Yesterday

The campaign to save the park (No on G) is over and I now find myself with a lot of free time. I hadn't tracked my volunteer hours, but someone on the campaign must have because I was told that I had volunteered 400 hours over a span of about 2 1/2 months. Color me blown away. 

I have not mentioned the folk who live across the street in what I've dubbed 'party house' in some time. I could not tell you how many people live there. I could not tell you who owns the nine or ten cars associated with party house that are parked along our short block, but I know that a few of the dudes who may or may not live there are mechanics and some seem to be used-car salesmen. There is one primary tenant who is likely on the lease; she has lived there since we moved into the area six years ago. Aside from her, there is a rotating cast of women (and men and pets) who come and go. A new chick showed up about a month ago. I've seen her a few times; she once came over to introduce herself when I was leaving for work. -seemed nice, but was a bit too animated, if that makes sense. 

Yesterday afternoon, we came home from running errands to discover that various porch items had been moved around. We had had a parcel delivered earlier in the day. Could a delivery driver have moved the items? I put everything back in its place and thought little of it. At around 5p, I took one of my cats out for a walk. The new tenant across the way was hanging out of the kitchen window chatting to herself while the dudes who wrench on cars were out tinkering on a red Mazda parked in the driveway. I could hear her exclaim about my cat, Bart, while I took him around the corner. During our wee walk, Bartie sniffed some plants, tried to roll in dog urine and slunk away from approaching children. We were out a total of about 10 minutes tops, before we made our way home. We rounded the corner and were met with an emergency vehicle parked out front of house. There didn't seem to be any urgency as the EMTs got their gear. I wondered why they were here. I have an elderly neighbor who lives alone and wondered if he were OK. As I approached my front door I could see that the emergency services personnel were following me up the front door path. I turned with my cat in my arms and asked if they needed anything. One of the EMTs asked if I had recently called 911. I said that I hadn't and volunteered that maybe our elderly next-door-neighbor had before taking my cat inside. My husband went out to speak with them and was told that someone had called in a report of a '45-year-old white woman' at our address with a bloody nose. I suppose that that was meant to have been me. Thank you for shaving off a decade of my age, but WTF, I was out walking my cat, no blood anywhere on my person. The ambulance left and my husband thought to check the doorbell camera to see if there had been a bloodied woman out front of the house. There had not been, but there was video from 2p that showed the new tenant from across the way coming up to our door, fucking with our porch items, then having a sit on our garden bench for a spell before trundling off back across the street. I can't know for certain, but I feel like it was she who called emergency services. Let's hope her behavior was a one-off, if you will, but I fear it might not have been. 

WE WON....!

A bunch of No on G supporters convened at a resaurant last evening to watch election results. Some highlights not having to do with saving Sunset Dunes--

Amy Acton beat Vivek, the hateful brown guy, to become the next governor of Ohio. 

Susan Collins, handmaid of the patriarchy, finally lost her senate seat to a Democratic challenger after decades at the helm. Bye, biotch! 

Sunset Dunes, thanks to so many volunteers over the past few months, has been saved. It was a tremendous effort by so many. 

Purple: pro-park

Green: anti-park

I live in the purple strip down by the park. WE DID IT. 

Tasty victory cake. 

Victory speech by Lucas Lux

No on G, car show and flowers.

After campaigning fairly regularly for the past month to Save Sunset Dunes park, I've learned that some surfers are, in essense, NIMBYs for the ocean and attendant environs. Not only do a squeaky wheel minority of them hate the park, they 'fucking' hate it. 

Last Friday afternoon, a couple of us were out with signs on sticks urging folk to vote No on G and an older surfer (read: 50s, white, kinda bloated-looking) came up from the beach with board under one arm and yelled 'I fucking hate all of this!' and 'I can't wait for all this shit to be gone!' while making a wide sweeping gesture with his other arm. It was a really warm day that day and there were about two dozen folk just sitting around enjoying the weather and the view. We said nothing while looking at each other in stunned amazement. Well, I did respond snarkily with a 'you seem nice!', but I doubt he heard me.

