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February 2003

Pop Culture Weekend

So yeah, being fully informed as to its location, we went and drove by Jimmy Stewart’s apartment from Vertigo last night after dinner…

Before dinner, of course, we’d relived our respective childhoods, me in the living room with a Banana Splits marathon on Boomerang, and Mark in the office with his new Robotech DVDs. I must admit I’d forgotten how good Jan-Michael Vincent’s ass looked when he was parading around Danger Island in those 1969 pants which gave him the perpetual wedgie. And how stupid those Arabian Nights cartoons were…

Dinner seemed a bit of an afterthought in the midst of all that, but it was pretty good too…

Stupid Potheads

I was having a conversation with a friend and co-worker the other day and mentioned in context that I would never marry a pot-smoker. My friend was horrified and demanded an explanation. This has happened to me before, on several occasions. The funny thing is that if I’d announced that I’d never marry a cigarette-smoker (you know, a LEGAL vice), no one would have batted an eye and the chorus of “I understand completely” would have been near-unanimous…

Note that I didn’t say that I thought marijuana should be illegal (I don’t), but that I didn’t particularly care for the idea of a user sharing MY OWN HOME with me. But I guess that, as a San Franciscan, I should be more tolerant when choosing which vices I want to be surrounded by, rating them by way of some pre-approved social acceptability scale rather than by how personally offensive or annoying I find them…

Sorry. That conversation has been bugging me since Thursday and I had to get it off my chest…

I Hate San Francisco

Unofficial deadline for getting out of this steaming shithole of a city: the end of the year. Maybe I’ll expand later. So how was your weekend?

Tolerance

As I spent the $138 to replace my car window this morning, I thought about how lucky I was to be getting this education about those less fortunate than myself. Some might say that I was the victim. Far from it. The individual who smashed my window is clearly the victim here: the victim of a society which refuses to accept and embrace his alternative lifestyle.

I think it’s very important that — rather than placing blame on people who make a valid lifestyle choice and become thieves and substance abusers — we try to understand the reasons that they’ve chosen to live this way.

After all, it’s our fault that they made these choices, and our fault that we can’t accept them. By flaunting our jobs and the meager paychecks they bring, by our stubborn desire to live within the law and the rules of society, we make those who do not accept these rules uncomfortable, sometimes to the point where they just naturally lash out. Their self-esteem is at stake, dammit, and we need to understand what they’re feeling when they raid the broken-down cars and homes we’ve had the audacity to pay for through our labors.

Homelessness, poverty, and addiction are not crimes, after all. Therefore, can it really be considered a crime when some homeless, poor, or addicted individuals behave in a fashion which endangers the health, safety, and property of other people? Of course not. To suggest that such behavior is criminal would be to suggest that these individuals must take responsibility for their own actions. That wouldn’t be very tolerant, would it?

The fact that most poverty victims do not choose crime or violence as a lifestyle is immaterial. It is our responsibility as sensitive and caring San Franciscans (and as citizens of Mother Earth) to support all diverse lifestyle choices, even those which our misguided belief systems may suggest are incompatible with the rights of others. Who are we to make value judgments about those who feel the need to take what is ours?

Remember that tolerance is not just about accepting the rights of others to live as they see fit. It’s about supporting them in every aspect of their choice and making sure that there are no repercussions whatsoever for the individual making the choice. Any repercussions for adjacent individuals, of course, are irrelevant, as attention to these might stifle the freedom and creativity of those choosing alternative paths.

Think about it:

  • The next time you’re mugged, consider giving just a little more than the mugger asks for. Offer him dinner, perhaps, or try to find him a place to stay for the night. Like most privileged individuals, you have a spare bedroom, don’t you?
  • If you step in excrement on the sidewalk, take a minute to think about the differently-housed individual whose principles wouldn’t allow him to check into a shelter which wouldn’t accept his dog as a resident. Alternative co-housing communities are not the answer for everyone, and again, you have a spare bedroom, don’t you?
  • When a car pulls up next to you (or parks in front of your house) with music playing at ear-splitting volume, understand that the youngster inside is merely expressing himself a manner he feels comfortable with. Respect it. Similarly, when children are running around the supermarket screaming and banging into you, it’s because their parents also want them to know the beauty of self-expression.
  • Lastly, when confronted with the possibility of physical harm, always assure the attacker that you understand and accept his lifestyle choice. He’ll eventually respect and admire you for it, although he may not demonstrate this immediately.

People make choices. The fact that you may have chosen to work for a living and make something of your life doesn’t make you superior to someone who’s chosen an alternative path. Just different. Understand this difference and help it thrive. There’s no right or wrong here. This is San Francisco.

I know I feel a lot better having spent my money learning another valuable lesson about the community of man. To think, I might have frittered away that $138 on food or clothing for myself.

Instead, I bought glass. In that glass, I found a miraculous reflection.

Irrelevant

OK, does anyone REALLY believe that Dubya and his cowboy posse start quaking in their boots whenever San Francisco or San Jose or Berkeley passes a resolution condemning military action? Oh mercy. The folks in Berkeley don’t want a war. We’d better pack it in right now, because as Berkeley goes, so goes the nation, right?

