tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-112697572024-03-05T21:27:13.664-08:00Doing San FranSan Francisco is the greatest town. It is a little zany in some ways but the wonderful thing is that in this town, you can be what you want to be. It is open, transparent in ways that I've never seen. I literally "run" all over the City and love to make observations about our town.Jerry Davis Aughtryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11394555156004020248noreply@blogger.comBlogger44125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11269757.post-58634032448160616022015-11-04T05:17:00.001-08:002015-11-04T07:04:23.655-08:00LITTLE GUY TOOK IT IN THE TESTICALSSorry about that. Big money won and as some columnist I read, said, "if you don't think money rules the day, I want to sell you a nice bridge painted golden with a nice view." Are the people stupid? And we knock out prop F on the strength of 6-8 mil poured into the campaign. We are stupid beyond words. And then we are enhancing our democracy by not voting and as my late brother, Raz, use to say, "if you don't vote, keep the f..k out of this conversation." We need some more high rises in the City, anyway. <br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJJMat675Ze5cOML-IeXYbIcony7x_pA7bliAdW1yIIipAdm5Ydjq4J6h28P9i5ptGfM8cdNqdScpvFk2YZZ5sHejT7VQYuG0FBASRJ7aiHPupaMx1KDhYyBGQHI_Gmgpg2c_k/s640/blogger-image-562120779.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJJMat675Ze5cOML-IeXYbIcony7x_pA7bliAdW1yIIipAdm5Ydjq4J6h28P9i5ptGfM8cdNqdScpvFk2YZZ5sHejT7VQYuG0FBASRJ7aiHPupaMx1KDhYyBGQHI_Gmgpg2c_k/s640/blogger-image-562120779.jpg"></a></div>Jerry Davis Aughtryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11394555156004020248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11269757.post-83629677491348376022014-09-02T07:42:00.001-07:002014-09-02T07:42:39.565-07:00THE BUICK<div>KEEPING VICTORIA’S MEMORY ALIVE. Victoria’s Buick is a gift to two young “R”ishmen. Victoria loved that car. She would sit in it for hours: she would nap, listen to the radio. When she had to give up driving, it was the beginning of the end. I would like to think she would be happy. She would because she loved you, Meg. Good move in giving it to the young troops. </div><div>The fact that she only napped in it explains why it only has 36,000 miles on it!</div><div>It is like a brand new car. Talk about the literal “little old lady.” My memory of that car was once when Victoria talked me into going to eat at the Buckeye (great restaurant in Marin County). First of all, we missed the turn to the restaurant and then drove till we “ran out of road.” Finally we get back to the restaurant. We are so late, they have quit serving. We head back to the City (San Fran) and go across the GG Bridge at 15 MPH. The trip from hell.</div><div><br></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxVLOM2Rs_GuURzrXGdVJuHxGEnMWIhMksWnLYnCNTQr1mgiudntI0s2aAQG8Z14K5vZwyXlzvLJ_puX6_VufdLZTscaDACO3HDs9p6jdopZ4HQsj8EKdszH000lF8WLw9VB1/s640/blogger-image-539724121.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxVLOM2Rs_GuURzrXGdVJuHxGEnMWIhMksWnLYnCNTQr1mgiudntI0s2aAQG8Z14K5vZwyXlzvLJ_puX6_VufdLZTscaDACO3HDs9p6jdopZ4HQsj8EKdszH000lF8WLw9VB1/s640/blogger-image-539724121.jpg"></a></div>Jerry Davis Aughtryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11394555156004020248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11269757.post-33240465424743310512013-07-13T05:18:00.001-07:002013-07-13T05:22:28.194-07:00INOBTRUSIVEWhen you are on the bus what you do is try and not be obvious in noticing people. Across are two somber girls who appear to be very unhappy or maybe tired. Both wearing shorts and connected to America's Cup. Then a couple with mostly shaved heads, dressed in black, peroxide hair. Nose rings, at least ten plus ear rings. Nobody pays them any attention. This is San Framcisco<br />
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Jerry Davis Aughtryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11394555156004020248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11269757.post-74945040017463697252013-05-22T06:06:00.001-07:002013-05-22T06:06:10.446-07:00BAY TO BREAKERSThe Bay to Breakers race, 7.2 miles (From the bay side of the City, totally across it to the ocean). It is <br />
never just a road race, it is an "experience." A rolling party--slightly more subdued this year. The Boston bombing effect. Lots of t-shirts honoring Boston. <br />
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The various teams of corporate logos and people running for causes. I ran across one guy raising awareness through his org for girl's education in Kenya. And, in the "could have done without" category, some "would be" entrepreneur had a giant prosthesis copulatory organ and was trying to charge for pictures. A few women were snapping and posing. It was funny. <br />
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Several bands along the way entertained, one was playing my favorite song by Train, "Save Me San Francisco." Beautiful sunny day and my bud from Alaska told me that they just had six inches of snow on the ground. He needs "a Save Me San Francisco." Good time. <br />
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Will have to say this. The evangelical Christians seem to always be ubiquitous at these events. They are hardcore to the max: Power in The blood, gays, bankers, heathens of all strips come in for condemnation. People run on by giving them the middle finger salute. The speaker is always articulate and could teach the politicians a thing or two on handling hostile crowds. I always smile, they are never rattled or don't seem to be. I am amazed but then in general, I'm pretty amazed with the Bay To Breakers. <br />
