HOMELESSNESS or a BUM

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. 

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." 

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. 

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. 

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. All we can do is the best we can with it.

HOW WE VIEW THE CITY

This was a note sent by a young friend recently about her neighborhood.


So, funny story having to do with where I live. I have told some of you about the "marina girl" reputation. (The Marina is the district of San Fran that I live in). My friends and I were out on Tuesday night in North Beach (only about a mile away from the Marina) for the North Beach Jazz Festival. We went to this bar called Mojito's (like the drink), kind of a dive bar, but has really great live music and great drinks. So, I'm standing at the bar ordering a drink, and these 2 guys sitting next to me ask my friends and I where we are visiting from. I said..."we live here, why would you assume that we are visiting?" He told me it was because we were really dressed up for a bar in North Beach. My friends and I always get dressed up (and you all know how I usually dress), I was really only wearing jeans and a tube top, but had on heels, whatever... we were all pretty much dressed the same. I told him, we like to get dressed up, b/c when you look good, you feel good, and why not. So then he asks, the dreaded question (for me). "where do you guys live?" and I always reply with the same answer...I always have to stall, but eventually say that "I live in the Marina, but don't judge me, I just moved here from Philly. So no, I'm not a marina girl, I'm a Philly girl, and my apartment is the first and only apartment that I looked at when I moved here, and had never been here before. " (which is true).

So we get to talking about how EVERYBODY that lives in the marina says that, because we are all embarrassed or ashamed for some reason to admit we live in the Marina. He told us that there is this article out there (written in like 1990) that talks about living in the Marina, and the reputation still holds true till this day. Anyway, my friends and I found this quite amusing and we had this guy email us the article. If your interested in reading, it is quite funny, and if you ever come to visit, you will definitely witness this first hand. You can usually spot marina girls walking into any bar/restaurant from a mile away....we just have good style :) (it is no longer the khaki look as the article states, but "trendy" shall we say).

On a side note, the Marina is the most beautiful part of the city to live in. I am 4 blocks away from the Bay and Golden Gate bridge, and it really is just absolutely amazing!

http://www.sfweekly.com/2001-01-24/news/forgive-me-for-i-live-in-the-marina/full

--
amy

This is so interesting as I have such views about the City, notice I said, City, which the natives call it. I often call it Frisco, just for meanness. I actually had not heard that much about the Marina. What I think is so true of the City is that it really is like a bunch of little neighbourhoods stuck together. And, you can find mostly what you want in the neighbourhood you choose. What story I thought you were going to tell is the classic one about the Marina Safeway. I was telling a single guy the story not long ago and he said something like, "I don't believe it. I go into the Marina Safeway all the time and never see where there is any action." Maybe it is just a myth.

Of course, what I think is that you can find pretentiousness about anywhere anytime, even in Philly. My idea when we moved into the City was to live in several different neighbourhoods; we've tried two now. My wife's idea was somewhat different than mine, however. The first one in lower Pacific Heights, close to Laural village was way to white bread and yuppie for me. I love where we live now on Anza. A buddy and I had a run on the beach this week and then went for a Buffalo burger and he said, "This is the real world." And, I think so, on Anza which is right at USF (University of San Francisco)--within four or five blocks of where we live is every imaginable type of ethnic restaurant you could imagine. For instance, my favourite is Korean, quickly followed by Ethiopian. There are a dozen Korean and at least three or four Ethiopian.

But, then it is all what you like. We are so lucky to live in such a beautiful place. My usual line is that when the politics and zaniness of the City get overwhelming, I always think about the beauty. Amen!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

FLABBY AND WACKY

EMAIL OF THE DAY. Oh, well, I suppose every year the Chronicle is compelled to publish photos of runners in the Bay to Breakers who insist on discarding their apparel and foisting their flabby asses on the public. Too bad, the Chronicle doesn't have more class. But, heck, what do you expect from a city that has the reputation San Francisco does of being the wackiest place on Earth! AJB

WHAT ABOUT BERZEKLY

The Bay To Breakers

This is one weird tradition that takes place every year in May. I’ve run it for about six or seven years. And, always use it more or less as a day’s PT (physical training) with the crazies. And, every year something is a little different. Officially, I heard there were about 65,000, down from the first time I ran it when it was close to a 100,000. There’s all kinds: costumes of every sort, a kind of Halloween in May; Elvis impersonators by the dozens, some even running; nudes, various shades of dress and whatever we see in it, it is one giant 7.2 fun race/runjog/walk.

