Those walls I somehow assumed I would keep between my lives? No.

Late night paths-crossing with Malibu.

A picture’s worth a thousand words, no doubt. But whose words?

I really need to blog about last night for SF ethnographic prospects, but I also have a bunch of errands to do this morning (including visiting a friend who just got out of the hospital), and I have all my notes in digital audio. I’ll update this afternoon. Here’s hoping nothing happens between now and [...]

A long entry on tensions at the chess plaza, further conversations with Rudolf, and a surprise cameo by Malibu.

“My client was delighted. She would much rather work in her field of interest than work in a soup kitchen,” said Lyle Yurko, Heredia’s lawyer.

In listening to my recorded notes, I found I had done something surprising: I had lied.

‘Here, the homeless support the wealthy.’

Just finished lunch — tamales from the stand at the farmers’ market at the UN Plaza. I had hoped to play a game of chess, do a little observation, ask some questions (number one question in my mind, right now: Who owns these boards and pieces?), but when I got to the usual chess location [...]

If you’re an American, you may have learned, recently, that there’s a good chance you’re crazy. Harvard says so.