Sunday, August 1, 2010

Having been born in 1965 in San Francisco, during the hippie hay day, shaped the beginning of my life and how I tell the story of it. It was a time in my mother's life when she was poetically beautiful, in the heroin chic mode we've come to glamorize. (I must clarify that while she is openly in recovery, she was never a heroin addict herself). We lived in a small apartment at first, I think, and with a lot of other people in group situations over the first few years of my life. My mom was a single mother and I was her first and only baby at that time. She was far away from her parents, who lived in Oregon. And my dad was gone, traveling with his step father the kinetic artist, Jean Tinguely. And his parents were in Europe and never saw me, or possibly even knew of me.

Within my first year we moved to a little house on top of I think Russian Hill and lived with Barbara and Megan.




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