There are actually serious runners who make money; two groups, not exactly sure but called, elite, seeded runners. The Kenyans usually win.

This year I heard the aftermath was a little too much booze and revelry; the police and street department were griping big time about all the trash. For those like myself, it is lots of fun. What always fascinates me are the nudes. Most of them are fat old men who should be at home. But, I will have to say this: nobody pays them any attention.

And, then also there are those who kind of cheer the runners on; it is a giant moving funny costumed parade: centipedes, human trains, people running backwards, mothers pushing strollers. I even saw a woman running in a bride's dress and two were running in evening gowns.

I don’t think I’m going to do it anymore. Why? I don’t know, ADD (attention deficit disorder) but by next year who knows.

Every time I participaten, I am always amazed at the same thing: these fundamentalists folks with the very elaborate signs of Jesus Saves, Repent. I always wonder what their motive is and what they think they are accomplishing. They are brave, I'll have to say that; a mass of humanity surged toward them as the race begins and they stand literally in the center of the fray, standing their ground. I saw the same thing at the Gay Freedom Day Parade--the gays, for instance, appear to be more Christian than the Christians. Ain't life wonderful. God bless America.

Maybe they are from some sect that requires them to profess “the truth” in this manner, a kind of living Watchtower (Jehovah Witnesses). I simply don’t know. And, if one is a Christian, then who could object to what the signs say? Not I but simply the crazy venue where it is. What do they expect to achieve? I don't think they are going to get any converts in this crowd. Here they are at the Bay to Breakers, a gigantic expression of living art, with every profane reprobate, based on one’s view, that is known to mankind. The participants in the race are hedonistic, masochistic (who would torture themselves by running seven miles) in the best of circumstances?" So, do the fundamentalists think they can reach these people for the gospel. How misguided, without criticizing, is this sort of thinking.

The crowd merely tolerated. I venture to say that in our secular world, of which the Bay to Breakers, is a good example, they hurt the cause more than they help. They come across as judgemental, mental themselves, and the opposite end of kookier. So, there you have it.

INTERVIEW WITH DeLONE

Recently, we had a very distinguished visitor spend a few days with us. Biased as I am, still, it is nice to know others impressions of our town. I have not been everywhere but I've been most places and still feel that San Francisco is the greatest in the world. I often joke that I should be an ambassador but the City doesn't need one. Anyway, I wanted DeLONE to give us his views. (DeLONE often says about his name: think of it like this, DeLONE Ranger). I like it.

What is the one thing you'd say about San Fran? Well, I think it is the beauty of it, really. For those of us who don't live here, we have our own images of the town; most of them are political with an idea that every nut in the world has shown up here: gay mecca, liberal to the max--every stereotype that you can imagine. And, then you are at the Golden Gate Bridge, you have just run across it and are catching your wind from the three and a half mile trek and you look out across the bay and the ocean and you are simply overwhelmed with its beauty. And so the beauty overcomes the other things. Absolutely. How about the people? I had some interesting encounters. I think riding the buses is an experience. Here we are on the bus, having been down to Pier 39 which is a little like the North Carolina State Fair, ending our visit with a great banana split at Gheradelli Square. I mean, we are leaving heaven. We are talking about our stop and this really nice individual thinks we are tourists and tells us that our stop is several away and then he says, "Guess you guys are going to Tommy's" (I already knew it to be a world famous gay bar). My Uncle bust out laughing, the guy assumed we were gay. In San Fran., when you see two guys together, you automatically assume, probably not a good idea, but what the hay, I'm human--you can assume they are gay and more than likely you're right. Oh well. Other experiences. So many but this one sticks out. We are on the bus again. I'm seated beside this fairly nice looking girl and she is engaged in a conversation with this homeless guy-I think he's homeless, he has the look. In San Fran, hard to know based on how everybody dresses, weird sort of milieu. This is not a "hit" just hard to know. Anyway, she tells him she just graduated San Diego State with a degree in tourism and is here to see her boyfriend. He says something like, "I'm in the tourist industry too, an independent contractor but I'm thinking of going all Internet." It was a funny scene and definitely one of those, "you'd have to be there" times. Here is a guy that a bath has not known in many a day and fingernails that are at least a half inch, most so long they are curling, and yet he's right there with her. Yes, he is in the tourist industry. I will have to say that for a 22 year old, I think, that I enjoyed flirting with as we exchanged a few comments, she was pretty poised. My Uncle hassled me that I didn't get her phone number. Oh well, life is a series of lost opportunities. Other impressions. I loved the wine country. I'm not a wine drinker but got some for my friends. Fascinating, how it's all done and the culture of it, noted. I think the thing that amazed me most is that here we were in Sonoma and Napa, California and it is like another world from Frisco (the natives hate for you to call it Frisco). California is like a country, the 6th largest economy in the world--truly things we don't think about, i. e., they raise more beef cattle than Texas. Anything else? Well, hundreds, I did see a Sharks game. My cousin's husband is a big sports nut: I almost rival him but not quite. What I found to be the same as in NC, you almost need to take out a loan to get tickets and buy a beer. The game was good. Wow, you got around. Well, you did asked. Visit any non tourist stuff? Of course, a comedy club for the locals and I loved a couple of bars; one called the Pig and Whistle and then this great Irish bar in the Haight Ashbury area called Martin Mack's. I've just seen the documentary on the Summer of Love in San Francisco and to be in the Haight where it took place was a little like going back in history. I expected to see lots of left over hippies but mostly young iPod types. Very interesting. Are you going to come back? You bet ya, but I'm going to do it differently next time. Like what? I'm not telling.

