8 posts tagged “san francisco”

   A few weeks ago I woke on a Monday morning to grab a cup of coffee at the place on the corner whose coffee is pretty shitty, but I get a chance to flirt shamelessly with the cute girl that works there. She's really attractive, but I doubt she has an interest since she can most likely see the rebound/dysfunction/desperation fumes coming off me. Sometimes I feel like walking up to her and saying :

 "Hey, would you like to grab dinner with me tonight, then go on a long walk through the city which hopefully will make you feel that you have spent more time with me, which in turn will hopefully allow me to sleep with you? I'll be honest - I'm going to be thinking about my ex the entire time and if we have sex I will most definitely be thinking about my ex. If you are really lucky I might yell out my ex's name during sex if you don't totally suck dick at having sex. Have I told you about my ex???"

 Moving on. On my way to the coffee shop I pass my car. I stop. The words DO NOT MOVE THIS VEHICLE emblazoned on a sheet of paper is attached to my windshield. For those of you that do not live in SF this means that my car has been booted. I craned my head to the right and yes, my car had indeed been booted. I was hoping that between the time the notice had been placed on my windshield and the car being booted the DPT had gone on strike. No such luck.

 Apparently, this increase in dosage of medication by my doctor is working because I did not scream or yell one profanity aloud. It's strange the way these meds work - simultaneously the highs and lows are muted in life so existence becomes one big "meh". Meh.

 After grabbing my coffee I hop on the BART train to go to the "MTA  Customer Service Center". It's funny they call it that because no one willing wants to be a "customer" of theirs - ever. Being a customer of theirs only requires having a car or motorcycle in this fucking city and to be a recipient of the DPT flat tax.

 I prepare to walk into this strange wasteland where time, reason, compassion and logic do not exist. I opened the door and was acknowledged by a private security guard who halfheartedly manned a walk through metal detector. His posture was poor, he was slim and his uniform draped off him like a curtain. I glimpsed at his face. Stoned. He was wearing a duty belt cinched tightly. Absent from it was a firearm, which if given the opportunity would have set off the metal detector every time he went to the bathroom.

 I walked to the nearest counter which had enough ballistic glass between me and the "customer service solutions provider" to defeat an RPG at close range. It was so thick that when I moved ever so slightly her face warped a little.

"Hi, I recieved a boot on my car this morning and would like to get it removed."

"Name and License plate number please."

"Cobalt_Blue, xxx-xxx."

"You gots two boots on two cars!"

"No, I have one car with one boot, there must be a mistake."

"Well, the computer sez you gots two boots - here take this number and wait for a manager."

"Thank you."

I tried to make sense of the aimless numbers displayed on the computer screen. Of course, it didn't make much sense. My eyes scanned to the top of the monitor frame and I did see something very recognizable. PROPERTY OF LOCKHEED-MARTIN CORPORATION. Not only were these military-industrial-congressional complex motherfuckers responsible for maufacturing very expensive weapons to kill very poor people they also run the computer system for parking tickets in San Francisco. Does this really surprise me? No.

I waited briefly before an electronic and faceless voice read my number and window to go to. I appraoched, behind the window was a corpulent black woman who had an oddly attractive face in this Jill Scott kind of way. Also, I didn't mention this before, but there is no electronic speaker system that passes through the glass so you kind of have to genuflect whilst trying to speak through the port to hand over your money, only making the experience more humiliating and degrading.

"Hello, there seems to be a misunderstanding. The system shows that I have two cars, when actually I have one and also the balance of 800 dollars was paid off in July when I renewed my registration."

"Ok, can I see your license?"

"Oh, of course."
 
 She spung into action and remedied the problem with great ease and effeciency, even for a public service employee. In fact, she removed a few late charges. Nice.

"Ok, that will bring the balance to $512.00." She said.

"Do you take checks?"

"No, people were writing hot checks to get their car unbooted"

I shook my head. "The nerve of some people. Disgusting."

"Well, I'll just put it on my card then."

I slid the card under the slot, her bejewled hand (cubic zirconia) gingerly sliding it away from me. I signed and returned the pen under the slot. I bent down even lower to make sure she could hear what I was about to say.

"I understand." I said to her in a reassuring tone, while making eye contact.

"What?"

"Look, I know this job is hard. People come in here and assume you are the badguy, as if you were the one who gave them the tickets and that you are responsible. I mean being at a job where people are angry and yelling at you all day. I've had jobs like this and I know it's hard. It must wear on you and it probably doesn't feel very good"

"Well, yeah I mean like it's my fault that you didn't move your car for street cleaning and yeah, people do yell at me all the time and yeah it don't feel too good"

I moved closer to the port and while making this gesture of holding my hand over my heart I said:

"I'm just like you. I just want to be human. Just like you and we have this glass separating us - like prisoners."

"It's so unfair." she whispered as she moved towards the glass, her eyes still looking into mine.

I slid my hand under the glass and we held hands.

"Can we be human?" I asked.

"You can come back here anytime"

 We let go and I walked out of the office and into the BART terminal. I got to my house 10 minutes later - the boot had been removed from the car.

Alternate ending will be posted tomorrow

My real name has been redacted to protect my privacy. No, my first name is not cobalt. Sorry

Greetings potential housemate!

                  
                 I don't know about you, but embarking on this whole CL room search odyssey is definitely drawing parallels to the dating scene. I mean, I have a nice talk with the people at the apt., we smile a lot we promise to call each other and then NOTHING. What gives?  Was I wearing the wrong jeans?  Did my breath smell bad? Did I mention my ex, like five times during the interview?

                 I'm very close to complete desperation. If it gets any worse I may have to move away from the sunny mission, down to the TL and start smoking crack in a very small SRO room on Ellis, complete with Smokey and the Bandit sheets I found at goodwill covering the windows to hide my little "habit". However, once streetside I would use my jacket pulled over my head to smoke crack, like a normal person.

