A NON-NEGATIVE THOUGHT

As we end a year (yuck) and begin another (yummy) I seek some basis for optimism, or at least for non-pessimism, which can be expressed in a true statement. I think I found one.

It's not impossible that something good could happen in 2008.

Happy New Year!

----- o -----

THE NEIGHBORHOOD ZOO

We end the year with a significant local mystery: What’s up with the two surviving tiger-maulees? What was the nature of their visit to the zoo?

This human-interest side intrigues me, but doesn’t concern me.

What concerns me about the mauling incident (aside from empathy for the victims and their loved ones) is the attention it brings to my immediate neighborhood.

At least some changes are in store at the zoo. The question is, will it remain a zoo with approximately the same attendance patterns as at present? Or will some other “best use” be found for the land?

Put it this way: if the current zoo property were developed for housing, the quality of my life would decline significantly. I suppose this is true of any public park, but the attention makes me nervous.

Actually it would make a great facility for wheel-sports. Sometimes that’s what we used it for, as kids.

In my youth the zoo was still run by Rec and Park, and admission was free. (Just as the museums, the Conservatory of Flowers, and the Academy of Sciences were all free.)

After school sometimes we’d ride our bikes in the zoo, around the cages, past the aviary and the grottos. We’d lay out race courses. We could do this because there were absolutely no zoo visitors (or maybe one or two) to disturb. You know, a Wednesday in March, cold and windy, maybe rained earlier in the day.

Looking at the irregular network of pathways (all smoothly paved) from above, these grounds cry out for wheel-sports—bicycles, skateboards, roller skates.

For the time being, after removing the dumbest animal, disgraced director Manuel Mollinedo, they should probably remove the bigger animals, just on humane grounds. After that I hope they spend the next twenty years tweaking smaller-animal exhibits, until they finally give up and make it a roller park.

By that time I’ll be dead.

I was going to rant about the puling bureaucratic response of zoo director Manuel Mollinedo—blaming the victims in what he knows is a strict-liability situation, and claiming that his records show that the wall was 20 feet high—immediately after the mauling.

Judging from public comment, and from this Sunday Chron story, Mr Mollinedo is on his way out.

Another mystery is the paperwork that shows the wall as 20 feet high. The chances of this being an innocent “clerical error” approach zero. Was this paperwork relied upon for accreditation and insurance purposes? If so, we’re talking about possible significant fraud, which may have contributed to a death.

The mystery draws us into the new year.

----- o -----

CHRISTMAS MEMENTO

After almost four years in UCSF’s Accounting Office I took a new job in the Radiology Department, which was a disaster and led to my early retirement from San Francisco’s largest employer.

A number of factors contributed to my failure, but mostly it was my supervisor and co-workers.

My supervisor, who was located in a separate facility on the other side of the city, was determined to help me as little as possible.

He offered no help, for instance, in my first attempt at complicated paperwork for retroactive payroll transfers. Worse, he signed off on the submittal without even checking it. Of course it had numerous errors, which sullied my reputation with the people processing it.

The supervisor’s name was Rex Jones and he was a lying son of a bitch. Recently a young UCSF acquaintance, whom I also see on the courts, phoned to tell me that Rex had died. My poor young friend was not prepared for the glee I expressed.

I’m reminded of Nicolae Ceausescu and his wife, tyrants and torturers of Romania, whom the rebels executed on December 25, 1989 “as a Christmas present to the country.”

Anyway, another factor in my failure was the non-support of my three peers on the new job, all female, all Asian. It was three months before I learned that one of these Asian women had applied for the job I had been given. She and her two friends were extremely bitter and determined that my failure would prove that Maria should have gotten the job.

“This is a situation I might have been able to handle, IF I HAD KNOWN ABOUT IT.”

The failure of my supervisor to explain this delicate situation to me was a hateful omission. In our first meeting after I found out, which was only after Maria had moved to a new job, I stared at Rex and said the words quoted above, one. at. a. time.

