Larkin and Eddy Turns One

It's been a year since the first post. Here are some of my favorites. I hope you like 'em too.

We’re from Australia: It’s the first one. It's the story that made me want to start telling other people about the shit I’ve seen/heard/experienced while living in the Tenderloin. Poopy Here Poopy There Poopy Everywhere: Keyword search term that directed someone to my blog recently, "human poop blog San Francisco." Awesome! Hookers: Who doesn't like chocolate. Pork and Pickles: Where my two favorite past times, eating and blogging, collide! Lots-o-drugs. I Plan to be Naked by Lunch: About my crazy laundry mat. Friends have told me that it's funny. Abusive Relationships: It’s a crazy story, just like this neighborhood. Edited this, and took it on the open road, all the way up the street to Amsterdam Cafe (really a bar) to my friend’s open mic night. It got a good response. Possibly more open mic’s in my future.

Also, The Giants are the World Champions and the City Celebrates with You!!: This was a really fun night. The city was electric that night last year. So much so, I was literally pulled to the Civic Center by the excitement. I'm glad I brought the camera with me. This has been one of the most popular posts to date. It's a bummer that we won't be able to recreate the awesomeness of an impromptu city-wide partay this year, but who knows, there's always next season! Of course, everyone's wondering will he, or won't he, shave the beard, here's your answer, for now:



My personal feelings on this is that the beard has become sentient. He can't get rid of it now, it has a mind of its own, Wilson even admits it by saying, "It does what it wants."

Thanks for reading!

I Ain't Your Tina Marie

From home to downtown, the quickest route is usually a straight line. Straight down Eddy, and into the heart of the TL. I turn the corner and walk the six blocks...

Broken arm.
Eyebrows penciled in. Your forehead has been consumed by them. Faded to grey, just like you. The Joker now.
“Damn girl, girl, girl.”
Sometimes music will accompany me on this walk, but not today.
You were sitting on a doorstep as I passed. “Hey, Tina Marie, TINA MARIE.”
I keep walking.
You were being handcuffed on Eddy and Mason. At every corner, people turned their heads to watch. I didn’t cross the street like I usually do.
Gotta keep moving; don’t linger, don’t make eye contact, head up, eyes to the front, show no fear…
I don’t want to shake your hand.
Some kind of freaky Disneyland ride, keep your arms, and hands, in the vehicle at all times.
“Do you have fifty cents?”
Well, to tell you the truth, I do have 50 cents, but I told you no, because what you really wanted to know is if I’ll give it to you.

From downtown to home, probably repeat this in a few hours, unless it gets dark… then I’ll take O’farrell or Geary.

Me and Thomas Oliver Larkin

Thomas Oliver Larkin (1802-1858)

A bootstraps kind of history lesson...

I was in need of a guidebook for California. Needed this book for a last minute trip down Highway 1 this past July. I wanted to peruse it along the way to find anything interesting, or quirky, to do or see, and something caught my eye…

Larkin House in Monterey.

I live on Larkin street! So, on the way home, after a beautiful drive down the coast, we (the boyfriend, and myself) went to investigate. There would be no tours available, no explanations about what we were seeing by a tour guide, but the guidebook did say you could roam the grounds, and peek in the windows.

After lunch, we wandered over to Larkin House, which was built in 1835, commissioned by Larkin for his wife, Rachel. It’s said to be the first two story home built in California. It was kind of eerie with no one else around. We didn’t linger long, since the guidebook told me little about the man. After roaming the grounds, and peeking through windows, at a house he built, with adornments he owned, my interests were peeked, I had to know more.

I did a little reading, and this is some of the information about Thomas Oliver Larkin’s life that I found particularly interesting…

He arrived in California destitute, after traveling from the East coast in 1832; before the Panama Canal was open, which means, his journey would have been at least six months long, in order to help his cousin with his business. Larkin was in search of a new beginning in what was a foreign land. He met his soon-to-be wife on the boat, the only other passenger on the trip. She was traveling to meet up with her estranged husband. While on the trip, he got her pregnant! But, she had no need to fret, after arriving in California, she found out later that her husband had died. Oh happy day! She was free to be with Larkin, and they were eventually married.

