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MTK The Writist

~ Homo sapiens digitalis

MTK The Writist

Tag Archives: sf

Commercial Space SOMA 65 cents/sq. foot?

31 Thursday Mar 2011

Posted by mtk in politics

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commercial property, Karthik Rajan, Mayor, san francisco, sf, SOMA

The weather has finally turned sunny and warm and that crisp feeling of spring has arrived. March felt like one long extended February. 2011 wine is probably going to be interesting. The agricultural sector received beautiful pulses of regular rain for six straight weeks! Marvelous. Perhaps our fire season will be mellower as a result.

This past week, I had a few real estate agents show me 10,000 square foot warehouse space in the South of Market area. The rates have been far too high for more than a dozen years now – empty spaces abound and there’s desperation to rent them. What a change from the madness that since 1995 has sent us spiraling up to unaffordability.

I now think it’s reasonable to demand no more than 65 cents per square foot of those owners for the first year, at least through this election year. Nobody’s going to make a move until 11/08/11 anyway.  So let’s ease the pressure on all of us and bring it back to 90’s levels. The rents only went up because people were willing to pay them. Those folks are the ones who drove out so many long time residents of SF. That’s how I got priced out of San Francisco long ago.

David Boyce, the saxophonist, composer and philosopher recently walked up to my good friend James on a street, shook his hand and said, “There’s only 46,000 of us in this town now.”  Meaning black men. sigh.

That’s what happened between 1997 and 2011 – the Manhattanization of San Fran – and that’s why I am running for Mayor.

These past few weeks, I walked through the city alone, and with my son and with my old friend James and had a few lovely meals: at Oaxacena, my contemporary favorite for chicken mole, at Limon, the new Peruvian place on Valencia near 16th and at Maverick, the now five-year old fine dining spot on 17th near Mission.

I discussed my campaign with Chris Daly and his gang at the Buck, with the sheriffs at City Hall and with friends at Zeitgeist, including two young men, Andrew and Danny, who are new to our town from Orange County. Imagine it, young men from that right-wing enclave out in the back yard of Zeitgeist taking in the sights and smells of tolerance! Andrew’s never going back and I guess Danny will be up here by election day.

I love this city.

Vote for me for Mayor first, second or third and we will have a great time keeping SF small and sweet and bringing the rents down.

Let Twitter go back to Silicon Valley where it belongs, I say. Tax the corporates who want to live here. The commodification of urban space should serve the citizens, not the corporations.

I am the only candidate that has from day one said I will tax the wealthy and the corporate interests to allow those of  us who live in and love this town more security, and today it’s in the Chronicle that most people in California agree that taxing the wealthy is the right move.

Watch how fast the other candidates take it up now. Jean Quan took my idea of giving back a portion of the Mayor’s salary in Oakland – just stole that one. Watch how often that happens this year and celebrate our success in driving the race back to compassion for small business, the poor, renters, homeless and immigrant communities.

stay tuned,

Karthik

Changes Afoot – Karthik Rajan for Mayor

11 Friday Feb 2011

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Karthik Rajan, Mayor, san francisco, sf

After long discussion with supporters,

I have decided to run as Karthik Rajan

rather than as M.T. Karthik, which has been a nom de plume for me for more than a dozen years, and how I have been known “on the air” and in the art world.

I want all of my supporters to know and trust me.

My name is Karthik. I was born in India and moved to the United States first when I was two.

I have been a U.S. citizen for 30 years and have lived in the San Francisco Bay Area for most of those years.

I’ve traveled around the world seven times, living in New York, LA, Japan, India, Europe, South America and elsewhere, but I have always returned to the SF Bay, which I consider my beloved home. I love SF. I want to be the Mayor because I am sure I can run the city better than any of the other candidates. I’m an Independent, progressive and eager to clean house.

Please vote for Karthik Rajan as your first, second or third choice for Mayor of San Francisco. Together, we can make sure our city stays an amazing place, filled with art and compassion, different from every great city that ever existed and yet great in our own way. Join us. Let’s maintain our city and bring back our most important values.

Karthik Rajan

Gaining Steam and Overcoming Doubts

07 Tuesday Dec 2010

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Karthik Rajan, Mayor, san francisco, sf

After a long discussion with supporters, we decided to drop Not to Win, But to Nudge, which was our old campaign motto, in favor of:

Karthik for Mayor

Not Impossible

which leaves the matter a little more open-ended.

I’ve been feeling out responses from old friends. In all honesty, the legitimacy of my campaign is up to YOU.

I wonder, too, whether many of the artists and DJ’s I know from when I arrived for good to SF in 1993 – DJ Consuelo, the gang from Dalva, Rigo 23 and his crowd, any of the many hundreds of people I have enjoyed a drink with in neighborhoods around town over the years – will be supportive of this effort. I wonder whether my uncle, who has lived in Twin Peaks for more than thirty years will find it idiotic.

It certainly isn’t a joke. I have walked the length and breadth of the city over the last 25 years and know people in every neighborhood because I love it. I want to care for SF and feel prepared to lead us into less expensive, smarter, more efficient and caring government and away from corporate capital and smarm;

To bring back the SF values of compassion for the poor, homeless and renters in our town, and away from those who would “clean it up” by making it a mall that looks like every other city in the U.S.A.

To give the Office of Mayor of San Francisco an independent face, free of influence from Villaraigosa, the Clintons and others who are using our culture and our whole town to support ends we don’t support.

San Francisco was always an independent city with good values, different from the whole rest of the country.  What I represent in my campaign for Mayor is why we all moved here – a choice who’s not a Democrat, nor a Republican, nor a Libertarian, nor a Green, nor a Peace and Freedom candidate, but who shares the best values of all of these in SF and more that we share together uniquely as a free, progressive city.

Our values make SF the best place to live in the world – and they are being bought out by rich Democrats.

I hope all of you will see that what I’m doing is not only necessary, but that I’m really the best suited to do it. This is not, as JFR reminded me, quixotic.

So on your ballot in November please do make Karthik Rajan your first, second or third choice for Mayor

and you won’t be sorry.

In fact, I guarantee you it will feel good.

Karthik

Karthik For Mayor San Francisco 2011

05 Sunday Dec 2010

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Mayor, mtk, san francisco, sf

I will be officially launching my campaign for Mayor of San Francisco at 7a.m., Friday, the 21st of January at the Main Library in San Francisco.

I intend to run a campaign of transparency and this blog will serve that end. Feel free to respond, comment and make suggestions here.

On Thanksgiving, JFR and I launched the campaign website:

www.mtkarthik.org

and later that day, I walked with my good friend James around the Mission and floated the notion of my candidacy with him. James and I are old SF friends and it is comforting to have a stable voice reassure me it isn’t an utterly foolish thing to do.

We had a couple of  games of chess at Muddy Waters at 24th and then walked down to Mission Street, meandering. We ran into his friend Raul, who criticized my campaign promise to not accept 50k of the Mayor’s salary and rather to return $200k to the City at the end of my term as Mayor. Raul’s like, “Don’t give it back to the City?! Give it to Food Not Bombs … or somebody like that!” He was incredulous that I would do such an idiotic thing as trust the Board of Supervisors with money I could save the City! ha!

