A Personal Extraordinary Experience On The Day Prince Died

Here's a short and sweet story about a very recent extraordinary personal experience...

Two days ago, I was out walking around the Haight-Ashbury district in San Francisco.  I had a few errands to run and had brought Tyler the Pup with me.  I'd awoken early (for me) that morning and had decided to do some grocery shopping which, potentially, could entail walking/skateboarding/riding the bus to four different markets... ones which weren't close to each other (It did).

(@ 10 am) The first store I went to was on Haight Street.  I'd bought some amazingly sweet organic strawberries there at an equally amazing price recently, twice.  Unfortunately, when i got there, the price had gone up thirty cents and - although they were California strawberries - they were from a producer I didn't care for.

So, onward (sans strawberries)...

As I walked to the second market (several blocks away), I began to try to sing along with a song that was playing in my head.  I say "try" because I hadn't heard the song in a long time and was unsure about the order of some of the lyrics.  I went in the second store to pick up a couple salads they usually have prepared. Unfortunately, although they did have many salads on the salad bar, they didn't have the ones that I like.

So, onward...
... about seven more blocks to - then - wait for (ever!) to catch the MUNI...

The whole time Tyler and I are making our way to the MUNI stop, inside my head - as loud and clear as if she were standing there, right in front of me - Sinead O'Connor was still crooning "Nothing Compares 2 U" in her beautiful, melodic, tortured way.  I could even see her - in my mind's eye - just as she looked in her video.  I was pleased to find that I was having a fair amount of success getting the lyrics in their proper order - even if I couldn't match Sinead note-for-note.

This is what I saw in My Mind's Eye...




Anywhoo...

To make a long-enough story a little shorter, the MUNI (finally!) arrived and Tyler The Pup and I went to the other two markets and found some of what I had intended to pick up.

And, through each and every moment,  for the entire time - from the moment it had started back on Haight Street - Sinead O'Connor and I were singing our hauntingly mournful song about utterly grief-stricken, heart and soul-crushing loss.

And, for the remainder of the day, Sinead and I sang that song.  Mostly often as a duet but, at times, Sinead would sing it solo (inside my head, of course) if other people were around.

We sang it as I made my way from one stop to the next and as I took care of my errands and - especially - to block out the murderously inane muzak that businesses seem to like to assault people's ears with once inside their doors.

She sang as we arrived back at home and as I cooked dinner for Tyler The Pup and for myself.  I didn't mind at all.  I'd always loved that song - every note, every word and Sinead's every exquisitely-nuanced performance of it.  I swear, from the first time i'd heard it, it touched a Sacred part of my Soul.  And, honestly, I think it touched a Sacred part of every Soul who ever had the honor of hearing it.

At around 9:00 pm, I'd gotten both of our dinners finished.  I gave Tyler The Pup his and sat down in front of my laptop.  I was running late for my favorite (and only) radio show: Fade To Black with Jimmy Church!

I brought up the show's website and the player came to life.  I glanced at the description and couldn't believe what I didn't want to be seeing:

"Tonight On FADE TO BLACK with Jimmy Church:  In Memory Of Prince...".

Immediately, I tried to lie to myself, "No!  It's 'Prince Charles' who died... Please. Please. Please!  I mean, seriously, I'd be totally okay with that.  Because, if it wasn't Prince Charles, then, I so didn't want to know!  My eyes went back and read the screen again.  No!  It couldn't be Him!  No!  Not PRINCE!

It took me a few moments...  And, then, I realized, Whoa!

THAT'S Why Sinead O'Connor's rendition of 'Nothing Compares 2 U' Was In My Head All Day.

At some deep, unconscious level - perhaps at that Sacred place in my Soul - I'd already picked up on that His Royal Badness, our gifted, gorgeous, genius Prince was gone... and (with Sinead's powerful performance of one of the songs Prince, himself, had penned) I'd already been remembering and mourning him.

There was never and will never be another like Him.  Rock In Peace, Brother!

Click on the link below to see what AWESOME looks like: 

Prince's Full Super Bowl XLI Halftime Show 2007

This one's short & sweet: *Best Shop Sign (*Ever)...

Best Shop Sign*:
(*Ever)

"Unattended Children Will Be Either Eaten Or Sold Into Slavery." 

- Braindrops Piercing & Tattoo (You gotta Love Tha Haight.)


I happened to see this sign after deciding to let my facial piercing (self-pierced by Yours Truly) close and get a new professional piercing done in its place.
Me: Hollow piercing needles?  Go figure!  What will they think of next?
(I'd MacGyver'd my current piercing - several years back - using only a large sewing needle and an eraser.)

 

 

Photo Credit: sanfrancisco.cbslocal.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Another Manic Monday: Roofing + Blowtorches = FIRE

Monday, July 26th, 2010
Haight-Ashbury, San Francisco, California


The World or - at the very least - my beloved Haight-Ashbury District was still slowly awakening and still gloriously peaceful at around 9:30am this Monday morning.

As for me, I was awake and sitting in front of my computer, scanning the internet in search of unique and/or under-reported national/international news stories.
Photo Courtesy of L.A. S.F.,CA

At one point, my focused headline-reading was suddenly interrupted by a cacophony of sounds which - if you live in a wooden building that is also surrounded by other wooden buildings - you prefer not to hear.

Living on Haight Street - a busy place with or without the perpetual influx and parade of tourists (many of them shockingly discourteous photo-bugs) - demands that you either adapt to your surroundings by developing the finely-tuned ability to block out the (frequently raucous) street noises or simply re-locate.

Being a long-time resident, I've developed such skills.

Even so, there remain certain sounds which you never would want to filter out.

This... the shrill, wailing, high-decibel sirens emanating from fire-trucks, ambulances and police cars, was one of those sounds.

The increasing volume and density of the unsynchronized sirens told me two things:
1.)There were four or five fire-trucks behind those sirens and...
2.)The emergency vehicles firing on all cylinders were speeding directly toward my neck of the urban jungle.

I wasn't overly-worried, but I feel that events like this call for taking a few moments to further investigate.

When I opened my windows, the first thing I saw was an ambulance parked across the street - facing the wrong way. The two well-trained EMTs had already set their gear atop a gurney and had positioned it alongside their vehicle.

A glance down the street confirmed the presence of (at least) four San Francisco Fire Deparment (SFFD) trucks already on scene half a block away - with numerous firefighters suited up (some approaching the entrance to a building and others drawing out fire-hoses). I could still hear more sirens approaching from the distance, so it wasn't looking promising for the situation to turn out to be a false alarm.

I'd also noted the presence of several workmen on the sidewalk in front of The Wasteland Vintage Clothing Store (located at 1660 Haight Street); I watched as one of them scaled a precariously-perched (as no one held onto it at the bottom, when someone climbed it moved and rattled a lot) aluminum ladder leading up to the roof; there were also workers on the roof.

By the time I'd gotten my keys and purse in hand and looked out the window again, police cars had pulled into position on the corners to prevent civilian vehicle traffic, MUNI buses and those damned double-decker tourist buses from getting too close to the operation.

As my Faithful Companion and I reached the street, the officers were lighting flares and placing them in the road.

Thankfully, as I neared the focus of all the activity, there were no flames nor billowing smoke to be seen.

As we walked past the structure at 1654 Haight Street, above the El Balazo Restaurant, I saw that the other Fire Department vehicles I'd heard had arrived. Seeing movement on Wasteland's roof, I glanced up and saw that several firefighters were now up there and were hard at work removing a number of long, wooden planks from the exterior wall of two of the flats located above the restaurant - most likely to confirm that there were no flames or hot-spots within the exterior wall.

A friend of mine who lives in the affected building was standing across the street. He informed me that the fire was apparently started, accidentally, by the group of workmen who had been toiling on the roof of The Wasteland... with blowtorches.

My guess is that, most-likely, they were re-tarring the roof.

According to my friend, the upper and lower apartments on that side of the building were damaged by fire, smoke and water. Hopefully, the concrete building that is home to The Wasteland is undamaged.

*If I may offer a suggestion to anyone working with a blowtorch and potentially flammable materials (like tar, wood): It may be prudent to bring along a fire-extinguisher or two... just in case.

Coincidentally, the last significant fire I'd personally witnessed broke out only a few doors down from this event, on Dec. 22, 2009. The result of that blaze: the three-alarm fire burned through the street-level Tikka Masala Restaurant; through two flats of apartments above the restaurant and did extensive damage to Villain's Clothing Store. All of the residents escaped safely, but the businesses remain closed today.

The Wasteland Vintage Clothing Store, being constructed of concrete, suffered only smoke damage and re-opened after several days.

*Many Thanks To The San Francisco Fire Department.
I Know Our Beautiful City, Our Neighborhoods And Our Citizens Are In The Best Hands With You.

Peace,
L.

Haight Ashbury SFPD Park Station Officers Tag Taggers - Hurray!

Yes...

I will admit that I have been rather annoyed with some members of the San Francisco Police Department (SFPD).

Not with all of them, mind you.