The rage that folks have about not wanting a park at the beach is brutal to contend with out in the wild, if you will, but I think I get their upset, however much I do not dig it. They don't want to share 'their' parking spots close to the beach. They don't want to share the waves that they surf on. They want to be wrapped up in some fantasy that Ocean Beach is a sort of 'hidden gem' surf spot for them and them alone. It's nuts.

***

Last Saturday I attended the car show in Golden Gate Park. A buddy of mine runs it, so I get to hang out a bit with him and check out some really cool, older vehicles from the US, Asia and Europe. It's a hoot. Here are a few snaps---

Bitchin' Camero!

Baja Bug, baby!

Funky USPS vehicle from yesteryear! 

***

We planted some Dahlia bulbs this summer and this is one of the beauties that grew. She has just a whisp of white and I love her. 

I decided to treat myself to some cut flowers from the Farmers' Market last week. Cosmos make me smile. In fact, I have tried very unsuccessfully to grow Cosmos in the garden, but they always stay spindly before dying entirely. -lucky to be able to have the cut variety whenever I'm feeling fancy, though!

Oct. 9

Ballots have been mailed and we're barrelling toward Nov. 3 faster than I would like. I've yet to pour over the voting guide; I am not really looking forward to it. A small group of us Sunset Dunes (the park at the beach) supporters were out handing out campaign materials last evening at an event in the Mission. Most folk, as one might imagine, were not there to talk politics. Fortunately, those who did interact with me were pleasant. One comment by a park-supporter was akin to the 'bridge building' rhetoric from some Democrats regarding how we must treat Drumpf cultists. He said something like: We must be nice to those who are for Yes on G (aka the proposition, if it were to pass, would destroy a park). Why do we have to be nice to people who are not voting for the greater good? Why do we have to placate people who cannot see beyond the end of their own nose? 

Anyway, I will end this bit with a snap from last week of the sun setting at Sunset Dunes, the new park at the beach. Ahhh...so lovely. 

Hardly Strictly Bluegrass, the annual music fest in Golden Gate Park, was last weekend. I didn't go as I had my volunteer gig and work to keep me busy, but I could hear strands of music playing all the way at my place some 2 miles away. Crazy how sound travels. What wasn't crazy, but felt insane, was the THUNDEROUS noise of Blue Angels practicing overhead yesterday. I was in the backyard and both felt and heard the oppressive ROAR of the fighter jet engines. The sky was mottled with clouds, so I couldn't immediately see what was happening (I also hadn't read the news that the Blue Angels would be flying/practicing this week). The sound of the aircraft made me think of Drumpf's cavalier remarks about how Iran could 'take out' (read: bomb) major Southern California cities. 

I don't know about you, but I am not looking forward to the Blue Angels' upcoming air show.

Door knocking in Duboce Triangle and beyond...

Wednesday two weeks' back saw a small group of us go out knocking on doors for No on G, save Sunset Dunes Park. We tackled an area of town called Duboce Triangle, a densely populated strip between Haight St. and Market St. near The Castro, handing out literature to interested parties who opened their doors to us. 

Highlights of the event: A shirtless man answered his door, looked at us, then bellowed NOT interested in our faces. A middle-aged woman barked at us about the city of San Francisco trying to take away parking spaces for cars. (And what does that have to do with the park?) 

I have committed to spending two hours each week at Sunset Dunes with literature and a smile to share what voting for Prop. G would bring. It would bring, should it pass, an end to the park. All of the park infrastructure would be ripped out--benches, refuse bins, hammocks, play structures, the skate park, parallel bars, art installations, the kids' pump track, etc. It would all be removed and the city would have spend circa 10 million dollars to convert the park back to a road for cars. 

Highlights so far: Multiple older white men feeling no compunction about screaming FUCK in my face in order to emphasize how much they hate the park while USING the park. I did respond to one such an individual with, 'Why don't you go walk in the street then?' while gesturing toward a neighboring road. Spying my narrow-minded anti-park neighbor walking in the park until she was close enough to my contingent of pro-park peeps at which pointed she pivoted away, removing herself from the stretch of old road she professes to hate.

