TALES FROM THE CITY

I am doing the craziest job. Last week working 14-hour days. Thrown in at the deep end, there was nothing for it but to crisis-manage seven days a week. For instance, I didn’t really expect to be having to first build the venues I was supposed to be working in ……the orchestra rehearsing as I (try to quietly) move 600 chairs around them, labeling them with seat numbers…..

But there can be no better place in which to commute.
This city is beautiful. Taking the MUNI to work in the morning, a ten minute journey on the cute one-car KLM trains, I feel like a tourist in my wonder, but a local as the newspaper-stand man nods a good-morning recognition greeting to me, offering change as I stand by the ticket machines. I wear my weirdest clothes, and unlike in New York, nobody cares or stares.

Driving through Californian micro-climates for hours, to and from the concerts with the festival director, the soloist and her husband – lovely people. Several nationalities of humour going on in the car, but we nevertheless get on fabulously.

I smoke occasionally late at night on the back balcony, losing whole packets of cigarettes to the middle-class ‘Rear Window’ patios and random passageways in the perpetual SF breeze. The apartment directly behind has had the same dishes waiting to be washed in the sink for 12 days now. A photograph on the wall of the apartment across the way appears and disappears, depending on who is visiting.....
I observe these human scenes, but it is the mists which really fascinate me – forever changing over Twin Peaks in the near distance.
There is proper weather here.



I am staying in an apartment owned by singers, but clearly run by cats. Voices from behind every door - E rehearsing Mozart, the lovely S rehearsing show songs, J next door - a beautiful and powerful voice rehearsing for the Met.

Magnificat is totally in control. Pizzicato lounges around nonchalantly, venturing out of hiding only occasionally to get beaten up by her brother, and partake of some serious stroking and the ‘catnip high’ bestowed on her by passing adults. I’m very fond of Pizzi, and relate to her lifestyle utterly. If I were a cat, I would be like this cat. Aloof yet desiring of affection, but not willing to move too far in order to receive it....