I had fallen asleep on the couch and was awoken by screaming and yelling in the middle of the night. A man in a red rain jacket was yelling at a homeless woman perched on a pile of blankets across the street. I popped up to see what was the matter, as he stormed at her. Making a beeline and flailing his hands about, he got her in face. He yelled and pulled the blankets from underneath her and pushed her around. He proceeded to beat her with her own blankets. She screamed bloody murder. I decided to call the police. This decision, whether or not I should call the police, is one I’ve had to contemplate on more occasions than I’d like to, was not made lightly. I believed the situation was about to get out of hand…
I dialed the police, not 911, but the San Francisco police. The reason I have this number dangling from my bulletin board is because at one point the building I reside in had a homeless problem. They would crawl over the front gate, which now has wooden planks nailed over it, and sleep in numerous places in the building, including, but not limited to, the stairs in front of my door. Leaving the house in the morning and having to step over a passed out bum is not the right way to start the day. By calling the police this night, I thought I was doing the right thing, my civic duty, helping a woman in need…in danger. I dialed, and the operator was on the line immediately. I gave him the details and the location. Immediately after hanging up, the guy in the red rain coat just walked away. It’s like he knew exactly how long was long enough for an incident like this, and I cursed him for it; I wanted to make sure he got what was coming to his sorry ass.
He was back a few minutes later yelling some more. Good, good, now he’ll get it, I thought. Peeping through the blinds I watched. He‘s yelling, she‘s crying, but no cops… He’s gone again. A tranny prostitute in a sleek black outfit comes to offer a tissue and a few kind words. She’s like an angel, a tranny prostitute angel, in black, whatever…at least someone has noticed, is doing what I cannot. He’s back. He pushes the prostitute, and she backs away, but not before suggesting he leave the lady alone. He leaves again.
He’s down the road somewhere when the cops arrive, lights blazing, pulling up right next to the woman. She starts to pack up her blankets, frantically shoving them into a bag. I feel like I’ve only made the situation worse for this poor woman, and it looks like I’ve called the police here for nothing, because on their arrival, there’s nothing happening. They drive away slowly.
But I… I kept watching, to see if she’ll be okay, or if he’ll return, and few moments later, he does. When this incident began I thought he didn’t know the woman, he was just harassing someone innocent because he’s crazy. As the incident progressed and he kept returning, I knew there had to be a connection between them in some way. As he returned this last time, I found out what that was. She’s standing up this time as he approaches, he hands her a cigarette. They light up together… He gives her a little cuddle…. He puts his arm around her, and rubs his head against hers. I’m outraged…I’m disgusted… where’s my camera…I’ve got to get this “couple” on it, NOW.
I find the camera. I try and set the ISO. I try and set the shutter speed. I put on the zoom lens. Nothing good is coming from all of this, all the while, my friends outside are getting along famously. I wanna puke.
My boyfriend’s youngest sister is moving in with us next month, and we’ve begun the process of looking for a bigger place. A bigger place means a different location. I’ve been conflicted. I’ve made friends with some of the shop keepers around here. I like them, I’ll miss them if/when we move. I’m obviously still in denial at this very moment. I’ve been thinking we should try and make it work here. It’ll be way cheaper for everyone, since we’d have to pay a bunch more for another room. The deposit alone to move in is usually the rent plus some. Also, all the places we can afford with 2 rooms are in places like, the Sunset, Outer Mission/Excelsior, or Bayview, which the boyfriend argues is an up and coming neighborhood. It hasn’t arrived, and I’m not taking the T train, at night, after work, over there. He argues that it’s pretty much the same as living here. I argue, it’s not. Plus, right now, we’re centrally located.
I know this for certain, I’m not moving to outer anything. So, I had sort of convinced myself that we should stay. And until tonight, until right now, I didn’t realize that, I too am in an abusive relationship, just like the homeless woman outside. The Tenderloin abuses me, and yet I love it still. It rouses me from my slumber, wakes me up violently, yells at me in the middle of the night, and yet, I love it still. And tonight, for the first time, as I try to rationalize the reasons to stay, and not go, I realize, I’m in an abusive relationship…with my neighborhood.
