Watching City Hall #248, (12-31-03) “Are you a burglar?” (Frank’s electrician) Granted I’m not looking too good these days. Hard core couch-surfing doesn’t lend itself to the Prada look. However that looks. … Here I am crashing at my third location since the election and it’s a construction site and the electrician comes in with the City Inspector and asks if I’m a burglar. My cat poked her head out from beneath the covers where she’d been nestled between my elbow and my armpit, looked up at me and awaited the answer too. Naomi (my pain-eater kitty) has just been back with me for the past several days and also isn’t certain of our status anywhere. … It’s the last day of the year 2003. Abandoned pets Ever join the Navy? Go away to school? Get married? … Get run out of your apartment by gentrification? … All can leave you farming out beloved pets to family, friends &, in worst case scenario … to Animal Control. You don’t want that. … I’ve lost animals through most of these situations and so, probably have many of you. Long and short of it is that I need a room for self and cat. I’ll trade minimal cash & whatever. Anyone help? Hate what you see in the mirror? There’s no hot water here. Everything is torn up as the remodel proceeds. The bath sink is one of those old models with the cabinet too high to see. I lay in bed last night wondering how the hell people used to shave when these bathrooms were built. It came to me that everyone had those little basins and stuff and shaved with a straight razor while gazing in a little round mirror on accordion style arms that could be attached or set anywhere. … So, me? … I end up shaving by standing on the edge of the bathtub in order to reach a height in which I could see myself in the mirror … only to find out I’m uglier than the last time I looked! … So, here I am shaving and reaching down a few feet to rinse the razor every now and then & squatting and feeling like an idiot … but, grateful. … Desperate for a place to stay, my thoughts eventually turned to federal lands. Presidio … Treasure Island … Hunter’s Point One of my chief regrets about not having a permanent place with a cable hook-up for SFGov TV (#26) is that I miss key decisions that only someone like me would watch in the first place … but, can’t … cause I don’t have a nest. … A couple of these decisions went down while I was surfing. Remember, when I miss seeing something, you miss my descriptions of these things and they are often the only honest and accurate accounting you get of the events. … The funny thing about the hearings I missed, was that, in a perfect world, the land signed away by the Board in my absence, was, in fact, intended first, for people such as myself. … You know, honorably discharged veterans fallen on hard times. By rights, I should live on any of these former military bases. … I mean, hell, I’m a veteran and I’m homeless and able-bodied. I should, by the contracts the City signed with the government in each case in order to gain control of the bases … I should be one of the first people offered shelter and work there. But, apartments on Treasure Island went to the likes of Rec & Park spokesperson, Becky Ballinger (who refused me Capital Projects documents for the past 3 years) and various people in Gavin Newsom’s office who received not only choice apartments, but jobs as well. … Willie stuffed at least one old girl friend there (no pun intended, but … way to go, Willie!) … That’s the way these things work. Presidio chooses Gorbachev, ignores h. brown As I recall, Michail Gorbachev’s primary contribution to the security of the United States was to threaten to blow it off the face of the earth. My own contribution was to spend a couple of decades trying to defuse the arms race. … It would only figure that once the Presidio was decommissioned and prime spots offered to veterans, that the Russian dictator would get first dibs. And, Hunter’s Point? … Don’t get me started there. … I mean, the fuckin’ place glows in the dark, so I’m hoping they plop Newsom’s staff and surplus dictators and Willie’s old booty there. … I’m the victim of circumstances here, folks. I’m not going to get housing on any of the old military bases. That would be too easy. Or, in any housing that offers a public subsidy. … That kind of thing is reserved for the likes of Rose Pak, who brokers millions for the Peoples’ Republic of China, yet qualifies as a public welfare recipient when it comes to government housing. (yeah, the Examiner broke that last year – Pak and her millionaire developer boyfriend, got a big break on purchasing a condo because Rose is destitute – apparently, the Peoples’ Republic spent too much money attacking the Falun Gong and couldn’t spare enough for Rose to buy an apartment on her own dime) … No, the irony is not lost. Our government subsidizes whore-mongering and brutality and murder, but will not house a worthy veteran. … ‘Worthy’? I may be overstating my value here. Suffice to say that as the old year ends, I’m again whining about my inability to gain employment or housing. … Oh, I had jobs offered to me during the mayoral campaign. … Salugula Paligula, the head of the Housing Authority told me to call him after the election for a job. We’d been butting heads at a mayoral debate and, as oft happens in these cases, ‘hit’ it off. … You get these kinds of offers in the heat of an election. It’s kind of like what you tell the girl on prom night when you’re trying desperately to get laid and she shouldn’t take it too seriously. I had any number of nudges and winks during the campaign when people thought that, crazy as I obviously was, I just might turn out to be a major ‘playah’ in a winning Gonzalez administration (wudda never happened). For instance, Walter Wong said he wanted me to write his biography after the election, then tossed me to the pavement