I’m still riding high as a result of the elections. It was so great seeing so many propositions that I like pass, so satisfying having the president remain where he is, so refreshing having a mayor who is a friend. I mean, hey, I’ve been voting since 1959 and this has been a real new experience for people of my voting kind.
Ahh, hope fills the air that I breathe, as I move, light and easy, like a river dancer on a cloud that’s floating in a gentle wind, as Bob Filner becomes my mayor and Barack Obama my president, again.
It’s a nice high I’m in, hallucinogenic, with music, Sam Cooke singing, “It’s been a long, a long time coming, but I know a change gonna come, oh yes it will.”
Oh, it feels so good having a couple of guys in high places who view what people have worked towards for years as earned “benefits” not “entitlements,” and see unions as who they are, “We the People!” Not “bandits.”
The other night I sat with other writers, in a workshop, to consider how the rules that guide one person might contrast with rules somebody else lives by. Like a man who has grown up thinking women should be barefoot and pregnant, always with a pork chop ready to put on the stove, might have a problem with a woman who is of the thinking that she should always be treated like a queen, with doors opened for her and a coat set down for her to walk on in a puddle in the rain. How could they come to co-exist was the gist of this exercise.
It was so nice at Balboa Park the other day. Sunny. Warm. Bright. People wearing smiles every where I looked. We were gathered at 6th and Laurel for a Rally for Women’s Health, featuring Sandra Fluke, a woman who gained fame for being shunned by a group with no shame who ran a sham they call the United States House of Representatives’ House Oversight and Government Reform Committee.
These Big Time Charlies wouldn’t let her speak to them about reproductive freedom for women because, according to them, she had no “expertise.” And she pretty much had to tell them “Hello! I’m a woman, you know, and how much ‘expertise’ y’all got regarding a woman’s needs, I might ask, considering that every single one of you is a man?” Not to mention, (to counter what their smartassed answer to the question is likely to be) men who have not evolved much when it comes to ways of thinking things female beyond their junior high days. [Read more…]
After the last presidential debate the San Diego Union-Tribune waxed romantically about how serene Mitt Romney appeared to be and all I could think was:
What kind of HD do they have that can make a man who looked like he had chugged some unsweetened lemon juice, seem to be serene?
Wearing an expression on your face that’s like a cross between a smile and a grin – a “smin” perhaps – is not a picture of serenity. A bit too Cheshire Cat for me.
They followed that up by citing a poll that showed that 60 out of a 100 voters thought Romney had looked credible, aka pretty good, on national security and I wondered “Should these people be voting?” [Read more…]
Looking through words about California history, my mind wanders momentarily, and a tall timeless man with reddish brown skin and long braids ala Russell Means, appears in the periphery of my daydreams. He says:
They, these conquering men, stepped from their boats
wearing more clothes than was necessary,
shiny metal hats and vests,
heavy leather foot wear,
bearing swords and knives,
boasting of braveries
and some day living in the memories
of civilizations yet to be
and when they gazed our way
they never looked us in the eye
with any deep sense
or human curiosity. [Read more…]
I had no idea what we were going to other than it was a gala of some kind and we were expected to dress in kind. So I put on a nice outfit and admired myself in the mirror for a nice amount of time and then waited for a short time to be picked up by my beautiful sidekick. I didn’t need to know where we were going to know we would have a good time as that seems to be the only kind of time we know how to have. We like to joke, “Hey, we’re doing all right for old folks.”
I hop in the car (well, plop in the car, to be more exact for my age) and learn that our destination is the Port Pavillion on Broadway Pier, a venue at the very end of Broadway in which I had never set foot before this day. [Read more…]
One day I checked into facebook and found the question: “What if when we die the light at the end of the tunnel we see is just us being pushed out of another vagina.”
My first thought was “Oh, God, I hope not.” I mean if I were on Let’s Make a Deal and had in my hand a certificate guaranteeing me a rebirth in a new body, I’m going with whatever is behind curtain number one. Because when I depart I will have left it all in the Milky Way just like leaving all I had on the court in my basketball days.
So, I don’t care if Wayne Brady says “Oh, Ernie, you could have had another life but you’re going home with a one day supply of Alpo!” After jumping around like I had won the lottery I’d run off and rent a dog for a day.
The first time I heard about Ezell Singleton was at my barber shop soon after I had come to town in 1962. His name came up in an animated conversation about “Who Was the Baddest Athlete to Ever Come out of San Diego.” A dude who was wearing, as close as I can remember it, a red hat, yellow suit, blue shirt, green socks and pink shoes spoke through his gold teeth on behalf of Ezell, summarizing his multihued speech with “He was one bad cat, Jack!” Well, that’s the “G” rated version of what he said. If he had been like Isaac Hayes singing about Shaft, his back up singers would have had to sing “Hush yo’ mouth.”
His name would come up in picnic football games. Somebody would make a flashy move and get teased with “Who you think you are, Ezell Singleton or somebody!” [Read more…]
This past Thursday was a mellow day for me, mainly due to a visit I made to a ribbon cutting ceremony for the grand opening of the Veterans Service Center at San Diego City College.
But I was already feeling pretty good before I got there, starting with being picked up by my girlfriend, if that’s what a 74 year old has. Anyway the ride, with that beautiful woman, on such a nice warm sparkling soothing easy San Diego day, had me ready for a good time.
As a teacher, vice-principal and school principal I more often than not had to sit with students of all ages, kindergarten to senior high, to help them get along with each other, to make peace.
I loved that aspect of my work, the nitty gritty of it, the getting to the bottom of why they felt they had to hit back or resort to name calling and ridiculing. I’d often ask them to think of what they could have done differently if the same troublesome situation that got them in each other’s face happened again.
It’s essential training since we live in a very violent society, one wherein: children kill children; children are abused in their homes; husbands batter wives and vice versa; metal detectors are used in our schools. [Read more…]
Hope on my mind
Hope comes easy for me. It can rise from the words in a kindergarten girl’s poem where everybody lives happily forever and ever, or it could come out of the energy of thousands of San Diegans standing in the middle of Broadway singing “Give Peace a Chance.”
I didn’t realize, though, how hopeful a human being I am until I found myself one day holding out hope that the San Diego Union-Tribune, a rag that, on good days, over the years, has made me gag, could change and become a factor in helping San Diego become all it can be.
I didn’t see this hopeful moment coming. I was leaving the Union-Tribune Building one day when it dawned on me that I had a smile on my face. And that had never been the case when I look back on all the times I’ve walked away from the place. [Read more…]