I couldn’t get the camera to work, because I’m inept with technology. I failed. So, I’m left with a few grainy pictures, and an understanding that I’m not unlike the woman outside, sitting on her blankets crying, because she’s in a messed up place.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
I'm Not Black But My Hair Is
A Sorta-Ode to All Those Blogs About Fashion, Tenderloin Style
All about my fashionable? hair...
"Nice hair," is what I hear most often when I walk down the street. I've been thinking I should get it trimmed again, but I've had a lot of positive feedback lately with my hair at this length. Interestingly enough, mostly from Black men. In the Tenderloin, some Black men stand in front of their apartments for a good portion of the day. What they're really doing there, I can't say for sure, but they tend to talk to, and jeer at the people walking by. I'm one of those people, and most often, they tell me, they like my hair.
Usually, when a woman wants to look for a new style for her hair, she peruses magazines, fashion and the like, there are even ones specifically for hairstyles, or a quick scan of images online will suffice. Celebrities can be a good go to. But, it's difficult for me to find examples of hairstyles that I can relate to. Unfortunately, there are not many women in magazines that have crazy curly locks like mine. All the models have straight hair, and if it does have volume, it's usually artificial and worked over like the rest of the ad. What these magazines seem to suggest: is the hair that I possess is not, en vogue. I'm not Black, but each time I want a new style, it's the magazines for Black women I turn to. And, amazingly enough, a lot of the women in these magazines are shown with their hair straightened.
When I was younger, my sister would iron my hair to straighten it for me, but it turned out fluffy and weird. We had not yet discovered the magical world of products for our hair. My mom was a hippie, and never cared to try and tame our trusses. The "straight" hair never lasted long because, as soon as I washed it, the curls would emerge. I'll never, ever straighten my hair with chemicals, I love it the way it is. It does what it wants, and has a mind of its own! So now, it's all curly, all the time.
For so many decades curly hair has been marginalized. Every time I flip through a fashion magazine that does not choose to represent the women with hair I can relate to, I know this country has a lot of work to do as far as Equality goes.
I'm not sure if Anne Hathaway actually has curly hair, but in the movie, Princess Diaries, she has curly hair, and by the time Mary Poppins gets her hands on her, she's a princess, with straight hair. That's a messed up hair message.
This is a call to women with hair like mine: Wear your hair out and proud, like Angela Davis did/does.
It's a bea-u-ti-ful thing to be different, celebrate it! The men of the Tenderloin will appreciate you for it!
All about my fashionable? hair...
"Nice hair," is what I hear most often when I walk down the street. I've been thinking I should get it trimmed again, but I've had a lot of positive feedback lately with my hair at this length. Interestingly enough, mostly from Black men. In the Tenderloin, some Black men stand in front of their apartments for a good portion of the day. What they're really doing there, I can't say for sure, but they tend to talk to, and jeer at the people walking by. I'm one of those people, and most often, they tell me, they like my hair.
Usually, when a woman wants to look for a new style for her hair, she peruses magazines, fashion and the like, there are even ones specifically for hairstyles, or a quick scan of images online will suffice. Celebrities can be a good go to. But, it's difficult for me to find examples of hairstyles that I can relate to. Unfortunately, there are not many women in magazines that have crazy curly locks like mine. All the models have straight hair, and if it does have volume, it's usually artificial and worked over like the rest of the ad. What these magazines seem to suggest: is the hair that I possess is not, en vogue. I'm not Black, but each time I want a new style, it's the magazines for Black women I turn to. And, amazingly enough, a lot of the women in these magazines are shown with their hair straightened.
When I was younger, my sister would iron my hair to straighten it for me, but it turned out fluffy and weird. We had not yet discovered the magical world of products for our hair. My mom was a hippie, and never cared to try and tame our trusses. The "straight" hair never lasted long because, as soon as I washed it, the curls would emerge. I'll never, ever straighten my hair with chemicals, I love it the way it is. It does what it wants, and has a mind of its own! So now, it's all curly, all the time.
For so many decades curly hair has been marginalized. Every time I flip through a fashion magazine that does not choose to represent the women with hair I can relate to, I know this country has a lot of work to do as far as Equality goes.
This is a call to women with hair like mine: Wear your hair out and proud, like Angela Davis did/does.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
A Beautiful Day For a Gay Parade
Every year at the end of June there's an exodus into San Francisco, and by Sunday, it's at my doorstep. Hearing the techno, the tecccchnoooo, at 10am makes it official; it's here, and it's queer! This year Chaz Bono was Grand Marshall of the parade.