Just those individual officers who go above and beyond the call when it comes to cruelty, harassment, and/or brutality...

Especially officers like you, Officer Gabriel Gallaread... now, apparently, wreaking havoc out of the Mission Station.

Hallelujah! Good Riddance to Bad Rubbish!

I do offer our Beloved Mission District my deepest sympathy and encourage those who live there to avoid this particular officer - especially if you are out alone at night.

I Saw What You Did, Gabriel, And I Know What You Are... You are Nothing... But a Thug... With a gun and a badge.

But, I digress...

The Great News:

Yesterday afternoon, as I walked my loyal companion around The Haight, I observed one Park Station-based SFPD officer on a SFPD bike going to speak with a business-owner.

The officer has short, blond hair. I do not know his name, but he's been in the neighborhood for a while. And, from what I've observed in the past, he does a commendable job. (I haven't seen him beat anyone to a bloody mess who was already in handcuffs and not resisting.)

On my return, on the other side of the street, I noticed the officer's bike parked against a shop. There was also an empty black-and-white parked at the curb a short distance away from the bike. I was curious where the officers had gone. I glanced into a few shops, to no avail.

Then, I looked across Haight Street...

And, there they all were.

The young, blond officer and two female officers - a blonde and a brunette (I gather that they were in the squad car) - were talking to three young men.

Well, actually, they looked like three boys, young teenagers - all in dark clothing and one had a new-skool skateboard.

My dear dog wanted to go to the Park, but I've learned the importance of being observant and, although I didn't believe any of these officers would do anything wrong, someone needs to be paying attention to these types of interactions - just in case.

What I then observed absolutely warmed the shreds of what used to be my heart:

One of the female officers picked up three yellow aerosol canisters... the kind used by artistically-gifted mural artists and turd-ball taggers, alike.

The officers were taking turns talking to the three boys, asking them questions and explaining what will happen to them each time that they are caught tagging public and/or private property... up to and including being ordered to do a long-stint of community service (hopefully removing graffiti) and - if I heard correctly - not being allowed to get their driver's licenses for a while (yes, they were that young).

Individually, the two women each looked at me, briefly, while they spoke to the boys.

I made the effort to look harmless and smile.

I didn't want to interrupt something I'd never seen happen before and might never see again.

You see, it's often a rare thing to catch the little scrawling, tagging rug-rats in action.

The ones I often see come out at night - after leaving mommy and daddy at home, blankly staring at the tv... "Have fun, dear. Don't be home too late!" - go out with a buddy or two to deface the world and create eyesores galore.

The daylight ones often carry paint-pens and glance around before scrawling something on homes, businesses, buses, gates, trash cans, windows, mailboxes, doors, etc. (you get the picture). The simple act of looking around = they know that they shouldn't be doing it.

The night-scrawlers can be observed meandering back and forth across the streets - no particular destination in mind - seeking targets that call out to them.

Usually, one or two of them plays "look-out", while the other does his asinine excuse for "art".

The three junior juvee-wannabees I now observed had been flat out busted in flagrante... with the tools of their tagging trade on their persons and - likely - with paint on their clothes/hands.

Bwahahahahahahaha!

When the young, blond officer glanced across the street at me with a curious look - he probably knows I live in the 'hood by now - I simply gave him a subtle smile and a thumbs-up... "You guys rock!", I said under my breath.

Seeing that, he smiled back at me.

I think he was a bit surprised.

He needn't be. I abhor taggers.

The City will cite and heavily-fine property owners if their property is tagged by the little losers and the scrawl isn't quickly removed.

I happen to love and respect my landlord. He's an angel. He happens to live elsewhere. So, when our building gets tagged, I'm the person who paints over it.

For a while, I was keeping a can of paint and a paint-brush just inside our front door - it was that bad.

But, despite the looming threat of losing police officers due to budget cuts, I've noticed a consistent and visible presence of officers in our neighborhood... and it makes a Big Difference.

Not just with the taggers, either.

There also seems to have been fewer fights breaking out in the street.

Yeah, when the bars close, there's usually at least one drunken fool shooting off his mouth at someone else.

Thankfully, of late, it seems to stop there... Just words... Just yelling... Or, maybe even a little shoving... But, it tends to stop there.

At least, there hasn't been the kind of violent assaults that - for a while - ended with people bleeding and ambulances being called.

"To Serve And Protect."

I may not say it enough...

Heck, I don't think I've ever said it...

But, Park Station, You guys (and women) Rock.

Thank you.

Hurray For The 2009 San Francisco Bay To Breakers!

(From:www.ingbaytobreakers.com/.)

It was with a sizeable amount of dread that I anticipated this past weekend's 98th Annual San Francisco Bay To Breakers.

Basically, The Bay To Breakers is a Dual Event:

It's One Part Serious Foot Race.

Officially, it's a USA Track & Field Certified 12K Run.
From San Francisco Bay to The Breakers.

Originally called "The Cross City Race", it was first run in 1912 - a precursor to the world-class athletic events organized for the 1915 Panama Pacific International Exposition.

In that Inaugural Event, there were less than 200 participants. Robert Jackson Vlught was the first to cross the finish line, with a finishing time of 44 minutes and 10 seconds.

In recent years, it's been a safe bet that the Winning Woman Athlete and the Winning Male Athlete would be from Africa.

This year, 22-year-old Sammy Kitwara of Kenya was the first professional runner to cross the finish line. He set a course record, winning the seven mile race in an amazing 33 minutes, 31 seconds!

And, 26-year-old Ethiopian Teyba Erkesso was the first woman to cross the finish line - setting a personal best time of 38 minutes, 29 seconds.

I didn't know this until today, but the first place winners of the race each take home a prize of $25,000.

Another remarkable Evolution since the early days of the Race has Everything to do with the Second Part of this Event:

The Parade/Party Part.

The City knows to expect around 65,000+ registered participants... many of whom (individually and in groups) perennially invest a great deal of thought, time and work in the costumes they wear and the floats (yes, I said 'floats' - as in "Parade".) they display during the Race.

The City also knows to expect about 100,000+ jubilant, costumed (and frequently intoxicated) spectators annually. Kegs and open containers were abundant - that is, until this year's Event.

This year, the New Improvements/Enhancements included "Shared Enforcement of City Ordinances Regarding Alcohol" (open container and wasted-in-public): the "Leave No Trace" Statement/Keep Our City Clean (Dumpster locations were mapped.); Additional Port-A-Johns. Last Year's myopic 500-or-so didn't quite match the 165,000-or-so person Event. (Sigh...) It's ludicrous, but this actually needs to be said: "Just Because You Can Urinate/Defecate In Public Doesn't Mean You Should."

I am sincerely grateful to my Beloved City of San Francisco for finally setting a few new rules and regulations.

I have absolutely no problem with people stepping outside their usual Monday-Friday/9-5 comfort zones and - basically - Letting Their Freak Flags Fly. In fact, I'm all for it. And, I encourage them to Break Free and do so more than once or twice a year (the other oft-perceived 'safe' day to do so being All Hallow's Eve/Halloween.).

What I take serious issue with is what some of the colorful revelers would thoughtlessly do to our Beautiful & World-Famous San Francisco - particularly to Her Public Parks - along the Race Route.

After the 2008 Bay To Breakers, I headed to the Panhandle Park - between Oak Street and Fell Street - with Jessi the Dog...

What I saw when I looked into the Park from Oak Street made, I wanted to scream... I did scream, "Oh My F'g God!"

The Beautiful, Lush & Green Panhandle Park that I LOVE... the Park that countless men, women, children, tourists and dogs LOVE... was trashed beyond belief.

The word "TORNADO" came to mind - except that the trees were still standing. But, other than that, Park-wide swath of destruction looked the same.

My eyes welled up with tears.

It broke my heart that people could be so utterly thoughtless, callous and LAZY as to have left the Park looking like...

... Like the basement of a fraternity house after a three-day weekend beer bash.

I let Jessi run around - keeping a watchful eye on her - as I spent the next Two Hours picking up the trash and gathering together the recyclables left scattered helter-skelter by people who - at all other times - masquerade through Life as sentient beings.

At one point, I even had to call the Fire Department, because one particular group of Brainless, Beered-Up Bozoids had left a large, rectangular, aluminum tray - full of still-burning charcoal briquets on the grass... In the middle of a Park where people play Frisbee, catch, volleyball... where young children run around... and where people's beloved dogs run and play...

And, not one of them would ever expect nor would they want to suddenly set a foot or a tender paw down into a tray of red-hot coals!

I went to pick up the tray, found it was still Hot and that it was burning the grass underneath and around it. That's when I called the Fire Department.

I waited for them to arrive... I had to wait for them and direct them to its location. Otherwise, they would never have found the tray in the grassy and tree-lined Park.

Needless to say, I was cursing the lazy, liquored-up litterers. In fact, I cursed their incompetent parents for birthing them.

But, this year, it was Different...

Gloriously Different!

I don't know if it was the New Rules and Regulations...

