Good Blood, Bad Blood

“… Love words, agonize over sentences. And pay attention to the world.” Susan Sontag 

A light rain falls. I stand in the narrow street taking pictures. It’s Karma Wednesday at The New Parkway Theater. Pay what you want, accept the consequences. The theater brightens a sketchy neighborhood in Oakland. Potholes mar the roadway. Roof gutters need repair. A rivulet pours onto the sidewalk from an awning. It splashes passersby. My wife waits inside, nibbling popcorn.

Soon, our son arrives. Puddles do not deter him. He rolls along, unperturbed by the wet. Small rooster tails rise from the wheels of his chair. He’s come to join us for a movie. My wife and I are in Oakland to visit him and renew our holiday film festival. The pandemic interrupted plans in ‘20 and ‘21. And, last year I was hospitalized.

We luck out. Today is the final showing of Maestro, a biopic on the life of Leonard Bernstein. I love the movie. Afterwards, we eat Korean food at a restaurant on Telegraph Avenue. Dinner, then a Lyft back to our hotel. I edit my photos. I open a new book of stories by Jhumpa Lahiri and read myself to sleep.

(Click a photo to view the gallery with captions.) 

Maestro!

New Parkway Theater in Oakland.

Interior wall at the New Parkway Theater.

Thursday, we walked from 9th and Broadway to 1st and Oak. We had a lunch date with college friends and, again, our son Noah. Quiet streets and some sunshine made for a pleasant stroll. A single crazed local barked at us and anyone else within earshot. His jibberish bordered on intimidation but, ultimately, proved harmless.

Nido’s Backyard is an open air venue. It sits between railroad tracks. Occasionally, trains roll by and blare their horns. I ate fish tacos amid this ambience. I listened to the catch-up conversation. Our friends live in the Oakland hills. Retired attorneys, they helped Noah navigate law school when he was a student at UC Berkeley. We compared our shared experiences of the 60s with the current political chaos. It was posited back then, “Will the center hold?” It did and, likely, will again.

That evening we Ubered to Emeryville, an east bay tabernacle of consumption. The mall was decked out in holiday glitter. No crazies wandered about spouting epithets to strangers. However, folks wearing ear buds carried on loud conversations with invisible people.

We tithed at the retail collection plate. First, a movie at the AMC megaplex. We saw The Iron Claw, a fictional depiction of a family of wrestlers. Good acting, forgettable storyline, and an overdose of testosterone. Then, dinner at a noodle shop before Ubering back to the hotel. 

Nido’s restaurant.

Artwork mural in Oakland.

Oakland outlaw art mural.

Emma at the AMC in Emeryville.

Mall in Emeryville.

Vegetables at a farmer’s market in downtown Oakland.

Street scene at a farmer’s market in downtown Oakland.

Friday dawned overcast with the threat of more rain. A farmer’s market sprung up directly across the street from our hotel. A portion of 9^th Street was closed to accommodate the vendors. I wandered, looking for pictures. My wife bought oranges.

Midday, my son arranged an Uber pickup for us at the hotel. It made a 2^nd stop at his condo. We three were off to an art show in San Francisco, the deYoung Open 2023. This prestigious juried exhibition featured an artwork by our nephew, Gianluca Franzese. He is married to my brother Tom’s daughter, Adrienne. Tom and his wife, Karen, would join us for lunch at the museum.

Our driver negotiated the busy Bay Bridge traffic. A serious clot of cars at Golden Gate Park, however, slowed us to a dispiriting crawl. We exited the vehicle within a quarter mile of our destination. Rain began to fall. 

The exhibition was extraordinary. The curation featured over 800 works of art, selected from 7,800 entries. The winding gallery showcased the diverse creative expression of artists from nine counties in the Bay Area. I am happy for our nephew. One of his signature style pieces belonged.

The mind melding with so much artistic imagination exhausted me. We had planned to take in another movie. Instead, we returned to Oakland for a quiet evening, saturated with art.

Guess which one belongs to my nephew. Hint: the sum of its number equals 16.

Selection from deYoung Museum exhibit.

On the left, Tom: my brother, friend, and mentor. He showed me the way. I am in the middle alongside his wife Karen.

Artwork from the deYoung Open in San Francisco.

A selection of artwork from the deYoung Open exhibition.

Saturday, we walked from Broadway to Grand to Lake Merritt. I took street pictures. Cumulus clouds decorated the skyline. The sun was warm. No one bothered us. We spent the day at our son’s condo. We ordered Thai takeout. He owns a large television, suitable for the likes of the scenic movie we watched.

The Eight Mountains takes place in the Alps. It’s a story of friendship. Of the three movies in our mini film festival, this was my favorite. The music arouses memories you have forgotten. Maestro was a close second. But its ubiquitous cigarette smoking tarnished the glow. We stayed well into the evening and Ubered a return to our hotel.

Sunday, we enjoyed a smooth flight back to Oregon. I read several tales from Lahiri’s book. I love her simple declarative sentences; her quiet elegant prose. The stories mosey along. She doesn’t rush. As a reader, I wonder where she is going and then, suddenly, I am there. 

Dave’s Hot Chicken. My favorite photo from our trip to the Bay Area. 😎

Deserted street scene in downtown Oakland.

Clouds and reflections at Broadway and Grand in Oakland.