People come from all over to join in the sex-tivities of Pride weekend. The people are having a good-ole time, but it feels like the whole city vibrates from the excitement. As for me, I've always had to work that day. For the most part, I prefer to stay away from ridiculously huge, incredibly large, groups of people. With so many people in the same vicinity, they seem to loose their minds when they get together at the same time. A lot of people have a lot of fun, but there are others who come to the city and cause serious problems. On Saturday there was a shooting on Market and 7th, you can read more about it here. Although the police attribute the violence to gangs, innocent people get hurt. It's not good. That being said, I'll reiterate, a lot of people have a lot of fun...For example, there's a hotel across the street that had a pool party. When I say pool party you think people in the hot sun, swimming around, having fun, cooling off in the pool, right?! Not at this pool party. At this pool party, people stand around the pool, hang out and drink. They don't actually get in the pool. Where do you think we are anyway, LA? The sun was out, but it definitely wasn't hot enough for a dip, well, not in the pool anyway! People rent the rooms so they can retreat and relax after a "stressful" day of drinking and partying! Well, that's what a little gay birdie told me anyway!
I wasn't there long, but here are a few more pictures from pride...
Friday, June 24, 2011
When Work Sucks
I’m in a, what I’ll call…a, “weird phase.“
Lately, when I’ve had a less than desirable day at work, I’ve taken to comparing my life to others, most frequently, those whom have been in a tragic accident, or fallen on harder times. I’ll tell myself, yes, work sucked…at least, you didn’t have your face ripped off by a crazy monkey. At least, you have all your toes and fingers. Now, those would be reasons to be really unhappy.
Today, after work, I went to get groceries. Maybe not the best choice of things to do after a trying day at work, but it’s not so bad, plus, I really like the place where I get my groceries. It’s a small market, a few blocks from my house, it doesn’t have everything, but the people who run the place are nice, and I can get fruit, and ingredients for dinner. As I fill my basket and say hello to everyone, my dinner starts coming together. Maybe some meat. I made my way over to the meat display, but there’s already someone there, so I wait…he won’t be long…
“Can you tell me how much these will be,” referring to a few pork chops. “Uhh, what about this thing, the third one, yeah…” The man helping him picks up the pork belly, slaps it on the scale, and jabs at the buttons. “How about, another pork chop.” “No, I don’t want that thing…maybe a chicken breast.” The man behind the counter places his hand in yet another plastic bag, pointing at the chicken breasts. “The one with skin.” The way he keeps changing his mind and barking orders makes him seem rude and grumpy. I’m upset at the way he’s treating the guy behind the counter. It’s obvious by now that he’s bargain hunting. The one with skin is a dollar less than the skinless.
I set my basket down, and having nothing better to do, I inspect the man, as he comes closer to a decision. He’s wearing a red tiki shirt. His red swim trunks have been sewn together at the seam, but there’s still a hole. And on his feet, where shoes should be, are black booties, like the ones you’d get if you needed a cast. They’re on both feet, and the only toes I see are the big ones jetting from underneath the boot. I don’t know much about this man, but according to my recent, “weird phase,” I know, he’s got a reason to be grumpy. After he decides on the chicken breast, with skin, and leaves the counter, I pick up some meat, and pay for my groceries.
Turning to head home, I was still thinking of the man with missing toes, I didn’t know it at first, but as I left the store behind, I left my bad day behind as well.
Lately, when I’ve had a less than desirable day at work, I’ve taken to comparing my life to others, most frequently, those whom have been in a tragic accident, or fallen on harder times. I’ll tell myself, yes, work sucked…at least, you didn’t have your face ripped off by a crazy monkey. At least, you have all your toes and fingers. Now, those would be reasons to be really unhappy.
Today, after work, I went to get groceries. Maybe not the best choice of things to do after a trying day at work, but it’s not so bad, plus, I really like the place where I get my groceries. It’s a small market, a few blocks from my house, it doesn’t have everything, but the people who run the place are nice, and I can get fruit, and ingredients for dinner. As I fill my basket and say hello to everyone, my dinner starts coming together. Maybe some meat. I made my way over to the meat display, but there’s already someone there, so I wait…he won’t be long…
“Can you tell me how much these will be,” referring to a few pork chops. “Uhh, what about this thing, the third one, yeah…” The man helping him picks up the pork belly, slaps it on the scale, and jabs at the buttons. “How about, another pork chop.” “No, I don’t want that thing…maybe a chicken breast.” The man behind the counter places his hand in yet another plastic bag, pointing at the chicken breasts. “The one with skin.” The way he keeps changing his mind and barking orders makes him seem rude and grumpy. I’m upset at the way he’s treating the guy behind the counter. It’s obvious by now that he’s bargain hunting. The one with skin is a dollar less than the skinless.