He was a busy bee, besides his romance with Rachel, his business ventures in merchandising and real estate were paying off. Also, as his epitaph boasts, Larkin was involved in California’s statehood. He had been appointed the first and only U.S consul to California from 1844 to 1846. He received messages from the president at the time, James Polk, on the matter. The question of whether or not America should have acquired California from Mexico is a sticky subject, to say the least; however, Larkin was involved, even being captured by the opposition at one point. After the acquisition, he was apart of the first convention to frame California’s Constitution in 1849. Names like: Larkin, Stockton, Sloat, Fremont, only known to us now as a street name, boulevard, or a city, were all involved in early California history, and in turn, the shaping of America.

Thomas O Larkin intrigues me. I find it interesting how he, a poor man, came to California, and was eventually receiving messages from the President, on such an important issue. He owned crap loads of land, and helped found the city of Benicia. He had business ties in San Francisco, and in 1850 built the first brick building here, that still stands today, at 1116 Stockton Street, in Chinatown. Pictured here:

It’s such a classic pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps kind of story. The kind of story you might have heard in elementary school. At the time of Larkin’s death in 1858, he was estimated to be the wealthiest man in America.

Once buried in San Francisco, he was moved to Cypress Lawn Memorial Park in Colma, “The City of the Silent,” is where he now rests. I didn’t grow up in California, but learning about this slice of San Francisco, has motivated me to do some more digging. Now, when I think of Larkin street, I don’t just see the name of the street I live on, it’s so much more, it’s a person, a life lived, it’s a part of history. And mine too.



*Sidenote: This is a map of Colma, the nickname, so I found out is, “The City of the Silent,” because there are all kinds of cemeteries, with tons on dead people there. Kinda creepy. So, as I’m looking for a new apartment, I can tell you this for certain, Colma, will not be my next home, now, or anytime in the future. Here’s a map of the area surrounding where Larkin is buried:

If You Are Coming to the Tenderloin...

Wear a flower in your hair, and bring money to park your car in a parking garage.



My sister came to visit recently, since she was driving, I reminded her that she needed to have a place to park her car while she was here. On other visits, both my sister, and a friend, had their cars broken into while staying with me. I will never let anyone with a car park it on the street overnight ever again. It’s way too easy for people to break into cars without any retribution. The sad part is the most expensive damage done is to the window. My sister, and my friend, didn't have anything expensive in their cars, but a common thread, is they both have Oregon license plates.

In my sister’s case, she had a bag of food on the backseat that she forgot to bring in, and the bandit decided it might contain something awesome. She told me later that she heard her car alarm sound, and as she peered outside, and noticed someone rummaging around in her car. As I slept soundly, she bolted off the couch, out the door, down the stairs, and across the street to yank the person from her car. She yelled at the guy to get the fuck out of her car, and he retorted by claiming that he wasn’t the one who had done the damage.

She relayed the story to me in the morning. I, being the older, more protective sister, came up with scary scenarios like: what if he had a gun, or knife. For some reason, I always picture knives as being the worse weapon. I make the assumption that criminals may be more inclined to use a knife than a gun. Regardless, I wasn’t happy she had gone out there alone, super late, and with no shoes on! I would have been like, cool, someone’s in my car, he can have that bag of food. But, my sister had just gotten out of the coast guard, which means, she’s already kind of a bad-ass.

Her visit this time was a good one, it's always really nice to see her. And no break-ins!

San Francisco Favela

There's a shanty town across the street right now.



My Mom had bipolar disorder. There was a year when I didn’t see her. I couldn’t handle it. I let her drop out of my world, and into oblivion. She refused to take the medication she was required to take, and would, on occasion slip into, what I referred to as, ‘an episode’.

I got my Mom committed once. My Dad and I had to sign papers to get her taken in. There had been an altercation where she had brandished a knife at someone. It was enough to get her held for the weekend, but the man she had ‘attacked’ couldn’t come forward to testify, something to do with the fact that he wasn’t supposed to be in the state. It’s almost like me and the TL are a perfect fit. I grew up with this crazy shit. After the weekend was up, they had to release her. To be able to keep her, they had to prove that she was a danger to herself or others. I was pissed, because clearly, she was a danger to herself, and others. I wanted my Mom to be safe. I wanted others to be safe. But because of the laws in place, she had rights. She had rights about her medication and housing. Rights, that I believe, often prevent people from actually getting the help they need. She was often homeless. I would argue, that it is a danger to someone’s health to be in a constant state of homelessness… It’s a fucking problem.