Months later it was Christmas and I received presents from each of the two remaining Asian women colleagues. I also got a present from Rex—a jar of some sort of honey, (you know the jar-size you get on a room-service tray… Rex’s gift was one size up from that).

The younger of the two women gave me a neatly wrapped in a large box, maybe 8” x 10” x 14”. There was no movement when shaken, so I figured it was something soft, like a scarf, in a box chosen for convenience rather than appropriate size.

I gave no presents to any of them.

I brought it home but never opened that big box from Susan Lin. I just set it aside, figuring the dishonesty and hypocrisy associated with it were nothing I needed to deal with.

And here it sat, two whole years, until last Saturday. I was invited to a dinner party thrown by people in my morning tennis group. I had to bring an item for a “white elephant gift exchange.”

So I happily brought the big, nicely wrapped box from my former UCSF “mobber.”

I had my misgivings: What if it’s something really valuable? Naw. What if it’s something way inappropriate? No, not a workplace gift.

I thought it was a funny story to tell—that I didn’t know what was inside the box.

To which one of the party guests responded, “What if it’s food?”

When my donation was finally picked and opened, it was even more awful than I could have guessed. It was a Christmas-decorated mug and place setting of hideous, garish design.

It’s the sort of thing that, if I’d opened it at home, would have gone straight into the trash. Had I opened it the office I would have had a dilemma about expending the energy to take it to my car, as opposed to just dumping it in the waste basket under my desk. The decorative paint looked toxic.

The malice of such a gift is that it imposes on the recipient the burden of disposal. Like giving someone a stack of year-old newspapers.

Out of twenty, it was the third worst white elephant gift. There was one child at the party, a six year old girl, who wound up with it. Her parents are smart enough not to let their child eat off that stuff.

I feel kind of guilty because I got the best present, four suitable-for-framing doodles from a nice guy who’s an architect; he’s all slice and dice on the court. I hate these guys who are good tennis players plus they have another talent.

Merry Christmas!

----- o -----

PALLIATION

A man with a good refrigerator don’t need no justification.
Hazel Motes, Wise Blood per P. Wilson

After our new refrigerator was delivered I had to put something in it so I went to the supermarket.

There are a few things I pay full price for but mostly I’m an eater of opportunity. I found my favorite ice cream on sale plus, I noticed a display of $1.79/can spray nozzle real whipped cream.

This is exactly what a bear would do—go for the fat.

The point is palliation, not cure for my S.A.D.—just to make it through one more winter.

Once one a beautiful ocean beach morning, coming on to windowpane we saw occasional equestrians along the waterline. One, a haughty looking, straight-backed formal; equitationist inspired this comment from my friend Jim: “Look at the animal riding the animal.”

And so I say, “Look at the butterfat riding the butterfat.”

If I just eat enough butterfat I can get back to my hibernation.

So I’m slopping down the hi-cal reading about the rising price and diminishing stockpiles of food worldwide, at least according to this IHT article with the ominous headline: World food stocks dwindling rapidly, UN warns

In an "unforeseen and unprecedented" shift, the world food supply is dwindling rapidly and food prices are soaring to historic levels, the top food and agriculture official of the United Nations warned Monday.

The story notes some supply and demand factors:

On the supply side, these include the early effects of global warming, which has decreased crop yields in some crucial places, and a shift away from farming for human consumption toward crops for biofuels and cattle feed. Demand for grain is increasing with the world population...

Part of the current problem is an outgrowth of prosperity. More people in the world now eat meat, diverting grain from humans to livestock. A more complicated issue is the use of crops to make biofuels, which are often heavily subsidized. A major factor in rising corn prices globally is that many farmers in the United States are now selling their corn to make subsidized ethanol.

So I’m thinking, what’s the point of exiting my cave if this is what we’ve come to. America must decide what to do with it’s food—feed people or feed their SUVs. Do we need to take a poll?