I set my basket down, and having nothing better to do, I inspect the man, as he comes closer to a decision. He’s wearing a red tiki shirt. His red swim trunks have been sewn together at the seam, but there’s still a hole. And on his feet, where shoes should be, are black booties, like the ones you’d get if you needed a cast. They’re on both feet, and the only toes I see are the big ones jetting from underneath the boot. I don’t know much about this man, but according to my recent, “weird phase,” I know, he’s got a reason to be grumpy. After he decides on the chicken breast, with skin, and leaves the counter, I pick up some meat, and pay for my groceries.
Turning to head home, I was still thinking of the man with missing toes, I didn’t know it at first, but as I left the store behind, I left my bad day behind as well.
Friday, June 17, 2011
Dear Diary-hea
The weather has been nice these past few days. I've been walking around a bit. To get to places other than my neighborhood, I have to first go through it. Here are some pictures of things I've seen recently. I hope you enjoy, but, I have to add a disclaimer, some of the images may be, totally disgusting.
Why? You may be wondering, did I take the pictures. Because, this is the type of stuff I see in my neighborhood, this is the awesomeness that is the Tenderloin...
I like her outfit, she even has a scepter!
This is what happens to unwanted televisions.
This guy is using his wheelchair as a walker. Oddly enough, I see this often.
About this picture...yes, it did totally gross me out, and that's exactly why I had to preserve it in endless time. Firstly, I can't say for sure whether this is human or animal, regardless, you're supposed to pick up after your animal/self. Secondly, someone put a cute little flag in it, and as I walked by, it caught my eye as it swayed gently in the breeze.
If you liked that, you'll really like this...
About these pictures...I saw this, walked a few blocks, started to text my friend about what I witnessed, since she keeps telling me I need to get an app for the iphone so people can tag where they see piles of poopy, join in the fun and all, since, after all, pooh seems to be a serious issue in the Tenderloin. You can read more about it here. So, I'm walking and texting, cause, I'm just that awesome, I get a half a block away, and make a U-turn, and head back to this, this...poohprint. I've been thinking about it, they had to, A. not be wearing shoes, which I do see often, homeless people without shoes, walking around the city.
And, B. This is where it begins, and ends. There's no pile they stepped in, the trail doesn't continue down the block; it ends pretty much where it begins. It's a mystery to me. The Tenderloin's very own "Footprints". So, if you too step in pooh, it'll be Jesus to the rescue!
I thought the clouds looked pretty.
Why? You may be wondering, did I take the pictures. Because, this is the type of stuff I see in my neighborhood, this is the awesomeness that is the Tenderloin...
I like her outfit, she even has a scepter!
This is what happens to unwanted televisions.
This guy is using his wheelchair as a walker. Oddly enough, I see this often.
If you liked that, you'll really like this...
And, B. This is where it begins, and ends. There's no pile they stepped in, the trail doesn't continue down the block; it ends pretty much where it begins. It's a mystery to me. The Tenderloin's very own "Footprints". So, if you too step in pooh, it'll be Jesus to the rescue!
I'll leave you with this...
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Waiting for the Bus
Is the longest wait.
I've recently started a new job. With a new job comes a new mode of transport, since I don't drive. I now take a bus that picks me up right in front of my house. Upside: Not having to wait around for said transport; I run downstairs with only a few minutes to spare. Downside: When I leave my apartment building and step onto the sidewalk, it's a new experience each day.
Like a few days ago...
I leave my house and run outside checking to see if the bus is indeed down the street, when something across the street catches my eye. I look harder, squinting even, not quite sure what's happening and why I'm trying to see it so bad...Awwww man, a dude doing a really poor job at concealing his penis while he uses the sidewalk as his personal urinal. Note to self: Stop noticing what happens across the street. There's always a lesson to learn in the TL.
And today...