when we lost. … I did pick up a great new computer there. Walter denied that he bought it but I know he did. … Ahhh, my first bribe. A couple of unit managers from Juvie told me I should apply there after the election, but that goes through the School District & I’m blackballed there. … Still, I’m definitely in better shape now than last New Year’s eve. I have more leverage. I have new and powerful friends (money, not a criterion). Then again, maybe not. … Physically, I’m certainly not. … I need a year of running and exercise to get back to my natural and enhanced base body. … I’m proud of that ‘base’ body. I ran for 20 years with no help from drugs, other than a little pot-for-the-pain on early & foggy mornings. Ten marathons. … I did nothing in that area this past year. … But, it’s only all about me as long as I make it all about me. … Huh? Huh? Better people than me have been forced out of San Francisco over the past year and in years long passed. It could certainly happen to me and it would certainly be richly ironic. … What, with the movie coming out about my battle against Gavin Newsom in which I struggle for my right to remain in this mecca of artists. Angela Alioto offers to help. … Yeah, strange isn’t it? The people you slam the hardest are the ones offering a hand. Crazy people and elections There is something about elections that attracts the insane. … Other, than me. … I’m not kidding here. … They’re energetic suckers too. Real high maintenance. And, … not at all dumb. There were two guys who were using the name ‘Winston’ somethingorother, from ‘Pulp Fiction’. Harvey Keitel played the character, who came in and took charge on a moment’s notice and made bad situations go away. The two guys who flitted in and out of the campaign were both secretive and wide open, if you can believe it. One, closed my door and pulled out a ‘secret’ document which turned out to be a Newsom campaign mailer that probably went to a hundred thousand people. It was nice of the guy to keep me in the loop. … Another guy arrived on a high powered motorcycle, wearing enough packing gear on his back to live in the forests from now on. He brought a sandwich board sign he’d decorated with anti-Newsom art and literature and scrawls. Now, I’ve seen most of what’s out there … but, this guy … he troubled me. One guy who came over from the Alioto campaign was not only harmless, but very helpful. For one thing, he always had a bottle of vodka to mix with his meds and was kind of enough to help me keep sobriety at bay in close moments. I recall finding one of his empty prescription bottles on the floor and not being able to pronounce the ingredients. But, like most of our ‘gifted’ volunteers, the container said he was ‘bi-polar’. … Anyway, the guy spent all of his time trying to contact Angela Alioto and creating art in a vacant corner in a process I described as being like: “watching a spider build a web”. … True, too. … It was strange to watch. … On the one hand, you had the ‘Monkey Brains’ (great ISP – MONKEYBRAINS.net) … we had the Monkey Brains trio (Rudy, Rafael, Alex … & Rudy’s dog, ‘Slug’) … 3 brilliant guys who did IT for free all night and got to be friends (Rafael gave me a leather wrist band with one broken snap – took if off his own wrist at the Zeitgeist – shit like that touches me) … there are all these brilliant & devoted and totally cool people and then, there are the others. … Remember, we are talking about a space of at least 25 thousand square feet in all. … Angela’s good natured fax-stalker wasn’t approved to use the fax machines but people were busy and crazy people are, if nothing else … focused. As the center became full of hundreds of people daily, the numbers of insane also increased. There was the pot wholesaler who was out on bail and showed up with a couple of cops (plainclothes, but you had to sympathize – what an assignment) … showed up with a couple of guys trying to score pot. … Now, you know me … I mean, what the hell do I know about pot? … I mentioned to the guy that while I was most definitely a consumer of hemp, I never had and never would sell the shit. I suggested he was trying to entrap me and that if he had some bourbon, we could continue talking. … He was only about dope. And, … truly tweaked. “I’m not going to get any pot here!” he finally exclaimed and led his two young escorts out past the 60’ish Angela-o-phile who was adding yet another well-done ‘Democrats for Gonzalez’ poster in his corner. Rudy’s dog, ‘Slug’ charged at the departing figures as they wove their way through Hari’s yoga class which was being conducted before a wall of leaning ironing boards. … It was not an ordinary place. Gonzalez went first class. Walter Wong saw to that. It was, after all, Walter’s building and Matt was only renting it for a couple of months. When you mix Walter’s space with the art work of Gonzo’s army and tossed in a couple of hundred talented musicians … you got yourself a dynamite nightclub that was kind of like that moth that only lives for 24 hours and has no digestive system. … You looked in wonder, but you knew it couldn’t last. Barbara Early and Judy b. lined up along the wall awaiting their turns in the world’s shortest run cabaret. … On the same stage hours later, Aaron Peskin gave an impassioned speech to 300 of Matt’s Precinct Captains. … Len Pettigrew gently played the little white baby grand piano to bridge the various segments. There were movies. A couple of dozen high end couches squeezed themselves before the free and revolving buffet snuggled at the base of the huge glass windows painted with art ranging from a celebration of the holidays, to peace signs, to only a couple of ‘Matt 4 Mayor’ sketches. … The windows opened to the parking lot, crowned by the koi pond & garden which became a part of the building when Walter erected his huge tent structure