Or, if it was possibly that the worst offenders died of alcohol poisoning since last year's debacle. :)

Again, I returned to the Park with Jessi the Dog. This time, I brought a large trash bag with me - just in case.

And - I am thrilled to say that the Panhandle Park survived this year's Bay To Breakers Bacchinalia with much less damage than last year.

Whew!

Thank You, San Francisco.

And, Thank You, Bay To Breakers Revelers.

You've restored some of my faith in Homo-Sapiens and their ability to choose to not be pathologically self-destructive.

Peace.

L.

SFSK8rGrrl & Her Trusty '87 Caballero Vs The Speeding SFPD Cruiser

Decidedly Not The Sort Of Thing That You Ever Want To See (Or Hear) Charging Towards You...
(*Please Note: This is not the one that nearly made me a wealthy hood ornament.)

Thought I'd Blog about my Near-Miss...
No. Wait a minute.
Wouldn't a 'Near-Miss', by definition, equate a 'direct hit'?
Hmmm...
Then, I would say it was an 'almost'...
Except for the "'Almost' only counts in hand-grenades and croquet" - thing.
Criminy!

I'll just tell you what happened a few nights ago that caused me - in an instant - to see, in my mind's eye, several variations of what my immediate future might be... all at once.
That... and it briefly left me a little on the shaky side with my pulse pounding like crazy in my chest...
But, on the bright side, the Adrenaline Rush it generated Kicked Ass!
(Don't let anyone ever tell you that a near-death experience can't have a Silver Lining.)

Anyway...

I had gone out cruising on my Powell/Peralta Dragons & Bats Board while the sun was still up in the sky. A few hours later, I decided to head home and I caught the N-Judah Light Rail back to Carl & Cole Streets from the stop at Church & Duboce (behind the behemoth Safeway on Upper Market St.)

I was wearing my 'second skin' - my beloved black leather motorcycle jacket to which I have added spikes and studs (I say 'Second Skin' because I rarely leave home without it.), black Tripp pants that ended just below my knees, Hot Pink & Black Rectors. (I don't have Carpal Tunnel. But, I've fractured my wrists more than once. Future-fracture prevention, road-rash prevention and the rock-hard, squared piece on the palm comes in handy whenever I need to let the occasional blind driver know that I see them - even if they don't see me.)

I admit it wasn't the best color choice for skateboarding at night, but, when I left, it was daylight. But, the pants and belt have a lot of polished silver things on them. A silver handcuff earring dangling from my left ear held a blindingly brilliant Red, White & Blue Strobe light. Jessi the Dog wears it most of the time - to be more visible. I borrow it when skateboarding after dark. And, of course, there's my glow-in-the-dark hair.

A Brief Aside Re: San Francisco's Criminalizing and just plain STUPID, Skateboard-Related Traffic Codes: I usually don't skateboard on Haight Street. Plenty of skaters do it, but I try to avoid it. Why? One of my ex-boyfriends - actually the one who introduced me to skateboarding and provided my first Caballero and Santa Cruz boards - was cited and had his skateboard confiscated by the SFPD for "skateboarding on the sidewalk"... even though he was neither "skateboarding" nor "on the sidewalk"! He had just exited the doors of the (now defunct) Cala Foods and was Standing Next to Me In Cala's Parking Lot. We tried to reason with the over-eager officer - Silly Us - he refused to hear Reason.

Several friends had their decks confiscated "For skating on Haight Street". There is a "No Skateboarding Permitted" Sign posted at Haight and Schrader. But, it's enforcement appears to be arbitrary. If you get caught - some officers will stop you, kindly inform you about the law and tell you to get off your board; some will glare at you with contempt, cite you and confiscate your board; and some will leave you alone... they are busy protecting and serving - the latter are my Favorites.

In San Francisco, it's also illegal to skateboard on many sidewalks. This law is Utterly & Unbelieveably STUPID! Think about what this means: It orders skateboarders to skate in the Street. The Streets of San Francisco. You know... alongside the 2+Ton Cars, Vans, Taxis, Pickup Trucks and the occasional 18-Wheel Semi. Vehicles often driven by people who are barely aware that there are other people present in other 2+Ton. Steel & Fiberglass, Enclosed Vehicles all around them... Do you honestly believe they're looking for individuals riding on sticks of wood with four wheels and No Enclosure? (Here's a hint: Ask a bicyclist.)

It's like ordering kids to "Go Play In Commuter Traffic". It's Vehicular Russian Roulette. Except it lacks the direct control of the gun, and - in lieu of bullets - shoots 2-ton automotive ammo.

Needless to say, since I stopped being suicidal/self-destructive a few years ago - I often skateboard the sidewalks. It depends on a few variables:
the condition of the surface vs that of the black-top, the density of pedestrian vs car traffic and if drivers indicate they are awake, alert and sane.

Back To The Incident...

So, I'm skating from Carl Street down Cole Street towards Haight. If I remember correctly, the curiously-named "Cole Valley" area - oddly enough, it's uphill from Haight Street - has signs that declare "No Skateboarding On The Sidewalks". Skate Here... Skate There... Don't Skate Here... Don't Skate There... My Side... Your Side... My Side... Your Side... (Sorry. FARSCAPE Reference.)

Fine With Me: I LOVE to Skate Cole Street! It's been re-paved recently and is pothole-free, offers a slight decline and is divinely smooooth all the way.

So, I'm dutifully skateboarding down Cole Street - in the street. I'm approaching the intersection at Frederick Street. I look to the left and right of Frederick. No cars on the left. On the right, I noted headlights. They seemed to be stopped/not advancing forward and were about 2 car-lengths away from the Stop sign. I figured it was safe to proceed through the intersection and did so.

When I reached the geographical center of the intersection, the quiet night air was suddenly filled with a terrible sound and I knew -
in that instant - that I was in immediate physical danger.

It was a sound that I recognized immediately. It was the low & rumbling, growing louder and accelerating roar of the amped-up engine of a police cruiser. I knew this... even before I glanced up towards my right and saw the black-and-white vehicle. (This was one of those extraordinary moments where so-called 'time' doesn't behave in the same linear fashion that it
might seem to when you aren't in immediate danger.)

There I was... on my skateboard... having just reached the point of being smack in the middle of the intersection...
And, here comes trouble... with his foot laying down the accelerator.

In spite of my nightmarish predicament, I remember being aware of a strange yet definite feeling of calm... I suddenly Really felt Myself in that moment... I could feel the coolness of the air on my skin; my field of vision included not just my right side and the approaching police car... but also the three approaches to the intersection (the fourth was behind me). I could see the
hill that the car had come down, the faraway onyx night sky above and the houses framing either side. It surprised me.

And, in spite of the spontaneous and clear, "Oh, F*ck!" that I uttered in my head at the instant that my mind put together the gutteral roar with the black-and-white... and I knew that the officer behind the wheel was pushing the accelerator, sending the speeding the car forward exponentially. I knew that he/she was likely thinking about their destination (in the direction of Park Station)
And I knew without any doubt that I was a pitiful few feet from the front grill of the car from whence that horrible sound originated.

I knew - in the same instant - that I was on target to become - in only a couple beats of my heart (if I carried out the unavoidable and momentary take-off and landing well) - an SFPD Hood Ornament. It seemed to take no more than two heartbeats for the police cruiser to travel from the Stop sign to me.

The Stop sign... Surprise! Surprise! They didn't stop at the Stop sign.
They didn't switch on the Colorful Beacon/Light Bar on top of the vehicle. Nor do I recall hearing any screeching or squealing - indicative of sudden braking.

I remember thinking, in this fleeting alternate universe, where seconds were stretched - like gobs of salt-water taffy, "They don't see me.".
I was at a virtual standstill on my skateboard - in the middle of the intersection...
El Diabolo/Toro is bearing down on me... roaring.
And, they have no awareness that I'm here.

Perhaps the strange feeling I experienced is the Calm that comes with the knowledge that what was happening was unavoidable... That, Death, in that moment, may be unavoidable... That - at that moment - As some Friends Tell me, "Whatever Is... Is."

I felt some small comfort when the officer driving - in the nanoseconds leading up to the moment they were going to hit me - seemed to finally see me. For, just before the car was going hit me, it swerved to the left - desperate to veer around me. There was virtually no room to manuever in - there were cars parked on Cole Street - all the way to the Stop sign on the corner (this may have contributed to the cruiser's driver not seeing me. Perhaps he was looking for headlights as I was.)
It wasn't much comfort because I felt that they weren't going to be able to avoid me. There didn't seem to be enough room. The police cruiser was coming much too fast.

After seeing all this, I glanced down my right side.
I saw Two Things:
My right hip and leg...
And... No more than 2-inches away from my leg - the jet black rubber frame of the cruiser's chrome bumper. My leg wasn't quite to the corner of the bumper. I was still in front of the car. I remember glancing on top of the front right corner of the hood... and (I had said 'carried out well' because) I decided that - when the car hit me - "F*ck the skateboard... I would aim to throw myself up and over the hood and towards street on the right side of the car.

