re·cy·cle (rē-sī'kl)
tr.v., -cled, -cling, -cles.
- * To put or pass through a cycle again, as for further treatment.
- * To start a different cycle in.
- * To extract useful materials from (garbage or waste).
- * To extract and reuse (useful substances found in waste).
- * To use again, especially to reprocess: recycle aluminum cans; recycle old jokes.
- * To recondition and adapt to a new use or function: recycling old warehouses as condominiums.
I attended my first two years of college at a private college in the Napa Valley. I first experienced San Francisco recycling back in 1988. It was one of those let's visit the city kind of things that young Christian boys and girls might plan. We took BART in to the Powell Street station and embarked on a day of art galleries, a half-price ticket to Biloxi Blues and an evening of dancing at Das Klub, a South of Market that admitted patrons under 21.
The galleries were amusing in that the staff took one look at us and paid enough attention to us to ensure we didn't breath inappropriately on their wares. Biloxi Blues was most amusing. For $15.00 we were front row center at the Post Street Theater. At one point the main character is losing his virginity with a prostitute and as the hips rose and fell under the sheets, two blue-hairs seated behind started counting. 1 ... 2 ... 3 ... 4 ... 5 ... FINITO! I'll never forget the "he's not very good" comment. We stifled giggles, though as little virgins ourselves made mental notes of what would qualify a good lover or not. Post theater included a trip to Blondie's Pizza and then trying to locate the club.
The funny thing about the day was the fact that every homeless person singled out Shannon to confront. She could be walking in the middle of our group and we would be pushed aside so that the pan-handler could pose the question to her directly. She would squeek and then get called a bitch. Needless to say the poor Montana girl was unnerved. Anyway, we found Das Klub. Das Klub was sponsored the alternative radio station at the time and was an fascinating array of floors with retro safety films being projected on the walls and ceilings. Well, like Cinderalla, BART had a midnight cutoff and at 11:47 we left the club and started the dash to the nearest station.
We were running past a construction site and I noticed a picture frame. Stopping abruptly, I scooted back and picked up the painting. It was a field of flowers with a boy and girl holding hands. Aww. How sweet. I tucked it under my arm and continued jogging. After two years in my dorm room, I deeded it to a friend and I can only assume that Tami has it still. We made it to BART and while waiting for a transfer another homeless person approached Shannon and informed her that he was going to kill her. Not that day necessarily, but someday. Ominous. I've lost contact, so I don't know whether he was a man of his word or not. This should not shock anyone but this pushed her over the edge and she started crying and for some reason never joined us in our future SF adventures.
Fast forward almost 20 years and Frank and I were walking back from a dinner at Ruth Chris Steak House and just past the fire station on California Street I noticed the back of a picture frame. We were pretty much waddling, which is normal after a dinner at Ruth Chris and Frank picked up the frame and it is now in my living room. I see it as Karmic balancing for the SF Recycling I've enjoyed over the past. Now those of you who live in the city understand that if you put something on the street of any value know that it will find a home quickly. Don't know what to do with that old couch? Put it on the street. Someone will take it. Too lazy to go to the Goodwill? Put the bag on the street and it will find a home. And now ... it is our turn to give a home to someone else's trash. Take a close look ... if you're lucky, we may frame it and turn it into a gift.
The galleries were amusing in that the staff took one look at us and paid enough attention to us to ensure we didn't breath inappropriately on their wares. Biloxi Blues was most amusing. For $15.00 we were front row center at the Post Street Theater. At one point the main character is losing his virginity with a prostitute and as the hips rose and fell under the sheets, two blue-hairs seated behind started counting. 1 ... 2 ... 3 ... 4 ... 5 ... FINITO! I'll never forget the "he's not very good" comment. We stifled giggles, though as little virgins ourselves made mental notes of what would qualify a good lover or not. Post theater included a trip to Blondie's Pizza and then trying to locate the club.
The funny thing about the day was the fact that every homeless person singled out Shannon to confront. She could be walking in the middle of our group and we would be pushed aside so that the pan-handler could pose the question to her directly. She would squeek and then get called a bitch. Needless to say the poor Montana girl was unnerved. Anyway, we found Das Klub. Das Klub was sponsored the alternative radio station at the time and was an fascinating array of floors with retro safety films being projected on the walls and ceilings. Well, like Cinderalla, BART had a midnight cutoff and at 11:47 we left the club and started the dash to the nearest station.
We were running past a construction site and I noticed a picture frame. Stopping abruptly, I scooted back and picked up the painting. It was a field of flowers with a boy and girl holding hands. Aww. How sweet. I tucked it under my arm and continued jogging. After two years in my dorm room, I deeded it to a friend and I can only assume that Tami has it still. We made it to BART and while waiting for a transfer another homeless person approached Shannon and informed her that he was going to kill her. Not that day necessarily, but someday. Ominous. I've lost contact, so I don't know whether he was a man of his word or not. This should not shock anyone but this pushed her over the edge and she started crying and for some reason never joined us in our future SF adventures.
Fast forward almost 20 years and Frank and I were walking back from a dinner at Ruth Chris Steak House and just past the fire station on California Street I noticed the back of a picture frame. We were pretty much waddling, which is normal after a dinner at Ruth Chris and Frank picked up the frame and it is now in my living room. I see it as Karmic balancing for the SF Recycling I've enjoyed over the past. Now those of you who live in the city understand that if you put something on the street of any value know that it will find a home quickly. Don't know what to do with that old couch? Put it on the street. Someone will take it. Too lazy to go to the Goodwill? Put the bag on the street and it will find a home. And now ... it is our turn to give a home to someone else's trash. Take a close look ... if you're lucky, we may frame it and turn it into a gift.
San Francisco re·cy·cle (rē-sī'kl) tr.v., -cled, -cling, -cles.
- * To put on street to pass on, as for further usage in a new home.
- * To recondition and adapt to a new use or function
San Francisco Recycling Treasure
