I still remember him running around his grandma’s house, kicking back his Capri Sun and watching Nickelodeon for hours. I’d come home from school and there he was at the table in the middle of the afternoon, watching television and waiting for another bowl of cereal. He’d fill it to the brim with sugary clumps of goodness and pour half a carton of milk in. It would all be gone in a flash.

I’d be severely neglectful when saying San Francisco truly feels like home. There is no doubt in mind that years could accumulate in this new city. But everyone needs something to make them feel whole. For me, it’s very simple. I just need a few De La Cruz’s laughing, joking, and enjoying time together to make it all feel golden. And the latest permanent addition might have just set me up for some serious residency, something I don’t think I’ve done since my freshman year of college.

180,000 people were expected to fill Golden Gate Park in San Francisco over a three day period to watch the likes of Arcade Fire, Muse, Ana Tijoux, John Fogerty, Julieta Venegas, Little Dragon, MGMT, and others perform at the Outside Lands Festival. There was an endless streak of gloom in the city throughout the week, but the skies opened up with powering sunshine and set a joyful mood among the thousands of concertgoers and weekend revelers that arrived.

I was there for two artists: Beirut and Julieta Venegas. I’ve been missing both across the country for years (although I remember seeing Julieta at Coachella, briefly, in 2007 before I really knew who she was), so my excitement was almost painful. My priorities were simple: photograph many strangers, kick up some dust dancing, and pray Beirut would play “A Sunday Smile.” I’m spoiled because I got it all.

One of the many highlights were presented by Juxtapoz magazine. They curated a variety of paintings and murals by residents of San Francisco, but I was a bit perplexed by the lack of enthusiasm from the crowd. Apparently the Heineken tents were a bigger draw.

Then, I came across a roving band of horn-blaring revelers while on my way to see Julieta’s set. A young lady slipped a card into my hand. It said “Loyd Family Players.” If you’re reading this, you can have the pictures.

I wasn’t sure if I would even get in with my camera, so I brought a polaroid with a few packs as back up. The security guard didn’t even look at my bag, so I was clear. I tried to decide on a specific theme for the day’s shoot, but I settled on getting as close to people as possible. I asked everyone (almost) below for a portrait, and they either graciously accepted or simply ignored me without denying my request.

The entire day couldn’t have been possible without the kindness of Amanda and Josh. Amanda celebrated her 30th birthday and we all tried our best to make it memorable. With the temperature hovering at 80 degrees, clear skies, a surplus of drink, food and music, the day turned out to be the best I’ve had since moving to San Francisco. I’m looking forward to making every weekend this good.

Finally, while I was catering to the demands of an instant film loving public, my lovely wife took this portrait. As you can see, the taste of Fuji Instax Wide turns me on.

I remember summers in the San Fernando Valley would be endless days of heat, dryness, the eternal stillness of foreign palms static without a breeze, and foot blistering asphalt. A brown cloud stretched from Sylmar to Sherman Oaks and over to Chatsworth and Woodland Hills, but it was immediately dispersed once you hit the Sepulveda Pass. I had to travel 45 minutes to escape the natural saucepan. Now I face misty fog covered mornings without much chance of evaporation. But it doesn’t really matter when I’m 15 minutes away from an icon like the Golden Gate Bridge. Like my first encounters with the Brooklyn Bridge, I can’t get over this fine example of humanity’s aesthetic prowess. It’s simplistic, but a bridges functionality is so fucking moving. See where we’re standing? See that piece of land over there? See this water in the way? I bet we can do something about it.

Anna and I took an urban hike down the coast this weekend from Crissy Field to Fort Point, a place popular for Golden Gate close-ups and Alfred Hitchcock nostalgia. I was also testing out a new lens my lovely wife bought me this week. I needed fresh eyes and she supplied them.

We started out, simple enough, walking down the coast on a well-paved trail.

I quickly began growing enamored of all the houseboats, yachts, and fishing boats. I think I’d last two hours out in the sea.

We moved along briskly until we found an adult playground. Below, Daredevil Anna at her best.

This is Anna’s “I want to go back to Tulum” face.

A free visitor’s center is about a mile into the walk. The building looks weathered, but its sturdiness was apparent. The texture of the center was gorgeous, marked with cracks, chips, dents and faded paint.

Then I asked Anna to show me her shark teeth.

Anna helped the French tourists with a family photo.

And I speared toward the quinceñera with all her caballeros surrounding her. Look at that dress! Pero que chulada!

San Francisco kind of had my heart after this. (My Los Angeles friends and family will not like this sentence)

There were more tourists than I expected, but the locals were out as well. Below, a fisherman casts his line while his friend plays some tunes. To the right, a boy exits the Warming Hut, a cafe/bookstore/restaurant with some of the better souvenirs I’ve seen in the city. Listen and learn, Fisherman’s Wharf.