***

I had an interesting interaction with a customer at my job the other day. He'd mentioned that he'd moved away about 20 years ago and that it was nice to be back in town. -turns out he grew up in Pacific Heights in the 80s and 90s. For those who are unfamiliar, Pacific Heights in one of the poshest sections of SF. I don't know how we got on the subject of the current Mayor of San Francisco, Dan Lurie, but we did. This customer had attended private school with Lurie. I expressed a distaste for the Mayor, citing his having grown up an heir to the Levi-Strauss fortune as being one reason why he was unfit for the job. There was no way, in my opinion, that Dan could be a man 'of the people' as he had grown up in rarefied air, if you will. I knew that the person with whom I was speaking would, too, have grown up in priveledge based on his zipcode and the fact that he now lives abroad in one of the richest countries in the world. What I didn't know was that I was speaking to someone who was the son of billionaires who were decades-long politicians in their country of origin. He listened to me spout upset about Mayor Lurie and then said something to the effect of: People are complicated; many politicians publically espouse positions that they then do hold personally. That is, of course, the case, but it doesn't make fighting for what is right any easier.

Apropos of this post, I will leave you with an image of the stunning Borobudur, the largest Buddhist temple in existence in the world. 

Today

I am unable to comment on posts, at present, and that feels weird. Delighful-looking crab-apple jelly, beautiful Dahlias in NZ...all these lovely posts read that have brightened up my mood. Thank you, bloggers, for your thoughtful posts. 

***

I spent two hours yesterday canvassing for No on G--save Sunset Dunes Park--at the old Great Highway. What never ceases to amaze me are those who would gladly use the new park while knowing that they will vote to dismantle it come November. It's not necessarily what they say, but how they say it. One younger fellow walking with out-of-town visitors said through clenched teeth that he had already 'made up his mind'. I had to fight the urge to say with a huge smile, 'Enjoy your park walk!' at him in response. Many who are in support of Sunset Dunes gave the pro-park signal of a thumbs up, a raised fist, or a peace sign while walking, biking and jogging by me. That felt good. One old coot on a bike bleated an anti-park slogan while tooling past me on Sunset Dunes. I wanted to tell him to go bike in the street with cars, if he didn't like the park, but thought better of it. While many are steaming mad that they cannot drive down ALL ROADS all over town, I can't mirror their anger when engaging with them, but I sure do want to. 

*** 

The woman who designed this bad-ass symbol---

died a couple of days after the great Gloria Steinem. Her name was Robin Morgan. I grew up with Ms. magazine, and am, myself, a 'Ms.' I knew that Steinem created Ms. magazine, but what I did not know was that R. Morgan had been an editor at Ms. for many years until reading her obituary. She was a radical in the best sense and I am so glad that we had the pleasure of having her on the planet. 

Aug. 26, 2026

Everything makes me cry these days. I blame being a huge sack of walking hormones and mine are in meno-flux. 

Things that make me cry without fail: 

• how fucked our country is in so many various ways and I will not illustrate them here because it is such a fucking downer
• the loss of blogger friends
• any part of the UK suffering from wildfires right now
• the loss of long-term clients from the memory care center where I volunteer
• Dolly Parton's death

***

School is back in session where I live. I can hear the school bell, the kids' voices and see the cars a-clogging the short block on which I live twice-a-day from my living room window. Well, I COULD see them if the window were not covered in a thick sheet of plastic. We are having the facade of the house spruced up. The cheap-o 70s siding has been removed and the old stucco struck off. The aluminum windows, another relic from the 70s, will be replaced with something a bit more modern and energy efficient. Underneath the old stucco is Douglas Fir framing. The boards are thick and rich in color. They've been put up in a diagonal design that almost looks to be a herringbone pattern. It's really rather attractive.

***

To mangle B-rate movie actor Ronnie Reagan's jibe at Senator Cranston: Here we go again! The cranks who want to return car traffic to a two mile stretch of road along the ocean have managed to secure enough signatures to bring this issue back to the voting booth. If anyone cares to read about this latest development affecting the west side of San Francisco, here it is!

I will leave you with a bit of beauty from our garden. The mini passionflower plant has, after four years, finally produced one wee flower and it is spectacular. 