At the same instant that I had looked down to see my leg inches from the car's bumper, I also made a desperate attempt to make a sharp, fast right turn on my skateboard - around that bumper and out from in front of the wheels underneath.
My Brilliant On-The-Fly Plan was this: Avoid Being Run-Over.

It's Amazing how fast your thoughts fly and how s-l-o-w-l-y 'time' struggles to crawl in these Death-Defying Moments.

And... I still don't know How it happened... But, the speeding police car that had - only a moment ago - been less than 2" from my right leg... didn't hit me.

From where I stood - in front of the car - it would have been simply impossible for me to get out of the way. It Was A Physical Impossibility! There wasn't 'time' for the cruiser to stop, there wasn't any room for them to steer around me without hitting another car, I wasn't going fast enough to get out of their way...
Any way I looked at it, it went against the laws of physics.

I continued on my skateboard in my original direction and I headed directly for the sidewalk on my right. I don't know if I was even breathing yet. I glanced behind me, towards the infamous intersection at Frederick Street and...
The police car was gone... no flashing lights... no squeal of car brakes... no apoplectic voice yelling at me over the PA system... Nothing... It was now just me, my Cab and the utterly still and quiet night.

My heart was pounding in my chest and in my ears. Having just defied the Laws of Physics and Death itself...
I was now trying to prepare myself for the coming onslaught: the return of the would-be Reaper/Police car... this time with light-bar flashing and the angry, booming voice over the PA system...
I got off my skateboard and continued walking along the sidewalk towards Haight Street. My rapid breathing mimiced a 100-yd dash runner.

I kept replaying the events of what had just happened over and over in my head, while simultaneously trying to think how best to deal with what I expected to be a Very Irate Police Officer...

Strangely enough, they never returned.

I was both relieved and surprised.

The SFPD officer in the speeding police car who - by all known physical laws - should have struck me in that intersection and who probably was close enough to me to identify my eye color... didn't Stop.

Nor did they come back to:
A.) See if I was O.K. or B.) Yell at me. or C.) Confiscate my Caballero. (Whew!)

When I reached my home, I set down my skateboard and blurted out, "He didn't even stop."... I was recovered from my miraculous experience of "evading high speed pursuit" and was now feeling rather incredulous.

When I told some friends what had just happened, they all asked me, "Did you get the number of the police car?". And I told them... "No. It happened too fast. I never saw the number. I never saw the driver. They didn't stop or come back."

They couldn't believe it, either, "You're kidding! They didn't stop?!".
"No.", I answered.

In spite of that... I'm just Thankful that I continue to be Blessed - when I find myself suddenly facing an event that could potentially end in either serious bodily injury and or Death - with this sort of outcome.

It isn't the first time that I've experienced such an inexplicable and impossible intervention...

Who knows? I may even share some of those stories with you... But, not here and not now.

Peace.

L.

Butt-Kicking/Crime-Solving SFPD vs. Haight-Ashbury Homeless (With Photos)

I was on the scene, with my trusty Kodak Digital Camera, as several officers working out of the San Francisco Police Department's Park Station coordinated their crime-solving and butt-kicking efforts and took down a hard-core, violent San Francisco crime boss.

Sounds Freaking Fantastic, doesn't it?

Had it actually happened, I'd have been first in line to shake their hands and salute each one of them.

Hell, I'd even call SFPD Chief Fong and insist that they all be given promotions.

If that was what they had actually done.

But, I was on the scene (with my camera) of a serious situation. Well, it apparently was serious enough to the officers involved that they felt it justified the presence of a total of Four SFPD Patrol Cars and at least Six Police Officers!

One would rightly think that such a sizeable show of uniformed force, firepower and - frankly - testosterone would indicate a tactical Police Response to something Big, like reports of "Shots Fired." or a Bank Robbery in progress, or - at least - a traffic accident with injuries.

But, this was not the case. Not by a long shot. And it isn't the first time. And, sadly, it won't be the last.

The events I witnessed took place a couple days ago. I was sitting at my computer, when I heard the sounds of a girl from outside my windows who was tearfully asking for her dog back. Hearing this, I assumed that some asshole had grabbed her canine companion. So, I got up and looked out the window...

I wasn't completely wrong. There was a girl sitting against the building across the street who was in tears.

I was a little off about the asshole, though...

I had underestimated the number of them. Eventually, a total of Six Armed Assholes were on the scene.

I talked with the girl yesterday. She told me what had happened.

It had been raining all day. As she sat on the sidewalk, she had thoughtfully covered her two dogs with a tarp to protect them from the rain. At one point, she got up and crossed the street to get some water for them to drink. The first cops were on the scene as she got back. She returned to her dogs and one of the officers snarled at her, "Give me the dog.". She didn't know what was going on. He repeated his order, "Give me the dog!". She started to explain to them that she had only left them for a moment to go get them some water to drink. The officer didn't care, didn't want to hear any explanation, he just demanded she hand over the dog. She took the dog out from under the tarp and the officer took the dog and tied it - in the rain - to his patrol car's side mirror.

Initially, there had been a male friend of the girl's present, but the officers had threatened him and made him leave her alone with them after he challenged them loudly.
Something to the effect of: "Don't you have anything better to do? Aren't there any rapes or robberies going on that you could be stopping? Of course there are... and yet, you're Here!".

The Truth Hurts. And, apparently, when you're given a gun and a badge, you don't have to listen to it.

Anyway, there was the one red-headed officer who apparently had proclaimed himself Officer Asshole. The other five were there to... hmm... just in case... err... he needed 5 armed officers as backup because... Hell. There simply was Nothing going on that can justify the other five of them being there.

She was sitting against the building, hands at her sides, tearfully pleading with the officer to return her dog. To just let her hold it. But, red-headed Officer Asshole had a plan. To intimidate. To harass. To bully. He told the girl that he remembers seeing her and her dogs a year and a half ago. He then stated that he had wanted to shoot and kill one of her dogs back then. He said that he was sorry that he hadn't.

He was probably annoyed that he couldn't just kill her dog right then & there. But, in front of fellow officers... (actually, they'd probably back him up and say it was " a justified shooting", so) in front of civilian witnesses (Thank Gd there were civies around!) he might be chastised by the Police Commission... or (given their history) given a promotion.

(I remember several incidents a few years back, where some SFPD officers had shot several homeless peoples' dogs. I personally knew three of the homeless people whose dogs were shot & killed in front of their owner's eyes, with no just cause. These dogs weren't aggressive, ever. Adding insult to excruciating injury, a couple of their owners were detained briefly after the shootings and then released without charges. No explanation. No Apology. Nothing - but the body of their formerly unconditionally-loving, warm and lively and now bloody, cold and lifeless companion.
*To the SFPD Officer(s) who were involved in those callous murders of the dogs: May You Get What You Truly Deserve. To the Officers who just looked the other way... Shame On You and the Parents Who Stuck Us With You.)

Back to The Current Incident:
Both of the girl's dogs are registered. She showed the officers that she had their rabies vaccination tags clipped to her belt. She obeyed the laws. Her dogs were legal, vaccinated & registered.

So, again, I ask: WHY The Over The Top Show Of Force?

Obviously, she wasn't a dangerous criminal. Obviously, she wasn't abusing her dogs... In fact, she takes excellent care of them. They are registered. They've been vaccinated.

So, what was the justification for that pronounced Police Presence?
What did Officer Dog-Hater do? He ran her name... but, that's just GP (General Practice) for the SFPD when they identify someone as 'homeless'. They couldn't give her a Citation (I can hear them realizing this, now: "Damn It! She already has them Registered! We can't ticket her for it! How am I gonna make my Quota?)

So, in the end, all of this taxpayer paid Police Presence resulted in... What?
A scared dog. Another victim of SFPD Police Brutality/Psychological Torment. Anyone committing a crime elsewhere in the neighborhood at the time likely got away with it. And... Oh, yeah... Six Police Officers who stealthily avoided doing REAL POLICE WORK while still Getting Paid.
("Police Work" i.e. Activities Like Investigating Crimes; Cultivating Relationships With The Public; Protecting Civilians From Violence and Threats of Violence.)

If a "Picture Paints A Thousand Words" - Here's the story in Pictures:

ONE SFPD PATROL CAR:


PLUS TWO MORE SFPD PATROL CARS:


MAKING THE FRIEND LEAVE HER ALONE:


"WE'VE GOT HER SURROUNDED."


"DID YOU CALL FOR BACK-UP?
"

"WE HAVE A SITUATION."


Facing the girl - below - is Officer Asshole (The one who made a testicle of himself and Who has a hard-on To Shoot And KILL Her Dog.)
This gun-toting 'public servant' is targeting our most-vulnerable citizens - the Homeless and their dogs - with his mental/emotional issues. He's in Acute need of an Independent Psych Evaluation.


As for the other uniformed/armed 'rubber-neckers', they're in need of refresher courses in 'Police Work' (W/emphasis on both Human Rights and How To Tell The Difference Between A Criminal and A Civilian.)