for his own holiday festivities. … It wasn’t any ordinary place, people. It’s all about Access Matt returned a greeting on New Year’s eve by phoning to invite me over to see in the New Year at his crib on Hayes’ Hill. I arrived to find the most popular man in San Francisco sitting in old jeans and a sweatshirt and sorting through newspapers from the past few years. Tossing some. Musing over others while long-time aide-de-camp, Jim Dorenkott and campaign aide, Bob Coleman sat at his beck and call. … Later, Sentinel (sanfranciscosentinel.com) publisher, Patrick Murphy stopped by and for the next couple of hours, we got to ask the man of the hour, the questions of the hour. It was very informal. I’ve had confrontations with all of Matt’s aides in the past and, both of these two are cool toward me. I understand, perfectly. When these people first meet me, normally, I’m stoned or drunk and trying to get an idea across to Matt during a Board meeting I’m watching on the tube or something. … I apologize for that. … Although, my observations, are usually right on. That does not excuse my poor manners. Matt has the best stable of office volunteers at City Hall, as one would expect. So, there I am wondering why a guy who could be sipping champagne with the powers-that-be on this night that was designed to party … is hanging on his lanai with the likes of me and Murphy. Patrick and I muse while Matt opens a bottle of fine sherry he has purchased for Bob Coleman. A campaign pledge, or something like that. He continues to sort and toss papers from boxes he pulls from the large plywood shelf above the kitchen entry side of the porch. I complain that he shouldn’t throw away any documents because they’ll all be needed for his Presidential Library. It is all so strange. A half mile away in City Hall, Willie is shredding papers that document his shame. … Here’s Gonzalez, throwing away piles of praise. The big yellow house cat goes from guest to guest rubbing legs as I duck out to the back yard with the man from the Sentinel. He puffs a cigarette as I light a joint. … I never know what to write about nights like this and Pat knows the rules. I determine to push Gonzo to run for President as a Green this new year, for Governor as a Democrat in 2006 and for President as a Democrat in 2008. … It only makes sense. It’s an intervention? Back inside, Matt pulls me aside and tells me that many people think I’m alienating my essential base as a result of my frequent outbursts and confrontations along the campaign trail. … He lends me his copy of ‘Progress and Poverty’ by Henry George. I’m excited. I’ve wanted to read this thing since David Giesen presented a synopsis of George’s work to me last year on the campaign trail. I turn to the cover page which is inscribed from Giesen to Matt. I resolve to return the copy in good shape. Trading good books is the best form of communications. I kind of half-heartedly defend the attack from a few ‘empire builders’ who surrounded the boy during the campaign and noted that I didn’t alienate anyone who wasn’t already a prick. … It’s true, you know. Or, not. … Either way, it matters little to me. I’ve always played on the edge and still do. I’m lucky to be alive. … Or, unlucky. … That will all become apparent later. … I return to the streets with Murphy who is looking for a cab. He turns up Haight and I turn to walk back to the Mission in the strengthening rain. I stop at Marc Salomon’s where only Kim Knox remains from their party. Marc’s longtime partner, George, tolerates my late arrival. I’m unshaven, wearing the same clothes I’ve been in for a week (yes, I shower & shave daily) … I could look better. … I tell them I’m sorry I’m late, but that Matt called and I really had to go over there first. … No one believes me. … I glance at my image over the mantle. Bedraggled and soaked. Wearing a Viet Nam bush hat. Clearly inebriated and high. … I listen to myself tell them about high level conferences regarding the presidency. … I don’t believe me either. … Let me throw in one parting shot that wouldn’t get through if I had an editor. The Yuppification of Matt ‘Diamond Dave’ Whittaker was pretty much tossed out of the campaign headquarters at 13th and Mission the first time he appeared. … This is the guy who first played Bob Dylan on the radio. … Who tossed him? … One, Enrique Pierce. This, sadly, was Matt Gonzalez’s Campaign Manager in his, just completed, run for Mayor. Enrique used to be named ‘John Henry’ and was one of the supe’s first legislative assistants. I know that he disappeared for a couple of years and suddenly reappeared the day Matt filed for Mayor and announced it was all his idea. I don’t know what’s up with any of that. … I do know that when Diamond Dave (KPOO dj since Moses) … I know that Enrique thought Dave looked too freaky and turned him away with a cold shoulder. … This, from the campaign manager of the man generally regarded as the best friend of art and artists in San Francisco. … Oh, I jumped in their shit. … They ended up giving Whittaker two shows at the ‘Club Elector 8’ and Matt did one of Dave’s events in the hood. … The fact that Pierce was even able to muscle Whittaker in the first place says layers about politics. … Later, Enrique closed Matt’s private club and canceled all events. He was not alone. The push to mainstream Gonzalez started the day he entered the race. It continues. … Basically, the revolution died when some people started getting paychecks. Suddenly, you couldn’t tell Gonzalez-Central from Newsom-Central. It was all designer clothes and SUV’s and guards to keep out people without the proper stamp on their passes or, (honest to God) … without an additional, properly color coded wrist band. Mark my words, campers … anytime an ‘egalitarian’ campaign creates a ‘VIP’ section … the revolution is over. I want ice cream: