The Space Between & Other Things

i left the apartment to get out of the apartment. there is nothing profound about that statement-- but it's important to know i didn't leave with plans beyond getting out of the damn place.

and, as it would happen, my upstairs neighbor was doing something of the same.

he and i decided to wander out toward a delectable secret i'd stumbled across during a delivery a few weeks back.

just at the end of montgomery street, where the financial district pukes up the start to north beach and no ones knows if they should be drinking or filing, there is the space between: an overlooked flat-iron directly across from the scientology headquarters.

their boarded windows are mostly decorated with graffiti that screams the same magical and lovely messages as refrigerator art-- flowers and robots and birds and things, done by shaky but passionate hands. victims of the future, says one red monster on a lime-green board. the main doors have been replaced by plywood playing cards: the six of hearts, diamonds, and spades. and their own website refers to their happening as "unreliably staffed and unpredictably open."


their wall-art is self-described as "A spanking new Spray Paint, House Paint, Kid Paint, Found Paint Mural featuring urban florabunda mingling happily with rainstorm decay and autumnal rebirth." and i am not even going to try and eclipse that delicious concoction of words with my own. i am just going to nod my head and agree.

we nosed around the edges, while snapping photos and occasionally being pestered by a trenchcoated scientologist who'd jaywalked over to preach. but the gallery was closed. in some ways it was open-- if you agree the entire building is an art piece-- but the doors were closed and we couldn't enjoy the guts within.

"helloooooo?" the phone asked joyously.

"helloooooo!" i said back, "i'm outside of the space between and was wondering when you guys would be around and open."

"oh you're out there right now?"

"yeah, i read that you're not always open. but i had to check it out-- i'd passed by earlier in the week and was solidly intrigued."

"oh no way!" the phone said, "i'm usually there on weekdays, but you know what? come by on the 10th-- we're having a party. i'll be there: i've got a big huge beard and i wear a hat. say hi to me."

"totally!" i agreed, "the place looks awesome. i'll definitely be there."

"it's going to be great," he continued, "we'll have a jazz band and my friend is going to read some of his writings. but hey, sorry to leave you hanging out there!"

"oh, no, it's more adventurous this way. peace out man!"

i told my neighbor and scribbled it all down in my planner. i think we both agreed that arriving to find the gallery closed didn't sound so awful after being alerted of the gallery party coming.


we'll be back.

from there we climbed our way to the 48th floor of the nearby mandarin oriental-- the very top of the third tallest building in the city-- took some pictures and tried to charm the concierge.


apparently there is a balcony on the 40th floor that holds THE REAL DEAL. but no matter how many push-ups i offered to do, what forms of identification cards we left, and which names i dropped, the concierge refused to let us to that floor.

another time. another time.

so we swung by pearl's deluxe burgers to eat some good meat and call it a day.

i have to say i'm glad my apartment was feeling rather unaccommodating that morning. i was only headed to have a smoke, and maybe a coffee. but i'm happy i ran into my neighbor and we got to do a little bit of casual exploring. we got a lot in all before 6pm.

i dare say, if you put me at the top of a fancy skyscraper, stuff a great burger down my throat, and invite me to an art gallery party, you will see one happy me who really needs a cigarette and a trip to the restroom.

the end.

p.s. check out the space between's flickr. and perhaps if you stop by their gallery party on april 10th, you'll see me there and we can high-five. eh? eh? kbye.