No damage to San Francisco’s historic Castro Theatre followed neighboring fire
10 August 2024: “We want to thank our wonderful San Francisco Fire Department for their efforts. Luckily, there was no damage to the Castro Theatre following a fire in a building next door today. We have had our restoration team do an assessment. They will do final analysis tomorrow. We ran negative air pressure for several hours to mitigate any smoke odor.” –
David Perry, spokesman Another Planet Entertainment
Statement of the Families Forum to Joint Statement by US, Qatari, and Egyptian Leaders
On behalf of the hostages’ families, we support and express our deepest gratitude to US President Joe Biden, Egyptian President Abdel Fattah el-Sisi, and Qatari Emir Sheikh Tamim bin Hamad Al Thani for their unwavering commitment to securing the release of 115 hostages.
For 308 days, these hostages – including men, women, children, and the elderly – have endured captivity hell. Every moment there endangers their lives.
This recent statement re-affirms what we’ve long known: a deal is the only path to bring all hostages home. Time is running out. The hostages have no more time to spare. A deal must be signed now!
Nuestra caminata antes del amanecer culmina sobre el pueblo, un sol de paleta sin nubes se desliza sobre las colinas del este, iluminando el pueblo como una pieza de escenario. En algún lugar, un perro solitario ladra. Sopla una brisa fresca. Una abeja se posa en mi brazo y vuela lejos, atraída por las flores silvestres que recojo para nuestros amigos en Rumores para cafés después de la caminata.
8:30am
Rumores está lleno. Tomamos los dos asientos secretos, acurrucados entre los tambores de destilación y los grifos de cerveza. Tentando nuestra vista, y lo suficientemente cerca como para tocar, el altar de jamón preside en seducción sacramental. Una anciana entra del brazo de una joven. Un anciano sorbe su sol y sombra. Rocío dice “hola” y Rosi sonríe, agregando nuestras flores al tableau y yo cambio el agua en el florero de botella de plástico que nos regalaron el lunes. Mario trae nuestro café. Detrás del bar, una ópera aromática de leche humeante, tazas chocando, vasos tintineando y pan tostado se desarrolla en un murmullo practicado, como estorninos en vuelo de precisión: increíblemente cerca pero nunca chocando. El ritmo es rápido pero no apresurado. El rugido amistoso de todas las mesas llenas se extiende como un timbal por la sala. La conductora de la cocina controla, manos sin nombre creando constantemente, más bádminton que batuta. Necesito aprender su nombre.
Son las 9:15am.
Una comunión de migas alfombra el mostrador. Un cuarteto de ciclistas encuentra una mesa. Rodrigo equilibra las tostadas y por un segundo la sinfonía de cafeína y vapor caótico cesa del acero inoxidable. La música sube mientras la mañana fluye y se retira; fluye y se retira, provocando alivio.
Son las 10am.
Se entregan dos tambores de gas y Rocío recoge nuestra cuenta de 5 euros previamente dejada. Se retiran nuestras tazas vacías. Entra un turista con gorra de béisbol: un novato. Los habituales se van saliendo. La marea poblada retrocede dejando tras de sí su detrito de platos, cucharas y costras esparcidos por la playa del desayuno. Los ciclistas, revitalizados, se reagrupan y montan de nuevo. Rodrigo toma mi propina.
“Gracias.”
“De nada.”
El concierto se apaga. El personal, orquestado, camina, no corre. Las olas de la mañana ahora lamen, no chocan. Lo que era cacofonía ahora es conversación. Jadeos, ahora respiraciones.
Son las 10:15am.
Es mañana en Grazalema. —- David Eugene Perry 8 de agosto de 2024
David está trabajando en su nueva novela inspirada en Grazalema este mes. Es la quinta visita para él y su esposo, Alfredo, al pueblo. Su galardonado thriller de misterio, “Upon This Rock”, está en desarrollo de guion y va a su segunda impresión.
Our predawn hike zeniths above town, a cloudless popsicle sun slips over eastern hills, throwing the village into a stage lit set piece. Somewhere a lone dog barks. A cool breeze blows. A bee lands on my arm and flies away, enticed by the wild flowers I gather in hand for our friends at Rumores for post caminal cafes.
8:30am
Rumores is full. We grab the two secret seats, snuggled between the distilling drums and beer spigots. Tempting our view, and close enough to touch, the altar of jamón presides in sacramental seduction. An old woman walks in on a young woman’s arm. An old man sips his sol y sombra. Rocío “holas” and Rosi smiles, adding our flowers to the tableau and I change the water in the plastic bottle vase previously gifted on Monday. Mario brings our coffee. Behind the bar, an aromatic opera of steaming milk, clanking cups, clinking glass and toasting bread unfolds in practiced murmuration, like starlings in precision flight: impossibly close but never crashing. The rhythm is rapid not rushed. The amicable roar of every-table-full washes in a timpani through the room. The kitchen conductress controls, nameless hands constantly creating, more badminton than baton. I need to learn her name.
It is 9:15am.
A communion of crumbs carpets the counter. A quartet of bikers finds a table. Rodrigo juggles toast and for a second the symphony of chaotic caffeine and steam ceases from stainless steel. The music crests as the morning ebbs and retreats; ebbs and retreats, teasing relief.
It is 10am.
Two drums of gas are delivered, and Rocío picks up our 5 Euro bill previously laid out. Our empty cups are removed. A baseball capped tourist walks in: a newbie. Regulars drift out. The populated tide recedes leaving behind its detritus of dishes, spoons and crusts scattered across the breakfasted beach. The bikers revived, regroup and remount. Rodrigo takes my tip.
“Gracias.”
“De nada.”
The concerto dims. The staff orchestrated, walks not runs. The morning’s waves now lap, not crash. What was cacophony is now conversation. Panting, now breaths.
It is 10:15am.
It’s morning in Grazalema.
—- David Eugene Perry 8 August 2024
David is working on his new novel inspired by Grazalema this month. It is the fifth visit for him and his husband, Alfredo, to the town. His award-winning mystery thriller, “Upon This Rock”, is in screenplay development and going into its second printing.
My favorite poem, and the recipe for my life. — David Perry
Ithaka: by C.V. Cafavy
As you set out for Ithaka, hope the voyage is a long one: full of adventure, full of discovery.
Laistrogonians and Cyclops, angry Poseidon, you won’t find them as long as a rare excitement stirs your spirit and your body.
Laistrogonians and Cyclops, wild Poseidon – you won’t encounter them unless you carry them along inside you; unless your soul sets them up in front of you.
Hope the voyage is a long one.
May there be many a summer morning when with what excitement, what joy, you sail into harbors seen for the first time.
May you visit Phoenician trading stations and purchase fine things: mother of pearl, ivory, ebony and sensuous perfumes — as many sensuous perfumes as you can.
And may you stop at many Egyptian cities to gather stores of knowledge from their scholars.
Keep Ithaka always in your mind. Arriving there is what you are destined for, but do not hurry the journey at all. Better that it lasts for years so that you are old by the time you reach the Island, wealthy with everything you have learned along the way, not expecting Ithaka to make you rich. She has nothing left to give you now.
And if you find her poor, Ithaka won’t have fooled you. As wise as you will have become, so full of experience, you will have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.