POLITICS

**Dear Mayor, my need to write this note is greater than your need to read it. I can't begin to tell you how I affirm you for stepping up to the plate concerning recent events. Life happens and you did what you had to do: fessed up.

I don't know why anyone would want to be in politics but that being said, you're doing a good job. I voted for you last time and like most San Franciscans will the next time around. The only American Mayor that I think is anywhere close as good is the fictional mayor in The Wire, Cargehetti of Baltimore. Both of you are not afraid of risks, trying to do the right thing for your City, eyes on what you've promised. For most of us voters, we understand the difficulties of governing our town, close to impossible. Most of our ills can be laid at the Board of Supervisors, from my perspective and the constant challenge of working with their various personalities and agendas is like herding cats. If I were you, I'd not speak of the event again and not read the newspapers about it.

Having been somewhat where you are, my suggestion is that if down the road, you get a chance to reconcile with your friends, do it. Time is an enormous healer but if not, you've done your best.

There is no need to respond to this note. God bless you. I'm sending good thoughts and prayers your way.

**This letter was written after the Mayor's confession about an affair with the wife of one of his staff members. Since I wrote the letter, I'm not quite in the same place. The Mayor looks like a shoo in for his second term with no real opposition. There are about eleven running against him but there's no name recognition, no money for campaigning: combined these facts with the apathy and brain dead electorate and he's in for sure.

I think I'll probably vote for him. He deserves a second term as he's attempted some creative things in governing an almost impossible town. What I object too in our mayor is the same thing I object too in every politician. They become politics. Their lives reflect basically the question of how is my view going to look. Never what is the right or best thing to do. Who is this going to help/hurt. And, a willingness to take unpopular stands and positions. Mostly, I'm dreaming because it ain't going to happen in our mayor or politicians in general.

To me, the political arena is somewhat of a mystery. A person runs for a political office and in the process, he/she prostitutes themselves in various ways and then they are elected and once securely in office don't give the public the time of day. We make them into celebrities as if what they have to say is so much more important than anyone. Go figure!

The City That Knows How

San Francisco, of course. But, a new moniker has recently been added: the city that knows how to make enemies. The basic story is like so many when only partial facts get out. The first one had to do with the City refusing the Marines permission to use one of the main thoroughfares downtown to film a commercial for recruiting. The real truth was a scheduling problem. The second one was a big flap at the Oakland Airport with a plane of Marines coming back from Iraq. More or less, it was miscommunication between the pilot and the airport. Regardless, with all the misinformation, the City that knows how became the City that knows how to screw up a two car funeral possession. And, of course, what they did was give those like right wing zealots, Bill O'Reilly and Fox News, fuel for their bigoted ways. Such snafus foster the idea of the "left coast" and living in La La land.

To me, it's kind of humorous and reinforces the constant view that would do well for all Americans to grasped, the government is not the people. They should be but they are not. I can't tell you the numbers of times people have said to me--many who have just come back from overseas--the people loved America and Americans but they hate the government. I don't know how this happens but feel that we the people have to take a big part of the heat as we put the politicians into office and they become our face.

A COMPLICATED HISTORY FOR SOME

Not for me but many simply ignore the fact that San Francisco was founded by the Spanish military and for years had a good abundance of military in its back yard at the Presidio. And, the Presidio was always such a good deal for San Francisco. It was like they had their own Park and didn't have to pay for it. And, just like in 1906, the last big earthquake, 7.2, utilized the military to deal with much of the emergency. The politicos are fond of forgetting those sorts of contributions.