---

The quote at the top of this post comes from the funniest movie I’ve ever seen, Wise Blood, directed by John Huston from a novel by Flannery O’Connor. In it the main character, an itinerant, ignorant southern preacher, declares in reference to his own automobile (actually a jalopy), “A man with a good car don’t need no justification.” IMDB page here.

When you get frustrated with American Huck’nShuck Christopolitics, a Wise Blood rental could provide some palliation.

----- o -----

HIBERNATION

When the sun gets more than so low my spirits go with it. It’s S.A.D.

Bears avoid the issue, they sleep through it.

In my sad awakeness I had a tooth extracted and got a Vicodin scrip instead of a lollypop, and got fitted for partials, in a time pressured end of year insurance scramble. No fun.

In my sad awakeness I went days with the lifeless corpse of a refrigerator that was way too young to die, and replaced it instead of trying to repair it. Twenty-six hours after entering the order on-line the new one was delivered and is now chilling. I discovered something I already sort of knew—living without a refrigerator is no fun. And I learned something new:

Maytag Sucks!

I’m wide awake to see wet courts, unplayable.

I’m awake enough to perceive sneaky Gay League tennis recruiting tactics on the part of erstwhile team-mates, now new rivals. I’ve lived my life (mostly) and getting sandbagged is not a novel insult. Like the drama of infidelity, it’s not just painful, it’s boring. And the flying emails all sound so gdmf corporate.

I’m awake enough to watch the news. People tell me not to. Tis the season for a sound bite advocating torture, with a nativity scene in the background.

There’s no light at all.

I might as well just go back to bed.

Tomorrow night the sun will reach it’s southern solstice and then, theoretically, will start its northward climb again. But, like a patient after a near fatal disease, it’ll take many weeks to recover its strength.

Et in terra, pax hominibus bonae voluntatis.

This translates: “And on earth, peace to men of good will.” It does NOT translate: “Peace on earth, good will toward men.”

Peace.

Christmas Phone Call
(excerpt)

Son: Mom, good news, I got a job!

Mom: That’s great son! What’s the job?

Son: It’s for the government. I’m going to be a torturer, specializing in waterboarding.

Mom: Are you sure…

Son: It’s perfectly legal. They fly me to countries where the laws allow it. And they put me up in really nice hotels. And, it really is helping our country. And the benefits are great.

Mom: Well, son, as long as it makes you happy, that’s all I care about. Your sister wants to say hello. Merry Christmas. I love you.

Son: Merry Christmas, mom. I love you, too.

----- o -----

DO AND RE-DO WERE ON A BOAT...

It’s news to me that Sophie Azouaou is the “Fashion and Interior Design Critic,” of the San Francisco Sentinel.

The headline of this 12/10/07 Sentinel story is not news:

Sentinel Interior Design Critic Sophie Azouao Underwrites Benefit Magazine Remodel

Our August 28, 2007 post mentioned the remodel job in question, which was being donated by Sophisticate Interiors, Sophie’s company.

According to the Sentinel Story:

Benefit Magazine Inc, a Bay Area Media Company which provides the ‘inspiration and the resource’ for charitable giving in print, TV, and radio, is approaching its first anniversary and the re-launch of its flagship product, Benefit Magazine.

Somehow I thought the flagship product already had been re-launched.

The next paragraph of the Sentinel article contains more strangeness:

“Benefit Magazine is on the verge of releasing a vastly improved editorial product in terms of depth and quality of coverage and of aesthetic design. We have come a long way in the past year… "

-Benefit Magazine, Special Projects Director, Sophie Azouaou

So, Sophie is also working for Benefit Magazine.

Either Ms Azouaou gets around a lot, or not much at all.

I may have to send staff to investigate. Has the new regime actually published a magazine issue, made of paper and ink and staples and glue, that hands can hold?

Here’s Benefit Mag’s latest web presence, no upgrade here.

It shows this jpg of a cover.

If there has been in issue published recently, then much of the copy of the Sentinel Story is out of date, unless I misconstrue the meaning of “re-launch.”

Considering we have one publication, The Sentinel, reporting on another publication, Benefit Magazine, a puff piece really, I'd think someone on one of the staffs would be able to write a coherent story.

I guess I'd be wrong.

----- o -----

DECEMBER LIGHT

Today is the third anniversary of my mother’s death. I still haven’t properly sorted and stored the papers from her safe deposit boxes. Every once in a while a document will spill from a shelf onto my bedroom floor.

Yesterday it was a duplicate baptismal certificate for my mother’s father. He was born in the 1880’s in “St Edward (Albion),” Nebraska. Why the confusion? They were and are two distinct towns. Probably the birthplace is one and the baptism site the other.

Buried in the basement are pictures of my granddad's family in their sod hut, somewhere between Albion or St Edward.

We have to zoom in pretty far before the town names appear on Google maps.

Just two generations from the sod hut appears … ta da … sfwillie.

During his second and final hospital stay, I was alone with my own father who wasby then going in and out of present tense, when I said something about my mom.

“Your mother is a beautiful woman,” my dad said.

----- o -----

LENNAR BOMBS

Maybe the recently announced municipal budget deficit will spur radical action. Maybe San Franciscans are fed up with the duct-tape/crazy-glue approach to city finances.

I suggest we eliminate city government almost entirely, and outsource the whole thing to Lennar.

This could coincide with the renaming of San Francisco. Sooner or later we’ll realize that naming a city after a saint of a particular religion, especially a saint of the anti-gay, anti-choice Roman Catholic Church, is just too incorrect politically.

Name it Lennar City. Let Lennar run things directly, instead of through the charade of city government. There could be enormous economies.

Anyway these three stories came to me via Google Alerts the other day.

Past Tense – “Lennar bombed.”

The headline of this Orlando Sentinel story says it all

Crew detonates fragmentation bomb found on former bombing range site.

It’s about a Lennar development built on a Florida bombing range. Inspection for live bombs was sort of an afterthought. I’m sure that the middle school in the story, where bombs were found, prides itself in being drug-free and certainly gun-free, but they can’t be sure if the place is bomb-free.

Present Tense – “Lennar bombs.”

It’s not just any Palm Springs golf course Lennar is shutting down because of the slumping housing market, it’s a Jack Nicklaus designed golf courts. Oh, the sacrilege!

Lennar has shut down the Escena golf course in Palm Springs. They were supposed to build 1400 luxury homes starting at 400K and up. Jack Nicklaus designed the golf course. After building about 60 homes, they have stopped all building on the project, have not finished the club house, and now have closed the golf course. Those 60 people who bought golf course homes are screwed.

Quoted from implode-explode.com. "Re: Lennar shuts down Nicklaus designed golf course"



Future Tense – “Lennar will bomb”

It looks like we’re getting another Candlestick ballot measure on the June 2008 ballot. According to the SFGate story:

The new proposal - which would reach the June 2008 ballot following a signature drive - calls on the city to contribute public land and to subsidize portions of the project by tapping a city affordable-housing construction fund and by issuing bonds backed by future property tax revenue from the site.

The coalition sponsoring this ballot measure is led by Lennar Corporation.

I think the above quote means that taxpayers guarantee Lennar a profit.

The proposed ballot initiative, submitted by a group calling itself the African American Community Revitalization Coalition, would repeal measures passed by city voters in 1997 that approved $100 million in public financing and land-use rule changes to allow a new 49ers stadium and shopping mall at Candlestick.

Tentative name of the initiative: "Bayview Jobs, Parks and Housing Initiative."

Probably another dud.

----- o -----

EYEING THE MAN

In my day, during the eucharist (bread and wine) portion of the Roman Catholic mass, great care was taken to keep the chalice (wine) and ciborium (hosts) covered at all times, unless there was some reason to uncover them. The ciboria have lids, chalices are covered by a starched cloth thingie.

We were taught the origin of this practice: olden cathredrals and churches frequently had pigeons and other fowl living in the rafters and high corners and cornices. It was considered gravely important that pigeon droppings not foul the body and blood.

This has something to do with Don Imus.

The “ho” part was bad, but the “nappy headed” part was worse. It implies that there is something wrong, unbeautiful, about African American’s hair.

How would we describe Don Imus’ hair?

Imus’ girlish tresses make the same statement as his pink and lavender shirts: Imus is so manly he can get away with it.

Anyway, there was footage yesterday of Imus walking from his limo to the front door of a building (presumably his studio). It must have been raining because the chauffeur was walking behind Imus with a big old umbrella at arms length to keep the star dry.

Imus was carrying his trademark grey-felt cowboy hat. He was carrying the hat against his chest, sort of under his chin, to protect it from any stray raindrops.

As he approached the door, and was under a protective awning, he put his hat on, and entered the building.

What kind of a cowboy is that?

In his comeback speech, as we see in the capture above, Imus wore his collar turned up--against the air conditioning maybe?

----- o -----

CHU SHOWS D4 ALTRUISM

A recent survey of her constituents conducted by District 4 Supervisor Carmen Chu turned up some surprising results.

First: The residents of District 4 are pretty darn happy about city government and its treatment of their fogbelt neighborhood.

Second (and this is the surprise): The most important concern of D4 residents is that restaurateurs citywide are paying too much in fees to put tables on their sidewalks.

This shows the outward-looking, empathetic character of District 4. We have it so good out here in the fog that we are concerned with others who are less fortunate, such as restaurant owners.

Responding to the survey results, Supervisor Chu, a Newsom flunky he appointed to fill the temporarily vacant seat of Ed Jew, has introduced legislation to lighten the burden on those wishing to extend their private business space into the public right of way.

According to the Examiner story:

The public works code currently requires businesses to pay more than $134 to buy or renew a permit. The new ordinance would cut the initial cost to $104 and the annual renewal cost to $52.

Besides, the city doesn’t need the revenue, we have plenty of that!

By the way, the Examiner story begins:

The sidewalk café has long been part of San Francisco’s joie de vivre.

Long term residents will join me in throwing up.

----- o -----

BAGGAGE

I wanted to rant about the plastic bag law, but so far it hasn’t pained me at all. I used to ask for paper bags, now I don’t have to ask—paper’s all my local Lucky offers.

I love the handles.

The test will come with our next big rain.

People who try to walk or Muni home with paper bags full of groceries in the middle of a downpour may find the bottom falling out. Hell awaits.

Jared Blumenthal, head of the burgeoning Department of Environment was one of three who spoke at the signing of the Anti-plastic Bag Ordinance, along with Mayor Newsom and Supervisor Ross Mirkarimi.

Blumenthal impressed twice. At one point he corrected the mayor’s claim about the benefits of the plastic bag ban—the mayor had exaggerated by an order of magnitude.

Later Jared revealed his secret goal for the plastics ban. He, and many, assumed that the plastic bags would be replaced with similar looking bags made out of corn stalks or some such material.

The new, non-plastic bags, Jared told us, would be compostable, which would help San Franciscans conquer the “ick” factor when separating table scraps for the “green” compostables garbage bins.

So it was about composting! And may well become. I was hoping I’d be dead by the time composting becomes mandatory.

----- o -----

GOLIATH WINS AGAIN

I can’t think of a TV commercial more unsettling than the recent “Viva Viagra” effort--a bunch of middle aged men strumming guitars and singing the praise of the little pill that could. And how they’ll be departing (soon) to go home and screw.

You know, they don’t give a shit about elections, they’re all gonna get erections!!!

Anyway, the election results from Nov 6, presumably official now, are depressing enough.

It was the first test of this blog’s ability to influence voters. My consultants gave it a positive spin. SFWILLIE’S BLOG, they tell me, had zero influence on the outcomes of any races. Which, they say, establishes a “good baseline.”

I suspect worse. Judging from the results, many voters could have taken sfwillie’s recommendations and voted the opposite.

That’s the way I used to vote when I didn’t have time to study the propositions—I’d clip out the Chronicle’s recommendations and vote the opposite.