Stand Up & Speak Out Against Police Brutality In All Its Forms!
Peace.
L.

Shake & Wake Earthquake: I Feel The Earth Move and Jessi Sleeps Through It

(Photo from: USGS)
Fault scarp of the Calaveras Fault in San Felipe Valley in the Diablo Range. The lone Oak Tree provides scale for this nearly 4 meter (12ft.) high fault scarp.

It's Monday... A little after 10am...

So?... And Your Point Is?...

I'm still warm, cozy and barely semi-conscious under the covers of my bed.

The hustle and bustle of people and vehicles outside my windows is slowly but surely growing louder... I smile to myself... I've lived here long enough that I've fine-tuned my ability to block the daily cacophony out.

I cautiously peek out towards the windows... Ouch! My mistake... Brilliant, blazes of sunlight are streaming through the gaps in the tops of my curtains (although, mercifully, missing me entirely) and striking the far top walls of my room.

I move my leg and feel Jessi The Dog curled up and sleeping on my right side, towards the foot of the bed.

I smile and close my eyes again....

Moments later I'm awakened by the sharp Flap!... Flap!... Flap! sounds of Jessi violently shaking her head. I recognize this sound as one she makes when her ear is tickling her. I turn to face her and rub her ear for a few moments as she leans into my kneading knuckles. When she's had enough, she turns her back to me and flops down to go back to sleep (You're Welcome.).

I turn around so my back's to her and - feeling confident that I can fall back asleep - I close my eyes and begin to drift off...

I've barely gotten cozy again when I'm jerked back to full-consciousness...

I haven't opened my eyes, but I'm awake... and I can feel my bed moving... jerking... And, it's isn't the little Bump...Bump! disturbance that I've come to recognize as a passing MUNI bus hitting just the right spot out on Haight Street.

My first thought was that Jessi The Dog was causing the shaking. Sometimes, if she sits up and scratches her ear with a hind paw while I'm laying down - it makes the bed shake.

I open my eyes as I lift my head just high enough to see Jessi... whom, to my growing surprise, is still laying with her back to me... still fast asleep.

(Huh?!)

I'm semi-awake and slightly puzzled... Maybe I was imagining it? I laid my head back on the pillow to check for movement...

Not only was my bed still noticeably jerking back and forth... It was doing it harder...

And, then, I heard two unmistakeable sounds that I immediately recognize as all-too-familiar earthquake sounds:

1.) The walls of my room began to audibly creak with the jerking motion I was feeling through the bed
and
2.) A solid wood table that my TV sits atop started to creak along.

For some unknown reason, in spite of the fact that I was now fully-awake and fully-aware that we were having an earthquake, I felt completely free of fear, panic and anxiety.

I sat up and looked at Jessi laying in serene slumber - just as the shifting plates of Mother Earth gave one hearty "Happy Monday" shove-off... followed by movement of quickly decreasing intensity... until I felt nothing but stillness once more - My Amazing Dog: She slept right through it all. (Good Dog!)

I climbed over Jessi and reached for the TV's "On" Button.

The epicenter was about 11 miles from a town called Morgan Hill.

Estimated between a 4.4 and 4.6 on the Richter Scale.

No, it definitely wasn't The Big One That We Know Is Coming... It's Really Coming!... It Could Happen!... Any Day (or Night) Now!... Causing - Within Seconds - Massive Destruction, Interrupted Communication, Power Outages and Fires!...

...Or Not.

No. I am not making light of it.
(But, I am making fun of it.)

It's a serious and ever-present threat for those of us who find ourselves in The Golden State.

But, I enjoy a certain degree of security in knowing that my Beloved Home is @ 100yrs. old. She not only survived The Great Earthquake and subsequent firestorms... She survived the 1960's and every quake/movement since. (Thank Goodness!) and She sits on solid ground/bedrock - unlike the Ritzy(See: $$$.) Marina District or Embarcadero.

My parents have long told me that, "Little earthquakes are good. Really! They allow the built-up pressure to be released that otherwise would be held back and built up until there was a Great Big Earthquake."

Hmmm...

Sounds logical... Yes, I find it somewhat comforting... But, is it True? I don't know.

What I do know is this:

If You Are Interested in Finding Out How To Prepare For/Respond To/Recover From an Earthquake or Any Number of Potential Disasters...

There's Helpful and Trustworthy Information on 'How To Prepare' and 'What To Do If' in many different and difficult situations at 72hours.org.
(It's designed for San Franciscans, but there's a link at the bottom of the page for other Bay Area Counties.)

Peace.
L.

P.S.~
I actually wrote this Blog just after the event. I was just Previewing it when we experienced a Blackout on Haight Street.
So, my Blog and all the shop interiors were thrust into darkness. Sadly, I hadn't saved it, so when the power returned - my Blog did not.

I do not believe the earthquake and the blackout were connected in any way. They happened a few hours apart and only Haight Street seemed to be affected.

One of my astute neighbors - when I asked if he knew the cause of the 1-2hr. power failure - said this:

"Incompetence."

'nuff said.
L.

If It Walks Like A Duck... Then, No... I'm Not Looking For Pot.

One of many great advantages I've discovered about Blogging:
An acute case of laryngitis doesn't have any deleterious effect.

Ahh... Life in the microcosm that is Haight Street...

In the wee hours of last night... or perhaps it was later (earlier?) than that...

And, I am startled to semi-consciousness by an all to familiar CRRAASSHH!... Preceded by a nanosecond by the screech of wheels... and followed by the scraping SSMMAACCKK! sound of bare metal impacting the concrete of the sidewalk and accompanied by the multiple notes of the widely-scattered tinkling of now-exploded and jagged shards of glass.

No. It wasn't what you might think. There was - thankfully - no car/bus/motor- or bicycle accident. (Though there have been plenty of those.)

No, these were the sounds of a late-night, beer-buoyed, independent, glass bottle recycler's overloaded metal shopping cart suddenly (and very loudly) biting the dust and spewing its bounty of bottles - now in the form of jagged chunks, shiny shards and tiny slivers - across a wide swath of both sidewalk and street.

Previous experience has taught me to already know what was coming next... The explosive SSCCRR-BBLLAAMM! which would smash through the quiet - amplified by the soundwaves bouncing off of the the buildings - every time a late-night delivery truck, N-Owl Muni bus or slow-cruising taxicab determinedly stalking its prey - rolled a heavy, black tire (or two) over the larger chunks of glass. This was because the passing pissed person - who only moments earlier would have done whatever he deemed necessary to protect the catch in his cart from any would-be marauders - now couldn't be bothered to pick up the pieces. No, the broken bottles were now so much spilled milk. And now? Now, he had to put pedal to metal and work to replace the loss. So, off he went... with the rattling and clinking of his now much more-manageable shopping cart of bouncing bottles trailing off as he searched for more treasure.

As someone with a canine companion, I cringe whenever I hear these sounds.

It boggles the mind how many otherwise seemingly coherent/fully-functioning people apparently see no problem with dropping/throwing/breaking bottles on our sidewalks and in our Parks... and then... nothing - they just depart for whatever it is that their mysterious thought processes proclaim is 'important', 'worthwhile' or simply 'fun'... and - without any misgivings - they abandon their contribution to the community: jagged chunks, many-pointed pieces and razor-sharp slivers scattered across the ground we all walk on. All of us. Some with two feet - usually with shoes on, but not always... some can't afford them. Some with four feet... well, Paws, actually - almost exclusively without shoes. No Nikes... Just pads of soft skin and tufts of fine fur... Nothing that - in any way - is able to cross paths with broken glass and... forget walking away the 'winner'... in fact, in many cases you can forget walking away altogether!

In spite of my constant vigilance when out with my dog... Jessi has stepped on broken glass at least three times. When it happens, she instantly starts favoring a paw. Since she's a bouncy one, depending upon her level of pain, it can be hard to tell if something's happened or not. If she's in acute pain, she'll stop doing doggy things and stop walking - other than coming to me, leaning against my legs and not moving. If I even have an inkling that something's up - I'll immediately stop, kneel next to her, lift each paw and carefully and gently check each pad and in between... twice.

On two occasions, I was able to remove the painfully paw-piercing piece. The third time, we were four blocks away from home and, suddenly Jessi pressed against me and wouldn't budge. She maintained a look directly into my eyes - something she NEVER does - and I knew. I checked her paws twice... nothing. I stood up and... Jessi wouldn't budge. I checked her paws again - this time with a flashlight - and found a small hole with a ring of blood around it. Whatever she had stepped on had pierced the skin pad, gone into it and disappeared. No wonder she wouldn't move.

If you've ever stepped on a piece of glass/a sliver of wood/a toothpick or anything sharp and felt it slice open and tear into the tender skin on the sole of your foot... you might empathize. And, hopefully, you would never be so heartless as to leave anything so menacing in your wake (Especially in Parks, where such hazards are multiplied as they are then hidden by dirt and grass.).

But, I digress.