During WW ll, San Fran was the "ship out" place for those heading to the Pacific. Many a young soldier and sailor had a last "good" time before heading "over." One of my best stories on the way to Vietnam took place in The City. Unfortunately, on the way back, it was not so pleasant. The rule was that as soon as you hit the ground, you got out of your uniform so you didn't have to deal with the nut cases that were blaming vets for the Vietnam war. Thankfully, even in San Francisco, those who care realize that the soldier is just doing his job. One recruiter in San Francisco said that in his 17 years of service he has never had so many thank him for his service.

But, let's face it, the politics have brought us to this point and I don't see it changing. The City has been stupid about some things--the worst was the banning of ROTC in High Schools. They took the most successful program of many schools and one that parents and students wanted and did away with it. How smart is that?

All this being said, however, voters have to take some responsibilities, we put the people in office and the military is just one example. Most of the politicians have never served and hearing them talk makes me realize why--draft dodging material.

THE BRIDGE

THE BRIDGE is a documentary about the Golden Gate Bridge as a magnet for suicides and holds the not so dubious distinction as the most popular place for those who choose to leave this life by jumping from The Bridge. I don't know why and the documentary didn't try to answer why rather simply recording what happened.

I wonder if it has anything to do with the unadulterated beauty of The Bridge. I cross it sometimes two and three times a day. When I first came to San Francisco, I promised myself that if ever I was not awed by the beauty of that fabulous structure and all that surrounds it, I was leaving the area. I am still here 20 years plus later and have never ceased to be amazed at the Golden Gate.

After seeing, The Bridge, I wondered as I have about many documentarians, "What in the world motivated this guy?" A mystery! In fact, I remember distinctly when a tempest rose about the film which was done in 2004. As I remember, the bureaucrats that run the bridge complained that they were tricked and didn't know that director Eric Steel's cameras were zeroed in on these tormented souls attempting to commit suicide.

I've always had somewhat of an open view about suicide by influenced by a mentor, Albert Ellis, who recently died. In one of our classes Al said something like, "Objectively, a person owns his/her life and can do what they want with it--even suicide if they so choose. "

Through poignant interviews with family, friends and eyewitnesses, the film reveals a common thread which most of us know: depression, despair, and mental illness. When you're watching those who die, your adrenaline picks up and you think, "Wow, I'm watching the process of life and death." I was often in a state of WOW. See this documentary. 2 Parachutes.

ANTI MILITARY--NOT

I've always liked Supervisor Daly. He's a little over the top for my liking on a few things but after all, this is San Francisco. But, I think he's definitely out to lunch on the potential nixing of the Blue Angels. I'm an anti war type, hardcore Democrat but this is a nutty idea. Fleet Week is the last vestige of military in this area. I don't particular like the Blue Angels wasting tax payer dollars but still, they represent the military. After the the Presidio and Letterman Hospital closed, the community lost any vestige of the uniform.

Our community has no visual reminders of the price of freedom. We never see any soldiers. I often think that those like Supervisor Daly might have benefited from a tour in the Marines. Maybe he could just have a talk with Supervisor Ammiano and Police Commissioner Sparks, two Vietnam vets. Oh well...

BET THE POLICE LOVE THIS

Theresa Sparks, CEO of sex-positive toy retailer Good Vibrations, has been sworn in to serve a second four-year term as a member of the Police Commission after a unanimous vote by the Board of Supervisors.The San Francisco Police Commission is made up of seven community members, responsible for creating and developing policies for the police department, as well as conducting hearings in cases of alleged police misconduct.

The above is a Google search. What it didn't say is that the new head of the Police Commission is a transsexual. Talk about fodder for the rest of the world and the late night guys, can't wait to hear. By the way, what is a transsexual? Simply, one gender (say male) in the head while physically being the opposite, i. e., a man who wants to be a woman. In San Fran, there is actually an organization with much political clout, the LBGT group (lesbian, bisexual, gay, transgender)--not sure I have the right order here.

In much of my native state of NC, we think gay still means happy. Unfortunately, we make too much of a joke about a very serious subject, however. Although still much is unknown, being one gender but feeling that you're another must have enormous conflicts. It surely speaks well for San Francisco's openness/zaniness,etc. that it is all a part of life. My mother would surely be "shaking" her head.

