by Jo Rhett · 24 Mar 2016
first letter. An easy way to remember this is the common name versus proper name rule of English. A park is a resource type, but Golden Gate Park is a specific instance... e.g. a proper noun, the first letter of which is always capitalized. Ordering Resources In many situations some resources must
by Austin Kleon · 6 Mar 2014 · 55pp · 17,493 words
. You don’t have to be a genius. I took the photo of Beethoven in San Francisco outside the Academy of Arts and Science in Golden Gate Park. The bust is a copy of sculptor Henry Baerer’s monument in Central Park. “Read obituaries” is also chapter 6½ in Charles Wheelan’s 10
by Karl the Fog · 14 Apr 2019
Copyright © 2019 by Karl the Fog. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher. Photographs on pp. 11–15 by Fred Lyon. Copyright © Fred Lyon. All rights reserved. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available. ISBN 978-1-4521-7429-7 (epub, mobi) ISBN 978-1-4521-7383-2 (hardcover) Cover Design by Lizzie Vaughan. Design by Alma Kamal. Chronicle Books LLC 680 Second Street San Francisco, CA 94107 www.chroniclebooks.com The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco. —Not Mark Twain Contents Foreword by Sutro Tower 7 Introduction 9 Karl the Fog 17 Foreword by Sutro Tower Karl and I have a love/hate relationship. He loves to make me disappear, and I hate how he makes me disappear. I’m not sure why he asked me to write this foreword because I have nothing nice to say. Am I supposed to talk about how he dances around me, taunting me from every angle? Or how he completely covers me up at sunset? I was built to be the highest structure in San Francisco—to be seen from miles away!—so should I thank him for making that irrelevant? Well, it’s rude to ruin this party, so I suppose he has some redeeming qualities when he’s around. He’s San Francisco’s built-in air conditioner, and thanks to him, everyone in the city only has one wardrobe for the entire year. He makes for some pretty wild photos, especially when he looks like a tidal wave coming over Twin Peaks. And his summer visits help the local economy—when tourists arrive in July wearing only T-shirts and shorts, they end up buying those $20 fleeces at Fisherman’s Wharf to stay warm. Check out his book and be your own judge. My feelings for him are still up in the air. —Sutro Introduction I wasn’t always the fog of San Francisco. For thousands of years, my mom was the dark gray cloud looming above the land finger. She was chilling above Twin Peaks when the Ohlone settled here. She blocked the city from being discovered by European settlers on multiple occasions. And she suffered through the Summer of Love, when it became impossible to tell where the parties in Golden Gate Park ended and her clouds began. I grew up over Drakes Bay—a lovely sky community in Point Reyes, fifty miles north of San Francisco. Thanks to my protective parents, I lived a sheltered life. Quite literally, since there was no way for us to be in the same place without them physically hovering over me. Meet the original helicopter parents. I rarely made it down to the city because I loved all the open space of the North Bay. Neighbors were far and few between, traffic was light, and I had an enormous backyard to do flips and somersaults. But in September 2006, after working thousands of years, my mom said she was retiring, and it was time for me to take over the family business. Her motto had always been “Sweaty people walking up hills are counting on me.” Now it was my time to be the city’s built-in air conditioner. I knew this day would eventually come (I’m an only child, and fogging is a family business). What I wasn’t prepared for was how much work was ahead of me. You’d think blanketing a city would be easy. Move in from the ocean, stretch as far as you can for five to twelve hours, then return home. It’s the downward dog of clouds. Yet somehow it’s a lot tougher than that. You have to learn how to move both fast and slow—race in from the Farallon Islands and across the Sunset, then stall at Twin Peaks like you’re an N-Judah about to head underground. You have to bulk up too! I was a lean cloud and I had to put on a lot of muscle (shout out to my wellness coach, who stressed a high protein/low skyscraper diet). You need resilience (a lot of people will hate on you) and a good attitude (see previous parenthesis). But most of all, you gotta love what you do. Now that I’ve got a good decade under my belt, I’d love to show you some of my progress. But first, gather around for some old family photos, shot by the great San Francisco (and San Francisco fog) photographer Fred Lyon. Mom rolling in over Noe Valley at Eighteenth Street. This mom took her kid and dog on a long walk because it was sunny, and my mom and I were like, “LOL nope.” And here she is fishing off the Embarcadero piers. Now that’s how you engulf an entire bridge: the Golden Gate Bridge. I still have a lot to learn, but I was taught by the best. GGB and me: best friends since 1937. I go on vacation every fall, and San Francisco suffers with horrible nights like these. Hey Cupid, you mist. Like many people in the Bay Area, I also have a long commute to downtown San Francisco. And I whine about the traffic just as much as you do. Every day I’m in San Francisco is gray pride. The jackpot at the end of the fogbow is more me. Cole Valley is one of my favorite places to chill while I wait 1.5 hours for French toast. I highly recommend climbing Mount Tam. It’s one of the only times