At 16th street we dropped into Forest Books, where we talked with Bob about my independent campaign for Mayor. Forest Books has been there for a dozen years and we reflected on how that corner has changed. James chose nonfiction while I picked a novel by Montalban.

Further up 16th street opposite Albion, where Swan’s car/residence was parked for a decade or more, we ran into Swan, himself. I didn’t tell him I was running for Mayor. I did tell him I remember picking up a Daily Swan the day Herb Caen died and that the first words were: “Caen died yrs. ago I say!” and we laughed. I also told him I remember the day they towed his car from Albion and what a shame and embarrassment I considered it. He called me his best friend. kinda bummed me out. I picked up four new  Daily Swan’s and, always topical, he was covering the Sit/Lie Law. We continued our stroll up to Mission Dolores, round past the palms to Market, then back down to Valencia.

We stopped at Zeitgeist. I was there when O.J. took the Bronco and the LAPD for a ride. I had gone to Zeitgeist to watch the NBA Finals. I walked James back near his spot. We had hot chocolate at Oaxacena and I made my way to North Beach.

I meant to go to Spec’s to see my favorite photograph of the City, but they were closed for the holiday and so I ended up at Vesuvio, where Janet and the others there had served food to many North Beachers and were winding down and cleaning up. The exposed heart of Baudelaire is gone and Janet and I talked about Ken Huerta.

Well, the Exploratory Committee to Elect Karthik for Mayor of SF 2011, is open for discourse.

Sincerely,

Karthik

The Night the SF Giants Won the World Series, Civic Center, SF, 2010

01 Monday Nov 2010

Posted by mtk in baseball, journalism, S.F., short film

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2010, Bochy, Bruce, Buster, City, civic center, game 5, giants, Hall, Lincecum, November 1, Posey, san francisco, series, sf, Tim, win, world

Eleven to Eleven in the Bottom of the Eleventh

09 Monday Aug 2010

Posted by mtk in full games

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2010, Barry, Bumgarner, Casilla, Cincinnatti, comeback, Francisco, Freddy, giants, Gomes, greatest, history, home, homers, Joey, Jonny, loss, Madison, mlb, Pandahats, pitch, Reds, runs, San, sanchez, sf, Stubbs, Torres, Votto, wild, Zito

[this was the 2010 season, August, amidst Lincecum’s first crash]

First Pitch 1:06pm – Indian Summer began with a heat wave and the warm weather seems to correlate directly with baseballs sailing out of AT&T Park.

The Giants, a great pitching team that struggled to produce three or four runs a game in San Francisco‘s foggy, cool summers, had, with the heat, flipped the script, smashing the ball against the surging, Central Division-leading Reds – scoring 27 runs in the first two night games to win 16-5 and 11-2. It was the beginning of a home-run fiesta that would carry the Giants to the playoffs.

Headed into the city on BART that morning after the long-ball fest of the two previous nights, we met lots of Giants fans looking for a sweep.

We all talked about how the day game would be even warmer, and hoped Giants bats would stay hot. More than once we heard the refrain: “I wish they’d save some of those runs and scatter them across a few games.”

We were excited to see Madison Bumgarner, the newest member of the starting rotation, a tall, strong 21-year old with big-time game. It would also be my first time seeing the Reds’ Joey Votto live. He didn’t disappoint.

In the first, with two men down, Votto blasted a two-run homer. Worse, his was followed by back-to-back solo shots by Jonny Gomes and Ryan Hanigan that got out of the park in a hurry. The Reds shelled Bumgarner mercilessly before that last out. Reds 4, Giants 0.

Though the Giants were down big before they’d even had a chance to bat, my son, the woman to my right, her son (wearing a floppy-eared Panda hat) and I all agreed not to let it bother us. Giants batters were coming off 27 runs in two nights! Pandahat favored Aubrey Huff.

Yes, game we were, in the face of four runs, and, as if to prove us and the whole universe true, Bumgarner settled down in the second, and in the bottom half Jose Guillen singled to left, was advanced to second by a Sandoval base hit (much to Pandahat’s excitement) and to third by an Uribe sac-fly. The Giants chiseled him across the plate from third on a Freddy Sanchez single. Reds 4, Giants 1.

But in the top of the third, the 21-year-old Bumgarner lost it with two outs again. Rolen doubled, Gomes singled, Hanigan walked on a full count and Drew Stubbs tripled to clear the bases. Just like that it was seven to nothing. Ugh.

Then, just when we thought it couldn’t possibly get worse, the poor kid blew it like I haven’t seen since Little League.

With two outs, three men in, and Stubbs standing on third, Righetti and Bochy decided to intentionally walk Paul Janish to set up the force out at second, first or home.

So picture it: runner on third. catcher Buster Posey standing up, glove-arm extended. The ump’s got his hands on his hips. Janish at the plate is barely even in his stance – holding the bat in a  relaxed posture awaiting his walk.

And then suddenly, Madison Bumgarner throws a wild pitch on an intentional ball! Missed Buster entirely! And Stubbs scores from third on an E1. Reds 8, Giants 1.

I had no idea what to say. Talk about brain freeze. I looked at my son between the top and bottom of the inning, speechless. I ran through the list of clichés out loud:

“Hey you know, there’s no clock in baseball, it’s the most changeable sport, anything could happen. A coupla runs here, a solid inning in relief there and a couple-few more runs, and we’re right back in this thing.”

It was weak, but the woman to my left chimed in appropriately and together, we showed strength in the face of adversity to the boys – but not before she leaned over and whispered “I wish they’d saved some of those runs from yesterday to scatter across a few games.”

Then again, torturously, with two outs in the fourth, in his first at-bat against our new right-hander Ramon Ramirez, Joey Votto homered for the second time. It was impressive. He worked the count against the second pitcher he’d face that day and calmly jacked a solo shot to left. Votto already had two big flies and three batted in. Reds 9, Giants 1.

When the Giants failed to score in the bottom of the fourth, a lot of people left, but the woman to my right and her son stayed. They minded our stuff as we took a quick walk down to concessions to see if it might change our luck. My son flipped his hat round, the first of many rally caps I’d see that day. We never leave games, but this one just got worse.

In the fifth, with two outs, Ramirez walked Stubbs, then issued a back-to-back, full count walk to Janish and finally capped his performance by yielding a single to the pitcher, Homer Bailey, scoring Stubbs.

Santiago Casilla came in to get the last out and stood on the mound facing people’s backs as they climbed the steps to scramble out, and a frustrated remaining crowd. In a tension-relieving moment akin to broken glass Casilla then beaned Reds second baseman Brandon Phillips.

It was inadvertent, but took Philips out of the game, clearly bothered, in the sixth. Casilla then just took a strikeout, so his box reads: one beaning and one strikeout in a third of an inning’s work! That was enough for our seatmates, who bolted up the steps – Panda ears a-flappin’.

And that was how the Giants got down ten to one in the first five innings of a game we now refer to as one of the greatest comeback performances in SF Giants history.