Now here is something unbelievably fascinating to me. The new Police Commission head who is a woman, formerly a man, while a "man" was a Vietnam vet who was divorced twice and has three grown children. By her own view, "Sparks enjoyed dressing up in women's clothes from a very early age." San Francisco has the largest population of transgender people in the country. Overall, in the U. S., it is estimated there are 19,000. Is this more than we need to know?

A subtle lesson to me. We often never know what goes on inside a family or what makes an entity a family, if you get my drift. For instance with the new Police Commission Chief in her words: she's estranged from two of her three children. One has even done 3 tours in Iraq. In her own words, "it's not an unusual story for transgendered people. The children feel betrayed, embarrassed."

St. Pat's Only in San Fran celebration

Unlike most places where gays can't even be involved, i. e., New York, here they are the big guns. Get this, CHEER San Francisco, a lesbian, gay, bisexual and tranasgender cheerleading team was warmly welcomed by the audience.

Ed Jew

Ed is a San Francisco supervisor, like on the Town Council. He was elected in something of a fluke, rising from the pack with a new system in San Francisco called, ranked choice. I don't know exactly how it works, like voting for the three top choices and then each choice has some weight. Regardless, Ed became the winner. Part of his platform was the fact that San Francisco should concern itself with the business of running San Fran and not world events, i. e., impeaching the President and getting out of Iraq.

But, Ed doesn't want to take valuable time away from fixing pot holes, horrendous traffic, ripoff of its citizen with millions collected on parking tickets, on and on. Ed Jew says let's cut it out and get away from this idiocy of all these ridiculous pronouncements. And, does it escape anybody that this supervisor's name is Ed Jew. Is there anything more American than such a name and of all things, this all American named guy thinks San Francisco is silly.

THE PEOPLE YOU MEET IN HEAVEN

This is the title of a book or close. I often wonder: do those who die like in the same town, on the same day, etc. meet each other when they show up in Heaven. For instance, inSan Fran, two apparent real characters recently departed this AO (area of operations). Both appear to be quite unique; one a fireman and the other a burlesque performer. Will they meet in heaven? I think so.

The Burlesque Performer, Heather MacAllister's Obit caused me to smile--She created San Francisco's Big Burlesque and Fat Bottom Review to feature larger women. Sounds pretty courageous too. She was 38 and had ovarian cancer and chose to end her life through assisted suicide, surrounded by friends. Wow!

I have to believe that God wants people like Heather in heaven. Think about it and contrast Heather's decision to end her life her way with maybe someone you know: a person say, 90 years old, going to doctors, paying out all sorts of money to stay alive. Heather, age 38, chooses to go courageously into the "night."
Hhhmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

THE GAV STEPPED UP TO THE PLATE

I've always been a fan of our Mayor. He's young, handsome, articulate and not afraid to mix it up. A politician, of course, but way above most in my view. The only Mayor I like better is Carcetti(sp), on the HBO TV program, The Wire. The drama or maybe histrionics of the last day or so of the Mayor's indiscretion have given the newspapers and talk show hosts fuel for months to come. It is simply the way it is in our crazy culture, more so maybe here on the Left Coast. Unless you have been on another planet, (my niece who lives in Raleigh, N. C. called me about it before I had even started my day), you've read or heard about the GAV.

The Gav had a liaison with the wife of his former AID and good friend--now his former reelection campaign manager. It was brief--the wife actually worked in the Mayor's office too at the time. Had the Mayor figured out how to set this up to look bad, he could not have done a better job: a committee could not have. It happened maybe 18 months ago. The fling, affair, encounter, mess up, whatever, happened--let's call it life. But, the partner in the affair, as part of the 12 step program, in addressing her substance abuse problem, goes literal and tells her husband about the indiscretion. The husband goes into orbit, confronts Gav and resigns his position. The Mayor's good friends/staff (with friends like this, who needs enemies) leaks it. The news, talk show ranters, the press in general goes bananas and everybody has an opinion, including this blogger.

GAV STEPS UP TO THE PLATE. Had he been one of my favorite politicians, "the Bill" as in Clinton, he would have spun it: what is is?--exactly what do you mean: I did not have sex with that woman. (We believe you, Bill, oral sex is just 'play like')". My man, however, the Gav, stepped before the mike and said something like, "everything you've read is true. I am deeply sorry especially for the people that I've hurt and care about." I'm not sure that he said, "please forgive" me but it was implied. Then he disappeared into his office to go on with his life.