Late July

It's been a series of highs and lows of late, both literally and figuratively. There was my exceedingly warm birthday in the middle of July that, traditionally, was neither hot nor very blue-skied along this part of the California coast. Given the toasty forecast, I threw caution to the wind and held a BBQ in my backyard and it was glorious. -no long sleeves, no goosebumps. Last week, I had a serendipitous meeting in my hometown with a former colleague from 20 years' back. She happened to pop into a shop that a friend of mine runs while I was there making chit-chat. I should say that I bump into people from seemingly almost all decades of my life living very near where I grew up, but this particular former co-worker, originally from Minnesota, bounced around the country a bit before returning to California post-pandemic and landing in the small city in which I grew up. -kinda nifty! 

In May, my husband was laid-off from a job he'd held for more than a decade. He has since rediscovered his love of fishing. The hubs grew up fly-fishing in Colorado. We live near the Pacific Ocean. There was a slight adjustment to be made before he felt confident in his efforts surf-casting, but his near-tireless efforts have paid off--

Striper, approx. 26", caught 7/31/26

Yesterday was gorgeous, so we took a bike ride up and through Golden Gate Park en route to the Dahlia Garden as it is in the early stages of blooming. It's an annual must-see. Here is some of the bounty--

Cats and country

My husband took this picture yesterday afternoon and it makes me want to turn it into a 'Happy Summer from the Cats!' card to send out to friends and family. 

The below snap is one of the many pictures I take of Bartie in repose. I send these types of pictures to my sister and her response is ever thus: HE LOOKS LIKE HE'S DEAD!

We're sliding toward 250 years of being a country. I am not excited about this marker, to be honest. The usual BOOM! BOOM! fireworks will stress out the cats, of course, and we're in a shit spot (understatement of the year) as a nation. What's to celebrate? 

I have vague memories of our bicentennial. I was in kindergarten; red, white and blue streamers and liberty bell images figure in my mind when I think back to that time. The line: The spirit of '76! is also coming up for me. -must have been part and parcel of how we decorated store-fronts and the like. Although I think that it was also the tag-line of the gas station chain called '76. 

In other news, an active-duty serviceman recently protested on the Capitol steps against our current Oval Office occupier and his vice-president. He was then arrested by Capitol police. According to reports, Major Watkin would be the first-ever active-duty commissioned officer in the military to publicly protest for the impeachment, conviction and removal of Trump and Vance.

This and that

I was at work the day that these folks assembled at Ocean Beach in *ahem* honor of Drumpf's birthday (aka Flag Day here in the US). Two women came into the shop in the afternoon and shared that they had participated in the human lettering event (-don't know what else to call it). We high-fived at their beach action and then they purchased a French paring knife. 

In other news, big boy Bartie sat on my lap last night. He never does this, so I think he was desperate for some extra kibble after dinner. For the record, I am not starving him, but the vet did recently mention that Bart could stand to lose a wee bit of weight. We have been tightly monitoring his portions and Bartie is now a bit 'hangry' most evenings. 

'He doesn't know how to hold a knife!'

The title of this post refers to an expression used in Chinese culture that means, according the author of the cookbook below, that one does not know how to cook. 

I think most of us who didn't have professional cooks in the house growing up would know very little about knives. Looking back on my childhood, I can't recall any fancy blades in the drawer/knife holder. I can't even recall if said knives were ever truly sharpened. We had a sharpening steel, I think, at one point, but I don't recall ever using it myself. Maybe my Dad had used it? I have since learned that the steel or rod is actually more about maintaining a knife's edge than it is about sharpening a blade. And I have also learned that a sharp knife is truly a magic tool when chopping, dicing and mincing your fruits, veggies and proteins. And, most importantly, dull blades are dangerous. 

Back in the 70s, my Dad took a Chinese cooking class, so we had a few tools related to the course like a cleaver and a wok in the kitchen. Dad made stir-fries and other tasty dishes; the cleaver and wok got good use. I don't know to where the cleaver disappeared, but I do still have the wok. 

Recently, I was hired at a business that specializes in selling knives, principally from Japan and Western Europe, but also showcases great pantry goods and cookbooks. The job training is sort of on-the-go, if you will. Many clients are professional chefs and hardcore home-cook enthusiasts. I am nervous about suggesting a blade that would not suit them, to be honest. I am into my second week at the shop and it's A LOT to learn. Please, wish me luck! 