When the Giants came up to bat in the fifth down ten to one, there were maybe 20,000 of us left, enjoying a rare, hot day at the park. It was a gorgeous Wednesday afternoon and there really wasn’t a better place to be in SF. Oh, the waning light in Indian Summer, then, like a consolation gift to us for staying.

Giants recent acquisition Mike Fontenot drew a lead-off walk and Andres Torres singled and then – what, what? – Aubrey Huff advanced both to scoring position with a grounder. When Pat Burrell singled to right to bring in two runs, we made noise. Reds 10, Giants 3.

All year, our expensive left-handed reliever Jeremy Affeldt – whom we’d signed last year to a two-year, nine million dollar deal – has struggled in relief. He seemed as likely to throw a wild pitch as a strike.

When he entered the game in the sixth, I felt Manager Bruce Bochy and Pitching Coach Dave Righetti had given up on this one. I assumed they were happy taking two of three from the Reds over the week and had decided to use this opportunity to help some guys who’ve been struggling work out kinks. I had resigned myself to watching Affeldt fail before he even threw a pitch and even prepared my son for it.

Affeldt had recently absorbed browbeating in the press for being shown up significantly by left-handed acquisition Javier Lopez, a specialist, whom the Giants pay one tenth of Affeldt’s salary. Affeldt watched Lopez enter games in pressure situations just days before – in San Diego and at home – and end them with less than ten pitches. It must have been a blow to his ego.

Affeldt stepped up and closed out the sixth without giving up a hit. Three up, three down. An electricity passed through us. Not one of our guys wants to be the one not carrying his weight. Anybody who loves effort and was at AT&T Park that day fell in love with this team.

In the sixth, Juan Uribe hit a one-out single to short, just beating the tag. Nate Schierholtz – pinch hitting for Affeldt who’d done his job – smashed a double to right, sending Uribe to third. After five and two-thirds, the Reds pulled Bailey with a seven-run lead and brought Bill Bray in relief.

It was Bray’s wild pitch that made everybody sit up. It was a parallel to Bumgarner’s run-scoring wild pitch in the first – karma. This one brought Uribe home and sent Schierholtz to third. Fontenot then stepped up with one down and grounded out to second, allowing Schierholtz to cross the plate. Reds 10, Giants 5.

Now, the vibe in the building was palpably “no-hitterish“. It was ten to five. Nobody wanted to talk about a comeback for fear of jinxing it. But there was an excitement after that wild pitch – like maybe the Reds were more vulnerable in relief.

We were all two days full of recent memories of towering homers by Posey and Uribe and Burrell – could the Giants come back? I wondered what Kruk, Kuip and Jon were talking about. [still haven’t heard what I’m told is an epic broadcast].

In the seventh, the Reds brought Logan Ondrusek in relief of Bray, Sergio Romo pitched for the Giants, and both pitchers held.

Still down five now in the top of the eighth, the Giants brought closer Brian Wilson in early to keep the Giants within reach. Wilson, who would go on to end the season with a major-league leading 48 saves is our nutty backstop – crazy as a loon, but who knows how to finish.

Again. In Wilson, we felt the fight in this team. The unwillingness to just rollover and call it a day because you’re down.

We went to the bottom of the eighth inning trailing by five runs, but having crept back to within striking distance against the Reds bullpen. Has there ever been a more exciting inning played by an SF team than the Giants eighth that day? That’s for historians to decide, but it was the craziest Giant inning I’ve ever seen live, hands down.

Guillen leads off with a single to left, and then Sandoval, to center – runners in the corners for Juan “One-Swing-of-the-Bat” Uribe. <BLAM> three run homer. Nobody out. Ondrusek done. Reds 10, Giants 8.

The Reds, suddenly only up two, scramble. Massive substitutions. Helsey in at left, Bruce at right and Arthur Rhodes on the mound to set up Cordero, the closer. It was crunch time and we, long-suffering Giant fans – desperately searching for situational hitting and run support – watched five of our guys make it happen.

Ross and Fontenot hit back to back singles to left and Torres jumped on a Rhodes change-up, smacking a stand-up double to the same part of the park, scoring both. Reds 10, Giants 10. And then in two quick at-bats against Rhodes, Posey and Huff earned sac-flies to bring Torres home, sliding to the plate to beat the throw. The Giants lead 11 to 10.

Wow. The place went crazy. My seven-year old was high-fiving seventy-year olds! It may have been the smallest standing ovation the Giants will ever receive, but it was unequaled in sincerity.

When I looked around it was apparent that since the fifth some fans had returned, or maybe had come in from a downtown bar to catch what they were seeing on TV or hearing about in the streets or on the radio – The Greatest Comeback in Giants History.

Now, there is some dispute about what constitutes a Great Comeback. To me, it isn’t a comeback unless you win. There are many who share this opinion. This definition dominates the view presented by the mainstream sports press. But for some, a comeback is defined by effort, as measured by the difference in the lead you make: if you were down by a hundred but lost by only two, it must have been a really amazing game, and you must have made superhuman effort though you took the loss.

I find this definition of a comeback without victory to be suspect in sports with only two opponents. Because, where in a foot race, it applies to the difference between second’s finish versus third’s in relation to first (and more importantly fourths distance from third), it makes no real sense where only two are competing against each other.

That said, the ten runs made up by the Giants to take the lead was the greatest deficit overcome in Giants history. We were exhilarated. The relief of tension was palpable. We all felt special. It was incredible. We were going to sweep the Reds, scoring almost 40 runs in three days. The elders behind us and my son were just glowing in the late afternoon light.

It’s a shame home games don’t last just eight innings.

There’s those last three pesky outs to get. Even after a huge comeback achieved as a team, you have to stay focused … and seize the win. To me, that’s what makes it a comeback.

Now, here a word must be inserted about Pablo Sandoval. I was at a local pub the other night watching the game when Sandoval made the throwing error by sending the ball home with a force out at every bag without stepping on third, preventing a double play from ending the inning – a mental slip that allowed a run to score later and lose the game for the Giants- when a patron beside me said he blamed the marketing department for Pablo’s problems.

That was when I put it together. The Marketing department, desperate to replace Barry Bonds with a ‘batting persona’ forced the 23-year old Sandoval to become The Panda. And went nuts making Panda suits, hats, bobblies, glasses, mats, key chains, stuffies and everything else. Did anyone in marketing notice that our strength is pitching and that we need team play and contact hitters? It was undue pressure to put on Pablo Sandoval.

I enjoy shouting out to the players in encouragement when I am sitting low enough to be heard. We were just up the first base line behind the Reds dugout for this one and in the third I can remember shouting to Freddy Sanchez as he awaited a pitch with Panda on first, “Hey, Freddy, You got ‘em, man! They can’t touch you!”

Pablo, standing on first, turned, pointed at me from first with two black-gloved fingers and shouted, “That’s Right!” My son was thrilled. Freddy hit into a double play. It felt like poor Pablo was cursed.

With one out in the top of the ninth and the Giants up 11 to 10 after coming back from being down 10 to 1, the greatest comeback in Giants history, Brian Wilson delivered and the Reds’ Drew Stubbs hit a routine grounder to Sandoval. I was sitting right behind first base. I looked right at him. He scooped it up and had plenty of time.