Lessons:

Mayor’s Race: It’s better to have a constituency than not.

Propositions: People who turn out to vote for an unopposed mayor will probably vote with the mayor on the propositions.

D.A.: There is hope! One thousand seven hundred fifty-six people voted write-in. We are not alone.

Not on the ballot was a raise for Muni-head Nathanial Ford. According to the Chron, Ford is now the highest paid city employee.

Remember, Ford gave us the T-Third meltdown, which brought unnecessary real-life pain to thousands of San Franciscans.

Either Ford was unaware that the T-Third rollout wouldn’t work, in which case he’s incompetent. Or, he knew it wouldn’t work, but he rolled it out anyway, for “political” reasons, in which case he’s malicious.

Either way, the fact that bogus Muni-reform Prop A passed, and that Ford was given a big raise AFTER the election, tells us that San Francisco’s de-facto Transit-Last policy will remain in effect for the foreseeable future.

Woe is me.

----- o -----

RULE CHANGE REQUEST: BOS

Sometimes I’ll look at the sad assemblage of human beings which is our San Francisco Board of Supervisors and ask myself, “How did this nincompoop, or that moron, ever get elected in the first place?"

Simple answer: many of them didn’t.

Three of our current board members were appointed by Mayor Gavin Newsom: “whiney brat” Angela Alioto Pier, sad-eyed golfer Sean Elsbernd, and neophyte Carmen Chu who has three or four short leashes around her neck.

Even Newsom’s first elected office was gotten by appointment. Newsom’s incumbency is the lasting gift of Kamala’s ex-boyfriend, whatisname, oh yeah, Willie Brown.

The City Charter grants the mayor the power to fill vacancies on the Board of Supervisors. This allows these hacks to then run from a position of incumbency.

This provision gives considerable power to the Mayor. Downtown interests favor it. Neighborhoods should oppose it.

How to stop it?

Change the City Charter to prohibit an appointed supervisor from running for his or her seat in the next subsequent election, i.e. “no appointed incumbency.”

It looks like Gavin wants Carmen Chu to stay on as MY supervisor. This is hell.

----- o -----

RULE CHANGE REQUEST: TENNIS

In recent years top level pro tennis has introduced computer systems to resolve disputed line calls. “Shotspot,” and “Hawkeye,” are two of the brand names we’ve heard.

It’s a form of instant replay, which produces a graphical representation of where the computer calculates the ball actually landed in relation to the line.

The processing time required for any particular bounce is enough that it can’t be used in real time. It takes maybe fifteen seconds from challenge to outcome.

Because of this processing time, the use of shotspotting systems must be limited. If each player could challenge any shot the natural flow of the game would be disrupted. A player might challenge a line call just to gain a few extra seconds of recovery time after a strenuous point, or just to throw off the opponent’s rythmn.

So the rule is: Each player has only two unsuccessful challenges per set. In other words, each player can challenge any call, but after a player makes two wrong challenges (as determined by the computer), his or her right to make challenges is suspended for the rest of the set.

This system punishes wrong challenges but doesn’t reward correct challenges.

When Hawkeye determines a challenge to be correct, the reversal of the adverse call is not a reward, it is simple justice.

When a player makes a correct challenge, he or she should be awarded an additional (incorrect) challenge for that set. Otherwise, a player could, conceivably, have a high average of successful challenges but still lose the right to challenge, (e.g. ten correct challenges followed by two incorrect).

This rule change would place greater pressure on the judges, and could even get the chair umpire back in the business of overruling the calls of line judges.

While no system is perfect (I once saw Cyclops, which is devoted to service line calls, and Hawkeye disagree),but anyone who’s watched much tennis has seen egregious bad line calls at the highest level of the game. It’s good that some errors are being corrected.

Someday I’ll learn what could motivate someone to be a line judge. I think Major League Baseball still forbids ballparks from showing big-screen replays of close calls, the umpires wouldn’t stand for it. In tennis, a lineguy or gal must be able to have a clear mistake shown to a packed stadium plus millions of TV viewers, and not cry.