Way to go Mayor! People mess up. It is what we call being human. I feel so badly for all concerned. And, without judgement, I doubt seriously that confessing will bring the sort of relief that the 12 step programs promise. My experience is that it will not. The idea that confession is good for the soul is more a myth than reality. What usually happens is that innocent people are hurt. And, once the tale is told, there is no taking it back. Look at this case. The act had already been done, regardless of how it might be looked at: wrong, sad, lapse in judgement, adinfinitum: it was done. Sex is a powerful, unacknowledged aspect of our lives but it happens and in this case all admit passions got out of control. The next move was the aggrieved husband, once told, does the obvious thing: the result, he resigns his job. So, the question: who has benefitted? The Gav is our Mayor, popular, energetic and the poor husband is out of work. A big price.

And, we never know, in the great scheme of things, what it will bring? The mayor will survive it. And, we hope the other parties will too. God bless them all and us. Ain't life messy?

PARKING SCOFFLAWS

Scanning cameras find San Francisco parking scofflaws. Don't you love that word? There is something unseemly about this, regardless of the breaking of the law. As a guy who has been towed three times and pays parking tickets regularly, I can attest that this is not fun. Once I even beat the tow truck down and had to wait for an hour or so. Once I showed up as the tow truck guy was hooking it up and pleated--sorry about that. And, just for the record, I am no scofflaw, which means in San Fran parlance that one must have five tickets or more.

Get this: the city hauls in $85 mil each year from issuing parking tickets. According to the city, about 8,000 have accrued five or more tickets and are tagged as scofflaws. Sticking up for the scofflaws is a little like being against God or the Holy Spirit, afterall, the people are violating the law. They caught some guy with 13 unpaid tickets and booted his car. Now, I have seen the wretched boot, not on my car but on others and it tugs at my heart.

Catching the law breakers is not the end of the story. I've been down to the Department of Parking and Traffic to get my car. I can tell you there's not a lot of folks from Pacific Heights hanging out. While I am waiting to pay up, trust me, not a pretty sight. I saw two women crying, a couple of men cursing--the saddest had to be a young Hispanic guy who lacked $8 dollars to pay his fines. As he pleaded, I gave the bucks with a "forget it". You would have thought I presented a winning lottery ticket--had to have his truck to get to a job in Marin--a wife and three kids. I get it.

Before the city goes bragging about scarfing up the scofflaws, let's say that most are the working poor, not the Mercedes and Porsche types although there are a few: they got caught, pay their tickets and next case. Not so easy for most.

The infamous license plate scanner that catches the scofflaws is no discriminatory lout but for most, this is a serious and sad matter. We have a City with way too many cars. It is not a simple issue of minding the law. It is a problem that needs to be attacked with some innovative and creativity mentality and not a "gotcha" scofflaws.

THE MAYOR OF BERNAL HEIGHTS

WHAT MAKES A FAMILY

Today, I was reminded as I was reading the obituaries which is a sure sign of getting old, what relationships mean. The lead story in the obits was an individual who had died in one of the neighborhoods of the City. The obituary was glowing about who he was: the unofficial mayor of Bernal Heights. From comments of fellow merchants, his family, friends and especially his two daughters, you got the impression that here is a pretty remarkable individual and his absence from the earth is truly a loss. As the unofficial mayor of this incredibly eclectic neighborhood of San Fran, he will be missed.

The obit talked about his daughters and then said he had lived with his long time partner for the last several years. The partner had been ill for some time and the "mayor" had been a loving caretaker. Yes, gay. The obit listed his survivors and included his former wife. Since I don't know much of the story, I have to add my own lack of enlightenment but think this: regardless of how relationships turn, to allow them to change in beneficial ways surely seems to have happened here. Way to go. God bless all who will miss him. Thanks to him for the lesson left.

THE STREETERS

Streeter. This is a term I invented and can hardly wait to see if it becomes a part of the lexicon. I doubt it...what it means are those who hang out on the streets and most call them homeless. Homeless in our society means different things to different people and in different parts of the country. In San Fran, we have more "streeters" than truly chronic homeless.