For a second, I thought I saw his eyes looking right at us. And then I watched his right arm just go screwy and his face turn. The ball flew way wide of Huff at first and into the grass in front of the dugout. Stubbs, thinking it was going to be a routine out, hadn’t really come close to first, so he turned the corner and turned on the speed, arriving standing at second.

It was a two-base throwing error on Pablo Sandoval that put the tying run in scoring position and the fifth Giant error of the game. Moments later, Wilson gave up the single to Janish that scored Stubbs. He then got the final out. Reds 11, Giants 11.

The Reds had turned to Nick Masset to finish their debacle of an eighth, which the right-hander ended with a strikeout. Now, he manhandled the Giants in the ninth, striking out three. The aforementioned Javier Lopez, la specialista for the Giants, entered in the tenth and true to form made quick work of the Reds. Again, it felt like Lopez didn’t want to be responsible for failing when called upon.

I mean this in a good way.

Not like guys competing for jobs, but like comrades in struggle. In the eleventh, Bochy leaned on Lopez to extend and the specialist held the meat of the Reds lineup to just one hit. Meanwhile, Manager Dusty Baker and the Reds turned the ball over to their excellent closer Francisco Cordero.

The Giants wouldn‘t score in the tenth or eleventh, but we got the thrill of seeing a scoreboard I don’t think I’ll ever see live again – Eleven to Eleven in the Bottom of the Eleventh.

Arriving at the top of the twelfth, exhausted of left-handed relievers, I looked down to see Barry Zito trotting out to the mound. Bochy probably thought he had no other choice. Maybe he thought it would help the slumping Zito get back some lost confidence. But there was starter Barry Zito on short rest, entering a tied game in the 12th inning in relief.

Janish singled to left, then Matt Cairo doubled to center sending Janish to third. With two on, nobody out in the twelfth inning of a midweek day-game, the last of a series in August, against the Central Division leader, and a failing Zito on the mound, these Giants refused to die.

The next batter, Chris Helsey, hit a sharp grounder to Uribe hoping to at last get the winning RBI. Janish sprinted for home, but the hard-charging Uribe scooped it up and threw a bullet to Posey at the plate, in time to get the sliding Janish. We roared.

It was still 11 to 11. But now it was one away with runners in the corners for Zito facing league MVP-candidate Joey Votto. We knew the battle between Barry Zito and Joey Votto would decide this game. As Votto fought off pitch after pitch on the strikes and Zito missed the box by millimeters on the balls, the sinking feeling that we were losing this one crept into us all.

In a way I was resigned to it when Barry ran out there, but somehow it didn’t matter. We had seen superhuman effort by our Giants. Grit, toughness and an unwillingness to rollover and die.

Finally though, one guy was tougher than them all and in an epic display of game-winning force, Joey Votto hit a ball so hard into shallow right field that nobody could’ve handled it – a smokin’ dribbler. Sanchez stopped it and tried to get the ball home.

Cairo, who had taken a huge lead from third arrived at the plate almost simultaneously with the ball. Posey blocked the plate. The two collided hard as Cairo stretched for the plate, but Posey held on! The umpire, Hirschbeck, signaled vigorously and initially shouted, “Out!” … then in microseconds that felt like minutes, the ball popped up into the air out of the scrum, slipping out of Buster’s hand … and the call was reversed. Cairo was safe.

Reds 12, Giants 11.

Cordero retired the side in order and stole a win as the Cincinnati Reds beat the San Francisco Giants 12 to 11 in 12 crazy innings. Zito took the loss to fall to 8-9 (he didn’t win again in 2010, but this lousy inning in the toughest of situations was the one that made him an under .500 pitcher and helped keep him off the roster for our first World Series Championship).

Epilogue

Amazingly, the story of this game and its internal question of whether or not you can lose a great comeback was buried by baseball itself, which, in its statistical perfection provided a definitive comeback game on the very same day, by the exact same margin of difference.

In a staggering coincidence only possible in the mathematical infinity of baseball’s continuity, the Atlanta Braves were ahead by the exact same score of 10 to 1 over the Colorado Rockies and allowed Colorado to come back and win 11-10.

On the same day! So guys were like, “Now, that’s a comeback.”

Thinking about it now, you could say it was the last game the Giants lost that season because of a collection of their own mistakes rather than by a single player’s lapse or by being outplayed by the better performance of their opponent. But despite the lop-sided opening and all the crazy errors made by so many Giants, this against-the-odds contest was also the grittiest expression of this team’s fight that I‘d yet witnessed.

I’ve never been happier after a loss in my life. I was just so proud of our guys for trying that hard. You could feel that pride among all the fans as we shuffled toward the exits, smiling.

The whole team had an unwillingness to lose, yet lose they did, and in a sad but poetic way, that loss came at the hands of our own beloved, expensive, Prince of Inability, Barry Zito.

Yes, we were proud of our Giants, despite, and now I understand what people mean when they say a great comeback can end in a loss.

Eleven to Eleven in the Bottom of the Eleventh, 2010

09 Monday Aug 2010

Posted by mtk in baseball, essay

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2010, AT&T Park, back, behind, Cincinnati, come, comeback, extra, from, giants, greatest, history, innings, Karthik, loss, m.t. karthik, mtk, Reds, run, san francisco, Sandoval, sf, ten, Votto, Zito

[this was the Championship Season, August, amidst Lincecum’s first crash]

First Pitch 1:06pm – Indian Summer began with a heat wave and the warm weather seems to correlate directly with baseballs sailing out of AT&T Park.

The Giants, a great pitching team that struggled to produce three or four runs a game in San Francisco‘s foggy, cool summers, had, with the heat, flipped the script, smashing the ball against the surging, Central Division-leading Reds – scoring 27 runs in the first two night games to win 16-5 and 11-2. It was the beginning of a home-run fiesta that would carry the Giants to the playoffs.

Headed into the city on BART that morning after the long-ball fest of the two previous nights, we met lots of Giants fans looking for a sweep.

We all talked about how the day game would be even warmer, and hoped Giants bats would stay hot. More than once we heard the refrain: “I wish they’d save some of those runs and scatter them across a few games.”

We were excited to see Madison Bumgarner, the newest member of the starting rotation, a tall, strong 21-year old with big-time game. It would also be my first time seeing the Reds’ Joey Votto live. He didn’t disappoint.

In the first, with two men down, Votto blasted a two-run homer. Worse, his was followed by back-to-back solo shots by Jonny Gomes and Ryan Hanigan that got out of the park in a hurry. The Reds shelled Bumgarner mercilessly before that last out. Reds 4, Giants 0.

Though the Giants were down big before they’d even had a chance to bat, my son, the woman to my right, her son (wearing a floppy-eared Panda hat) and I all agreed not to let it bother us. Giants batters were coming off 27 runs in two nights! Pandahat favored Aubrey Huff.

