Cole Valley Chronicles

[untamedmousse]

Foggy Sweeps

Hello residents

Mousse and Tavert back to exploring the local flora and fauna. Tavert is feeling better now. And I'm in the middle of some lucid periods between what mostly seems like a series of unrelated dreams.

Or maybe I'm still in one of those dreams, haha.

Anyway, Tavert and I are exploring the foggy paths of Mt. Bernal Heights today. I've sometimes gotten lost in the woods even though it is often only a mile across. I think it is because of the fog. So we are going to explore the fog today and understand what it is capable of. Maybe even talk to it.

We just started climbing the mountain. I have my trusty oat latte, but Tavert disapproves my choice of a jacket. He has a much heavier jacket suited for a trek in Alaska. He says he wants to be prepared if we get lost.

I move a little faster than Tavert because I don't have much to carry and the latte's caffeine and sugar is kicking in. Tavert and I share an old orange and black walkie talkie we found in a Good Will. It mostly works. So I'm fine moving a little ahead and let Tavert move at his own pace.

This hill is almost always foggy. But today of all days when we are supposed to explore the fog, it is frustratingly fog free. With butterflies and hummingbirds and sunshine, the regular boring sights of the neighborhood. I could almost hear harps.

After a solid half and hour of walking further into the thickets of the hill, it is more quiet and damp. But still no fog. I sat down on a tree log to investigate the surface a little closer. The spaces between the barks are called a danchett. The empty shapes of a danchett is called a danchillo. You are not meant to read a danchillo, but mostly hear it as the wind whooshes through it. But I've seen enough in my time to know that this is one of those notes that linger inside the danchett for a few days and then comes out as a stream of persistent whooshes that follow any ear it can grab on to for several consecutive hours.

The texture of the bark one the other hand was actually very interesting. When I placed it between my thumbs, I could feel a grip that is wide stronger on the inside and narrow and tight on the outside. I decided to take this as my walking stick. It turned out to be a bad idea since the gnats inside the wood came to understand that my hand was an extension of the wood and begun their own housing expedition that I had to cut short because I was busy looking for the fog that was yet to come.

[untamedmousse]

[untamedmousse]

Issue 1: The labelling machine

Hello dear subscribers

This is Mousse and Tavert, the untamed voices of Cole Valley, bringing you the goings on in the mystical neighborhood of Cole Valley.

Today, on August 2nd 2006, there are three things you might want to checkout, along with some suggestions from Tavert about how to navigate without getting vaporized, obliterated or spellbound.

The lost and resurrected myth of fog erasure

The makeshift tree on the corner of Cole and Carmel

The free automatic labelling machine lying outside the laundromat

The first two things are self explanatory, so we will focus on the automatic labelling machine in today's issue.

Tavert first noticed it last week on one of his morning rituals of washing all the daily newspapers of invisible ink using the washing machine before distributing it to the neighborhood. If you are one of the people in Tavert's newspaper route, you have 100% prevention against curses through newspapers which is a not an uncommon way through which small businesses get back at you for leaving bad Yelp reviews.

Now, back to the labelling machine. It is one of those small handheld ones that looks like a calculator. The letters are all faded out, and the display is a little dim. You need to hit it a few times like you would a TV remote. But once you get the hang of it, it is a pretty sweet device. You just need to type in at random and it will label you as a person. I've always wanted to know who I am, and the automatic label maker was exactly what I needed. I now know who I am and no longer have to doubt myself.

I decided to buy some beans, be a newspaper man, and grow a tail which I always knew I wanted, but the label maker gave me the validation I needed.

Tavert didn't want to talk about what his label was. He ate the printed label immediately after it printed, and ran screaming to the bathroom. He has been on some heavy drugs since then, but I'm sure he'll be fine in a day or two. He kept muttering things like "Who are these other people in my head? Can you speak one at a time? Who said that?"

All in all, the label maker was a cool experience. The old woman who was standing in the corner of the street while we were trying out the label maker was very supportive, and encouraged us to share it with the rest of you.

That is all for today. In the next issue, once Tavert returns to his normal self, we will visit the top of the hill and report on what we find there.

[untamedmousse]

[untamedmousse]

[untamedmousse]

[untamedmousse]

The friendly library ghost

When the librarian of the local Inner Sunset branch Ernst Grindell Stevens died in the late 40s, it is said that his soul decided to rest for just a moment at the Little Library at Carl street and finish reading the books in that store. But new books kept coming, and Ernst kept reading. Every day after sunset when the street light comes on, one can still hear the distinct sounds of paper flipping in the backdrop of the leaves rustling on top of the sweet bay tree next to the library.

He leaves sticky notes pasted to any book that is placed in the shelves with his note of appreciation for the stories inside. He especially loves vampire books and draws little hearts next to the character names he loves. It is against the library policy to leave notes, but the patrons rarely mind it, and consider a good luck charm. The Kovac twins, Dana and Nareem next door have been keeping the library stocked with the latest vampire novels and place a cup of hot chocolate every Christmas. Ernst is no sweet tooth, but is a fan of the holidays and appreciates this token of friendship by drawing doodles of dinosaurs in the last pages of all the science books he knows Nareem reads with great interest.

There are days during which one can no longer hear the paper rustle that make people wonder if Ernst has left the bookstore, but sure enough he comes back within a week. Dana believes that Ernst is sometimes bored of the books inside and goes to Green Apple Books looking for other ones. She has been writing short stories with water color illustrations she knows Ernst will like in her school notebook and leaves them in the bookshelves hoping  that Ernst will come back. And it always works like a charm.