And it’s a huge problem in the Tenderloin. These people do drugs, sleep on the sidewalks, in all kinds of weather, eat from trash cans, and often walk around the street with no shoes on. All the homeless people I’ve seen throughout the years, the ones I know I’ve seen before, they visibly deteriorate. Most of the people that ‘live’ on the streets here are fixtures in this community, and have been here longer than I have. They have their own community. They’ve created a counter culture for themselves; we don’t know them, but they know each other.

But, it’s the homeless women that pull at my heart strings the most. I wonder about their families, and if they have anyone, and if so, where are they. I wonder if they’ve eaten today. Most often they are panhandling, but I don’t give them money, there‘s just too many of them.

These people need a new place to rest their heads besides the sidewalk. It’s time the streets stop being their home. It’s time we stop letting them live on the streets. Not just because people want to charge more for rent here, not just because if we clean up our act, new businesses will open here. Not just for gentrification. But because, it’s the right thing to do.

Turk and Larkin Deli

Lunchie Munchie time rolls around at some point everyday. I don’t like to make food when it’s only me, plus it’s easy to get something to eat around here, since there are tons of restaurants. I was being super lazy when the show, Check Please Bay Area, came on KQED, my PBS station, one afternoon. Side note: I heart PBS. If you haven’t seen the show, there’s a host that interviews three people who recommend their favorite restaurants, and the other two eat, and report back. Turk and Larkin Deli was on this particular episode, recommended as a good place for lunch by one of the ladies who works in the area. Only a block away from my house, and I had no idea it existed.

After the segment was over, I decided I would check it out, and report back. Upon arrival, I noticed that it was aptly named, Deli. I’ve never been to New York, a wrong I plan to correct in the near future, but this is what I imagine a NY deli to be like. Fake wood paneling on the walls. Lunch trays. A drab 70’s feel emanates from the décor. I ordered the roast chicken combo, which included 2 sides. I picked the pesto pasta salad with peas and carrots, and a Greek salad. I also got a chocolate chip cookie, and a coke, to top off my order. The cute older couple who own and run the place are friendly. The chicken was moist, while slightly spicy, with a paprika/herb rub. The chicken, and both salads, were tasty.

One of the guys on the show said it is a very scary neighborhood, and he was afraid for his safety! He may not want to return, but I’ll be back. I always say, I’d rather be around a bunch of crazies, than no one at all. The deli is open for lunch Monday through Friday.



Watch the segment here if you want, but skip to 6:52, TL represent!

Initiation

The ceiling creaks as someone moves in upstairs. Someone else has moved in recently too, my boyfriend’s sister. Now, empty pbr cans litter our living room and kitchen. The new addition to our household has told us that her sleep has been restless. I suggest she maybe invest in earplugs, or another viable option, we’ve joked, drink more, a lot more, before bed.

The jingle jangle of the ice cream man.
Sirens.
The bus.
The neighbors hang a picture.
Midday- A woman yells ‘fuck’ a hundred times in a row.
The click-clack of the siblings on their laptops playing tetris with each other, while sitting right next to one another.

We take his sister out. I realize the man ahead of us is peeing while he's walking down the street, leaving a squiggly trail. Talk about multitasking! The people passing in the opposite direction act as if he doesn’t exist. They don’t see him. Blank shells, staring at the ground, in their own world. I turn to my compatriots, “Oh My fucking God!” “Don’t step in that (I‘m pointing), he’s peeing while he’s walking down the street!” I’m visibly loosing my shit, my mouth gaping open, while these people coming at us look like they’ve had their brains sucked out of their heads...Zombpees.

You would think that I’m immune, by now, to happenings such as this. What surprises me about this instance, in particular, is that people like this dude in front of me, actually do things like this. Who the fuck are you to whip out your penis wherever the fuck you are? When, a few steps later, he enters a building, where I suspect, there’s a toilet he could have used. But no, he’d rather expose himself to everyone, and pee on the sidewalk. Needless to say, if you think you smell urine, you do. Many thanks you weren’t there when it was happening.

When I think I’ve seen it all, I‘m always surprised with a new little treat. I try not to step in the runoff, my boots are new.

Welcome to the TL little sis!