The whole jacknifed shopping cart, bottle spillage and the menacing mess left behind had an encore performance earlier this evening - different cart, more bottles, more foot-flaying flotsam left behind. Although - to the careening cart-driver's credit - he did make an effort to pick up some of the bigger chunks of glass. Unfortunately, he then tossed them on top of the bottles remaining in the cart, where they shattered even more, and the shards and slivers rained back out through the ribs of the cart. Pure Genius.

With this menacing, if not colorful mess growing, I grabbed a broom, dustpan and paper bag. Passers-by had a variety of reactions to me. Some looked confused. Some looked amused. (Most of these appeared to be shoppers, diners, couples, groups of friends.) Passing cars slowed to a crawl. Some (those with dogs and/or who live outdoors) smiled and said "Thank You." and/or "You Rock." One man in particular stood out among them all. I'd already spent about 20 minutes on the clean-up (There was a lot of glass.) and was nearly done when he walked by. "How much do you get paid to do that?", he inquired. "I don't.", I replied matter-of-factly and mildly annoyed at the question. Since when must someone get paid to do the right thing? "You're not getting paid?", he seemed incredulous. "Then, what are you doing it for?, he continued, Are you looking for pot?"

I kid you not. He really asked me this.

Now it was my turn to be incredulous. I stopped sweeping the now sizeable pile of glass chunks and litter - all of it thoroughly wet and covered in grime, took a deep breath, looked at him and spoke slowly: "No. I'm not looking for pot. I'm sweeping up broken glass (apparently the broom, dustpan and jagged chunks weren't a dead giveaway after all). I have a dog and many people around here have dogs. I'm sweeping up broken glass so that none of them step on it and cut open their feet." (Simple, concise and to the point, I thought... that, and I hadn't even hit him with the broom.)
His reply?
"Oh. Okay. I get it."

Moral Of The Story:

Well, there are two. One is Practical. One is Philosophical.

First, the practical one: Clean up after yourself... And, if it's within the realm of your means and ability... Be The Change You Want To See and Clean Up the mess left by those whose only Contribution to our Shared Environment will be as Fertilizer. (Especially in your own community. Hopefully, doing so will inspire copycats.)

Secondly, the Philosophical: Found in this Blog's Title, which says...

"If It Walks Like A Duck..."
... Then, No... I'm Not Looking For Pot.

Peace.
L.

Join the SFPD: Great Job Security. Get Paid to Assault Civilians.

How's Friday Treating You?
However it's been, it's surely been a Cake Walk compared to the Friday experienced by a young SF musician who goes by the name "Ashtray".

It was a beautiful day here in San Francisco, today.
A little on the Excessively Bright and Sunny-Side for myself... but, I know most people enjoy that sort of thing much more than I.

I worked on my eBay listings and then gathered Jessie the Dog and headed towards the Panhandle Park. When we were leaving, I found a handwritten note - in all caps - that said, "THE COPS BEAT UP MY BROTHER HERE". Curious, but not surprising. I didn't think too much of it at the time and we continued towards the Park. Thankfully, we found plenty of shade under the trees. There were people who were laying out in the sun, others playing with their dogs, joggers, cyclists, a few older and several young people who live outdoors... one of these young men was playing guitar and singing pleasantly.

One of the street kids who knows me approached... "Did you hear what happened?", he asked. "Oh, Gd.", I thought. After living in the Haight-Ashbury for several years and doing a lot of homeless youth outreach work from my own resources, I've come to hate that innocent question and every variation thereof. It has all too often been followed up with the announcement of the sudden, unexpected, tragic and sometimes violent death of a young homeless boy or girl whom I'd known and developed a friendship with. A familiar, yet unwelcome, feeling of dread started to well up inside my chest. "You know Ashtray, right?", the young man continued. I started to scan the faces of the kids I know in my mind. My expression must have told him I wasn't sure. He continued, "He's got dreads and plays the guitar. He usually has a Grateful Dead shirt on. He often sits in front of your house and plays the guitar." "Shit!", I thought. Now I was really feeling bad about not being able to place the name and a face. I don't have the best memory for such things... I blame that getting-thrown-off-a-horse-and-hitting-the-ground-head-first incident that I've mentioned before.

The sweet young man continued, "Well, Ashtray was sitting in the front of Golden Gate Park playing his guitar and this cop came up to him and told him to "Get out of the Park!"." "Ashtray stopped playing and said "No, sir. I don't have to go anywhere. I'm not doing anything wrong. I'm just playing my guitar."" Ashtray was probably frustrated at what was only the latest in a long and endless line of quality-of-life profiling and police harassment. "Suddenly the cop pulls out his night stick, swings and cracks Ashtray hard across the front of his face. Then, when Ashtray was down on the pavement, the cops began stomping him and kicking him really hard. (Apparently, a second cop was present and before long a lot of them showed up.) There's still a pool of Ashtray's blood on the sidewalk.". I was now concerned that Ashtray was dead. "Jeez! This happened in broad daylight?", I was incredulous. The young man nodded and said, "Yeah." "Is Ashtray OK?", I asked. "I don't know. They took him to the hospital. We're going to go see him right now.", and he motioned in the direction of St. Mary's Hospital on Stanyan Street - the closest. I then realized that several other homeless kids had gathered and were joining him. "I hope he's alright.", I said. "Give him my best.".



After this conversation, I no longer wanted to stay in the Park and play with the Dog. I dropped Jessie off at home and grabbed my digital camera. I had already decided to try to find out the name of the dkhead thug officer and to find the pool of Ashtray's blood and photograph it for this Blog.

I didn't find it on the first trip. There's a fair amount of ground to cover in the front of the Park and I hadn't gotten an exact location of where the incident took place.

As I ran a few errands in the neighborhood, I noticed something different. Carefully placed at various points along the sidewalks, taped to the sides of trucks parked along Haight Street and posted to blank sections of walls and storefronts were more and more of the handwritten signs on white paper - like I had found earlier. They said things like: "WHERE IN THE WORLD IS ASHTRAY?" and "WHEN ARE THE COPS GOING TO WAKE UP" with a Peace Sign on top. There was a huge sign on the sidewalk - propped up against the wall - in front of The Red Vic Movie Theater, written in black capital letters, on a piece of cardboard that was at least 3ft. long! It cried out for Justice and an end to Police Brutality. It mentioned starting a Revolution.

Wow... Something unusual is going on here. I mean, this certainly isn't the first case of SFPD brutality... and definitely not the first case of SFPD brutality against an unarmed homeless civilian who was doing nothing more than playing guitar in the Park when he was assaulted by a sociopathic cop.

What's different today is the response of the public. Lots of people are talking about it... Witnesses, residents, tourists... lots of them... and they are all horrified at what happened.

As awful as this assault must have been to Ashtray, at least the dickhead cop who beat him down and then kicked him repeatedly chose to commit this vicious crime in BROAD DAYLIGHT and IN FRONT OF MANY WITNESSES... several of whom VIDEOTAPED THE ATTACK.



Oh, as you can see above, I did go back and I found Ashtray's pool of blood. Several homeless kids were gathered around as if they were standing vigil. Someone had written "HEY YOU!" above the pool with an arrow pointing at it. Other writing encircled the bloodstain. Two SFPD officers - each on a bicycle - rode up to the scene, stopped and just stared for a minute. Someone asked about what happened and one of the kids standing there motioned towards the officers and said, "Why don't you go ask them." I began taking photographs with a flash. I would have taken the officers' photographs - I had a feeling they were trying to intimidate the people standing vigil - but, at this point they quickly left the scene.

I did find out the offensive and offending officer's name: It's OFFICER KELLY (sp?). He's out of Park Station. Caucasian. Average build. The Captain of Park Station is Teresa Bennett.

I can only hope that the witnesses come forward and file formal complaints.

If you witnessed this assault - or any assault by a Police Officer - Please File A Complaint!

I have done this a few times. At the very least, the incident/complaint will be noted in the officer's permanent file. We must document these assaults and identify these brutal rogue cops and press the Police Commission and the Mayor to FIRE THESE VIOLENT THUGS... and hopefully send them to PRISON... where violent thugs belong.

The SFPD should not tolerate cops who brutalize civilians nor allow them to remain in their ranks.

To do so only does damage to the reputation of the SFPD and damages its relationship with the public.

It also damages San Francisco and it's reputation around the world. Residents and tourists witnessed this assault and will undoubtedly return home and tell friends and family about it.

Oh...
What happened to the victim of this violent attack?
Ashtray is now in jail.
Is that fucked up or what?

Officer Kelly, consider yourself persona non gratia... We do.

As for me, I'm carrying my camera with me Everywhere... and I can't wait to catch you and/or your fellow gang members committing acts of brutality and then contact the local (and national) news with the story and photos, you pieces of shit.

Peace... to Everyone but them.
L.

Organized Crime: The Biggest & Best-Armed Gang in San Francisco.

The events described below are True and were witnessed by myself and at least a dozen other people...

