Walking South of Market on Saturday, I ran into a police swarm at 8th and Mission...
...under a great piece of "DOPER" graffiti.
Supervisor Mirkarimi has been trying mightily to get just a few, maybe two, policepersons actually walking a beat in their various districts and getting to know the people they are supposedly protecting, but the resistance from the police department has been astonishing. "We won't be able to respond to emergencies anymore," they cry, but this strikes me as nonsense.
The dozen cops hanging out and shooting the bull with each other at the site of what looked like a minor car accident, while pointedly not interacting with citizens around them, only shows how alienated and out-of-touch they are with the San Franciscans they are paid to serve. It often looks like they are really only here to protect the top 1% from the other 99% of the population.
At the Eagle on 12th and Harrison Streets, a group of women were performing a fan dance...
...on the outdoor stage of the gay men's leather bar.
To call this a bit shocking really doesn't do the event justice...
...to the audience of transsexuals (female-to-male), lesbians...
...and the assorted whatevers populating the backyard.
The ostensible reason for the performance was as part of a fiftieth birthday party that was billed as a "butch/femme social"...
...for somebody named Vic Germany.
On Saturday night, I went to the San Francisco Opera and stood through "Tristan und Isolde" which I wrote about in the post previously.
What I didn't mention in that post was that I took a dinner break during King Marke's long, boring aria that ends Act Two and the intermission before Act Three.
Not only did I grab some fries at Frjtz on Hayes Street next to the new, fairly dreadful piece of public art on the Hayes Green...
...but I stopped in for a quick beer at Marlena's as a "Fauxgirl" did her thing on the postage stamp stage.
It was a good palate cleanser before returning to Tristan's tortured death and Isolde's Liebestod.
Sometime later that night, back in my apartment, Miss Tina's spirit showed up and somehow communicated that she was fine and content and to stop beating myself up.
She also shot me a dose of pure love that is still vibrating inside. I'm back in Palm Springs for a couple of weeks but will return to San Francisco's Civic Center for the November election and the interesting times that are sure to ensue.
2 comments:
sfmike -
my thoughts are about you and your loss.
I'm terribly sorry about the loss of your cat. I had to pause for some kitty love before I could comment.
I was thinking about the phenomenon of SFPD "swarms". I've heard SFPD officers claim that they are so desperately undermanned that they could not possibly spare officers for foot patrols. Shortly after hearing this I came across 11 patrol cars and 15 officers-all blocking the street and sidewalk on McAllister so that they could look at what appeared to be a drunk sitting on the sidewalk. Maybe he was a major criminal, but he was obviously drunk, and not handcuffed. Two of the officers were talking to him, while the other 13 were visiting among themselves.
I lived in the Tenderloin for a few years. I didn't mind the open drug dealing and prostitution in the neighborhood. Obviously the SFPD didn't mind it either, but an occasional foot patrol down the block would have cut back some of the more "in your face" thuggery.
I continue to enjoy your reporting from a neighborhood that I often pass through, but rarely have a chance to stop off in.
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