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<br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjixD4q4LHqPi9hsWgZWJxOjFd3N2rUR4jYQPUvNnWWeV4PQVxqn3u_apZfb2XcrHENEc0qmtP1xmeqdBVKMcf3k3DxGm8JwhiAJpTV8eXgMMTA6ZbWyStdgfPfJ-QkaCJK0O11/s640/blogger-image-1277939437.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjixD4q4LHqPi9hsWgZWJxOjFd3N2rUR4jYQPUvNnWWeV4PQVxqn3u_apZfb2XcrHENEc0qmtP1xmeqdBVKMcf3k3DxGm8JwhiAJpTV8eXgMMTA6ZbWyStdgfPfJ-QkaCJK0O11/s640/blogger-image-1277939437.jpg" /></a></div> <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAPxVk5gQfeWcTdm7TXSpyCUpIV5O3WORtNXJgFotwmU97JhfDd_oI48auiUYtqIaZHg-5UdqozJPDI47TqWmYN62hBwmCtCzc_iKm8BJgnMIAZePcv0GF9PEfK3zOn41Tuw4n/s640/blogger-image-494997474.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAPxVk5gQfeWcTdm7TXSpyCUpIV5O3WORtNXJgFotwmU97JhfDd_oI48auiUYtqIaZHg-5UdqozJPDI47TqWmYN62hBwmCtCzc_iKm8BJgnMIAZePcv0GF9PEfK3zOn41Tuw4n/s640/blogger-image-494997474.jpg" /></a></div> <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSL4Ss-iMfrXFOSklocDNtcItHkHog819Al3DSzYH6mIMcZ9zXKX6xn41Xj49C1oeT3nPEyQKIqqmc91k1zXNFDdHa-m33Jl_nZRonvIabFTE_sYti3uJzb2-Z9HWrEh6yopxW/s640/blogger-image--1857304938.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSL4Ss-iMfrXFOSklocDNtcItHkHog819Al3DSzYH6mIMcZ9zXKX6xn41Xj49C1oeT3nPEyQKIqqmc91k1zXNFDdHa-m33Jl_nZRonvIabFTE_sYti3uJzb2-Z9HWrEh6yopxW/s640/blogger-image--1857304938.jpg" /></a></div>Jerry Davis Aughtryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11394555156004020248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11269757.post-90751603354387585372013-05-16T06:22:00.001-07:002013-05-16T06:22:44.900-07:00THE KIM GIRLSWhen I was growing up, about once a month, my dad took us to Fred Barnes (not the political junkie) barber shop. It was a little shed like structure and to this day I can smell it. Fred had no concept of hygiene and the cut and discarted hair just stayed wherever it fell for days, maybe weeks. My brother, Raz, would tell stories of how Fred would simply take a bowl and put it on the person's head and cut around it. Throughout the community, there was no doubt who had been to Fred's barber shop. Could be, Fred was way ahead of his time, especially as it relates to the "bowl" cut. The Marines have adopted it whole hog. And, if you have paid any attention to the venerable leader of North Korea, he is also a Fred disciple. <br />
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My barbers of choice in San Francisco are the Kim girls. They are pretty remarkable as persons. First of all, they are incredibl2 barbers. I guess they could be called "hair stylists." I think they are good to great. Kim and Lynn have been in America more than twenty years and have embraced the culture. Charming Is not half ot it. They remember people's names, families and asked about children and always appear to be hanging on every word. Truefully, they understand about a third. The Kim girls have mastered the basics of commo. If you don't understand, pretend you do. The vast majority of customers simply fall at their feet. I love them. They were raised in peasant families. Teenagers during the war and were part of the great amada of boat people. They are part of the great migrant success story. The Vietnam are probably America's greatest successes. LOL. The Kim girls love America and that's pretty refreshing. <br />
<br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgsm4b1gkupXIDew6CfyoJ9JLlaTc-WYC4Ocz8-oVlN7VYaO_ygOnggVhUKvpZ76KoKVNad6sqmtm_N0gO0NHFi9lBT2OJKN1gfaN2VIE01K4xAGsl3qrFNloxJeIJEP1qElIi/s640/blogger-image--1487879898.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgsm4b1gkupXIDew6CfyoJ9JLlaTc-WYC4Ocz8-oVlN7VYaO_ygOnggVhUKvpZ76KoKVNad6sqmtm_N0gO0NHFi9lBT2OJKN1gfaN2VIE01K4xAGsl3qrFNloxJeIJEP1qElIi/s640/blogger-image--1487879898.jpg" /></a></div>Jerry Davis Aughtryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11394555156004020248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11269757.post-91315747799763106762012-04-12T11:55:00.001-07:002012-04-12T11:55:53.625-07:00ANGELS UNAWAREWhat you think. I wish I could have told the true story. <br /><br />Be mindful of strangers seeking help as they might be angels unaware (in disguise). Hebrews 12:2<br /><br />Yesterday in the City, a guy came up to me and said, "Sir, would you be willing to pay a dollar for some original poetry readings." I thought to myself, "I be damn if this isn't original." In San Francisco, we get use to guys and a few females hitting us up for spare change, a buck. Most have a hand made sign. Often, they are good shrinks as they try to tap into the publics greatest sense of generosity. Probably the "veteran" is the most popular. It use to be Vietnam vets as we were often considered the most crazy and consequently would be more likely to be on the streets. Now with Iraq and Afghanistan, any vet will do. Out of my own interests sometimes I quiz them,"where they served?" Most hadn't. I would ask a vet his MOS. If he gave me the blank stare, I knew he didn't have a clue. Any vet knows his MOS (military occupation specialty--his job). Sorry, I digress.