Yes, game we were, in the face of four runs, and, as if to prove us and the whole universe true, Bumgarner settled down in the second, and in the bottom half Jose Guillen singled to left, was advanced to second by a Sandoval base hit (much to Pandahat’s excitement) and to third by an Uribe sac-fly. The Giants chiseled him across the plate from third on a Freddy Sanchez single. Reds 4, Giants 1.

But in the top of the third, the 21-year-old Bumgarner lost it with two outs again. Rolen doubled, Gomes singled, Hanigan walked on a full count and Drew Stubbs tripled to clear the bases. Just like that it was seven to nothing. Ugh.

Then, just when we thought it couldn’t possibly get worse, the poor kid blew it like I haven’t seen since Little League.

With two outs, three men in, and Stubbs standing on third, Righetti and Bochy decided to intentionally walk Paul Janish to set up the force out at second, first or home.

So picture it: runner on third. catcher Buster Posey standing up, glove-arm extended. The ump’s got his hands on his hips. Janish at the plate is barely even in his stance – holding the bat in a  relaxed posture awaiting his walk.

And then suddenly, Madison Bumgarner throws a wild pitch on an intentional ball! Missed Buster entirely! And Stubbs scores from third on an E1. Reds 8, Giants 1.

I had no idea what to say. Talk about brain freeze. I looked at my son between the top and bottom of the inning, speechless. I ran through the list of clichés out loud:

“Hey you know, there’s no clock in baseball, it’s the most changeable sport, anything could happen. A coupla runs here, a solid inning in relief there and a couple-few more runs, and we’re right back in this thing.”

It was weak, but the woman to my left chimed in appropriately and together, we showed strength in the face of adversity to the boys – but not before she leaned over and whispered “I wish they’d saved some of those runs from yesterday to scatter across a few games.”

Then again, torturously, with two outs in the fourth, in his first at-bat against our new right-hander Ramon Ramirez, Joey Votto homered for the second time. It was impressive. He worked the count against the second pitcher he’d face that day and calmly jacked a solo shot to left. Votto already had two big flies and three batted in. Reds 9, Giants 1.

When the Giants failed to score in the bottom of the fourth, a lot of people left, but the woman to my right and her son stayed. They minded our stuff as we took a quick walk down to concessions to see if it might change our luck. My son flipped his hat round, the first of many rally caps I’d see that day. We never leave games, but this one just got worse.

In the fifth, with two outs, Ramirez walked Stubbs, then issued a back-to-back, full count walk to Janish and finally capped his performance by yielding a single to the pitcher, Homer Bailey, scoring Stubbs.

Santiago Casilla came in to get the last out and stood on the mound facing people’s backs as they climbed the steps to scramble out, and a frustrated remaining crowd. In a tension-relieving moment akin to broken glass Casilla then beaned Reds second baseman Brandon Phillips.

It was inadvertent, but took Philips out of the game, clearly bothered, in the sixth. Casilla then just took a strikeout, so his box reads: one beaning and one strikeout in a third of an inning’s work! That was enough for our seatmates, who bolted up the steps – Panda ears a-flappin’.

And that was how the Giants got down ten to one in the first five innings of a game we now refer to as one of the greatest comeback performances in SF Giants history.

When the Giants came up to bat in the fifth down ten to one, there were maybe 20,000 of us left, enjoying a rare, hot day at the park. It was a gorgeous Wednesday afternoon and there really wasn’t a better place to be in SF. Oh, the waning light in Indian Summer, then, like a consolation gift to us for staying.

Giants recent acquisition Mike Fontenot drew a lead-off walk and Andres Torres singled and then – what, what? – Aubrey Huff advanced both to scoring position with a grounder. When Pat Burrell singled to right to bring in two runs, we made noise. Reds 10, Giants 3.

All year, our expensive left-handed reliever Jeremy Affeldt – whom we’d signed last year to a two-year, nine million dollar deal – has struggled in relief. He seemed as likely to throw a wild pitch as a strike. When he entered the game in the sixth, I felt Manager Bruce Bochy and Pitching Coach Dave Righetti had given up on this one.

I assumed they were happy taking two of three from the Reds over the week and had decided to use this opportunity to help some guys who’ve been struggling work out kinks. I had resigned myself to watching Affeldt fail before he even threw a pitch and even prepared my son for it.

Affeldt had taken a beating in the press and been shown up significantly by left-handed acquisition Javier Lopez, a specialist, whom the Giants pay one tenth of his salary. Affeldt watched Lopez enter games in pressure situations just days before – in San Diego and at home – and end them with less than ten pitches. It must have been a blow to his ego.

Affeldt stepped up and closed out the sixth without giving up a hit. Three up, three down. An electricity passed through us. None of our guys want to be the one not carrying his weight. Anybody who loves effort and was at AT&T Park that day fell in love with this team.

In the sixth, Juan Uribe hit a one-out single to short, just beating the tag. Nate Schierholtz – pinch hitting for Affeldt who’d done his job – smashed a double to right, sending Uribe to third. After five and two-thirds, the Reds pulled Bailey with a seven-run lead and brought Bill Bray in relief.

It was Bray’s wild pitch that made everybody sit up. It was a parallel to Bumgarner’s run-scoring wild pitch in the first – karma. This one brought Uribe home and sent Schierholtz to third. Fontenot then stepped up with one down and grounded out to second, allowing Schierholtz to cross the plate. Reds 10, Giants 5.

Now, the vibe in the building was palpably “no-hitterish“. It was ten to five. Nobody wanted to talk about a comeback for fear of jinxing it. But there was an excitement after that wild pitch – like maybe the Reds were more vulnerable in relief.

We were all two days full of recent memories of towering homers by Posey and Uribe and Burrell – could the Giants come back? I wondered what Kruk, Kuip and Jon were talking about. [still haven’t heard what I’m told is an epic broadcast].

In the seventh, the Reds brought Logan Ondrusek in relief of Bray, Sergio Romo pitched for the Giants, and both pitchers held.

Still down five now in the top of the eighth, the Giants brought closer Brian Wilson in early to keep the Giants within reach. Wilson, who would go on to end the season with a major-league leading 48 saves is our nutty backstop – crazy as a loon, but who knows how to finish.

Again. In Wilson, we felt the fight in this team. The unwillingness to just rollover and call it a day because you’re down.

We went to the bottom of the eighth inning trailing by five runs, but having crept back to within striking distance against the Reds bullpen. Has there ever been a more exciting inning played by an SF team than the Giants eighth that day? That’s for historians to decide, but it was the craziest Giant inning I’ve ever seen live, hands down.

Guillen leads off with a single to left, and then Sandoval, to center – runners in the corners for Juan “One-Swing-of-the-Bat” Uribe. <BLAM> three run homer. Nobody out. Ondrusek done. Reds 10, Giants 8.

The Reds, suddenly only up two, scramble. Massive substitutions. Helsey in at left, Bruce at right and Arthur Rhodes on the mound to set up Cordero, the closer. It was crunch time and we, long-suffering Giant fans – desperately searching for situational hitting and run support – watched five of our guys make it happen.