The author of this book, Gary Lee, taught the class my Dad took.

Sterbehospiz and sticky fingers

I learned the German word for hospice a few years' back and it's 'Sterbehospiz'. This translates into English as: death hospice. There is no beating around the bush with this term. We all know what's to come.

I just had my last ever visit with L. as she is now in hospice care at home. No longer conscious, I spent time at her bedside with her two daughters. It was a bittersweet visit, but I'm very glad that they let me come over. 

***

As I was leaving work two days ago, I walked past the man who, this past February, had attempted to steal a large box of chocolates while I stood not five feet from him. I remember that I watched somewhat dumbstruck as he walked, truffle box tucked under his jacket-covered arm, swiftly away from the store. I thought to myself: Don't I know that guy?! Fortunately, I had the presence of mind to follow after him and retrieve the box; he gave it up without a fuss. This guy was someone who had visited the store on-and-off for the better part of a year. I can't now recall if he ever made a purchase when at the shop, but he'd come in for a chin-wag and we would give him the occasional gratis chocolate. So imagine my surprise as I see this sticky-fingered mofo making chit-chat with one of the craft vendors who sets up shop along the Embarcadero at the weekend. She, along with a handful of others, are typically selling handmade jewelry, pottery, art prints, etc. to passersby. I sit off to the side of the market and just observe. She's breaking down her stall as it's end-of-day and I'm kind of marveling at their chummy rapport. Is he casing her business? Is he her friend? What gives? After about ten minutes, she's mostly packed up her gear and he's bid her farewell. Once he has gone, I amble over to her and share what I know about him. I'm also aware that she has no reason to believe anything I say, so I add the few bits of information that he gave me about himself which were his age and where he's from. She nods in recognition and then says that he's a friend of a friend. I was sorry to have to tell her what I knew, but I'm glad I did. I also took a sneaky snap of him to give to the manager of the Ferry Building, so that she would have his image on file. 

Human banner at Ocean Beach and a visit with L.

I don't know if I mentioned that I sometimes 'Oma-sit' a particular older woman from a part of Germany that now longer exists. If I haven't, then I'd like to share a bit about L. now. I met her last May when I began volunteering at a memory care center here in town. When we met, L. was a lively 98-year-old living with dementia yet still relatively physically robust. L. could walk herself around the care center, take herself to the toilet and express some simple thoughts that may or may not have seemed to be germane to the situation at hand. She was funny, lively and enjoyed people as I was later to learn she always had done in her long life.

A few weeks' back L. took a tumble and fractured her pelvis, among other injuries. The prognosis was this: a) send L. home to sort of rot away in bed or b) operate and shoot for the best. Her family chose the latter and I was able to visit with L. a bit yesterday post-op by about four days. At that point, she'd only been administered ibuprofen for pain. I saw her late afternoon (4p) and her daughter, who also happens to be a working nurse, determined that L. not had any ibuprofen since 8p the previous night despite her care notes stipulating that the pain med be given more frequently. L. has dementia and does not hit her call button at all. NOT AT ALL. I would imagine that this bit of salient information should also be in her notes. Apparently, the squeaky wheel gets the grease at the hospital and all others are left in the dust (until someone remembers, hopefully, to check on the quiet patient in room 301).

While at the hospital visiting L., I met a friend of hers. M., a robust 88-year-old, had just come from the No Kings event held at Ocean Beach. She was part of the of the first 'u' in the anti-drumpf message. M. said that it was good to get out to the beach and be a part of things. There were drones overhead capturing the action. I've seen images in the paper--Trump Must Go Now! I think it read. And, boy, ain't that the truth!

A semi-recent shot of City Hall awash in red.