One commenter said that dealing with bad line calls (and not going berserk and totally losing it) is an important psychological element of the game, and he hates to see it go. This seems cruel to me.

----- o -----

DID YOU HEAR?

I abhor gossip. I abhor myself when I do it.

My parents were both outsiders. I’m sure my family was much gossiped about by the insiders on our block. For balance, I was assured that the good opinion of born-and-raised hicks had only limited value.

My folks enjoyed it when little Willie whined, “Why can’t we be like normal people?”

They’d laugh, and tease me, “Because we’re NOT normal people. We’re the Morrisseys.” Then they'd laugh at the frustration their answer elicited from me.

Anyway, a piece of gossip about our mayor has been reported in a supposedly progressive journal. The purpose of the not very “blind” item was to impugn the character of the mayor, and, basically, tell on him.

The unnamed mayor’s supposed sin? He got drunk and woke up the next morning in the bed of a young female who was not his official girlfriend.

Well tsk fucking tsk!

Progressives? Criticizing someone for having sex?

I think maybe we need to break this down.

If a mayor goes to a meeting where he signs a deal to build a big new Safeway in Bay View Hunters Point, then he gets drunk and goes home with a new girl to have sex—that's a GOOD MAYOR.

If a mayor goes to a meeting and signs a deal transferring millions of dollars in public assets to the Don Fisher Ego Foundation, then he gets drunk and goes home with a new girl to have sex—that's a BAD MAYOR.

Applying algebra, the drunk/sex part cancels out.

Please!

[Above, notorious drunk, Winston Churchill. Do we know enough about his sex life?]

----- o -----

ASSIGNMENT: SAFEWAY

My next boyfriend doesn’t have to be a genius. Speaking of which…

It doesn’t take a genius to understanding the value of having a supermarket in your neighborhood.

The supermarket, overflowing with every kind of food choice, in quantities that seem inexhaustable, is possibly THE strongest symbol of the American dream.

Choice, variety, freshness, and price, price, price. Oh, and did I mention… price.

It’s been understood, since I was a kid, that ghettos are underserved by the kinds of businesses that white middleclass people take for granted.

Without an accessible supermarket, mom and pop corner stores, with nothing fresh and sky high prices, or fast food, also expensive, are the only alternatives. Most nutritionists agree such diets tax not only the pocketbook, but reduce longevity and diminish actual quality of life.

So, the only surprise, to me at least, about a recent study reported in Fog City Journal, is that it was necessary in the first place. Read FCJ’s piece by Caitlin Cassady.

It starts:

A study released today shows that residents in San Francisco's Bayview Hunters Point neighborhood think access to fresh and health food is an urgent issue that needs to be addressed.

According to the study:

Over half of the residents surveyed say that they shop at Safeway stores in other neighborhoods.

What more do we need to know?

The rest of the report sounds like the biases of the Mayor’s office group that wrote the report, claiming the residents are willing to pay more for pesticide free food, or that they want some sort of neighborhood co-op market (or that they want a Birkenstock outlet?).

What they want is a goddamn Safeway. Pardon my gdmf French.

But it’s not either-or. BVHP needs a big old supermarket PLUS other food options, just like everybody else. While the report emphasizes dietary health, it’s an obvious issue of economic justice as well.

If Safeway can have all the indicated locations in San Francisco, why the heck can’t they have one in BVHP?

So, Mayor Newsom and Supervisor Maxwell, here is your assignment: get a Safeway opened in BVHP open by Jan 1, 2009. Also, as part of the deal, build a strip mall for alternative food stores (organic, specialty ethnic, etc.).

The benefit to the people of BVHP is obvious. So what’s in it for Newsom and Maxwell? How about the experience of a sense of decency?

If that’s not enough, Sophie, you need something, anything, to redeem the utter mediocrity that has been your tenure on the Board of Supervisors.

And Gavin, if you can get a Safeway built in BVHP, I’ll vote for your sorry white ass for governor.