<br />I gave him $5 and said, "I am in a big hurry but keep doing poetry. We need it." He said, "May you be blessed today." As I fired up my car, I did momentarily think, "may you be blessed today." Interesting. <br /><br />In fact, I was on my way to to a possible minor miracle occurred. The poetry guy I think was an angel unaware. In San Francisco, there are way too many cars for parking spaces. The uber traffic cops are ubiquitous. You have to know what hours you can park, the day of the week, how long you can be in a spot. Your blood type. Even if all of these things fall into place, the chance of you getting a parking ticket is still about minimum, 75%. The only thing about the City I don't like. They get millions from parking. And, San Fran is not even ashamed of how they disdain drivers/cars. My view. So, I'm dreading this meeting. The parking, the hassle. What are my contingencies? Garage , several blocks away if that helps, the frustration, the under the breathe cursing. I see the meeting place. In front of the place is an empty space. Can't be: where is the parking meter, loading zone? What? Can't be. An empty space in front of my destination. No ominous sign, nothing. Impossible! A mirage. A miracle. Maybe!!!Jerry Davis Aughtryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11394555156004020248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11269757.post-1061812498212009722011-10-14T22:24:00.000-07:002011-10-14T22:25:14.517-07:00Only In San FranciscoIn San Fran, we have a saying or maybe it's world wide, "only in San Francisco." And, this is true. It is like a habitat of standup comedy. This morning alone, I've seen a man with a beard down to his "arsh." Another one nude and a very attractive woman jogging in her bra and panties--caused not cause a ripple. But these are merely sights. Here's another type. Jeb Bush has some sort of Ed Foundation. He comes to San Fran to have a conference and who does he get as his speaker? Rupert Murdolph. What the f..k. Talk about standup comedy, you've got to laugh. Rupert Murdolph of Fox News, of the English hacking scandal fame. A man with no shame--his newspapers hacking emails and phone messages of bereaved parents and dead soldiers. The keynote speaker! I am laughing and on second thought, I think they've come to the right place.Jerry Davis Aughtryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11394555156004020248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11269757.post-37613448410942183792011-07-19T07:50:00.000-07:002011-07-19T07:51:27.084-07:00EVERYBODY DESERVES A NAMEErica and Troy are the names of two abandoned babies. They were given those names by an organization called, Garden of Innocence. Unidentified babies are the ones found in trash cans, sewers, in the woods and tossed in the ocean. Abandoned babies died in the hospital. The parents just walked out the door and never came back. <br /><br />Website for "Garden of Innocence." Touching. The non profit claims and buries abandoned and unidentified babies and gives them a name.Jerry Davis Aughtryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11394555156004020248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11269757.post-47780091700926049392011-07-10T07:08:00.000-07:002011-07-10T07:10:54.588-07:00Tongue in cheek: Effects of PotNow, if someone would just legalize marijuana, the list of side effects would be ... "Feelings of overwhelming happiness, long hours without stress, increased desires for junk food, and an overall sensation of goodwill ... "Imagine you with less pain ... Marijuana!"Jerry Davis Aughtryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11394555156004020248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11269757.post-1527421302089491372011-06-16T09:11:00.000-07:002011-06-16T09:14:10.357-07:00BANNING CIRCUMCISMHow will you vote on this. Isn’t it a little funny that a city that espouses a liberal lifestyle would consider passing a law like this. Wouldn’t it infringe on religious freedom for certain groups?<br /><br /><br /><br /> Some nut gathered signatures to put it on the ballot. As we know which is true, most every nut in the world has showed up out here at one time or another. Some of them even get to running the City. But, the people will vote the circumcism down. As an uncircumcised type, it makes me cringe to think of it. Oh well. In an election or two back, there was a motion to name a sewage disposal plant after George W. San Fran voted it down. Most of the citizens are pretty reasonable and they love "Nancy."Jerry Davis Aughtryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11394555156004020248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11269757.post-28587922535789394922011-04-05T11:08:00.000-07:002011-04-05T11:24:49.943-07:00CHATTY KATHY AND THE TOURISTRiding the bus is always fodder for a good conversation or for the blog. I have never been on it that I didn't come away shaking my head and mostly something new. And, I was not disappointed the other day and it was something I'd never heard before. The bus was fairly crowded with mostly Asians heading to China Town. They get off in two or three stops and the bus then has seats. I sat in one of the "old men" seats although I always feel a little guilty. Then as it emptied, I jumped across the aisle to another one. Across from me was a lady who was a "chatting Kathy" to most anybody. It was general sort of stuff and then I determined that it was all fairly harmless. Two seats besides me empty. A man and his wife, maybe tourists get on and the man sits in one, while reserving the other for his wife who is just behind him. Suddenly, "Chatty Kathy" stands and says to the lady, "I've had my eye on that seat for sometime and so I would like to have it. For a moment, the tourist and wife kind of stare at her. I am a little disbelieving myself. My goal is always to treat tourists kindly, after all, it is what San Francisco is about. I don't see any way for me to intervene. The tourist wife gets up and gives Chatty Kathy her seat. All is resolved, I think. Chatty Kathy says something to the man, he appears to be very kind, words that smack of sweetness, not exactly appropriate for the occasion, i. e., you are a "sweetheart." I'm thinking this guy is one cool customer. Chatty Kathy starts talking again, and it appears that she is talking to the tourist. He doesn't respond but Chatty Kathy is unmoved and keeps talking as though he is paying rapped attention. He turns to her at some point and says, "Are you talking to me." She says, "yes." He says to her. "Then, if you are talking to me, I am not listening and would prefer if you keep quiet." He said it without anger and just then the bus stopped and the tourist and his wife exited. You