Monday, July 02, 2007
frisco
We found empty seats in the outdoor area of a quaint street side cafe, in a gentrified part of the Mission district. The fittingly named Revolution Cafe is the type of place to sit on a sunny Saturday afternoon and stroke your goatee over a glass of wine as you contrive a sophisticated plan that would rouse any anti-neoliberal into action. A jazz trio, most likely affiliated with the Jazz Mafia collective, offered up some live, unadulterated classic jazz.
She sat across the table from me facing outward onto the street as she described her travel tales from Guam where she had recently spent several months working with her family in support of the indigenous art community there. We spoke of the implications of the decolonization of Guam. Were it to happen, the lack of a support system would mean things would be economically worse-off than they are today, a cost many locals are willing to bear but are ill equipped to do so. She was certain about that. I wondered what it would be like to wake up to the taste of fresh coconut water for breakfast, pick conch shells and make art with the locals all day only to be interrupted for lunch, which would inevitably be some type of fresh fish cooked in a spicy coconut curry or maybe a meaty stew served over rice.
My attention drifted for a moment to the escola de capoeira across the street from us. There was a cute mural of two fat children doing capoeira up on the wall that elicited a silent giggle. My thoughts swayed again, this time to her long nails. They were elegant and a bit intimidating at the same time. I glanced back up at her face realizing that she had moved on to a different topic. She was now talking about her fascination with the Zapatistas and the time she crossed over the border into Mexico to attend one of the largest rallies in Mexico City. I wanted to see Marcos in person. Marcos, he is a fascinating individual. It's all about the mystique, don't you think? The Marcos Mystique..si. Coincidentally, I had just finished watching a documentary on the Zapatista movement a few days ago and was still in awe at the faceless face of the first "post-modern" revolution. The sun was relentless at this point, but the accompanying sea breeze that is so characteristic of the bay area made it feel comfortable to sit outside and indulge each other's intellectual curiousity. I knew the rest of the weekend was going to be unpredictably exciting and I was ready for it.
She sat across the table from me facing outward onto the street as she described her travel tales from Guam where she had recently spent several months working with her family in support of the indigenous art community there. We spoke of the implications of the decolonization of Guam. Were it to happen, the lack of a support system would mean things would be economically worse-off than they are today, a cost many locals are willing to bear but are ill equipped to do so. She was certain about that. I wondered what it would be like to wake up to the taste of fresh coconut water for breakfast, pick conch shells and make art with the locals all day only to be interrupted for lunch, which would inevitably be some type of fresh fish cooked in a spicy coconut curry or maybe a meaty stew served over rice.
My attention drifted for a moment to the escola de capoeira across the street from us. There was a cute mural of two fat children doing capoeira up on the wall that elicited a silent giggle. My thoughts swayed again, this time to her long nails. They were elegant and a bit intimidating at the same time. I glanced back up at her face realizing that she had moved on to a different topic. She was now talking about her fascination with the Zapatistas and the time she crossed over the border into Mexico to attend one of the largest rallies in Mexico City. I wanted to see Marcos in person. Marcos, he is a fascinating individual. It's all about the mystique, don't you think? The Marcos Mystique..si. Coincidentally, I had just finished watching a documentary on the Zapatista movement a few days ago and was still in awe at the faceless face of the first "post-modern" revolution. The sun was relentless at this point, but the accompanying sea breeze that is so characteristic of the bay area made it feel comfortable to sit outside and indulge each other's intellectual curiousity. I knew the rest of the weekend was going to be unpredictably exciting and I was ready for it.
# posted by Surya Swamy : 11:42 AM
