cozy dining area and then rises again to beeline back to the restroom “for customers only.” “Yes, there is only one bathroom” the closet-like door reads. Large, black angular lettering of graffiti displays proudly more as art than vandalism on a blood red layer of paint that includes both walls and mirror.
    A curly-headed skater boy is telling his less than interested girlfriend about local politics. If there is any impending doom, no one else on the street seems to know or care. It is as if the whole neighborhood took a day off from the hustle and bustle of work stresses and commuting pressures. Most are enjoying their leisure too much to be concerned with societal drama or anything of the sort.








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TEARSA JOY HAMMOCK  BLOG1: 4/4
    The street is the opposite of foreboding. People are neither expectant nor concerned about future occurrences. They are enjoying the moment, socializing, chatting, and spending money.
                                                                   -30-

*I wonder who (or what) Haight Street is named after?

*I wonder what political situations are occurring in this district?

*I wonder when the commercializing of Upper Haight began?

*I wonder where the employees and store owners live?

*I wonder why there are so many young homeless on Haight Street?

*I wonder how the economic downturn has affected business in Haight?

*I wonder who Betty Page really is (besides just her image--what is her bio)?

*I wonder what it costs on average to live in Upper Haight?

*I wonder when is (and if there is a definite) tourist season in Upper Haight?

*I wonder where the locals go in Upper Haight?

*I wonder why there are so many clothing stores in Upper Haight?

*I wonder how much recognition local artists get from Haight Street throughout the rest of the City?

*I wonder who represents Haight District politically and what they are like?

*I wonder what the difference is between Upper and Lower Haight politically, socially, culturally, etc.

*I wonder when the majority of businesses on Haight close for the night?

*I wonder where the children and elderly hang out?

*I wonder why most of the people who frequent Haight are between highschool and middle aged?

*I wonder how the huge branch that fell off a tree in Buena Vista Park was damaged?

*I wonder who tries to avoid this district?

*I wonder what the crime rate is in this district?

*I wonder when (and if) the buses stop running to this district at night?

*I wonder where to go to catch a bus to this district?

*I wonder what the Panhandle is and is like?

*I wonder how the locals feel about commercialization and tourists in their neighborhood?

*I wonder who attends the University of San Francisco and if any of the students grew up in Haight?

*I wonder what the Yellow GoCar tour has to say about the Haight/Ashbury district?

*I wonder when the Victorian houses were built in the district?

*I wonder where crepes came from and when were they introduced in San Francisco?

*I wonder why crepes are such an obsession in the City?

*I wonder how I can research this district without ever getting tired, bored, or sick of  it?/ How can I keep my outlook fresh?

"First Flight" By: Tearsa Joy Hammock

An amoeba tickles the inside of my stomach with tentacle-like fingers the entire drive to Hollister Airport. I had flown on planes dozens of times as a passenger, but never as the pilot in training. Margaret Watt, my flight instructor, is cool and knowledgeable of her skill with an adventurous and optimistic spirit.

After the Korean war, my grandmother, Mimi, had learned to fly planes. Now it was my turn. As I wave to her and turn toward the Cessna before me in all it’s glory, I wonder how much I’m going to enjoy my own experience.

Margaret explains the ins and outs of the plane, descriptions and uses, as well as a brief history of her beloved aircraft. I’m too giddy and try to remember everything, but only can recount which side of the wing has a green light and which has the red and few other random details.

From taxiing to takeoff seems like only a split second and forever at the same time. “Oh god, oh god, oh god!” is all I can say into the radio as my swift but seemingly slow motion euphoric ascension begins. I did it! I think to myself with the pride of Rosie the Riveter. Margaret just smiles with a wink in her eye.

Once in air, my body and mind is flooded bliss. My suspended environment is other planetary yet so natural to me. I forget the metal enclosure surrounding me and my instructor beside me for a moment. I am floating in mid air.
I am amazed that without having any gas pedal to press I remain static in the air!

“Okay, we are gonna try some standard rate turns” Margaret brings me out of my daydream. I gain alertness and grip my controls. With meticulous beginner’s effort I ensure that the wings dip at the correct angle and flow into my in flight “donuts.”

Of course I am nervous that I am not doing something just right, but Margaret assures me I am doing excellent. I try right and left direction circles in air and even push my angles a little further than a standard rate turn.

Of all misfortunes, I realize I have to pee... badly. Now the sky has become my natural environment and to ascend makes me feel like a fish out of water. Though, I wish I could stay in flight all day, lack of endless fuel and my necessity do not permit.

I take in one more view of my euphoria. Aware of breathtaking blue sky, cotton clouds, and green and brown ant size surroundings more so than my controls, I let the plane dip down suddenly. I gasp! Margaret is cool of course and gains control.

She says it’s no problem. But I feel the amoeba rise up in my stomach again only this time with a sickening urgency.

I enjoyed takeoff, but I give up all controls to Margaret and instruct her to go ahead and land the plane.

I wish I could concentrate but I lose all focus. My body cannot decide which most embarrassing function it wants to force me to do next: urinate or vomit!
For a minute I pray to all deities that I do neither, at least until we are on the ground.

Finally, we land. The mini-jolt does me in. My grandma watches some distance away as I open the window and my red and white polka dotted headwrap pops out. I open my mouth and baptize the side of the Sparrowhawk.

Over apologetic and embarrassed, I thank Margaret for the towel and instruction. I make a quick exit to the ladies room with tail between the legs but my head still in the clouds.

I guess pride and humiliation fly together sometimes.

As much I want to forget the humbling part, I will always recall the euphoric ascension and the moment time stood still captivating me in bliss.