Blahgorrhea

After six years of seeing Frank Chu wander the streets of San Francisco, I finally, and unexpectedly, heard him speak. I had just assumed that he was a quiet protester, making his point larger than life by being a constant fixture in the city. I was quite taken aback when I heard him yelling outside of the Old Navy on Market Street. At first, I didn’t believe it was him speaking, but sure enough the loud gravely and angry voice came directly from his voice box. Or maybe it was the voice box implanted in him by aliens. Who knows?

On the walk back home through the Tenderloin I was approached by a woman who was in dire need of some spare change. As I walked toward her, she made a quick change in direction to bring us face-to-face, at which point she delivered her marketing message: “White boy, do you have any spare change? I need to get some…”. With her misguided plea of “white boy,” I was totally thrown off. Maybe a quick lesson in addressing your audience would do her some good.

My friend Seiken has a band called Foxtail Somersault. It is wall of sound, shoe-gazing music. Lots of layers. Lots of electronics that Seiken plays with as he cranks on his guitar. They really quite good. They play at the Make-Out Room tonight, so if you live in San Francisco, you should go.