Ross and Fontenot hit back to back singles to left and Torres jumped on a Rhodes change-up, smacking a stand-up double to the same part of the park, scoring both. Reds 10, Giants 10. And then in two quick at-bats against Rhodes, Posey and Huff earned sac-flies to bring Torres home, sliding to the plate to beat the throw. The Giants lead 11 to 10.

Wow. The place went crazy. My seven-year old was high-fiving seventy-year olds! It may have been the smallest standing ovation the Giants will ever receive, but it was unequaled in sincerity.

When I looked around it was apparent that since the fifth some fans had returned, or maybe had come in from a downtown bar to catch what they were seeing on TV or hearing about in the streets or on the radio – The Greatest Comeback in Giants History.

Now, there is some dispute about what constitutes a Great Comeback. To me, it isn’t a comeback unless you win. There are many who share this opinion. This definition dominates the view presented by the mainstream sports press. But for some, a comeback is defined by effort, as measured by the difference in the lead you make: if you were down by a hundred but lost by only two, it must have been a really amazing game, and you must have made superhuman effort though you took the loss.

I find this definition of a comeback without victory to be suspect in sports with only two opponents. Because, where in a foot race, it applies to the difference between second’s finish versus third’s in relation to first (and more importantly fourths distance from third), it makes no real sense where only two are competing against each other.

That said, the ten runs made up by the Giants to take the lead was the greatest deficit overcome in Giants history. We were exhilarated. The relief of tension was palpable. We all felt special. It was incredible. We were going to sweep the Reds, scoring almost 40 runs in three days. The elders behind us and my son were just glowing in the late afternoon light . . .

It’s a shame home games don’t last just eight innings. There’s those last three pesky outs to get. Even after a huge comeback achieved as a team, you have to stay focused … and seize the win. To me, that’s what makes it a comeback.

Now, here a word must be inserted about Pablo Sandoval. I was at a local pub the other night watching the game when Sandoval made the throwing error by sending the ball home with a force out at every bag without stepping on third, preventing a double play from ending the inning – a mental slip that allowed a run to score later and lose the game for the Giants- when a patron beside me said he blamed the marketing department for Pablo’s problems.

That was when I put it together. The Marketing department, desperate to replace Barry Bonds with a ‘batting persona’ forced the 23-year old Sandoval to become The Panda. And went nuts making Panda suits, hats, bobblies, glasses, mats, key chains, stuffies and everything else. Did anyone in marketing notice that our strength is pitching and that we need team play and contact hitters? It was undue pressure to put on Pablo Sandoval.

I enjoy shouting out to the players in encouragement when I am sitting low enough to be heard. We were just up the first base line behind the Reds dugout for this one and in the third I can remember shouting to Freddy Sanchez as he awaited a pitch with Panda on first, “Hey, Freddy, You got ‘em, man! They can’t touch you!”

Pablo, standing on first, turned, pointed at me from first with two black-gloved fingers and shouted, “That’s Right!” My son was thrilled. Freddy hit into a double play. It felt like poor Pablo was cursed.

With one out in the top of the ninth and the Giants up 11 to 10 after coming back from being down 10 to 1, the greatest comeback in Giants history, Brian Wilson delivered and the Reds’ Drew Stubbs hit a routine grounder to Sandoval. I was sitting right behind first base. I looked right at him. He scooped it up and had plenty of time.

For a second, I thought I saw his eyes looking right at us. And then I watched his right arm just go screwy and his face turn. The ball flew way wide of Huff at first and into the grass in front of the dugout. Stubbs, thinking it was going to be a routine out, hadn’t really come close to first, so he turned the corner and turned on the speed, arriving standing at second.

It was a two-base throwing error on Pablo Sandoval that put the tying run in scoring position and the fifth Giant error of the game. Moments later, Wilson gave up the single to Janish that scored Stubbs. He then got the final out. Reds 11, Giants 11.

The Reds had turned to Nick Masset to finish their debacle of an eighth, which the right-hander ended with a strikeout. Now, he manhandled the Giants in the ninth, striking out three. The Giants’ Javier Lopez, la specialista, entered in the tenth and true to form made quick work of the Reds. Again, it felt like Lopez didn’t want to be shown up by Affeldt, didn’t want to be responsible for failing when called upon.

I mean this in a good way.

Not like guys competing for jobs, but like comrades in struggle. In the eleventh, Bochy leaned on Lopez to extend and the specialist held the meat of the Reds lineup to just one hit. Meanwhile, Manager Dusty Baker and the Reds turned the ball over to their excellent closer Francisco Cordero.

The Giants wouldn‘t score in the tenth or eleventh, but we got the thrill of seeing a scoreboard I don’t think I’ll ever see live again – Eleven to Eleven in the Bottom of the Eleventh.

Arriving at the top of the twelfth, exhausted of left-handed relievers, I looked down to see Barry Zito trotting out to the mound. Bochy probably thought he had no other choice. Maybe he thought it would help the slumping Zito get back some lost confidence. But there was starter Barry Zito on short rest, entering a tied game in the 12th inning in relief.

Janish singled to left, then Matt Cairo doubled to center sending Janish to third. With two on, nobody out in the twelfth inning of a midweek day-game, the last of a series in August, against the Central Division leader, and a failing Zito on the mound, these Giants refused to die.

The next batter, Chris Helsey, hit a sharp grounder to Uribe hoping to at last get the winning RBI. Janish sprinted for home, but the hard-charging Uribe scooped it up and threw a bullet to Posey at the plate, in time to get the sliding Janish. We roared.

It was still 11 to 11. But now it was one away with runners in the corners for Zito facing league MVP-candidate Joey Votto. We knew the battle between Barry Zito and Joey Votto would decide this game. As Votto fought off pitch after pitch on the strikes and Zito missed the box by millimeters on the balls, the sinking feeling that we were losing this one crept into us all.

In a way I was resigned to it when Barry ran out there, but somehow it didn’t matter. We had seen superhuman effort by our Giants. Grit, toughness and an unwillingness to rollover and die.

Finally though, one guy was tougher than them all and in an epic display of game-winning force, Joey Votto hit a ball so hard into shallow right field that nobody could’ve handled it – a smokin’ dribbler. Sanchez stopped it and tried to get the ball home.

Cairo, who had taken a huge lead from third arrived at the plate almost simultaneously with the ball, but Posey had blocked the plate. The two collided hard as Cairo outstretched for the plate, but Posey held on! The umpire, Hirschbeck, signaled vigorously and shouted, “Out!” … then the ball flew up in the air, slipping out of Buster’s hand … and the call was reversed. He was safe.

Reds 12, Giants 11.

Cordero retired the side in order and stole a win as the Cincinnati Reds beat the San Francisco Giants 12 to 11 in 12 crazy innings. Zito took the loss to fall to 8-9 (he didn’t win again this year and this was the one that made him a losing pitcher for the 2010 season).

Epilogue

Amazingly, the story of this game and its internal question of whether or not you can lose a Great Comeback was buried by baseball itself, which, in its statistical perfection provided a definitive Comeback Game on the very same day, by the very same margin of difference as ours.

In a staggering coincidence only possible in the mathematical infinity of baseball’s continuity, the Atlanta Braves were ahead by the exact same score of 10 to 1 over the Colorado Rockies and allowed Colorado to come back and win 11-10. On the same day! So guys were like, “Now, that’s a comeback.”