Note that the preceding statement has nothing to do with my attitude on any military action, pending or otherwise, but merely with my unending amusement that some city councils believe the federal government has any interest whatsoever in their positions on foreign policy…

Mr. Robinson

So here’s to you, Mr. Robinson: you might have a little more credibility if you weren’t too chickenshit to include a valid email address in your repeated messages. But screamers like you only like it if no one can answer back or call you on your bullshit, right? I imagine you’re a rather timid, ineffectual sort who can only string two words into a sentence when doing so anonymously. But if that’s your trip, more power to you. I understand how much easier it is to win an argument when you don’t let anyone else play. At least I get a chuckle every couple of weeks…

I Love My Boy

How could I not love a boy who would willingly spend a Saturday afternoon driving me around so I could take pictures of old supermarkets in Sacramento? It was a good weekend; we ransacked a dying Kmart, hit thrift stores, and ate well on Saturday and then spent Sunday together in the front room playing with our databases (with the shades open so the neighbors could see)…

The only down side was when I tried to introduce Mark to the joys of jerk pork Saturday afternoon. We strolled into a place on Broadway in Sacramento which turned out to be from hell. Anyone know a really kick-ass Jamaican place in San Francisco so I can try again?

My Valentine

Why do I love you?

  • Because I’ve never once felt like I had to pretend to be anything other than what I am.
  • Because you have interests which range a little farther than current fashion and “Friends”.
  • Because, while I don’t agree with 100% of your political opinions, I have immense respect for the way you arrived at them.
  • Because you drive me around looking for old supermarkets in strange cities and can at least pretend to be amused by it.
  • Because you find sunshine and warm weather as depressing as I do.
  • Because you never make me watch E! or stupid reality shows.
  • Because you like Jane Jacobs just as much as I do.
  • Because you like Cheerwine almost as I much as I do too.
  • Because you’re a geography major.
  • Because you’re the cutest geography major who ever walked the face of the earth.
  • Because our first dinner date was at Denny’s.
  • Because you’re obsessively geeky.
  • Because you’ll never want to own a cat.
  • Because when I was commuting to Fresno, you always took me to see bands and never dragged me to queer bars.
  • Because you’re the most fun sex I’ve ever had.
  • Because you bought me that “L.A. Freeways” book. Twice.
  • Because you like Saturday morning cartoons and artificially-colored pancakes.
  • Because you think Wal-Mart is a good place to buy toilet paper rather than a vile affront to the proletariat.
  • Beacuse you keep a box of kleenex in your car.
  • Beacuse you leave your Chucks on sometimes.
  • Because you grew up in a mirror image of my hometown, with almost the same phone number as me, and with a mother who worked for the same, ummm, company as mine.
  • Because you’re a Mac supremacist.
  • Beacuse you write good dirty stories.
  • Beacuse you’re a sucker for good carnitas and good grits.
  • Beacuse you don’t get pissed off when my neck snaps every time I hear a skateboard roll by.
  • Because we laugh at the same things on TV (and at the same idiots walking down the street).
  • Because you understand the value of work.
  • Because you liked “Vertigo” and “Harold and Maude”.
  • Because when I wake up next to you in the middle of the night and look over at you, I feel so incredibly wonderful.
  • Because you managed to convince me that I didn’t necessarily need to live the rest of my life alone and refusing to love anyone.

Off to LA

Gone for the weekend, fleeing the bears, fireworks, and assorted chants and clichés in favor of cafeterias, Googie, and the heretofore unvisited Hollywood branch of Amoeba Records.

I love Los Angeles. This is not a sentiment which I’ve ever been embarrassed to admit, despite the fact that residents of San Francisco are not supposed to speak such heresy. But for a series of coincidences in 1991, I might be living there rather than here now anyway, and sometimes I still feel the slightest twinge of regret at my decision.

Yes, I realize that the perpetual sunshine and the relative lack of fog or rain would most likely make me suicidal. I understand that the lack of a real pedestrian focus (although there’s more of one than some people realize) might be annoying.

But LA is a city of magic and of dreams, and it holds a fascination for me like nowhere else, except perhaps Chicago and Detroit. It’s a place where I don’t particularly want to live, but where I could spend untold months exploring without getting bored.

Oddly enough, I’d never before had ample opportunity to do this exploring. My first trip was a quick affair, a drive-by on the way to San Diego in 1991. Later trips were always connected with work, either mine or that of a significant other, and never seemed to allow me any time to do what I wanted to do, see what I wanted to see, etc.

Against our better judgment, we left on the Friday afternoon which began President’s Day weekend. It was also Valentine’s Day. Our original goal was to stop by Fresno and see Mark’s sister, but we learned on the way down that she was out of town, so we headed straight for Bakersfield, with a stop in Coalinga and another for a romantic Valentine’s Day dinner at an Arby’s in a truck stop.

This trip would be different. There was no real agenda…