I actually wrote a blog about these events immediately after they happened, but I hit the wrong combo of keys on the keyboard and the whole darn thing dis-a-freaken-peared... (Aargh!)
I felt emotionally drained and disheartened when it went 'Poof!' and I didn't have the energy to re-write it before now.

A short while back, I had the unpleasant experience of witnessing an physical assault on someone by some armed gang members.

I had just arrived home from taking Jessi the Dog to the Park for a romp. I was sitting on my front steps watching the parade (of locals and tourists) go by. Being Summer, there is a never ending supply of them - from across the country and the world. It was shortly before 8pm - with a surprising surplus of daylight left.

I had noticed five people hanging out across the street from me - three guys and two girls. They were probably in their early 20's. Homeless... Well, Living Outdoors. They were just hanging out, talking with each other. They weren't bothering anyone. They weren't even Spare Changing.

About five minutes after I sat down, two cars race up to the corner and jerk to a stop in front of the kids. Two men exit each car and head swiftly and directly towards the kids. The four men from the cars are gang members. They are dressed in the immediately identifiable 'colors' and clothing of a well-known San Francisco gang. (A number of the gang's members have a history of violence, but they never get arrested or go to prison.) All four of the gang members are carrying guns.

They immediately separate the three guys from the two girls and tell the guys to move on. The three young men pick up their backpacks and back away, but not wanting to abandon their friends, they don't go more than a few steps. One of the gang bangers - a tall slim guy, with blonde, slicked back hair - stands in front of the two girls and starts snarling inthe face of one of them. I couldn't make out anything that was being said, but his face-to-face stance and sharply contorted facial expressions said enough. The girl just stood there and only occasionally seemed to respond - or tried to anyway - calmly and quietly. She never raised her voice nor moved towards him. When the greasy blonde bully was done, the runt of the litter took his place.

The second gang member to get in the girl's face was the shortest of the four. He was stocky, with dark hair and a receding hairline. (When I saw him, I couldn't help but think that he must have joined the gang because of some ugly experiences he had in high school. He struck me as probably having been one of the kids who gets shoved into a locker in between classes or 'swirly'd' in the bathroom. Joining a gang and carrying a gun allowed him to achieve what was otherwise Impossible - it gave him the ability to bully and abuse others.) The 'runt' was face-to-face with the girl and snarling at her - like the blonde before him. I could nearly hear his voice - he was snarling at her loudly - but (thanks to auto and bus traffic) I still couldn't make out any words.

Suddenly, his arm flies forward and he shoves the girl's shoulder hard. The girl just stands there. (The other three are still standing in a half circle behind the two girls and the three young men behind them.) A few moments later, without provocation, he sharply thrusts both his arms forward and forcefully grabbed/shoved her chest. Caught off guard and off balance, the girl stumbles back and bumps against one of the gang members standing behind her. Other than the concerned protestations of the young men, not one passerby moves to intervene on the girls' behalf or question the bullies. (Not that I blame them - the men were armed.) I quickly pull a notebook and pen out of my backpack and wrote down the date, time and location. I wrote down a description of the cars and the physical descriptions of the four gang members. (I wish I had my camera with me.) Feeling that they'd gotten their hostile threats/message across to the girls, the four let them walk away... But, not before the 'runt' gave the girl one more forceful shove as she was turning to pick up her backpack.

The four thugs then walked to their cars and left.

What do I do?

What would You do?

- Approach and Ask what's going on?
Well, yeah.. In a Perfect World. But, I wasn't wearing my Kevlar that day and all 4 of them were all carrying guns.

- Call 911/the Police?
Good plan... except for one little problem.

I left out one important detail about these events - on purpose.


The Police were Already There.

The four armed men men who arrived wearing immediatley identifiable blue 'colors' and uniforms had pulled up in two dual-colored sedans - each marked SFPD.

All four are Police Officers.
Their behavior was a far cry from what is expected of those we trust with a badge and a gun.
The 'runt' officer in particular showed significant lack of professionalism and restraint. But, the other three officers just stood around the girls like a pack of coyotes and let him do it to her. They only moved to prevent the three young men from trying to intervene on her behalf.

Unfortunately, as I understand it, there is no Office of Internal Affairs at the SFPD.
We do have an Office of Citizen's Complaint - where San Franciscans can go to file a complaint against the Police. The OCC has trained investigators on staff who will hold interviews, take statements, request SFPD documents and work to verify information and get to the Truth.
But, the biggest and best-armed gang in San Francisco doesn't like to be investigated for wrongdoing, brutality or unjustified shootings.
(or questioned about its unsolved murder rate.)

A few years ago, I spent a couple of hours in a room with two investigators and a tape recorder at their office making a detailed statement. I had witnessed a certain legendary (not for good reasons) police officer (Officer Gabreal Galliere - or some such) who - after placing a young, intoxicated, homeless man in handcuffs (behind his back) - proceeded to beat the young man... first with closed fist punches to his face and then by beating a corner garbage can with the kid's face. He was in handcuffs the entire time and didn't/couldn't resist or defend himself. The blonde female officer who was also present did nothing to intervene or stop the attack. (I kid you not.) The young man was unrecognizeable in the photos that were later taken of him.

The case dragged on for a while. The young victim was homeless and not easy to contact/locate. And the SFPD have highly-skilled and smarmy snakes... I mean lawyers on their side. Result: Statute of Limitations wins... San Francisco loses.

Officer Gabreal and officers like him not only blacken and bruise the faces and bodies of their victims... They damage the public's image, opinion and Trust of the Police Department. Officer Gabreal has expended sweat and blood (not his) and deserves his own Personal Hell... hopefully spent whilst handcuffed and helpless and facing someone much bigger and badder than himself.

But I digress.

Anyway, I did go to the OCC to report the unjustified and excessive physical violence done to the girl. I filed a written complaint and provided a recorded description/statement about the events that I observed. Later, I went back to do a photo line-up. I do not know whether or not the girl who was assaulted is going to file a complaint. I wouldn't blame her either way. I found her a week or so after the attack and introduced myself. I told her that I saw the entire event and that I would stand up in court for her. She thanked me. She was still a little shaken up over it. Whether or not it ever ends up in court, at least the complaint will be noted in the involved officers' permanent file.

Oh, the OCC investigator I met with did check into the reports filed by the police officers who were there - based upon the time, location, officer descriptions and vehicle ID numbers I wrote down.

Apparently, in their reports, the officers claimed that they went to the scene in response to someone reporting a fight.

I was there at least five minutes before the Police arrived and there was no fight going on anywhere around us.

Go figure.

My own personal observations indicate that the City's Homeless are frequently the preferred targets for harassment and/or physical abuse by certain power-tripping police officers. Probably for a few reasons...
- In a court of Law, whose testimony do you think will carry more weight: a homeless person or a veteran Police Officer?
- Being Homeless means Increased Vulnerablility.
Without four walls, a roof and a door with a deadbolt lock, you are vulnerable not only to severe weather/extreme temperatures, but also to being a victim of physical violence - whether it be from another homeless person, a housed person or a Police Officer.
If a homeless person files a complaint against a particular officer, that officer and/or his/her associates can make that person's life a living Hell. This is not conjecture on my part. I've talked to numerous homeless people - some of whom described being beaten by Police Officers and then warned not to report it... "Or Else."

So, my question is this:

Who do you call for Help when someone is being assaulted... by a Police Officer?
(especially if there are three other officers present who are just standing around watching?)

"These people are supposed to make you safe, but they end up being the people you are afraid of."
- Linda Vaccarezza after an ordeal during which her arm was broken by Officer Anthony Nelson. Police department files on 6'2" 225 lb. Officer Nelson indicated that he had used force 27 times in his 33 months on the job - often citing fear for his safety as the reason - before the 2003 war protest where he struck court reporter Vacarezza. Fortunately for Vaccarezza, the whole event was recorded on video. She was awarded $835,000 in a settlement.

As for Officer Nelson... Initially, the (corrupt and/or incompetent) SF Police Commission ruled that Nelson hadn't used unnecessary force, in spite of video proving otherwise, and recommended a 30-day suspension. Only after the SF Chronicle reported on Nelson's long record of violence did they vote 5-2 to terminate him. It was the first termination of a SF police officer in five years. (Ugh!)

It would've been much more cost-effective for San Francisco and the Police Commission to have fired Nelson for using unjustified excessive force early on and then hire someone who isn't a brutal thug to replace him. Perhaps San Francisco needs to start terminating Police Commissioners who refuse to fire police officers who consistently present a penchant for violence?

In the meantime, I will be carrying my camera (with videotaping capability) with me Everywhere.

Smile, Officer Gabreal... I'm looking for You.

Peacefully Protecting and Serving You.
L.

Help Save The Haight Ashbury Food Program!

I live in San Francisco's Haight Ashbury District.

I LOVE my neighborhood.

It has a long and colorful history... Some might say "Psychedelic".

One of the things I've cherished about its history is the solid record of the immense compassion and social activism of the Haight-Asbury's residents.