guessed it, Chatty Kathy started right back to talking.Jerry Davis Aughtryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11394555156004020248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11269757.post-12989332204434885402011-02-26T10:55:00.000-08:002011-02-26T11:09:30.445-08:00LOST A SAN FRAN TREASURESadly, I heard the news of my old friend, Darwin Coon, "hitting the road." He really wasn't so much a friend as an acquaintance but he was quite the acquaintance. Darwin Coon, whose resume reads like a surreal portrait of a character who may end up starring in Criminal Minds on TV. He served time in lots of places but ended up here at Alcatraz and made a career out of it--more power to him. He was a prisoner in Alcatraz for four years. He wrote a book about his experience. I became one of his biggest fans. He would station himself down by the ferry to Alcatraz and sell his book. I bought one, then about a half dozen and did it almost weekly for awhile. I would give them away or send to friends. In fact, once he claimed that he had to reprint just because of me. I met him at <em>The Red Jack Saloon</em>. And, really that is the name, <em>Red Jack Saloon</em>. I only went there a time or two. I met Darwin there first and then followed him over to his station outside the ferry. I hadn't seen him for a few months but did asked someone and they said he died. Later on, I went into the Red Jack and Betty said, not true. Now, he has "hit the road" and Darwin, <em>God bless you on your journey </em>. I"m putting you right up there with Emperor Norton and several other characters. The Red Jack had a Memorial.Jerry Davis Aughtryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11394555156004020248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11269757.post-26121634812778636152011-02-16T07:56:00.000-08:002011-02-16T08:21:40.999-08:00HANGING OUT IN SAN FRAN WITH GRANDAUGHTERSan Francisco is, without a doubt, the best hangout town I've ever known. When buds, especially back home in NC, asked me why I love San Fran. One of my quick answers is that it is the best, "hang out" place I've ever known. Last night was a typical example. Funny, fits in one of those categories that simply makes me smile. Lupe (Grand daughter and I had so many laughs. She said, "OPA, this has got to be a great place since it is dark and you're going to it." (Usually don't go out after dark, always say, "I'm scared of the dark)." I am. I blame it on Vietnam: in Nam, everything happened at night. The daytime was always calm, slept, laid around but at night, it was mortars, firefights. The day became a time when you anticipated the night, "what is going to happen?" It gets in your psyche. <br /><br />Anyway, I picked her up at school. We rushed to her guitar lessons way down on Third St in Bayview/Hunters Point (not a good hang-out spot--don't really know it but lots of crime and drug dealing I hear. In fact, Danny Glover of Lonesome Dove fame, recently announced that he is going to spear head a drive for a Boy's Club there. Treat. So, that aside, we head for Lupe's guitar lessons, teacher didn't show up. Her Mother is ready to fire her. "Noway, she is one of those rare creatures that cross your path and you just go with it. She has a band, is a fabulous guitarist and great teacher. We can go with the flaky, she's and artist." Anyway, a doc friend who is this amazing "foodie," tells us that her MoSpice Kit (recommended restaurant) followed this. All of that being said, had great night with Lupe, not bad when you're hanging out with a 15 year old. When we got to my daughter's, I said , "Lupe, what has the night taught us?" <br /><br />"OPA," she just smiled, "to go with the flow" --worth it all. I'm going out for Korean. {{{{{{{{Jerry}}}}}}}Jerry Davis Aughtryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11394555156004020248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11269757.post-77199319078183500992011-01-13T09:08:00.000-08:002011-01-13T09:09:59.012-08:00My BraceletI was running literally the streets of San Francisco, all in tact, to include my sweater. You learn quickly that if you live in San Fran, you never go anywhere without a sweater. Mark Twain aside ad he is reported to have said, "The coldest winter I ever had was the summer I spent in San Francisco." Every season is the same. A sweater, absolutely essential. That fog rolls in. I love it. One of those days I'm out running. Up the San Fran hills, my specialty. I take off my sweater. A couple of blocks and I realize my bracelet is gone. What! My bracelet: a silver Montanyard chieftain bracelet from the Nam. I rush back to where I pulled off my sweater. It had to be there. I am never without it. Dang. I look, nothing, there's a drainage. I look everywhere. It can't be. I walk around in a circle. I am beside myself. How could this happen. Nobody understands. For weeks, I still am in a daze, at least for me.Jerry Davis Aughtryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11394555156004020248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11269757.post-55341086683185904652010-12-02T07:33:00.000-08:002010-12-02T07:35:10.646-08:00LICKThis had been quite the day for experiences. Went to Lupe, age14, granddaughter's school for what they call, "Generation Day." Lick (name of founder or benefactor, another name too but can't remember. It is a private school. Cost more to go than to many colleges. However, it bills itself as a "private school with a public school persona," whatever that means. What I think it means is that based on its endowment, they can afford to scholarship lots of kids who otherwise wouldn't get to go to a private school. We went to Lupe's biology class. Sitting in the classroom of say 20, it was like being at the United Nations, about 7 white kids, the rest Asian, Filipinos, AA, Etc. In fact, when we checked in, I met Bernie, another