“Safety and Respect” is the official motto of the San Francisco Police. And I am all for both concepts. I stare at these words on the rear panel of a large SFPD cruiser, an SUV parked at the entrance to an alley between Valencia and Mission Streets. This cop car has managed to block the curb cut, obstructing wheelchair access on a very busy thoroughfare. The irony sings. Though I am not singing. I am fighting my way to the 16th St. BART station, trying to make it to cover before the next iteration of 40 days and 40 nights gets underway. We have had a lot of rain.
Meanwhile, Andy my brother-in-law in Arizona, has been reviewing deaths in that state’s prisons. It seems that one inmate who died in August of last year was recorded as failing to turn up at subsequent group therapy sessions in September, October and November. A no-show. Good thing that Arizona Corrections keeps accurate records.
And the news? Well, aside from the fact that Jane and I are about to drive to a party in Oakland on one of the most inclement nights of 2024…we have recently scored some major successes in going out. In fact, Valentine’s Day, was more a sort of Valentines zone. In two evenings, we had what might be termed the best of San Francisco.
Sting with the San Francisco Symphony was the first. The British singer did two concerts here. With much of the familiar repertoire, plus quite a bit I hadn’t heard. Accompanied by his own ensemble, including Sting’s arranger…with the symphony part of the mix. The mix, by the way, did not always work. Sting’s voice, remarkably unaltered in 40 years of concerts and recordings, just wasn’t discernible at times among the 70 instruments on stage. And yet, it didn’t matter. I had to adjust my ear at times. But it was all there. Sting, moreover, seems like a fine guy. He discussed the origins of a few songs. “An Englishman in New York,” it turns out, is an homage to Quentin Crisp. The late author of “The Naked Civil Servant,” lived in the Lower East Side in the 1980s and was a good friend.
And there were songs from “The Last Ship.” This was a musical play with a score by Sting. The show was running at the Golden Gate Theatre here in San Francisco in 2020, the singer/composer recalled. One day he had wandered down to the Embarcadero to watch passing ships. One of which was an early victim of the pandemic, a cruise ship loaded with COVID-19…that sat in the bay for a few weeks of quarantine. The mayor’s office closed Sting’s show in mid-run. But the songs live on…recounting the last days of shipbuilding in the Tyneside region around Newcastle.
And our next night? Just a dinner out. But what an experience. Foreign Cinema is a large anomaly, a big restaurant with a big staff…and a spectacular, pricey menu…right in the middle of the blighted inner Mission. And the name? Well in the large open patio outside the restaurant screens films against the back wall. The sound arrives in small loudspeaker units available by each table. That is to say, the film soundtrack is optional. If not gratuitous. Our server told us that the whole movie thing is more of a schtick, some cinematic background ambience. Whatever. It was great to taste the first real asparagus of the season. Not to mention a confection of salted cod, garlic, whipped potatoes and a few other things. It’s hard to talk about food. Anyway, there it was. And I must say at times it almost seems as though San Francisco might still have some life in it. Warren Buffett’s protégé has been buying property recently. I hope it’s an omen. Watch this space.