I think the homeless can be divided into about three categories: the dopeheads who love hanging out on the streets, it is a lifestyle, a comraderie and works with their fogged up minds. Most have simply wasted their lives, plain and simple. The 2d group are those who are mentally challenged, for whatever reason. The "street" becomes a comfortable place for them. And, the third group and a much smaller one are the true homeless that can be helped. They need help in terms of having a roof over their heads, often they need assistance with their families--they are livng in cars and subsisting with various types of handouts. We need to be turning out attention to this group. The first two are mostly beyond help. (I didn't mean for this to be a serious piece)

I meet this "streeter" as I'm out running. He is pushing his cart, full of his earthly belongings. He fits in the second category, I think: somewhat mentally challenged but at the top of the rung, as he is humorous, talking to himself, maybe to me as we're waiting for a light to change. As we're standing there, a frail little woman crosses the street in front of us against the traffic. Her right arm is shaking in a pattern that is the result of maybe a stroke or something but very obvious that she is not quite with it. We are both watching her. He says to me, "she's going to get killed one of these days. I help her cross when I can but sometimes she just goes on her own." I was moved by his concern. Here's a "streeter" who somehow is compassionate, does what he can in his world. Those of us who go about our daily lives without a thought of this poor woman other than witnessing her travails can learn something here. I don't believe this sort of compassion should go unrewarded. I did what I could. I gave him a $20--one happy "streeter."

THE BIG O

I've been really bummed out for such a long time about the war in Iraq and here we go: an answer. I would put this in the category of "Only in San Fran." but the suggestion came from a couple sitting over in Marin in the hot tub (remember that movie). They are proposing that on December 22, the beginning of solstice, everybody take the time to make love and have the Big "O." I'm for it. I love this statement: "not to worry if you don't have a partner." Thanks for permission. Us Catholics or right wing fundamentalists have more than a healthy dose of guilt and need permission before we visit "mother thumb and her four sisters." I am slapping myself even as I write.

This movement is called, Global Orgasm for Peace. I'm serious, it was on the front page of the San Francisco Chronicle which is the mainstream paper for the City. I loved it. Once you've committed, there's even a secret sign to show others that you plan to take part: Flash the universal "OK" sign and wink. Or, as it as been dubbed, "The O" sign.

Now, come on, this isn't just a crazy California idea even if it probably won't fly in Spartanburg, SC. Still, it seems to me that making love is surely better than making war. The two anti-war types, Donna Sheehan and her partner, Paul Reffel, are no strangers to the "movement." Or something akin to it: she and a few dozen best buds stripped naked and spelled out "peace" in a field in response to the War. These people are serious. I admit that I'm smiling. They feel that this has promise: high orgasmic energy combined with mindful intention may have a much greater effect than previous mass meditations and prayers. For us hanger ons, all we have to do is pick a time, a 24 hour period.

LOL but here's a last thing, Sheehan and Reffel are no spring chickens. So, we assume they are involved with the Big O and that alone is encouragement for us old geezers. More power to them.

The Haves and Have Nots

We all know this to be true. The rich get richer and the poor poorer. Bottom 90% of taxpayers made $28,355 or thereabouts last year. The top 1% of the American taxpayer made $940,441; the top 0.1% made $4,506,291.

OK, what does this mean? I don't have a clue other than when we come to new taxes, I like it when some politician says we are going to tax the wealthy. Why not, it is where the money is. Those who make the most money should pay the most taxes. It is a privilege for living in this great country. Arguments like opportunity, already paying a lot of taxes, etc., I don't want to hear it. My opinion. God bless us and God bless America.

Welcome Home

I just got back from a trip to the East Coast and then it was Welcome to San Fran: my car got towed and $345 later, I have it back. Welcome home. Oh well, life...it really was my fault. I left it on the street in a place I thought was safe from the ever present meter maid--I think that the only more prolific group than the meter maids in this town are lawyers. But, based on signs on the street, I just was not thinking, which is not all that unusual, since I am a self diagnosed ADD. Naturally, there's a law that you can't leave a car over 72 hours but who knows that. I was going out of town and had carefully selected a spot over on Pacific to leave my car for the time I was gone. The signs said no parking over three hours unless you have an F sticker. I did. But, foiled I was. The ever present car police gave me a warning that the car had to be moved and of course, I wasn't here to do it: once they give a warning, all I had to do was move it or somebody move it but I screwed up. But...what the hay! Before I found all the facts, I was determined to fight the injustice of it all. And, the fact that Frisco makes 2-5 mil a year on parking fees and I have been a substantial contributor, I get the picture.

Having a car in San Fran is a burden--the American way of having a car and practicality collide. There are way too many cars for the parking space in this City. So, what do you do? The City knows what to do--tow your car.

Sometimes I think living in San Fran is like living in a foreign country. And, I don't mean all the languages you hear spoken. If your folks are on the East Coast and you go go back with some regularity, then it means a flight of at least five hours, time changes, you name it. And, to get back and your car towed is like having insult added to injury. Oh well, how to make the best out of this?