grandparent. A lawyer I think. He loved to talk and so I listened. He told me that it is estimated that there are a hundred languages spoken in the SF United School District. Wow. Another couple of interesting facts. In North Beach, the Italians always rented the property. Now, the Chinese have come in and bought all the buildings. Bernie's wife is writing a book about San Fran neighborhoods. There are 130 at least. Wow.Jerry Davis Aughtryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11394555156004020248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11269757.post-62937581162847627762010-12-02T07:30:00.000-08:002010-12-02T07:31:22.298-08:00Xmas in San FranThe other night Jackie and I went to the Hyatt Regency for the lighting of the Christmas tree and a night of entertainment. A good night although Jackie is still talking about a hamburger and a bowl of soup costing $80. Interesting crowd. Diversity of course but lots of families with little children. While we were eating, a couple sat close by with three small kids; the woman left and never came back and the guy wrestled with the kids all night. Kind of funny but would love to know the story. <br /><br />Only saw one crazy. Well, it was raining. This guy was about 6 ten, 400 pounds in boxer shorts. Friendly as all get out, couldn't figure out if he was crazy or just super eccentric, may have owned the Hyatt. People didn't seem to be frightened of him and it appeared that he was known by many. Now that I'm thinking of it, potential Mayor, maybe.Jerry Davis Aughtryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11394555156004020248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11269757.post-34059517678383409632010-11-25T14:46:00.000-08:002010-11-25T14:52:42.646-08:00HEAT AND BARE MEN'S POSTERIORSAfter a day or two of unusual heat, San Franciscans were griping about it. Kind of humorous to me. Here's what I emailed to a friend who had spent some time in my native state. I bet you thought you were back in NC the last couple of days. But, it ain't the same. In NC, the sweat would be rolling off us by the bucket fulls. We are so lucky to live in such a great place. Last night, however, I did hear the sea lions barking big time: has to be the heat, first time ever. <br /><br />I went to the Folsom St faire and the Polk St Blues Festival Sunday. Fun, fun, interesting, interesting! I had to smile when the <em>Chronicle</em> in reviewing the Folsom St faire said "bare men's posteriors and sexual aggression" was the order of the day. I'll say: a few whips and chains. Only in San Fran.Jerry Davis Aughtryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11394555156004020248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11269757.post-89849300500025218762010-11-25T13:30:00.000-08:002010-11-25T13:44:59.989-08:00BUT I DIDN'T INHALEThe "pot" initiative failed in California. I was surprised although I voted against it. Why? Well, to be honest, in counseling lots over the years whose lives were pretty wasted to drugs, all started with cannabis/pot/marijuana. And, to be honest, I don't have any strong feelings one way or another. And, to be honest, I doubt that it will make lots of difference in California. Medical marijuana outlets are everywhere and jokingly, everybody on any street corner in San Fran can get a prescription. I had a little dialogue with my buddy, an attorney who now lives in England. Interesting. <br /><br />Listening to a news spot on TV concerning the mental health of our soldiers and especially the idea that a soldier could have two positive drug tests and still stay in the military, reminded me when I was a soldier in Germany during the early seventies. Soldiers were smoking hashish (stronger and purer pot) with great regularity and I didn't even know it. A couple of them recently told me and we had a laugh, especially how they would come to see me, go to church-feeling good. Then, we turned serious since both are outstanding citizens, (one, retired cop, now a PI; the other, an economics prof at Ohio State) The question I had for them: do all drug users start with marijuana. Answer from them, They think: YES!!!! <br /><br /><br />As Californians will soon vote whether to legalize or not is a big issue. To be honest, I haven't had much personal experience with pot. I tried a little in Vietnam but nothing. For one thing, I've never smoked and think you have to have been a smoker to be good at it. I was "Bill" as in Clinton, didn't inhale. Then a couple of dozen years ago, I ran into an old high school buddy and he was into it. I tried a puff. Nothing. <br /><br />So after a healthy discussion with some of my buds, one was convinced that a "brownie" was the answer. Since my buddy was pro legalizing, his thinking, "if you just try it, realize it merely relaxes, you'll see the benefits." So, what the hell! So, here I am with this brownie. Let's just relax, take a little bite, it's not going to kill you. So, a little chunk. An hour or so, nothing. OK, here's another chunk, bigger one this time. I'm sitting on the couch, suddenly, my head begins to hurt, my ears are burning. I stumble to the bathroom. My ears are blood red. I make it back to the couch and pretend to watch TV. The TV looks a little blurry, maybe I just think it is. I seem a little nauseous, where is the relaxing. Maybe the brownie was tainted or bad or something. No, it came from a marijuana dispensary. This is weird. I'm really feeling weird. Maybe I should call 911. What am I going to tell them, "I had a brownie." Dang! The feelings finally passed. I never relaxed. I flushed the rest of it down the toilet. Well, I can tell you this: I KNOW HOW I'M GOING TO VOTE ON THE POT ISSUE. <br /><br />FROM MY BUD: <em>Was that really your experience of something you forwarded?