From Dr. Smith, who founded the Haight Ashbury Free Clinic in the 1960's; to the Haight Ashbury Food Program, founded in the 1980's; to the Haight Ashbury Youth Outreach Team... my little microcosm could teach the rest of the world a great deal about Tolerance, Compassion and Integrity...

Well, it could do that up until rather recently.

A few years ago... Stupid and unjust internal politics and a $ Million Dollar embezzlement by the CFO at the Free Clinic's home office have led to many long-term health providers leaving (They are Truly Incredible People... I know this because I worked with them for a year) and to the organization having to sell off some of its properties... at a loss.
Not only that... Thanks to their shenanigans... The "Free Clinic" has been put into the position of having to ask clients - who are there because they have no health insurance and no money - to help offset the cost of their visit.
They've also had to shut down some of the desperately needed services they provided to San Franciscans in need.
The Free Clinic itself has been such a Godsend to so many people for decades...
It's really very sad to see how so few out of touch people in upper management have done such a f'd up job of things as to put the Clinic in the hard spot it's in.

Mind you, Dr. Smith had nothing to do with these problems.
I feel very bad for him. He's had to watch his selfless gift to San Francisco get beaten up and driven into the ground.

NOW...
There's the Haight Ashbury Food Program.
It was founded in the early 1980's.
They've not only provided homeless and housed people who couldn't afford good food with hot meals that tasted great, along with salads and... even dog food for their dogs (These were Incredible People, too!)...
They had a program where they would teach people how to cook and to run a kitchen, thereby providing them with the skills to possibly find work and no longer be homeless!
They had a varied menu and they served the meals every weekday from 11am to 1pm from inside a church on Waller Street.
There's this Great Lady named Judy who's worked there for many years.
She is a woman of endless kindness, compassion and motivation to help those in need.
She's still there... But the Program is in Dire Straits... and I do mean Dire.

Ahh, the Good Ol' Days!
(Sniff...sniff...)

Suddenly and without any warning, I heard this week that the Program is in Trouble with a Capital "T".
They are no longer serving sit down meals to the many homeless and hungry people who've come to depend upon this resource for a genuinely healthy meal and some friendly faces.
A reliable source - who knows the disheartening details - tells me that they have been handing out bag lunches instead... and doing so only three days out of the week, instead of five.

That's not all, folks!

I was shocked to also learn that HAFP had shut down the Chef's Training Program weeks ago... although the HAFP website - as of 04/09/08 - doesn't acknowledge this glaring omission.

My source informs me that these destructive and despicable changes have occured only after some NIMBY Infiltrator named Michael got himself elected as Executive Director of the twenty-five year old Program (just over one year ago.).

My source tells me that Michael has been flying around the country, going to meetings and lectures... portraying himself as Super-Duper Non-Profit Executive Guy... whilst the Haight-Ashbury Food Program he's Corrupt Captain of has been cruelly (and criminally?) neglected and secretly Strangled To Death.

Our mensch Michael gets paid $60-something,000 dollars a year for his 'service' to the community.
(What %@*&-ing service?!... Destroying the Food Program?! You gotta be Kidding!)

I also hear from my source that Michael says the Program is out of money... But, when compassionate community members/residents and community-minded local businesses stepped up and offered to finance the Program (More Incredible People who've likely been members of our Community longer than Michael)... He Turned Them Down!!

Apparently, Michael wants to shut down the Program this Friday (04/11/08)... he apparently has claimed that he intends to move it to another (unknown) location and to re-open it at another time...
(Like WHERE, Michael? Seriously. If he's allowed to close it down... re-opening is Not Likely to Happen.)

There have also been claims made that the Wonderful Hamilton Church that has been home to the Program for years and years wants the Program out and off of it's property...
When inquiries were made as to the veracity of these claims...They are refuted by the Church.
(Basically... It was a LIE.)

Then, there's Dear Saint Judy...
My source says Judy was told that, if she played nice and kept quiet until Friday...
She'd recieve a month's severance pay...
(Grrrr!)
I think Judy's been with the Program for a decade or two...

Regardless...
Judy deserves much better... The Enlightened Souls who founded the Program deserve much better... My Neighborhood deserves much better... and the many men, women and children (... and dogs) who have and do rely on 'the soup kitchen' for sustenance in a very harsh world Really Deserve Much Better!

How Dare some damn gentrifying Yuppies or Intolerant Boobs move into OUR NEIGHBORHOOD -
A Neighborhood that has long sought to help ease the suffering of those less fortunate, instead of treating them like shit on their shoes -
and then decide they can't stand the sight of homeless people (and don't you dare complain that they 'smell'... since it was some long-time homeless hater's facist widow that got the only shower service available to them in our neighborhood shut down.)...
And they've realized that complaining to the police doesn't seem to work 'cause wasting officers' time making homeless people keep moving doesn't get rid of them...
So, they decided, "Eureka! I'll just join the Boards of various neighborhood service organizations and drive them into the ground from the inside!"

Talk about "Evil-Doers" and "Enemy Combatants"!

I Hate those people.

If you don't like Our Colorful Neighborhood with it's housed and un-housed residents...
DON'T MOVE HERE!

Peace.
L.

P.S.:
PLEASE HELP Stop The (Permanent) DEMOLITION Of THE HAIGHT ASHBURY FOOD PROGRAM By Some Utterly-Heartless and Morally-Bankrupt, NIMBY NINCOMPOOPS!

Please Call/Write/Cajole//Twist the Arms of/Apply Pressure To:

Mayor Gavin Newsom:

City Hall, Room 200
1 Dr. Carlton B. Goodlett Place
San Francisco, CA 94102

Telephone: (415) 554-6141
Fax: (415) 554-6160
Email: gavin.newsom@sfgov.org

Michael Scribner (the "Michael")
Executive Director
michael@thefoodprogram.org

The President of HAFP: Jennifer Sramek:
jenn@ideaseed.com
or (415)370-3292

Also...
Take A Stand Against Intolerance and NIMBYism and Grab As Many People As You Can And Come to the Hamilton Church (In San Francisco's Haight-Ashbury. At Waller Street and Belvedere.) on FRIDAY (Tomorrow!) at 11 am to PROTEST This Despicable Attempt to Destroy Forever Another Life-Saving Community Resource that Feeds Hundreds of People in Need!

Thank YOU So Much!
Peace.
L.<

The sky may have been overcast... But the Stars were on stage!!!

Haight Street Fair Day: San Francisco: June 11, 2006:

At first, I was planning on not going... Not that I could escape it, unless I left the 'hood.... A slowly-recovering, soft tissue wrist injury made the thought of lifting 2x4's, stage-building and playing roadie all day, well... not sound as fun as usual.

But, as the crowd out on the street began to grow exponentially, I started to reconsider...and rationalize... Well, I do have a splint I could put on my arm... and I'll just not overdo it... (Historically, in these situations, I've often been the only girl...and not wanting to be percieved as contributing less to the job at hand than anyone else...I've pulled off some amazing feats of strength that surprised everyone... most of all...me.). Sheer determination does wonders.

So, I took Jessi the dog for a good walk and headed for the main stage. I'm so glad I've learned to heed my intuition... the show was incredible! I haven't been to many concerts in my life, thus far, and quite a few of my favorite bands/performers of all time no longer perform... The death of a member kinda makes any future tours unlikely if not a total impossibility.

But, today I lucked out, twice! I was fortunate to be present at a performance by two truly great bands: Touch Me Hooker and Flipper.

I wasn't familiar with TMH and although I had heard of Flipper, from seeing the band's name on flyers around S.F. quite a while back, I wasn't at all familiar with their music. (Although, I must say, the intriguing looking guitarist with the long dreads, looks terribly familiar to me - well, they are a San Francisco band...) (*Update: I now know his name is Ted Falconi*) A good friend informed me that Flipper was Kurt Cobain's inspiration for Nirvana (one of those all-time-faves I'll never see)... and after hearing them live...there's no doubt in my mind... If I could play guitar...I'd take off in a whole new direction in my life!

Touch Me Hooker was fantastic! High energy and spontaneous and the crowd loved them! Flipper was Incredible! Raw, heavy on the bass, high energy punk rock! The crowd in front of the stage was responding in kind...I even saw one guy dive the crowd and get carried aloft for a few moments... Being at this show is one of the high-points of my life, thus far. (Excuse me whilst I take a moment to gush...) I even got to shake Bruce Loose's hand!! ...Ahem...

Blah...blah...blah........ Here's some pictures! Enjoy! xo L.

(P.S....Much Love and Gratitude to Pablo and the entire crew that made this legendary event possible and have for 29 years. And thanks as well as to it's sponsors, supporters, the merchants, the SFPD and all who came to have a good, safe time and did!)

Main Stage View.


Touch Me Hooker- Lead Vocalist Paul Castile on the stacks.
TMH
FLIPPER!
Bruce Loose/Flipper
Ted Falconi/Flipper
Will Shatter/Flipper
Steve DePace/Flipper
Flipper
Bruce Loose, Ted Falconi/Flipper
Thank you, Good Night!