Thinking about it now, you could say it was the last game the Giants lost because of a collection of their own mistakes rather than by a single player’s lapse or by being outplayed by the better performance of their opponent. But despite the lop-sided opening and all the crazy errors made by so many Giants, this against-the-odds contest was also the grittiest expression of this team’s fight that I‘ve yet witnessed.

I’ve never been happier after a loss in my life. I was just so proud of our guys for trying that hard. You could feel that pride among all the fans as we shuffled toward the exits, smiling.

The whole team had an unwillingness to lose, yet lose they did, and in a sad but poetic way, that loss came at the hands of our own beloved, expensive, Prince of Inability, Barry Zito. Yes, we were proud of our Giants, despite, and now I understand what people mean when they say a Great Comeback can end in a loss.

Carnivorous Plants at the SF Conservatory of Flowers, 2010

21 Wednesday Jul 2010

Posted by mtk in flora, our son, S.F., short film, social media, travel

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F/A-18 Jet Engine Audio

13 Saturday Oct 2007

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At the Blue Angels Show in SF, I had just turned my brand new digital recorder on, set levels and was telling BPW, my partner’s younger sister what it was … when the show started and a jet screamed directly above our heads.

This audio has not been tweaked in any way. It is the actual .wav file recorded by the handheld digital recorder.

Needles

08 Saturday Nov 1997

Posted by mtk in fiction, S.F.

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There was an uncomfortable silence.  Stan would be home for the meeting soon so Lenny didn’t have the time to say anything really valid about the needles to the rest of us.  It was just that dead time of day when we usually talk about other things like ball games.

I figured somebody had to say something so I asked, “Anybody catch the Lakers?”  Lenny had seen the game and he broke it down for us while we waited.  Stan came in the middle of it and he picked up the description.  “Deal with it,” he calmly effused, “eleven three-pointers on sixty-eight percent shooting and eighteen of twenty from the line,” and we were all appreciative if for no reason other than the solidarity it lent.

We sat for just a second longer before Stan segued into the meeting: “Where’re we at?”

Lenny was silent and let somebody else do the talking thank god.  Stan could figure from the silence that the stuff hadn’t turned up.  It was uncomfortable but it wasn’t like there was anything to dispute.  Lenny’s brother and his girlfriend had been the only visitors the whole weekend and now the needles were gone.  Nobody even commented on the weed.

I proposed we each chip in fifty bucks for new needles and then Len said he’d ask his brother about them but nobody said anything.  Stan wanted to know if he could take his share out of the rent and we all supposed that would be all right. The most uncomfortable thing was that without the needles the turntables sat still and mute.  The red light on the amp was on as if the music had been interrupted in mid-groove.  The silence was a palpable souvenir of the needles’ absence.

We were just about to end the meeting when Kevin piped up. “But it’s bullshit,” he said.

Len was visibly stricken by a pang of tension.  Stan sighed, “what?”

“Well I mean, check it out,” he continued, “I mean I didn’t take the needles and lose them or whatever and I don’t have fifty bucks to just throw around.”

Stan started to say , kind of under his breath , that he could front Kevin the fifty but Kevin said he had it.  “I just want to know what we’re going to do in the future if something like this happens again.”  Len started to say something but stopped and I said, “Well, it isn’t going to happen again,” in a tone of voice that pretty much put an end to the meeting with my age advantage and all.  We left it at that.

I hate my life.  I don’t know what I am going to do about it and sometimes I feel so trapped and paralyzed by my existence I feel like I’m going to explode.  I know it can’t go on like this.  I live with a bunch of guys I know, at least — it could be worse — but it’s like I’m in college again.  I never thought thirty’d be this way.

I don”t think I ever had an image of it being any way, but I wouldn’t have ever guessed this.   I need to make a new plan but for some reason it isn’t coming together.  I always zigged and zagged before and lately it’s like I’m out of gas.  How can that be? I’m only thirty.  Shit.

—–

1988.  Autumn and I say “fuck this,” and move to China.  At least that’s how I tell it now. My three years in Asia have been reduced to a sidenote on my resume.  I mean I guess it started out as Taiwan before and became Malaysia and Thailand and India and Japan after … and now it’s “an experience which has given me a cultural appreciation for Asian cultures.”  The point is I split and so did everybody else I know.

I remember when we sat around the university local  and threw our passports on the table. Kevin was going to Paris, Ken to Guatemala City, me to Taipei and Tracy to the Peace Corps.  She hadn’t been assigned to Malawi yet.  And we laughed like fucking kids and threw our damn hands in the air and sucked down pitchers of beer and it was all good.

Now  me and Kevin are here, Tracy works in DC,  and none of us wants to talk about Ken except his mother who always wants us to “stop by any time” when we’re in Texas visiting our own families.  And it’s all bloody and sore and itches like an amputated leg’s supposed to.

Whatever.  I have to get something going for myself.  My doctor says I only have fifty more years left.  I mean if I’m lucky.

Le fin de siecle is a fucking joke.  Lenny exaggerates pitifully when he makes plans for it.  He talks about Times Square and Paris and some island in the Pacific off the date line, but it’s been four years since he’s traveled.  And that was Mexico.  I know he won’t do what he says he’s going to do anymore.

When we were kids, the year 2000 was like this crazy place where we’d all be in our early thirties and kings of the damn world.  Now it’s a fucking lie about how little time means and how much hype time-sellers have to pitch.

My mother thinks it matters still. She isn’t a part of the revolution of apathy we are and so it’s a serious pain in the ass trying to explain to her about fruitlessness on arable land.  Time passes that’s for sure.  My hair gets longer and my ass gets colder and lonelier, too.  Nobody else seems to have a problem with it.

—–

Christ on the Rue Jacob!  I feel fucking great!   Good god, I want to scream at the top of my lungs for about an hour while the world spins under my feet.  Pass me the bowl there Lenny and let’s get this show a-pumping.  The guys have no idea what I’m doing back here except that when I leave the party it’s usually to make some notes.

Fuckity fuck … life is a gas, baby.   What are you going to do about that you apathetic fuck? Huh?  What are you going to do about the fact that it is beautiful and warm and there are people and places and love is a real goddamn emotion and the drugs are relatively good and  California is all free and you aren’t starving and dying in a Zairean refugee camp or in a ditch in Bosnia.  What are you going to do about the fact that you are on fire?

—–

When my father and mother crossed the border in 1957, they were in the back of a chevy longbed and they were not illegals.  The crossing was the last leg of their journey from Africa which took them two years and lord knows how much money.   The revolution in my father’s homeland cost him everything. He was lucky to get a professorship here.  No.  As he always says you make your own luck.

“My father wanted a better life for us,” is what I always say when people ask why we moved here.  They can tell I’m unhappy.

What is there left for me to do?  I haven’t had sex in three months.  I can’t seem to get the appetite for the chase or even for the event. I mean I’ve had opportunities and lately I even reject those.  What’s the point?