                 For starters, let me tell you about myself. My name is *******. I live over at 26th and Folsom. I'm sure that you have heard of it's less than stellar reputation and the recent string of murders over here. Fortunately, I had nothing to do with it and I was working at the time, I swear, you can call my manager if you wish. I love the 24th street area, but am looking to find more acceptable housing that does not include the following that, unfortunately is commonplace over here at "the lucky street apts"( your home away from home)

                -  Psytrance music ( much like trance, but more repetitive and played at all hours of the day and night - loudly.)
                -  Dark age hygenic practices
                -  A prostitute roommate that brings her tricks home ( I'm being dead serious)
                -  Feminine hygiene/prophylactic devices left in the tub (I'm going to blame this on the prostitute)
                -  Mold
                -  Overflowing trash
                -  Cockfighting

                Moving on. I'm a 26yr old male who is straight, but not in that "I need to affirm that I'm straight, because I hate fags kinda way." I'm just giving you some background, m'kay? Oh yeah, this might not go over well, but I unashamedly eat meat on a regular basis. Please don't stop reading. I'm employed and have no problems paying rent. I've lived in the city for almost a year now, and can easily say that I'm established. I like to ride bikes, hike, go to movies and art museums and drink a shitload of coffee. Just ask the guys a philz. I think that I have put his daughter through college already. I also think that Garrison Keillor is completely fucking hilarious, and am in the process of putting together a petition to have him host the oscars next year.

               I don't think that I have huge laundry list of requirements, but I thought of a list of things that I would NOT subject my roomates to.

                 - A live in girlfriend
                 - Messes and or messiness or Masses as in having lot's of people over at odd hours
                 - Passive-aggressive behavior
                 - Nasty notes, and or death threats
                 - Shitty house coffee
                 - Phil Collins

              After reading this email, hopefully you would possibly consider having me over to check the place out. I mean, I'm not looking for a commitment, I just want to look. I'm housebroken too. Call me

 Why is it that whenever I hear the Blue Angels fly over I feel like putting my speakers in the window and blasting "Rock you like a hurricane"?

 Whenever I go to this place I feel like Harrison Ford in Blade Runner.

Yamo

DSC03350

From my previous posts, you could gather that I have a passing interest in subcultures and alternative communities. Which is why I'm excited to share that a documentary that has been making the rounds at film festivals across the US over the past six months. It's called Off The Grid : Life On The Mesa, it's a documentary about an alternative community that appears to be off in the desert near Taos, NM. What I mean by alternative is that it is libertarian, even anarchist in form. This community has no running water, electricity or as you guessed any law enforcement of any kind. The storyline builds when some runaway teens seek refuge there and start a burgeoning marijuana distribution business. The elders are forced to abandon their old traditions and form a loose knit govt. See you there!

portland

"And what will happen in the morning when the world it gets
so crowded that you can't look out the window in the morning.

And what will happen in the evening in the forest with the weasel
with the teeth that bite so sharp when you're not looking in the evening.

And all the friends that you once knew are left behind they kept you safe
and so secure amongst the books and all the records of your lifetime"

After my jaunt through the northwest during the past week, I was reminded of these verses from an old Nick Drake song. My visit to Portland, OR was a realization that perhaps that San Francisco may not be the ideal place for me to live out the rest of my days, or to start a career. From first glance SF and I were star crossed lovers destined to be together forever. I folicked in her parks and streets. I people watched intensely on the #6 Parnassus, I flew kites at night on top of Twin Peaks and wandered aimlessly through Chinatown during sleepless nights. I was hopelessly in love. I have traveled a good deal throughout the states west of the Missisippi and I have never found a place that I liked so much and felt so comfortable in as San Francisco. Boulder, Colorado was nice and Denver was, well,  acceptable, there were also plenty of nice small towns in Southern Colorado and of course Santa Fe, New Mexico but nothing ever compared to SF, it's  gritty cosmopolitan charm and it's proximity to all the outdoor activities that I enjoy such as skiing, backpacking, hunting and climbing.

 As I get older, I start thinking about the more adult responsibilities that I'll soon have to face, like buying a home and making  a mortgage payment and laying a secure foundation for my future (retirement etc.) If I was ever to be able to afford an apt. here ( around 1000 square feet, if not a little less in most cases, and this is for a fixer) you will be paying around $550,000. Assuming that you paid 50,000 down, on a 30 yr, mortgage you will be paying $3000 a month . On top of this add Property Tax, Homeowners insurance, and finally earthquake insurance. Unless you and your partner are well off, this leaves little room for food, retirement, expenses and entertainment. Most people would assume that in an ideal world, if you are paying $500,000 you would be living in a nice part of town, and have a somewhat decent home. Not so in SF, we have a very large homeless problem in addition to the streets being constantly dirty and soiled with human feces. Oh, and have you ridden MUNI lately? What I have listed is a partial list of a long list of problems facing SF. Would you pay that much money for housing in a location with such a low standard of living? I'm beginning to see the absurdity of it. Also, don't get me started on taxes and the upcoming environmental uncertainties facing California.

 San Francisco, sweetie, look it's me not you. I'm sure that there are plenty of other wealthier and tolerant people in the sea, but I just can't put up with it anymore. Honestly, I feel that I deserve better and I can get that treatment from another city. This isn't easy for me, but I need to think long term. I just can't keep sacrificing this much for our relationship. I'm sorry.

 As I walked home this morning, I noticed that on our doorstep some kind soul deposited a turd the size of a burrito.  Gross.  I would absolutely love this place  if it wasn't for the gangs, trash, and shit that litter our streets.