Don’t wait. Get to work.

----- o -----

SUDDENLY SINGLE

At age 19 or 20 when I finally figured out that I was gay I was gripped by a fear that created a strong motivation. My fear was that I would die without experiencing truly satisfying sex.

This was the mid-1960s, pre-Stonewall, the thought of healthy, satisfying gay relationships was almost non-existent in American culture.

My dad’s reaction when I told him I was gay wasn’t really judgmental. He was a devout Roman Catholic and fairly moralistic, but his reaction had nothing to do with sin or impropriety. He was afraid that I would have a less happy life than if I were straight.

My mom’s main concern was how I was going to support myself—we both knew what the answer would be: Not very well.

So my goal, pretty much in life, was to experience:

Mutual fulfillment of sexual object and act cathexes (MFOAC).

Object cathexis: The sex object is physically close enough to one’s ideal that he or she is way good enough and one feels lucky to have found a person with such physical attractiveness.

Act cathexis: The sex object engages in all of one’s favorite sex acts. All desired sex behaviors are mutually indulged.

Mutuality: Both people feel lucky to have found the other.

I achieved my goal.

But the relationship we tried to build around this MFOAC was problematic. A listing of my inadequacies would rival the Iliad’s “catalog of ships.” As for me I felt a lack of affection and a lack of emotional support.

It should have ended many years ago, but the tether, the connectedness created by MFOAC is hard to give up.

I ended it last week.

After thirty-four years, with diminishing sexual returns, I realized, sort of like realizing I was gay way back when, that I have a new “relationship” goal:

Mutual affection and emotional support that includes sex (MAESIS).

This is completely pathetic for a 59-year old. But it’s a lot better than waking up at my age desperate to experience MFOAC.

It’s sort of a belated mid-life crisis. I feel almost alive. But, as my mom knew would be the case, I can’t afford a little red sports car, not even a used one.

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DEJA VIEW

This afternoon flipping channels I saw some live coverage of the Las Vegas preliminary hearing to determine if OJ Simpson should be tried for kajillion felonies

It was strange how un-strange it was to see OJ sitting at the defense table.

How long does an NFL running play take, from snap to whistle? Ten seconds? Twenty seconds?

I’m thinking OJ has spent more time at defense tables than he spent actually carrying the ball in the NFL.

He’s a pro.

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WANTED!

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ANYONE BUT CHICKEN

This shameful election morning Nevius column supports h. brown’s paranoia: that Chicken John is on the Newsom team.

Wannabe-eccentric John Rinaldi is being used by Newsom and his downtown backers to typify, and thus trivialize, the opposition to Newsom and his feed-the-rich regime.

Rinaldi’s platform IS his anti-conventional fashion statements. So amusing.

h. brown early in the race pegged Rinaldi as a Newsom “plant” and predicted that Rinaldi would be the recipient of Newsom-directed public funding of some sort—jobs, grants—as soon as the election is over.

Basically Nevius’ column says:

- Newsom is a shoo-in,
- His main opponent is a guy named “Chicken John.”
- Wouldn’t it be “so San Francisco” if Chicken John got a lot of votes!

Meanwhile, candidates such as brown, Sumchai, and Mecke who have raised serious questions which the Mayor refuses to address in open discussion, aren’t even named in the article.

The only other Newsom opponents Nevius mentions are “Grasshopper and the nude guy.”

Nevius refers to, or quotes others referring to, the field of opposition mayoral candidates as:

- offbeat
- midget
- fringes
- freaks
- ridiculous

At the downsizing Chronicle, Nevius must feel that it’s better to be a shill than to be unemployed. The janitor who empties C.W.’s wastebasket has, at least, an honest job.

The results of this Mayoral vote won’t make national news, UNLESS Chicken John comes in second. If this happens, right wing pundits will use the Chicken-vote to further trivialize and vilify San Francisco.

If you like Newsom, vote for Newsom.

If you dislike San Francisco, vote for Chicken John Rinaldi.

Elsewise, any other candidate will do.

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