As I'm leaving the building a noise begins to grow outside. I slow a bit, realizing I may not want to even go outside. But my bus, my bus, that will take me to work, and out of this neighborhood, is coming. I open the gate and leave the relative safety of my building. To my right, and on the corner, there are two large black men beating on each other. There's also another fatter man with a bike who gets caught up in the action, and after he's thrown back and trips on his bike, he begins to shout that he'll be calling the police. Alright that's settled, the police will be called, and as I grow increasingly agitated by the scenario, I'm hoping my bus shows up NOW and these guys do not end up stumbling my way. Just my luck, I'll be caught in the fray, and get punched. I've never enjoyed serious confrontations. I survey my surroundings to see if anyone will be stepping in to stop them. There are guys hanging from their first floor apartments recording the action on their phone, no luck there. One of the fighting guys end up backing into a car while it's stopped at a red light. People look on as I wait for the bus, as far away as I can be from the fight, without leaving the bus stop. All this has happened in the matter of a few minutes. By the time my bus is approaching, the two brawling men are breathing heavily and hugging. This reminds me of when professional boxers get tired during a fight. As I take my seat on the bus, the men seemed to have joined forces, and are pleading with the other guy to not call the cops, on account they're brothers.
I've recently started a new job. With a new job comes a new mode of transport, since I don't drive. I now take a bus that picks me up right in front of my house. Upside: Not having to wait around for said transport; I run downstairs with only a few minutes to spare. Downside: When I leave my apartment building and step onto the sidewalk, it's a new experience each day.
Like a few days ago...
I leave my house and run outside checking to see if the bus is indeed down the street, when something across the street catches my eye. I look harder, squinting even, not quite sure what's happening and why I'm trying to see it so bad...Awwww man, a dude doing a really poor job at concealing his penis while he uses the sidewalk as his personal urinal. Note to self: Stop noticing what happens across the street. There's always a lesson to learn in the TL.
And today...
As I'm leaving the building a noise begins to grow outside. I slow a bit, realizing I may not want to even go outside. But my bus, my bus, that will take me to work, and out of this neighborhood, is coming. I open the gate and leave the relative safety of my building. To my right, and on the corner, there are two large black men beating on each other. There's also another fatter man with a bike who gets caught up in the action, and after he's thrown back and trips on his bike, he begins to shout that he'll be calling the police. Alright that's settled, the police will be called, and as I grow increasingly agitated by the scenario, I'm hoping my bus shows up NOW and these guys do not end up stumbling my way. Just my luck, I'll be caught in the fray, and get punched. I've never enjoyed serious confrontations. I survey my surroundings to see if anyone will be stepping in to stop them. There are guys hanging from their first floor apartments recording the action on their phone, no luck there. One of the fighting guys end up backing into a car while it's stopped at a red light. People look on as I wait for the bus, as far away as I can be from the fight, without leaving the bus stop. All this has happened in the matter of a few minutes. By the time my bus is approaching, the two brawling men are breathing heavily and hugging. This reminds me of when professional boxers get tired during a fight. As I take my seat on the bus, the men seemed to have joined forces, and are pleading with the other guy to not call the cops, on account they're brothers.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Pagolac
On the corner of Larkin and Ellis…Not only do I live in the Tenderloin; I live in an enclave, not larger than a few blocks in any direction, dubbed, Little Saigon. Because of this, Vietnamese food has become a staple of my diet since moving here seven years ago. So, when I had visitors at the beginning of April, I brought them to Pagolac, to make sure they got a deliciously authentic taste of my neighborhood.
First off, my have-to-have... the "seven flavors of beef" tasting menu. It’s seven, count them, seven courses of seared and wrapped, and some, do it yourself cooking, goodness. Bring some friends, you'll need to share, and, it's more fun! Also, have-to-have, the tofu salad. It sounds kinda blah, but it’s, cilantro, limey, crunchy, refreshing to go with all your meat, num nums. It's a small restaurant, if you come when there's a wait, you'll have to wait outside. It can get pretty chilly in the restaurant, you might want a scarf; but, if you live in SF, you're probably already prepared for any weather situation. Pagolac is open Tuesday-Sunday 5pm-10, and they're cash only. I'm including the yelp page here since I'm not sure they have one of their own. Go forth, eat the meat, and prosper!
This video is short, but to the point!
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