Beautiful Lake Berryessa: weekend/summer retreat for working class Bay Area families for the past 50 years. That is, until mid-June when 1300 of those working class families are told to get packing and to get out.

The landlords US Bureau of Land Reclamation, who own and operate much of the 20,000 acres surrounding the reservoir have pulled the rug from underneath the trailers and repurposed the lakeside properties to fit the “needs” of an Arizona developer.

The redevelopment plan pushes the mobile-home owners out of their trailers and into new, bureau-designed housing owned by resort operators and located further from the shore. Lodges, motels and hotels will be built in their place. The current lot rate of $500/month will jump to a more Tahoe-esque $500/night in the yet-to-be built resorts.

“We are going to have a very different lake,” says Carol Kunze, executive director of Berryessa Trails and Conservation.

Kunze argues that the planned exclusionary land usage eliminates middle-class families interested in a 3-day weekend at the lake and contributes to the reservoirs reputation as a private playground for the wealthy.

The reservoir, located 50 miles northeast of The City, gained its popularity and destination status in the 1950s. The lake is the overflow of the Monticello Dam in the dry, tree-covered hills of Napa County.

What remains today in this transitionary phase are 100s of abandonments, each slapped with a sticker advertising cheap trailer removal. And as of mid-June: a few dozen soon-to-be squatters.

Flickr set here.

Given the ridiculously high price of motor fuel (above), imagine our surprise when we stumbled across an old filling station advertising realistic prices per gallon (below)…

After lining up our tank with their pump, we sadly realized this oasis in Solano County was indeed a mirage in the desert of a recession (below)…

Confused, I asked the attendant what the !?! was going on.

His answer: “We don’t have no more gas, young man. We got some fancy coffee and fishing bait, tho — and we do take personal checks.”

Umm ok, let me grab my….eh, nevermind.

Belden Place

Girafa hunting has been slow of late. Yet here at WHAT IM SEEING, we continue to have an itch that needs to be scratched — shooting graffito characters with our lousy point-n-click.

Columbus & Gibb

Alas, a newer prey has entered our selective cross-hairs: Skrach-n-Sniff. Seen primarily in the Chinatown sector, we spotted 3 last week in their native habitat: around the produce markets.

Ross Alley

Seen some Skrach-n-Sniff bananas, strawberries, grapes, oranges, or watermelons? Drop the cross streets off in the comments section or hit us up directly on the tipline.

Yesterday whilst Plug2 and I made our way thru the 100 Martini menu at The Mark, 100s of bicyclists made their way thru the Nabob Hill sector 19 floors below.

Pics taken with the 8120 BlackBerry Pearl and an unsteady hand — after 2 very dirty martinis.

A San Francisco tradition since 1893…

One drinks off bare boarded tables, in a great hall adorned with hairy trophies and a series of vast, gut-grumbling murals. This is the land of Spaten liters and free meatballs — all that is German and good. Here at Schroeder’s, you are honored for your gluttonous tendencies and shameful passion for lager beer!!

Schroeder’s was founded in 1893 by a German immigrant named Henry Schroeder. The original pub — located on the lower end of Market Street — collapsed during the FireQuake of 1906. The bar moved to 16th and Mission for the next 5 years, eventually relocating back into the Fi-Di in 1911.

Fun Facts: Schroeder’s was a “Men’s Only” establishment until the 1970s. Artist Herman Richter painted the dozens of murals lining the mahogany walls.

2008 marks 115 years of San Franciscans enjoying the finest of German beer and cuisine at exceptionally moderate prices. Next time you find yourself on the 200 block of Front Street, go inside and ask for Stephan Filipclk — the GM and one of the nicest fellows you’ll ever meet. Then head over to the bar, and grab yourself the Dice Cup and a cold frosty.

Flickr set here.

Seen at Fifty24SF: 3 LV inspired 48-inch cans of spray paint.

Get the Hennessy ready, our 8 loyal readers…Its a celebration!!

In our neverending quest to gain Mayor Newsom’s support and official endorsement, we took the courtesy and leisure of sending him a “Save The Date” card in March. Logic would follow that if We (Plug2 & me) celebrate living in The City, then the mayor of said city might celebrate the union of the aforementioned We. Right?? Nope.

What follows is his his assistants response…

So there you have it. Next move: invitation to my bachelor party.

Seen on The EMB, “Electricfied Earth” by Jill King.

Seen on a napkin, “Earth Cookie” by Unknown Baker.

In June of 1996, the lives of two teenage lovers ended tragically at Precita Park. The murderer of Carlos Hernandez and Sylvia Menendez turned out to be an unstable relative, who was never convicted of any crime.

A memorial was erected by local residents in 1997. The cedar bench is supported on each side by the melted metal of 130 guns. The surface below the bench is surrounded by 900 hand-painted mosaic tiles, each one telling a story relating to the lives of the young couple.

Gale force winds sent our former generic doormat sailing into the sky yesterday, likely landing somewhere between 280 and 3rd St.

This tragedy gave us the perfect excuse to fly down to Flax today and get this dandy.

Now that gas prices have reached a disgusting $4 per gallon, we salute those who ignore common sense and public transport — boldly pushing these gas guzzlers up and down Our City’s hills.

Quiz Time!!
Can any of our 8 loyal readers name the make and model of the below 15 throwback automobiles? Leave your answers in the comments section.

UPDATE: A Photo A Day and Tomato Farcie came thru: gas, scrape, dip, break. Still looking for #s 3 & 12.

Ford Country Squire Station Wagon:

Ford F-150 Pickup:

3

67 VW Beetle:

Citroen Quatrelle 56 Ford Fairlane:

Dodge?? Dodge Dart??

Plymouth??

Winnebago??

GMC Carryall:

Winnebago??

Dodge Valliant:

12

Lincoln Town Car:

Cadillac Coupe de Ville:

Ford F-150 Pickup:

Flickr set here.

As a tourist attraction, the Cable Car is the greatest thing that has happened to The City since the Chinese decided they liked the local climate. They help make the backdrop look “different,” an adjective that would prove a lot less simple to apply without them. And as a way of getting people to and fro (forward motion not always guaranteed) they still do a pretty fair job.

But mainly it is The City’s sentimentality that gets all wound up in the cable car lines. The citizens want the trolleys around as a constant working reminder of a supposedly glorious past that keeps fading away, elusive as the fog.

As The Late, Great Herb Caen once put it, “Todays San Franciscans know there was some special magic about Yesterdays City, but there no longer sure what it was or where it was. However, they think the cable cars had something to do with it, and so they insist on seeing them climb around our hills as long as possible — even to the point of impossibilty.”

Noisy, illogical, outmoded, hard to operate, harder yet to maintain, getting in everybodys way while getting somewhere in the slowest possible fashion. Jolting, shoving, jerking, along our narrowest hilly streets.

We hated them too, for far too many years — that is until we finally boarded one.

Inspired by the Late, Great Herb Caen

Seen in the Chinatown sector.

Yesterday marked the 50th anniversary of The SF Giants bringing Major League Baseball to The City by The Bay. Two of the best-who-ever-did-it have been immortalized in statue form and can be found lurking daily outside of 24 Willie Mays Plaza.

Juan Marichal (top) and Willie McCovey (bottom), both seen here playing baseball with the lunar moon.

On the corner of Church and 15th is The Market Street Railway Mural, painted by Mona Cannon in 2004. The 12′x38′ project consists of three major sections — historically spanning the length of Market — from Seventh to The Ferry Building.

The mural was inspired by the late Dave Pharr, a preservationist at the Market Street Railway. Sadly he passed away unaware of her project, to which Cannon said, “I thought I would surprise him with it, but I never got a chance.”

Yo!! It’s right here, right here. It’s right through the fence…

As I collect more grey hairs and even more forehead — I sometimes wonder what the youngsters of today think of US, the generation prior. If they weren’t the way we were at their age, so much the better. They seem bright, amused, talented, and very much involved with, and concerned about, what’s going on in The City, the country, and even the world around them.

A Saturday afternoon ago, I was trapped at the Alemany Farmers Market, lurking with these fascinating characters. The fumes were at unbearable levels, and the camera contact just short of annoying (to them), but the views were excellent (to me).
Also the aroma…intoxicating.

Contempt was not what I was feeling. Listening to the feverish and generally literate conversations, shouts, grunts, and clichés, I reflected that maybe our schools aren’t so bad, after all. It is possible, of course, that the Under-21 crowd is made up exclusively of youngsters who went and go only to private schools, but there must be a fair sprinkling of public schoolers, too, and they come off as reasonably educated. Aside from an unfortunate “addiction” to writing their names in graffiti on the wall, they are what used to be called “good kids.”

To put it plain to you, my 8 loyal readers, I wish these San Franciscans would hurry up and start running things on the underside of our prized peninsula. Shades of Mike DREAM and TIE ONE have long ago taken over the sunny skies of an alley near you. The ancients have been running and ruling The City long enough, and there’s an election this year that doesn’t promise anything to them or even, WE. Fortunately for The Establishment, the young of today are not near as revolutionary as their predecessors. But those days will undoubtedly come. There has been, is, and will always be a youthful voice that one hopes, will never die in cynicism.