OK, just be thankful that you can afford it is the first thing I tell myself. As my brother would say, it's like throwing money up a hog's rear. But, no choice. So, I've been through it before and so, I think I know what to do. I live out in Laurel Heights which is a nice little section, a little too yuppie for me but what the hay. I hop a bus. I never know where they're going only that they are moving in the direction of where I want to go. I plan to do some running anyway. It has been about a week since I've exercised and this is hardly getting ready for the marathon I'm bragging I'm going to do. The bus winds around, actually taking me closer to the objective. I get off on Van Ness and start jogging, not running: most a downward slope and when the light catches me I double over and end up going behind City Hall. Lo and behold, there's Willy Brown, former Mayor, state power broker and by most folk's measure, a crook but they always voted for him anyway. Well, crook may be a little harsh: wheeler dealer, appointing his friends and contributors to various political rewards, and always tough on his enemies. He was talking on his cell phone and I didn't stop for an autograph.

I finally made it to the traffic section. The wrong place: this is for paying traffic fines, the car retrieval is another story. Help. I have to run further, not even sure where it is. It is on Bryant street and I've been on the street lots of times. Afterall, this is only the fourth time I've had my car towed.

So, off and running again. Some guy stops me and wants to know where Brannon street is. He points in a direction and says, Bryant Street is that way but not sure about Brannon. I don't know but take his word for Bryant and out of there. Now, the neighborhood has "seeded" a little; a few more homeless, shotty types standing around. I finally make it. Go inside and it all comes back. The line is not so long on a Friday afternoon. However, all the folks in there are poor and struggling it appears to me. I remember my other visits and think to myself, "maybe the rich don't get towed." There's a tall black guy who is pleading his case to one of the three "bank teller types" who are "midgets" in the system. I could have told the guy, he is not going to get anywhere. From what I hear him saying, he's a musician and two of his instruments are in the car. He gets nowhere and so forks over his credit card which promply gets rejected. He snatches it back and storms out cursing. I don't blame him. He's probably a budding rapper.

At the next window is a young, fairly attractive girl who is using her Mother's credit car and has all the documentation that she is authorized. I think she's done this before. Thank the Lord for Moms. Her boyfriend keeps walking up to comfort or chastize her or something. They are both fairly well dressed. I wonder why he doesn't do the chivorous thing and pay it himself while telling her things are going to be alright. Oh well. They finally finished and next goes a young Latino guy with a baby. His wife is sitting down looking forlorn. He speaks to the bank teller person in Spanish. She calls over a translater and they start talking. I get my turn at the next teller and so the process begins. I plead my case slightly knowing it is to no avail. I hear the guy next to me getting excited in Spanish or at least I think so. On TV, they are so animated that sometimes I just watch, not understanding a word and wishing I could speak Spanish beyond ComesStat. I finally give up, fork over my credit card and silently curse. After I paid my fine, he stamps a bunch of papers and says, "I don't think you can get there before it closes." What! Isn't it just next door? I'm an experienced towee: no, my car is in the retrieval lot at 3d and 22nd, where ever that is. He gives me a little map and says they close in 30 minutes and if you could get a cab, no problem but it is three miles away. I calculate: three miles, that is three ten minute miles if I could do it. If I can't make it today, then I have to pick up my car on Saturday. Oh no! I take off running. I know I can do this, ten minute miles, give me a break! Should be a snap! I get lost, figure it out, about kill myself getting there. I try self hypnosis and pretend I am a soldier back in the 82d Airborne where we had to run four miles in 28 minutes. I haven't run in five days and now I'm killing myself. While I'm lost, I stop and asked an angry black kid. Don't have a clue why he is angry but all whites in general probably. No, "he don't know" where the impound lot is. I panic. Call on my cell phone. Thankfully somebody answers the phone and they tell me the address. I'm four blocks away and have five minutes to go. I take off and make it. It is nowhere around the address. I ask another guy who tried to help. He even asked his girlfriend: nobody has ever heard of it and then in a moment of resignation, I see a sign way down at the end of a large lot by the Bay. I charge out. It is the place and I've made it with two minutes to spare. But, they are closed. Help! A guy comes out and says they close at 4:45PM, not five. He must have seen the look on my face as I was about to drop over and he says I'll call my boss and see if he'll let you get your car. The boss says yes. The gods must have smiled on me. I go down to a lower level and can hardly believe it; there are acres of cars, as far as I can see. I give my paperwork to the nice Hispanic lady and she tells me to wait. I am not in the slightest impatient as I am so thankful to get my car. Finally, she calls me over and says to go in the warehouse and drive it out. I do and am so happy to have my car. It is like one of my children has been a hostage.