<br />It reminded me exactly of my own experience. But mine was worse. You know I'm totally socially liberal and would let anyone do anything so long as it does not harm other people. But in the case of legalizing pot I would vote NO, for two reasons.<br /><br />Reason 1 - A couple of years ago when I lived on Funston ave, I went to a party that some of my gay friends were having. They are all very decent normal guys, people I know and like and respect. One of them had made pot brownies. Now, I am not into pot or any other drugs (unless you count beer and wine, which perhaps I should). I had tried all sorts of drugs when I was in high school, just to try. They seemed like a complete waste of time and money and none made me feel particularly happy or interested or excited (except LSD - and I stopped that immediately because I actually liked it and I could tell it was pretty wacky stuff). I was offered a pot brownie at this party. My reasoning was this.... I am an intelligent adult person with good self control. I am with people I trust. Now what is this thing?... It is pot and a brownie. The brownie part is fairly innocuous. OK. And as for the pot, well, it seems like every high school student in the US seems to be smoking the stuff all the time, so how bad can it be? I had a nibble. Nothing. I had some more. Nothing. It tasted good though. I just thought I was immune. So I finished the thing. About 30 minutes passed. Suddenly I felt dizzy and my eyesight and hearing were wobbly. Then I started to feel anxious. I was taken home by Stacy (who was living with me at the time). I drank some water and sat on the bed and then I knew I was feeling very anxious. Then scared. Then very scared. My heart was beating wildly. I was doing everything I could to be quiet and look normal. I tried to tell Stacy what was going on. I tried to tell her I was scared. I could either not talk or only a whisper came out. Apparently I looked very funny because I was sitting bolt upright in bed with my eyes wide open clearly trying to smile but just looking very worried. I new what I wanted to say but I could not make my mouth say the words. It was just like being in a nightmare where you need to move but you are paralyzed. I believed at the time that I had permanently damaged my brain, that I would be able to think like a normal person but that I was forever trapped in this body not being able to talk or communicate. It was absolutely TERRIFYING. I eventually was sick and projectile vomited all over the bathroom. I swear the next day there were green chunks of marijuana vomit all over the bathroom, on the walls and the ceiling. And it absolutely reeked of pot. The next day I was fine again. Just weak and shattered. It was a very frightening experience. Now, when your brain is swamped with unusual foreign chemicals that alter the way you perceive reality, subvert your ability to talk and even to reason, that's a pretty serious physiological event. It's not something that I feel I would ever want to experiment with again. The brain is a pretty tough piece of hardware, but it is not indestructible, and if you damage it enough it will not recover. The lethargy, paranoia, and inability to focus, concentrate, or truly be engaged in life that I see in habitual marijuana users is a powerful deterrent to me. And the experience I had makes me think that any brain, including mine, could be vulnerable. <br /><br />Reason 2 - I used to live on Funston and Geary, just around the corner from a marijuana dispensary, next to the electronic music shop. I got to see the people who used marijuana. They were not old people with glaucoma or people going through chemo. They were almost 80% young punks in souped-up BMWs and kids in Escalades. None older than about 25 and all clearly disaffected, aggressive and insecure looking - clearly not nice people. About 20% were just stoners, between 25 and 40. Just long term drug users. Hopeless flotsam and jetsam of society. I would see some of them sleeping in the bushes along Park Presidio. This is not the sort of character development we want to encourage.<br /><br />I think this stuff should be illegal. It's bad for the people who use it. It's bad for society that has to deal with these people, and it enriches people who are parasites.<br /></em>Jerry Davis Aughtryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11394555156004020248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11269757.post-25169991882631543622010-10-21T12:24:00.000-07:002010-10-21T12:35:29.695-07:00Only in San FranciscoI bet you thought you were back in NC the last couple of days. But, it ain't the same. In NC, the sweat would be rolling off us by the bucket fulls. We are so lucky to live in such a great place. Last night, however, I did hear the sea lions barking big time: has to be the heat, first time ever. I went to the Folsom St faire and the Polk St Blues festival Sunday. Fun, fun, interesting, interesting! I had to smile when the Chronicle in reviewing the Folsom St faire said "bare men's posteriors and sexual aggression" was the order of the day. I'll say: a few whips and chains. Only in San Fran.Jerry Davis Aughtryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11394555156004020248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11269757.post-34146656908873028272010-04-22T08:29:00.000-07:002010-04-22T08:53:50.175-07:00LOVIN' THE CITY<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqx6NZUZR4sNzoBl1y_ChmWfnspLAGsGleMG8NDEGSw21EiUu7fqrbbs9Ncgjf9UhNydSLGRIPopJ_cD-zbfvg9v7H9dRIgUed5siZt5ZqHeQ2hz8wUgJKyOw2b-NBw-bn8bLR/s1600/BAngelsGG.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqx6NZUZR4sNzoBl1y_ChmWfnspLAGsGleMG8NDEGSw21EiUu7fqrbbs9Ncgjf9UhNydSLGRIPopJ_cD-zbfvg9v7H9dRIgUed5siZt5ZqHeQ2hz8wUgJKyOw2b-NBw-bn8bLR/s400/BAngelsGG.