We didn’t want to settle for the baguette bullshit. Anna doesn’t eat red meat, but the hot dog cart, “Let’s Be Frank”, carries a turkey option called “The Bird Dog.” It was meant to be, especially since Anna said the hot dog cart’s smell reminded her of camping.

You know how we do it!

At this point, I was feeling the tingly sensation I felt when I first encountered the Brooklyn Bridge in 2007.

Mandatory Golden Gate photo-op.

Anna was excited about taking my portrait.

I don’t want to compare everything to New York City, but I feel a strong sense of deja vu here; the industrial building, fog, towering behemoth of a structure and my perspective from below. It all reminded me of DUMBO in Brooklyn.

After five miles, fog, cold, warm, breeze, wind, pavement, sand, dirt trails, and my nonstop portrait taking, Anna took a breath, soaked it all in, and relaxed. It was our most productive saturday to date.

The Paramount Theater opened its doors in 1931 as the largest multi-purpose theater in the West Coast. Its iconic facade has experienced openings, closures, renovation and revival.

I haven’t had the opportunity to enter the building, but people tell me its grand lobby is something worthy of marvel and praise. My casual afternoon walks for midday coffee take me to the Paramount on a daily basis. It’s deliberate. I could easily meander through the side streets to find a macchiato, but why would I deprive myself of a daily, lovely sight? My fascination is with that towering mosaic and the way it glistens in the showering East Bay sun.

On my way back from a caffeine run, I ran into these downtown dwellers smiling and pointing at my new best friend. Their appreciation was completely sincere, and I appreciated that. They stood their ground, gawking at the golden sparkle, studying the exteriors details. I was envious because I don’t think I’ve had time between my coffee runs to do what they were doing. Maybe I’ll stop for a few minutes tomorrow.

There is only one true way to get to know any major city in the world: You walk the streets until your ankles begin wheezing, aching, telling you with vigor and frustration that you’ve probably gone too far, too fast.

But there are few things in life, for me, that provide satisfaction like the pounding of steps on soiled and stained pavement, blissfully turning corners to see aged facades and signs, and breathing in the breath left behind by countless wanderers and dreamers on any given day.

I treat streets the same way I treat anything else: I inspect, poke, prod, intrude, scrutinize, gawk, and steal, with the flick of an index finger, the lasting memory I feel is worth keeping. The four months since I’ve moved to San Francisco have mainly consisted of train commutes to and from Oakland. My life is a box car and an office for a majority of the week. So the 70 degree weather I woke up to yesterday before my shift at the museum meant a 2.1 mile walk from Duboce to 2nd St was a calling… and manadatory.

When the sun invites you play in this city, you never say no.

Finally, the weekend office.

Anna and I have been busy enriching our knowledge of the greater Mission-Bernal-Noe Valley parts of San Francisco. But today, our friends Paloma and Manny — visiting from Los Angeles for the month — convinced us to have an early bird special, Sunday breakfast in what’s known as the Inner Sunset.

We gathered a few nuggets of information worthy of remembering for the next time we venture out: parking on Sundays is very difficult to come by; people are actually awake before 10am in this hood; and there’s a wonderful farmers market known as the Inner Sunset Farmers Market. Full of energy after bottomless cups of Park Chow’s finest brew, we walked over to what’s likely a parking lot other days, and perused the dozen or so stalls of fresh kale, chard, blueberries, granola, goat’s cheese and tamales.

It’s your typical, run of the mill stuff, but I capitalized on the crowds, fresh treats and first sun of the week as an excuse to photograph a bit of the day. Some highlights from the market: tamales, free bike tune ups (although I overheard the mechanic saying something about only every six or seven weeks) and some mighty juicy blueberries.

Josh warms up for an evening in Austin, TX.

We’re approaching an era of stability in our lives. There is one roof and only one city. We’re taking the same trips and creating memories together. I found my tripod last week in a garage housing decades-worth of belongings I’ve left behind and mostly forgotten. This was the first time I’d used it since…some time ago.

Rochelle (far right) is back home in the Bay after living in South Africa for six months, and then briefly hanging in Los Angeles. Revaz and Laura (middle) are both in the Bay on their way to Portland. Laura will then leave to Kenya for a year where she’ll be based with human rights project Enough Project. Revaz heads back to Brooklyn and he’ll start his second year at The New School. Anna and I are headed back to Los Angeles. We were granted one day together and it involved futbol in Dolores Park, burritos, happy hour, portraits, and promises to see each other soon. I’m hoping it’s sometime in February. Maybe in Mexico.

It’s hard to have NorCal love coming from SoCal living. But the city’s colorful secrets make me wonder if there’s a possibility of living here in the near future.