Pro-Trump Persians

Since the bombing of Iran and the assassination of the Ayatollah, many Iranians of the diaspora have been celebrating by waving Iranian, Israeli and American flags along the Embarcadero plaza very near where I work. They have rented a sound system, a 'party bus' and have had many flags--half Iranian, half USA; double sided flags featuring Israeli and American flags, etc., and Pro-Trump signs made for the occasion. Their jubilance coupled with repeated chanting of 'thank you, Trump!' at passersby is a jarring sight to behold. This past weekend, saw the arrival of anti-war demonstrators to the plaza. Pro-Bibi-Trump Persians were directing their chants directly at the anti-war faction. It was mad. I was on a break from work taking it all in and my face likely betrayed my disgust at the messaging of many of the Iranian-Americans. This prompted some numpty to spell it out for me. Gesturing, he said, 'These are Iranians from Iran.' Um, no shit, buddy. He then went on to say something to the effect of: liberals like you wouldn't understand. I took the bait, folks, I did. Suffice to say, I ended our interaction by repeatedly calling the man a 'MAGA cunt' as he walked away while flipping me the bird. Fortunately, I was not wearing my work apron. 

Anti-war protestors this past weekend. (I did not take a photo of the pro-Trump Persians.)

Feb. 20, 2026

My boss, to be frank, openly talks shit about her staff. I remember thinking when she first shared an unflattering take on a colleague with me that I, too, will not be immune from this behavior. I don't tend to agree or disagree with her when she airs her thoughts. I just appear to listen. If the language were couched in concern or was, somehow, productive, I wouldn't mind as much, I guess. (I would rather she not do it all.) Some of it seems like school-yard bully behavior and has absolutely no place at work like the time she made fun of my co-worker's walk when he was away on break. Yes, she DID that. My boss and I are the same age, share some similarities in terms of how we were both raised and espouse similar political beliefs. I wish, however, that she would treat me, all of us, as if we were her equals. I don't mean that we should all be 'the boss', but what I mean is that we all have unique strengths in the work place and that should be acknowledged and fostered. I tend to want to take ownership of what I'm doing and not constantly want to check in before making a decision, but the boss will undercut one's autonomy either by blocking physically or verbally. It's to the degree that I find myself walking on egg shells a bit in order to avoid being told that I'm doing something that she thinks should not be done. For example, taking out a full bin, time permitting, should be allowed. If she thinks the bin isn't full enough, then she'll block your move. If she wants to go on a small walk-about, then she'll take the bin out (now it's full enough, amirite?) and go 'round the market hall before coming back. I guess it kinda comes down to 'do as I say, not as I do' and working under that proviso can be wearing.  

***

My sign has done fuck-all to stop dogs from using this California poppy plant as a pissoir. 

After one particularly rainy and windy night I went down to the beach to look for driftwood with which to decorate my garden. I came home with the below beauties-- 

Drift log!

Sticky fingers and Super Bowl 60

Over the weekend, I stopped a theft-in-progress. No, I don't want to risk my well-being for a box of chocolates, but I actually recognized the would-be thief as someone who has sporadically visited the shop over the past year. I recall our having had friendly chats; he had even made at least one purchase with me. I also had a feeling he wouldn't react violently when confronted. Fortunately, I was right. 

The scene unfolded like this: I was near the front display area ribboning a box when I heard a thud. I turned to see this dude, who I recognized as a somewhat infrequent shop visitor, pick up a box of Valentine's Day confections ($98.) that he'd apparently just dropped on the floor. We looked at each other and I turned back to ribboning. As with any retail job, one must keep one's head on a swivel, so, within seconds, I had turned back to look only to see his swift departure from the shop and the box of fallen chocolates tucked neatly under his arm, partially obscured by a coat. I thought to myself, 'Not today, kitten!' and took off like Tom Cruise after him. This was Saturday, the day before the Super Bowl and the day of the large Farmers' Market at the Ferry Building, so I had to sort of wend my way through the crowd, reaching him a couple of store fronts down the corridor. Tapping the man gently on the shoulder, he turned and I quietly said, 'Give me the chocolates'. He did and I took the box and walked quickly back to the shop. 

***

On Saturday night I left work to find a throng of people standing around the sidewalk out front of the Ferry Building, on the street car platform and further west by Justin Herman Plaza nearer to the BART station. They were gazing up at a light display projected onto the side of the Ferry Building. The colors of Super Bowl 60, a sort of Miami Vice meets 80s neon clothing store in a shopping mall, were on display. Thursday's projection, if you can believe it, was a little more tame--

Thursday night, light on visitors, but not on LIGHT.