That said, I raise my empty fist to The Young San Franciscans, gathering in groups, yelling, laughing, and chattering away. The mood right now is still as mellow as the weather, as redundant of The City’s long history, that as long as the foghorn has sounded occasionally. I am reminded briefly of my own youth, of making the rounds in The City That Was, hitting up freshly buffed walls; returning home not until the wall was full of OUR names, the cup was empty, and the eastern sun was awake.

Gradually, the youngsters moved off in all directions but my own, and I wondered if they thought about the miracle (too strong a word?) of being San Franciscans, building up their own memories of a city that will one day seem strange and changed to them, too. We Old-Timers are burdened with the most beautiful of yesterdays, a steady mix of what they will never know. The kids of today will have their own memories — HUF, Saturday nights at The Metreon, and a new Bay Bridge — but I wouldn’t trade my memories for a million tomorrows.

Well, wait. Uh, let me think about that, OK??

Inspired by the Late, Great Herb Caen

Our friend Frank Chu, along with 1000s of other San Franciscans, seen here collectively protesting winter by enjoying the sun and clear skies of Baker Beach.

Seen (or scene) in the Lower Haight sector.

Heres what isn’t working: The T-Third Line.

One year after its doors opened for service, MUNI continues to send us to-and-fro using only two car trains — often traveling via groups of four or more and in intervals that defy NextBus and 311.

As pictured here: a posse of 5 trains (top), a confused staff member wonders why the train is empty (middle), a posse of 10 trains (bottom).

“Why does this happen?” I riddled the fellow pictured middle. “Happens all the time,” he assured me. “We don’t call it the Muniserable Railway for nothing!!”

Seen (or scene) at yesterdays confusing protest along The EMB…

Egads. What a day!!

By 6am, there were 7 helicopters circling the sky over the SOMA sector. By 8am, our friend Frank Chu was seen petting a K-9 at JHP while talking to CNN. By 11am, the Crackberry was blowing up with reports of civil unrest up and down the Eastern Waterfront, reminiscent of 1934. By noon, half of my office was out in the street looking for the elusive Olympic Torch. By 3pm, we realized The Mayor had successfully run a 3-Card Monty on the masses, and the protest of all protests was officially null and void.

Ahh, San Francisco — “The City That Knows How…”

Flickr set here.

Protesting is all the rage these days, and Frank Chu couldnt be happier. In what seems to be the new San Francisco pastime, our good friend is perfectly San Franciscan.

Be careful out there today, Frank.

Smacked in the face by SoCal: Giants 4, Padres 8…

The California Palace of the Legion of Honor was gifted to The City by Alma Spreckels, wife of sugar magnate Adolph Spreckels. The museum was given to honor the 3600 Californians who died during WWI.

Located in the Outer Richmond sector near Lincoln Park, The Legion of Honor was completed in 1924. Architecturally, it is a 3/4 scaled replica of the Palais de la Lgion d’Honneur in Paris.

The entrance, known as The Court of Honor, greets visitors with a molded copy of Auguste Rodin’s most famous of sculptures, “The Thinker”.

Inside you’ll also find replicas of “The Gates of Hell” and a naked “St. John the Baptist.”

The museum has over 20 galleries, most of them permanent exhibits. LOTS of Rodin. Oil paintings of husky Victorian kids eating fruit with pale Baby Jesus’s and random animals in a mountain setting. Antique furniture from the 16th century. A copy of The Dead Sea Scrolls. And lots of security guards, lurking about.

The verdict: Im down to get my culture on, but if Im going to get scolded for taking pictures in a museum, I prefer getting yelled at in the MOMA any day of the week.

Speaking of days of the week: The Legion of Honor is FREE on 1st Tuesdays.

Flickr set here.

“The trolley’s coming our way have problems” - 1978 Chronicle headline…

Here’s an oldie-but-goodie: Tucked away in The Duboce Yard is one of the last remaining of MUNIs Boeing Standard LRVs. There are only two left in SF, and seven in the world.

In 1978, the first of the Boeing fleet arrived in The City and thus began the massive transit headache later dubbed “The MUNI Meltdown.” Immediately after arriving there were problems ranging from erratic doors, malfunctioning air-conditioning, and flawed brake systems. Transit officials began refusing the troubled Boeing’s, because the streetcars couldn’t hold up to transporting the 1000s of daily commuters.

The SF-PUC, which at the time operated MUNI, began quickly replacing the temperamental Boeings with vehicles built in Italy by Breda, the maker of the gray trams you ride today.

