Mexico City Morning

We walked to the main drag of Mexico City, Paseo de la Reforma, this morning and were astonished to find that tens of thousands of bicyclists, rollerbladers and joggers had taken over the street while pedestrians walked alongside on wide sidewalks. We had stumbled onto Muévete en Bici, a car-free event on 55 kilometers of downtown Mexico City streets every Sunday from 8AM to 2PM. The separation of pedestrians (slow) and bicyclists/joggers (fast) made the whole event work in a way that San Francisco's occasional Sunday Streets do not.

Our destination was the Museo de Arte Moderno in Chapultapec Park...

...which was one of the most beautifully designed, medium-sized art museums I have ever encountered.

There was a special exhibit devoted to Remedios Varo, the Spanish surrealist who fled Nazi Europe for Mexico City where she worked until her death in 1963.

More impressive was their permanent collection of Mexican artists from the first half of the 20th century, including the great Juan O'Gorman's 1949 La Ciudad de México...

...and David Alfaro Siqueiros's 1947 El diablo en la iglesia (The devil in the church)...

...along with José Clemente Orozco's frighteningly pertinent 1947 El tirano (The tyrant).

There was even a sweet 1953 Naturaleza muerta by Frida Kahlo to complement her 1939 keystone masterpiece in the collection, Las dos Fridas.

The painting traveled to SFMOMA in 2008 (which I wrote about here), but it was in a crowded, poorly designed Kahlo retrospective. At the Museo de Arte Moderno, the painting is given its own dark room which is hidden in plain sight so it remains uncrowded. There was a comfy bench to rest on in front of the painting, and some people sitting on the floor. Everyone was quiet as if we were all communing with a holy shrine. It was one of the great art museum experiences of my life.

Across the Paseo de la Reforma was the Museo Tamayo Arte Contemporáneo devoted to contemporary Mexican art.

The wild, wonderful architecture was more interesting than most of the exhibits. However, like the Museo de Arte Moderno, admission is free all day for everyone on Sundays, yet another example of how much more progressive Mexico is feeling these days in relation to the regressive United States.

We have been staying in the touristy, upscale Zona Rosa section of town but finally found a great, autentico Mexican restaurant in the neighborhood filled with locals. What made it even better was that the majority of workers and customers were gay, but we also saw cops, friends and lovers of every persuasion eating and drinking there.

I'm not going to name the place because United States hipster expats have been invading the city for the last decade and I don't want to add to the despoliation. Let's just say it's close to the Insurgentes metro station.

Austin finished the day's adventure at CHU-CHO, a dessert parlor that has put chocolate, ice cream, and churros together. As their signage states, "Un churro cada dia le da alegria" (a churro a day brings happiness).

No Kings 3 in San Francisco

The most poignant moment I saw at the No Kings 3 march up Market Street on Saturday afternoon was a lone man holding a sign with a picture of Alex Pretti, the Minneapolis intensive care nurse murdered by federal ICE agents.

Most of the other thousands of Unpaid Protestors were either expressing rage or dark humor or both.

I ran into Jan Adams, my favorite political blogger, and after a hug we shrugged our aged shoulders together in a gesture meaning, "Well, here we are back on Market Street for the umpteenth time."

One of my favorite marchers was the gentleman above who had rigged up a portable sound system playing upbeat music ranging from Aretha Franklin's Respect to Queen and Davie Bowie singing Under Pressure.

There was lots of anger being expressed...

...at having a credibly accused pedophile rapist blowing up the world.

In a nod to conservation, Austin was recycling his homemade sign for the third straight No Kings march.

At the end of the march, many forewent the speeches in Civic Center and went to Hayes Valley for al fresco food and drink, where I spotted the signage, "IF KAMALA HAD WON WE'D BE AT BRUNCH RIGHT NOW".

San Francisco No Kings 2 March

We took the Muni underground to the Embarcadero station Saturday morning with thousands of others.

The plan was to meet up with friends at the monster naked lady statue.

The crowds were huge and from every demographic imaginable.

Earlier anti-fascist demonstrations in San Francisco have been skewing older, but this march up Market Street was filled with younger people.

Nobody seemed to be sure whether the starting time was supposed to be 1:30 or 2:00 PM. In any case, the march started late, and the crowds surging from behind made us claustrophobic enough that we took a detour through side streets to the front, passing a few bands and drum circles along the way.

The weather was warm and the community spirit was joyful.

Being part of this huge mass of humanity joining together in public rather than stewing away in horror at home was exhilarating.

There were a wide variety of inflatables marching down Market Street, and it seems only a matter of time that this mendacious administration demonizes them, just as they did with stories of furries invading children's classrooms demanding kitty litter.

The homemade signage and costumes were amazing...

...the T-shirts appropriately profane...

...and even gym queens were representing.

I have a number of friends who would not attend the march because they or their foreign-born spouses are currently dealing with visa and green card issues, and who knows if they're going to be tackled by ICE goons at immigration court?

If you have not seen the recently released Paul Thomas Anderson movie, One Battle After Another, I urge you to do so. Loosely based on a Thomas Pynchon novel about retired youthful leftist revolutionaries who are forced to jump back into the fray in middle age, it captures our current moment with bizarre prescience. The movie does so with juvenile, absurdist humor that almost matches the grotesque insanity unleashed by the lunatics currently in charge of the federal government.

Palm Springs Homecoming Parade

My current life is a geographic yo-yo between San Francisco and Palm Springs.

In contrast to the hard-edged city, Palm Springs often feels like a friendly village, where civic leaders annually shut down the main drag for the high school homecoming parade.

Hispanics are under violent attack from the federal government now, but the young parade marchers looked proud of their culture.

Palm Springs's population is currently 62% white and 25% Hispanic, but the next generation looks to change that ratio.

During the 40-minute parade, there were brightly dressed dancers making their way down Palm Canyon Drive...

...preceded by a young male contingent doing ornate step dancing.

Other local school groups...

...who had a football team...

...and a cheering organization...

...were also included.

Markus Crouse, a longtime friend, who taught high school in San Francisco, Pacifica, Hollywood, and the Palm Springs area, once mentioned that the desert kids were the sweetest group of any of them.

I can confirm that from observations on the Coachella Valley public bus system. There are as many crazy and down-and-out characters riding them as on San Francisco's Muni system, but the teenage passengers are consistently kind and helpful to everyone.

May they continue to march forward.

Labor Day Protest March

A protest organized by federal workers in front of the fed building on Golden Gate Avenue was scheduled for Labor Day morning, and about 100 people showed up, including my favorite political blogger in San Francisco, Jan Adams.

A larger protest and march was scheduled for 11AM at the corner of 16th and Mission Streets.

Exiting BART, I ran into a huge crowd of SEIU workers in purple T-shirts...

...along with contingents from just about every leftist organization in town.

A flatbed truck pulled up to the curb of the intersection and a wonderful singer serenaded the crowd with a Spanish language song.

Unfortunately, the troubadour was succeeded by one strident speaker after another who loved the sound of their own voices.

Like other old veterans of protest marches, I moved away from the speakers and into the shade.

At about a quarter to 12, the protest march got underway...

...traveling up Mission to 18th Street...

...where everyone turned right and made their way to Dolores Park.

There were many sub-categories of horrified disgust towards the current United States regime, from supporters of transsexuals...

...to veterans' groups protesting their shameful treatment.

My favorite contingent was an excellent, improvisatory drum corps that helped to lead the parade.

The Trump Administration is following the Nazi Germany playbook almost exactly, and their ongoing fascist coup only gets more outrageously surreal with each day. Find a way to resist, even if it's just explaining what is going on to non-political friends. Every bit helps.