One could not see through the crowd to the other side of Embarcadero Blvd. Leaving the Ferry Building almost felt like being up front at a massive rock show where, when trying to move, one has to bob and weave in order to get to the exit. Temporary bollards had been installed anywhere a vehicle could drive up and access people, too. A grim reality, I know, but given how vehicles have been used as maiming machines here and abroad, it seemed prudent to have them be installed here. 

Demos a-plenty

Happening very near where I work in downtown San Francisco were two demonstrations last week. One was an anti-ICE demo and one an anti-choice. (The organizers actually call their wanting to restrict women's repro healthcare and their wanting to eradicate Planned Parenthood 'Right to Life' cuz women's lives do not much matter, eh?). The anti-choicers began by marching down Market St. and ending at the Embarcadero near the Hilton Hotel. The anti-ICE folk also happened to be convening at that same spot that afternoon. We saw folk from both contingents post-demonstrations come through the Ferry Building en route to lunch, to ferry services, to the toilet, etc. I could not help but give those anti-choicers the stink eye when the came past my work place. There was one, older white woman who kept her anti-choice placard aloft as she walked past our store-front. I hissed an aggressive 'BOO!' in her ear as she strode by and felt pretty good about it, to be honest. 

Two women from the anti-ICE march came and bought chocolates from me and I asked them how their demo went. They mentioned that all went well enough save for those anti-choicers who spoke up in defence of ICE and their deadly shenanigans. Apparently, not every life is, in fact, sacred. 

***

Today is a day of anti-ICE walk-outs across the country. I am off of work, fortunately, but am ill, so did not get out to Dolores Park to be with others in solidarity. I have read that some businesses here in town are closed for the day while others will be donating a portion of their proceeds earned today to organizations that support immigrants. Lowell High School and other SF schools have engaged in a student walk-out. I'm proud of those kids (and everyone else, for that matter) for standing up for what is right. 

Image from the anti-ICE demonstration today at Dolores Park

MN on strike and Rod Stewart

Minnesotans shut shit down yesterday with a state-wide general strike. They did so in freezing temperatures, no less. I'm so impressed with their resolve. Last night I watch a 30 min. video in which Minnesota doctors from different disciplines, different hospitals and different regions assembled to deliver the unified message that ICE needs to be removed from healthcare settings. The directive was clear: ICE is not wanted there. What struck me the most about the testimony of these doctors is that ICE are not leaving hospital premises when being told to by the MDs, by hospital administration, and, even by local police. These ICE goons are beholden to none. Another nasty note: ICE are now in Maine and have named their hunting operation 'Catch of the Day'. Um, har-har? Unfortunately, seven Democrats in the House of Reps just voted to give MORE FUNDING to these shitasses. 

***

Drumpf making a buffoon of himself in CH was absolutely expected and he did not disappoint. What makes my blood boil is that we here in the states seem to be paralyzed to stop his dreadful antics. Why the Donald hasn't been removed from power is confusing to me. Europe and Canada are moving on without us (as they should). It's a sad reality. 

Not only did The Donald show himself to be a moronic fool in Davos, but he insulted NATO troops from allied nations saying that their contribution to efforts in Afghanistan were largely insignificant. This sort of garbage rhetoric led Sir Rod Stewart to post a video in which he repeatedly called trump a 'draft dodger' (which he is) and demands Keir Starmer to force him to apologize. Fat chance on that last part, I would imagine.

The Great Shoppening and other things, 2025

I have today off from work, but will work manana and did work through the weekend up to yesterday. The chocolate shop I work in continues to make between15k and 20k daily in the lead-up to Xmas. The title of this post comes from a friendly shopper who visited late in the day on Saturday; I recall her being in a bit of a rush to get her errands done. I think she had meant to say, 'shopping' and, also perhaps, 'happening' and those words came out combined to sound like an almost ominous/comical event. It's the GREAT SHOPPENING, Charlie Brown!  I am also reminded of our dearly departed Sue and her word, I believe it was, 'embiggen', as in: if you're having trouble seeing the image posted, then embiggen it. :)  We miss you and your wonderful contributions to Blogland, Sue! xx

Speaking of ominous events, we here in the city experienced a rather prolonged and far-reaching black-out Saturday. A fire broke out in a PG & E substation at Civic Center and power was out for over 100k residents and businesses. Some folks went without power for approximately 30 hours. We in the Outer Avenues by the zoo did not lose power (for once) and about that fact I am feeling both glad and grateful. I am thinking of the restaurants, hotels and other businesses reliant on visitors boosting their revenues over the December holidays and I really feel for them. Their financial losses must be tremendous. 

