EVERYBODY DESERVES A NAME

Erica 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.

Website for "Garden of Innocence." Touching. The non profit claims and buries abandoned and unidentified babies and gives them a name.

Tongue in cheek: Effects of Pot

Now, 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!"

BANNING CIRCUMCISM

How 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?



 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."

CHATTY KATHY AND THE TOURIST

Riding 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.

LOST A SAN FRAN TREASURE

Sadly, 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 The Red Jack Saloon. And, really that is the name, Red Jack Saloon. 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, God bless you on your journey . I"m putting you right up there with Emperor Norton and several other characters. The Red Jack had a Memorial.

HANGING OUT IN SAN FRAN WITH GRANDAUGHTER

San 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.

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?"

"OPA," she just smiled, "to go with the flow" --worth it all. I'm going out for Korean. {{{{{{{{Jerry}}}}}}}

My Bracelet

I 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.

LICK

This 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.

Xmas in San Fran

The 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.

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.

HEAT AND BARE MEN'S POSTERIORS

After 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.

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.

BUT I DIDN'T INHALE

The "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.

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!!!!


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.

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.

FROM MY BUD: Was that really your experience of something you forwarded?
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.

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.

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.

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.

Only in San Francisco

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. 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.

LOVIN' THE CITY

Subject: Too good not to share

We all know that at one time or another, every weirdo in the world has
shown up in San Fran. I saw two this morning: a guy literally crawed
across the street at Market and Van Ness. Horns were honking and he
was giving them the finger. I was amazed that somebody didn't rum over
him. When we got to the other side, he started mooning people. Most
were like me, smiling and laughing. This is San Fran. And the other
guy has on about ten shirts, this is indescribable and he is wearing
this beatiful fluffly skirt and hi-heels. This was in North Beach.

But, this is one for the books. I'm running up these three gigantic
hills, Stockton at Bay all the way into North Beach which is at
Columbus and Green. Anyway, I'm trudging along and meet this young guy
who whips a snappy salute on me, runs over in front of me, drops on
one knee and kisses my hand. I felt like the Pope. What could I do. I
ran on. Now, I'm thinking a couple of things: this was God or Jesus
and there's a hidden message here. Or, the guy was acknowleging an old
guy running up these gigantic hills. What think? Welcome back Sam. I
missed you but don't think anybody else did. Just kidding. Power in
the blood.

Col,
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.
I've made a number of friends with these street folks and we have breakfast Mondays and Fridays. Join us for a group hug.

FERRY BUILDING

I 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.

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, where? "Why don't you meet me at the Ferry Building?" A long pause 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.

http://www.youtube.com/watch_popup?v=NINOxRxze9k

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
school teachers and lived somewhere in the Valley, wherever that is. I
think it is like half way between San Francisco and LA. Anyway, these
guys would analyse every aspect of the game. It was like having your
own personal sports commentator. They knew names of players, blood
types everything.

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.

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.

HAPPY HENRY

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 "Service." 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.

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.

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. God bless Happy Henry.

Grandparents Day, Burke, 2009

I left my heart at Lake Shasta
Amidst the sun and waters warm,
Safe from all the winter's harm
With boats and tubes and water skis,
To splash and swim and be so free
With friends and food and laughs all day,
I never want to be away.
I come home with a suntanned cheer
Happily waiting for next year.

By Frances Jacobson

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