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462990542246641090" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />Subject: Too good not to share<br /><br />We all know that at one time or another, every weirdo in the world has <br />shown up in San Fran. I saw two this morning: a guy literally crawed <br />across the street at Market and Van Ness. Horns were honking and he <br />was giving them the finger. I was amazed that somebody didn't rum over <br />him. When we got to the other side, he started mooning people. Most <br />were like me, smiling and laughing. This is San Fran. And the other <br />guy has on about ten shirts, this is indescribable and he is wearing <br />this beatiful fluffly skirt and hi-heels. This was in North Beach.<br /><br />But, this is one for the books. I'm running up these three gigantic <br />hills, Stockton at Bay all the way into North Beach which is at <br />Columbus and Green. Anyway, I'm trudging along and meet this young guy <br />who whips a snappy salute on me, runs over in front of me, drops on <br />one knee and kisses my hand. I felt like the Pope. What could I do. I <br />ran on. Now, I'm thinking a couple of things: this was God or Jesus <br />and there's a hidden message here. Or, the guy was acknowleging an old <br />guy running up these gigantic hills. What think? Welcome back Sam. I <br />missed you but don't think anybody else did. Just kidding. Power in <br />the blood.<br /><br />Col,<br /> As a longtime medical provider to the citizenry of this fair City, I wish to remind you that this behavior is not extraordinary here. The captivating beauty of the surroundings often throws some individuals off their game. They become entranced, hypnotized, confused, and often completely disorganized. They exhibit, on occasion, behavior the average 70 yr. old finds startling, or amusing, or repulsive(to a point)! I have found the best remedy for such encounters is the simplest: some light conversation, never threaten or use the parental tone, smile a lot, and think happy thoughts.<br /> I've made a number of friends with these street folks and we have breakfast Mondays and Fridays. Join us for a group hug.Jerry Davis Aughtryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11394555156004020248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11269757.post-18387812469654223902010-03-25T14:00:00.000-07:002010-03-25T14:12:01.417-07:00FERRY BUILDINGI am ashamed that it has been this long in publishing. San Fran is such a great town with something going on all the time. I could write a dozen blogs about happenings. You can on a street corner and hear four different languages. If you don't like diversity, this is not the place to be. I am often amazed at all these differences, neighborhoods, etc. And, equally as amazed at how well all get along. <br /><br />Here's a great story: some friends were visiting and we were talking about various things and I had planned to meet them and she said, <em>where</em>? "Why don't you meet me at the Ferry Building?" <em>A long pause</em> and she said, "You mean they have a whole building named for them?" I died laughing. Guess you had to be there: no offense now.Check out this link, old San Fran.<br /><br />http://www.youtube.com/watch_popup?v=NINOxRxze9kJerry Davis Aughtryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11394555156004020248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11269757.post-80662133692745547652009-05-16T08:26:00.000-07:002009-05-16T08:32:59.740-07:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSXU1lNcpCnESYJCVK2Y6NpDGnQtpw1IfGasLcJOyZXYoAuwkwxqqAQU5ABm-6ixMfgHigv2mIAe-qYd_pCt2OknP80e1s7dsenRf9WkTGhpB9ENbePbgtFPCW96vD64f0AplE/s1600-h/BAngelsGG.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSXU1lNcpCnESYJCVK2Y6NpDGnQtpw1IfGasLcJOyZXYoAuwkwxqqAQU5ABm-6ixMfgHigv2mIAe-qYd_pCt2OknP80e1s7dsenRf9WkTGhpB9ENbePbgtFPCW96vD64f0AplE/s320/BAngelsGG.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336445195438372962" /></a><br />Recently, I went to the ballgame. Baseball, unless you are a great fan, is a little like watching paint dry. What made it somewhat interesting was these guys behind us, old timers, in their eighties but really knew baseball. Both were retired <br />school teachers and lived somewhere in the Valley, wherever that is. I <br />think it is like half way between San Francisco and LA. Anyway, these <br />guys would analyse every aspect of the game. It was like having your <br />own personal sports commentator. They knew names of players, blood <br />types everything. <br /><br />And, there were 4 guys, in early twenties, in their jockey shorts, all painted up and yelling constantly. From time to time, various people would join them. Girls came by to get their pictures taken with them. What was amazing is that they weren't obnoxious and they never ran down. I was amazed. <br /><br />They constantly hassled this one player, the center fielder. I came home and googled him. Well, the guy has fathered five children by four different women. And, his team has hired a former cop to keep him out of trouble. Amazing since this is San Francisco that these guys would zero in on this perceived miscreant. Funny, guess you kind of had to be there.Jerry Davis Aughtryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11394555156004020248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11269757.post-1592555668496809112009-05-09T16:04:00.000-07:002009-05-09T16:32:34.438-07:00HAPPY HENRY<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1vp2_5LtAONtpvbIioR-izgnWHWZ1NtLZSFlLx0rXryvujzVkY424APZZY_29L6-cHOsXewz0Xnp2viZin_r4exg3qxXByaUVsr594S8V7feSQ-l-ylIlbiBK3_fJbtk_8ITy/s1600-h/Happy+Henry.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1vp2_5LtAONtpvbIioR-izgnWHWZ1NtLZSFlLx0rXryvujzVkY424APZZY_29L6-cHOsXewz0Xnp2viZin_r4exg3qxXByaUVsr594S8V7feSQ-l-ylIlbiBK3_fJbtk_8ITy/s320/Happy+Henry.