you can look down on me. I’m the ultimate vanishing point. Look at those adorable little fog dogs. What’s better than the Bay Bridge? Half of the Bay Bridge. Mount Davidson is one of the best spots in San Francisco to stand on the edge of a hill and take me in. Lean in to Bay Area weather. Embrace me. Caught with my hand in the cookie jar. For many years, there was a tree that stood at the edge of Mount Davidson. During one bad storm, the tree collapsed onto its side. RIP old friend. You will be mist. The Exploratorium tries to do its best imitation of me. How cute. Another dreadful sunny afternoon in Dolores Park. Whenever the sun tries to set through me, I turn into cotton candy. Miserable day at the Golden Gate Bridge when I’m out of town. Dreadful, really. Fun fact: The reason houses in San Francisco are painted bright colors is to stand out against the eternal backdrop of me. Trolling the Golden Gate Bridge. Things don’t always seem as they first a pier. The streets above the Haight are some of my favorite places to eat in San Francisco: you never have to wait, and you can always eat for free. My favorite Halloween costume is dressing up as ocean waves crashing into the shore. The road to San Francisco is paved with foggy intentions. When you interpret “taste the rainbow” quite literally. Did you know most of the flowers at Sutro Baths were planted because they specifically thrive best in me? I think I read that somewhere. Don’t quote me. Sutro Tower: It’s my moment to shine. Me: Your jokes are funny. Stuck in traffic on my morning commute. The birds were trying to play with me, and I was not having it. The Point Reyes lighthouse is so beautiful! You can’t see it? It’s literally right there! I love charades. Here I am doing my best impersonation of a quilt. First in line in the Presidio, before the food trucks even arrive. My presence at Lands End has inspired at least three horror movies. While my usual style is to creep slowly across town, sometimes I move strong and fast, cutting a line in the sky. She’s clearly taking a photo of me. Definitely not the bridge. San Francisco or Middle Earth? Hard to say. I spend a lot of time floating near the University of San Francisco in hopes that they give me an honorary doctorate in Meteorology with an Attitude. Swinging by City Hall to vote. The Fog and the Furious: San Francisco Drift . . . a straight-to-video classic starring Sutro and me. When you eat half your meal really fast and then get full. I think buildings look best when you can barely see them. Most people think of San Francisco as a concrete jungle, but there are parts where you’ll think you’re lost in the woods. Alcatraz without fog: a harsh, rocky prison island. Alcatraz with fog: a mysteriously intriguing dungeon at sea. Everything’s better with fog. I don’t pull this trick often, but sometimes I can make the sky look like it’s on fire. The proper way to greet me after several weeks away is with an empty field salute. Who needs dry ice when you’ve got me boiling over the hills? When you fly thousands of miles and can’t even see the bridge.
by Stewart Lee Allen · 1 Jan 2002 · 270pp · 81,311 words
a national panic in the early 1980s. It started one day in August when some cops found five headless dogs lying in San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park. As the officers stood puzzling over the situation (now if I were a dog, where would I hide my head?), they noticed a number of
by Steven Levy · 6 Oct 2016
January of 1967, San Francisco had celebrated the first event of that sort, the Human Be-In, a truly cosmic gathering of 25,000 in Golden Gate Park with Allen Ginsberg and Alan Watts, and innumerable rock bands. Not long after, New York City had the East Coast equivalent in Central Park, again
by Thomas Pynchon · 1 Jan 1966 · 165pp · 47,320 words
” were only some kind of compensation. To make up._for~her having lost the direct, epileptic Word, the cry that might abolish the night. In Golden Gate Park she came on a circle of children in their nightclothes, who told her they were dreaming the gathering. But that the dream was really no
by Cyrus Farivar · 7 May 2018 · 397pp · 110,222 words
conversation ended within 15 or 20 minutes because it had reached a dead end.” * * * As a child growing up in Inner Sunset, a neighborhood near Golden Gate Park, Ladar Levison spent a lot of time at the nearby California Academy of Sciences, so that he could use their fast Internet connection. Before he
by Stefan Fatsis · 27 Jul 2001 · 385pp · 25,673 words
: living outdoors. Edley stashed his belongings at the apartment of an old girlfriend, donned an army jacket, slept under a bush outside the arboretum in Golden Gate Park, and showered at a park near Fisherman’s Wharf. At age thirtyseven. “I wanted to feel comfortable being a citizen of the world.” After five
by Christopher McDougall · 5 May 2009 · 274pp · 102,831 words
, or after she’d graduated and started a demanding research job in San Francisco, Ann would blow out the stress with a quick patter around Golden Gate Park. “I love to run just to feel the wind in my hair,” she’d say. She could care less about races; she was just hooked
by Jennifer Niven · 1 Jan 1990
Nome, with the ice and the snow. But when the ship docked in San Francisco and Peggy took Ada and Bennett for a ride through Golden Gate Park with some friends who met them at the dock, she sat straight and still with her hands clasped on her lap, exclaiming over and over
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