Affected areas in red.

What was really freaky for me and so many others was trying to get home Saturday evening on public transit. The fire at Civic Center coincided with police activity at the very tony Palace Hotel on Market Street a few blocks away. Market St., incidentally, is a major east-west thoroughfare for transit downtown and beyond. Police had cordoned off the area of Market where the hotel is located as there was an armed man who had barricaded himself somewhere within the hotel. The cops were attempting to safely extricate him from the building and their efforts took hours. Subway lines were interrupted due to the fire and attendant blackout. Folk were awaiting bus replacement services (we really just guessed at where they might pick us up by standing at an already existing bus stop and hoping for the best) at street level. There was no communication from SFMTA as to what was happening and how one might use public transit to reach their destinations. The Muni subway was simply closed. There were no personnel, no signage, no nada showing folk what to do. A bus driver en route to SE SF pulled up at the stop and we asked her if she knew what was what. She said, 'There's an F (a street car line) right around the corner and the K-L-M bus (bus replacement service) is running every 12 minutes. Dear reader, she lied. The F never arrived. And the bus replacement service showed up an hour after she continued on her route. Most of us stuck it out. Some of us called Lyfts and Ubers and paid $$$$ to get across town. Talking to my fellow travelers, some people were going home, going to work, going to their accommodations, going back to where they had parked their cars earlier in the day. I was out from work and at the bus stop by 6.15p. We were on the bus replacement service and driving through a near pitch black downtown by 7.25p. We had to divert around the hot spot at the Palace Hotel on Market Street. I can only surmise based on movements made by the bus driver that we drove along Mission St. parallel to Market St. for a number of blocks before returning to Market St. east of the Palace Hotel en route to West Portal Station (where the bus terminated). 

Our bus, as one might imagine, was standing room only in a few, short stops. One dude, a vato wearing a cap that read: Outer Avenues, was playing really chill music on his phone and I have to say that that helped keep the mood on the bus rather light. At one point on our literal dark journey, however, the bus jerked to a sudden halt and stayed stopped for a few minutes. Maybe a glitching WAYMO (self-driving car) was blocking an intersection and our man nearly didn't see it? (Learn more about the dipshittery that is WAYMO in an emergency here.) Anyway, at that point, an old duffer at the front of the bus began to curse about needing to get home and couldn't the driver just 'go around?' At the same time, Outer Avenues homie switched the music to: Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer. And I gave him a smile and a nod as it helped to break the tension somewhat. Imagine if we had experienced a natural disaster (Loma Prieta earthquake, anyone?) or a terror attack? SF would have been effed, to put it bluntly. 

It took 2.5 hours to get from the Ferry Building to the Outer Sunset that night. And as of this morning, power has been restored to all businesses and residences here in town. The subway is still not running fully; I'll be taking a replacement bus to work tomorrow. As we brace for impending severe weather--heavy storms are set to touch down here on the 24th according to the news--I do wonder how we will fare. 

Yesterday

I know that what I am about to share is sort of silly, but share it I will. A few years' back I met a local artist at a holiday craft show and somehow found out that she happened to be the daughter of my kindergarten teacher. I had also met her Dad way back when; he was German. I follow this artist's work on Instagram. Recently, I noticed her using a non-Caucasian fist emoji (have I lost you yet?) and wondered why. Her married surname is Spanish. She herself is neither Latina, nor, as we now say, a person of color. So, why, might she be using the beige-colored emoji for self-representation? Is this akin to some sort of brown face? I am over-thinking it? 

After work last night I came out of the Ferry Building to this sight--

'Embiggen' to see DJT and his good buddy, Epstein.

Some dude, armed with a projector and some slides, was bringing the Xmas cheer with this timeless image of these two, nasty men. He then moved on to 'FREE PALESTINE' as I was making my way to the train.