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333968852129821682" /></a><br />All of us know about the "dog eating the homework" but what about the dog "eating my teeth." This is Henry talking. He's a "homeless" guy that has staked out his territory at Fisherman's Wharf. I've talked to him lots. His sign says he's a vet and I love this, "I don't drink and l don't do drugs and I don't cuss." There you have it. He tells me he's been married a couple of times and he's lived with a few others but finds that he's better off by himself. He doesn't like living in a resident hotel but prefers the streets. And, the biggest mistake of his life is getting out of the "<em>Service</em>." He would have been at least a sergeant by now he says. I say, "Probably at least a sergeant major." He smiles and I can see he has no teeth. I say something like, "Why don't you get the VA to get you some teeth." He smiles again and says, "they already did once." Well, where are they, " I'm thinking. He's reading my mind and kind of sheepishly says, "my dog ate them." I decided not to ask how all this came about.<br /><br />In some ways this could be one of "those only in San Francisco stories." However, homelessness is a global and for us a national problem which is not going to be solved. Here in San Francisco, having had some experience in working with the so"so called" homeless, the term means many things. There's a group who loves living on the streets. They are doing dope. It is a lifestyle. Then there's another group who should be institutionalized. Well, many of them. Crazy as bats and a few dangerously so. Finally, there's a small group that we could actually help. They often have children. And, they are the ones on which we should concentrate. The others are beyond us. Homelessness is a little like immigration policy. If we are honest, in our culture, it can't be fixed. We're doing about the best we can. <br /><br />The dog ate Henry's teeth and getting him another set is not going to solve his problem because Henry doesn't think he's got a problem or want it solved. <strong><em>God bless Happy Henry. </em></strong>Jerry Davis Aughtryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11394555156004020248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11269757.post-61844571972630355992009-02-16T07:29:00.000-08:002009-02-16T12:05:29.201-08:00Grandparents Day, Burke, 2009<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyVKcSJmGcbfiGzXeuzY8cgEksc3pCnP1hnjqLwUQq6LU5pmS3nBulC1Y2FJ0cBIXEaeRa63SMpDXF1m3H1XsYizYx7a_RfcksqH5Mmyvo9Tkvko21nC2t1UaYcQvzl6qvs2KQ/s1600-h/orion_thumb.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 135px; height: 72px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyVKcSJmGcbfiGzXeuzY8cgEksc3pCnP1hnjqLwUQq6LU5pmS3nBulC1Y2FJ0cBIXEaeRa63SMpDXF1m3H1XsYizYx7a_RfcksqH5Mmyvo9Tkvko21nC2t1UaYcQvzl6qvs2KQ/s200/orion_thumb.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303488781920474706" /></a><br /><br />I left my heart at Lake Shasta<br />Amidst the sun and waters warm,<br />Safe from all the winter's harm<br />With boats and tubes and water skis,<br />To splash and swim and be so free<br />With friends and food and laughs all day,<br />I never want to be away.<br />I come home with a suntanned cheer<br />Happily waiting for next year.</span><br /> <br /> By <span style="font-weight:bold;">Frances Jacobson</span>Jerry Davis Aughtryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11394555156004020248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11269757.post-77296093035631226762009-01-18T08:31:00.000-08:002009-01-18T08:32:26.961-08:00HOMELESSNESS or a BUM<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times; "><div style="border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 3px; padding-right: 3px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 3px; width: auto; font: normal normal normal 100%/normal Georgia, serif; text-align: left; ">Recently, I was entertaining my son-in-law's Mother. Mary is a wonderfully sensitive and gentle mid seventies widow. We're heading to the movie on the bus. This guy gets on and sits right next to her and proceeds to take off his shirt. He's overweight, riddled with tattoos and a bath has not been part of his agenda for sometime. <br /><br />I was keeping my eye on him just in case. You almost had to be there but Mary did not look at him. However, the guy next to him goes berserk; hollowing and screaming at him. In the course of the conversation, the shirtless man who is now putting on a shirt he has retrieved from his backpack, says something like, "You people are always picking on the homeless." <br /><br />This set the guy off with something like, "You are not homeless but a sorry bum who doesn't care for anybody but himself." And, he throws in a few expletives. At this point, I am convinced that they are going to fist city. They start back and forth, without letting up. <br /><br />I'm trying to figure out what to do when mercifully our bus gets to our stop. A funny aspect of this episode is that the guy who was yelling at the initial naked guy was covered in Tattoos, shorts, and a long pony tail which looked a little like Ozzie Osborne at his worst. <br /><br />It did get me to thinking, however. Was he right? The guy homeless or bum? I enjoyed columnist Nevius series on the homeless. I would pose a different view, however, homelessness is an intractable dilemma. Mainly, there really are three groups of those on the streets: (1) those who have an entire lifestyle and love living on the streets, (2) those who are mentally ill, and then (3) that very small group that actually could be categorized as homeless with some possibility for help. Overall, it is a problem that cannot be solved, much like immigration, racism, drugs, any of the social ills of today. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; ">All we can do is the best we can with it</span></span>.</div></span>Jerry Davis Aughtryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11394555156004020248noreply@blogger.com0