—–

I could try looking at it this way:  thirty is a good year to begin …

I could fall in love.  “You make your own luck,” is what he said.  I never argued with him though I think that’s a load of shit.  You make your own rationalizations is more like it.

—–

Let’s put the puzzle pieces together: December 31st, 1988 and I’m riding a 350cc ’81 Sanyang motorcycle across an empty field in rural China.  It’s Cheng-du province and Tiananmen Square is months away and when it happens I won’t know about it anyway because I am living with the Chinese.  And I’m flying fast through the cold, cold countryside.  My bike chokes and I feel it seize so I pull over for a minute but don’t kill the engine.  It’s all screwy.  I think there’s something in the fuel line.  I don’t know if the bike will get me back to the doctor’s ranch where I am staying.  I breathe a deep sigh over the ruddling hum of the engine and see my breath cold and white in the night air.

I look at my watch.  It’s midnight. I realize that the equivalent time in New York and San Francisco and wherever else was met with balls dropping and firecrackers and wet warm drunken kisses and Auld Lang Syne and eggnog and it all hits me like a wall.  No one here even knows what that’s like or what it’s about.  It means nothing.  It’s as empty as the tube in my fuel line past the block in the joint.  I sigh and feel strangely great.  I dance a little jig.  I am thrilled at being free of all the bullshit.  It may well be my one clean moment.

—–

I picked up the new needles today.  I got home this afternoon and opened the front door and called out, “We got music again!”  But no one responded.  I walked through the entire flat but there was no one around.

It’s been a beautiful day.  It’s warm and sunny out and the skies look like October:  blue and clear and light.  I walked down to the front room and the sun was streaming in through the windows all over the futon and the floor.

I sat in the long warm patch of light and tore open the bubblewrap.  The needles are light and beautiful.  They have tiny diamonds in them I guess.  What a gorgeous little design.  I handled the needles for a minute before sliding across the rug and putting one on: locking it onto the tone arm.

I walked down to the records room.  There’s vinyl everywhere and gear for days. I was flipping through the Lee Morgan and Horace Silver and that whole era of sweet-sounding music music music when I saw that someone had misplaced one of my records.

I picked the record out of the stack and walked back to the front room.  There were birds out on the fence.  I pulled the platter and cleaned the vinyl slowly with the brown brush and fluid. It hadn’t been spun in months, hell maybe years.

It was ‘Metamorphosen‘ on one side and ‘Tod und Verklarung‘ on the other – Richard Strauss, Deutsche Gramophone.  I chose the flip side.  The needle was new so I put my finger to my lips, licked it and then gently rubbed the diamond tip.  The prick barely registered on my wrinkled fingerprint.  It felt rough, like a cat’s tongue.

I fired up the mixer, the amp, the receiver and clicked the selector over while they all warmed up.  The crossfader slid gently through and I set the needle down.

After my father died I tried to find that fucking record.  All I wanted the morning after I had him burned was to feel warm and empty like I did that day, lying, thirty, in the sunny patch on our ratty black futon with nothing but cocktails and a joint to look forward to.

Protected: Stab at a True Memoir

05 Wednesday Mar 1997

Posted by mtk in journal entries, S.F.

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Surviving the U.$.A.

20 Sunday Oct 1996

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In the US, temperance of desire is necessary more than anywhere else because here, laxity of this temperance is observed as a vulnerability and an opportunity for commercial intervention.

This subsequently leads to the inflation of false desires and the inflation of the value of insignificant temporal things.

mtk, SF, 1996

what am I doing here?

12 Saturday Oct 1996

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What on earth am I doing here?
seeking control of the wrong things.
… just seeking control

lost

in a stupid place
in a stupid, stupid place,
lost.

 

mtk, SF, 1996

the natural order

04 Saturday May 1996

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EFFECT

(cause)

 

 

mtk, SF, 1996

Protected: Birthday Wish and Letter to Dead Charles Mingus

21 Sunday Apr 1996

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Collision of Tempo

12 Tuesday Mar 1996

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collision of tempo

when this occurs, stop. look. and listen. relax.  Re-adjust.
(-ments may be necessary so stay on your toes)

a drink, a smoke, and usually a trip to this book saves the day.

The moment at least.

mtk, SF 1996

Fake I.D. (for Tiana)

06 Tuesday Feb 1996

Posted by mtk in poetry, S.F.

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I NEVER LIE
(but I can keep a secret)

 

mtk, SF 1996

a riddle

22 Wednesday Nov 1995

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A riddle: what am I type

I wrote this before you
ever got to know me. before.
before.  I am writing it now.

mtk, SF 1995

(untitled), January 1995

17 Tuesday Jan 1995

Posted by mtk in poetry, S.F.

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Tags

1995, coinage, gibberish, Karthik, mtk, poem, portmanteau, san francisco, sf, untitled

would you be the one who holds my crundle of bastioning stoppards

when I am unable to go further into the gleamingly simple predicated suffixes

and hardened arteriole cavities of me

never

umpteen aged wrestling teacherdly cunts withered armlessly in time-tentacled illusiveates

cramming into stuffard-sized cratchets of nistik, mungley bramstoked prits

my own bringle of stolping camelized simmersoups was never englingly rude enoughage

sinjo slaythed the jargon

Tuesday Nights Charlie Hunter Trio at the Elbo

18 Sunday Sep 1994

Posted by mtk in poetry, S.F.

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charlie, elbo, Francisco, hunter, jazz, poem, room, San, sf, trio

we are not afraid to die
and we have not yet decided why to live
and that is how we come here
and drink beer

and light
cigaret after cigaret
at chiaroscuro tables
watching each other
get older

These years will wash past us
and we’ll find ourselves buying cd’s of this stuff
so we can remember

our youth and firmer flesh
as we drink special shakes and cut out salts
and go for walks

of firmer flesh:
I want to lick her tummy
the waitress I mean

Delilah
with the sweet, soft curves and the flat skin

It’d be nice
to spell my name
in honey
on her tummy
with my tongue

I must remember to ask

soon
I’ll decide why to live

and with that decision
improvisation gives over to order
spontaneity to analysis
and jazz,
jazz gives over to orchestra

with only opera to keep my heart
in the action at all

opera and sex

para mi desde …

18 Wednesday May 1994

Posted by mtk in poetry, S.F.

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Tags

desde, mi, para, poem, sf

… it’s gone
but not forgotten.

there

a souvenir
issues forth

it’s gone
and before
until
just a moment
before
or until

I will stop
and ache
to drink

you’re in

sides
slowly
tongue slips
(slip o’ the tongue)
on wet teeth.

saliva
like your
sweet juices
(come calling to my tongue)
remind me
in my thirst
that it’s gone

with my slow finger
I trace
the smooth brown
slowly
in circles now
in
sis (terly)
tent circles
(encampments)
I gently raise my finger
to order another bourbon

’cause this one’s gone.

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M.T. Karthik

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This blog archives early work of M.T. Karthik, who took every photograph and shot all the video here unless otherwise credited.

Performances and installations are posted by date of execution.

Writing appears in whatever form it was originally or, as in the case of poems or journal entries, retyped faithfully from print.

all of it is © M.T. Karthik

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