“With each Breda we receive, we retire a Boeing,” said MUNI spokesman P.J. Johnston in 1998. “By 2000, we will have replaced all 136 streetcars in our fleet with Breda cars.”

More spottings of our All-City pagan god, Girafa…

Haight & Webster

280 South

20th & Clement

Seen a Girafa on the loose?? Drop the cross-streets in the comments section or hit us up on the Girafa sighting tip-line.
Shooting gallery here.

“Speaking of the Muniserable Railway, the old trolley cars on Market Street continue to be the most entrancing transit that has operated around here in years. Fun to ride and watch, especially the ‘Iron Monster’ on a foggy day, emerging from the past, flashing into the present and then fading away, like all its noisy brothers and sisters…” — Herb Caen, 1985

On April 4, 2002, the day after Herb Caen would have turned 86, Car No. 130 — aka “The Iron Monster” — was dedicated to “Mr. San Francisco” at Fisherman’s Wharf. This was the first and only time a streetcar has permanently honored a citizen.

The inside of The Iron Monster is a moving tribute to his 60 years of commentary on the faces and places of San Francisco. For decades, they both moved up and down lower Market Street and along the waterfront, taking in the people, sights and sounds of the city they served.

Today would have been The Best Who Ever Did It’s 92nd birthday…

Dear Herb,

You began writing a daily column for The Chronicle on July 5th, 1938. It was a magical time in a faraway city that has largely disappeared and may have existed only in a foggy myth.

A skinny, curly-haired, wide-eyed, open-mouthed 22 year old from “Sackamenna”, you were unreservedly in love with everything about The City and wrote about it with the unrestrained and often excessive enthusiasm of a fool in love.

“City of the world, a world in a city,” you once said, glorifying in the genuine excitement of Olde San Francisco: The Roar of The Four, Playland at The Beach, Hinky Dinky’s, I. Magnin’s, and Sunny Jim Rolph — that even then were fading as our two great bridges began to appear.

In your later years, the skyline — once one of the most gracious in this world of metropolises — began disappearing behind walls of look-alike high-rises. Like me, you hated every inch of them. The climate literally changed as sunlight disappeared in the cold canyons of “progress,” (that thing you couldn’t stop), and icy winds swept debris along the shadowed sidewalks of the past.

For 60 years, you covered the life of a young-old city, a place of endless fascination that grew up overnight and had long preferred to face the dawn, bottle in hand, than the hangover of tomorrows cold reality.

Through it all, you sat at the keyboard of your “Loyal Royal,” trying to make sense of at least some of it, or, failing that, making the jokes that are also part of all serious problems. In the 14,133,276 words contained inside six decades of daily columns, you captured the kaleidoscopic nature of the city you long ago dubbed “Baghdad-by-the-Bay.” Here’s a fun fact: did you know that if laid end-to-end, your columns would have stretched 5.6 miles, all the way from the Ferry Building to The Great Gate!!

See, San Francisco, to people like me and you, is like a house of cards: postcards in vibrant colors stacked against the hills that march from The Bay on one side to the Pacific Ocean on the other. The real magic of The City lies in the way these snapshots remain in the mind, no one impressed more sharply on the consciousness than the next. Each picture is sharp and complete, glamorized a little by a mist of fog in one corner and a cable car climbing the hills in another. It’s a sentimental, perhaps foolish way to look at a city, but the San Franciscan is hopelessly sentimental, and we are hopelessly San Franciscan.

It’s an atmosphere that still partly exists, and thank God — or whoever it was that blessed this small, special, sometimes annoying, irresistible place at the tip of a peninsula at the end of a world — for your 1600 daily love letters to The City and its people.

You once said that “San Francisco was a city that invented itself.” Maybe so. But it had an awful lot of help from a writer named Herbert Eugene Caen and his daily 3-dot journalism.

You gave us a lifetime. I only regret that I was unable to be part of it while you were still here. Because, second only to The Fog, you covered The City like no other.

Inspired by The Late, Great One

This is the scene at Cupid’s Span on The EMB.

Are they tearing it down?? Moving it to Ocean Beach? No such luck, my 8 loyal readers.

Our My least favorite landmark public art installation is getting a fresh paint job in preparation for next week’s Olympic Torch relay route running from The Marina sector to Pac Bell Park.

UPDATE: As of Thursday, the north wing of the bow is completely covered in constructo-tarp. Stay tuned as this uninteresting situation develops…

Can you imagine if The City was actually laid out like this? Egads. Jasper O’Farrell must be spinning in his grave.