Two shoes on, two shoes off...

Berkeley, CA is unlike any other place in the world, I'm convinced. In my opinion, the 1960s never left Berkeley. Sure, life went on, but the ideals and pastimes of the 1960s never left. Free love, pot, peace, love and understanding... yah, that's Berkeley. Imagine that Berkeley was home to the now famous "free speech movement" from 1964-1965. The action took place not but a few minutes walk from where my office is.

This maintenance of 1960s life is apparent walking down Telegraph avenue where you can buy hemp-everything and a marijuana dealer is likely never more than an arm's length away. OK, maybe two. It isn't unusual to see 50-70 year old "hippies" in Berkeley, and they're passing it on to their children. The other day, for example, as I was walking down the sidewalk on my way to lunch, I saw a man and his 4-or-so-year-old daughter walking up the street towards me. As I was passing them, I noticed that the dad wasn't wearing any shoes or socks. He was barefoot, walking along the sidewalk. I won't lie - the sidewalks in a hippie- and homeless-ridden city aren't the most pleasant. Only under exceptional circumstances could I be convinved to walk any significant distance without shoes or socks. Seeing this man's lack of footwear was surprising. I wouldn't particularly expect that even in Berkeley, and certainly not from a man with a child in tow. But then again, Berkeley is the place of the unexepcted.

I admit that I was a little afraid to look at the girl's feet, fearing that they, too, would be bare. And in the event that they were, I wasn't really sure how I would feel about that. To decide for yourself as an adult that you're going to walk down dirty and potentially toxic sidewalks without shoes is one thing, but to subject a child who knows no better to that is something entirely different. I was relieved, therefore, when I saw that the girl was wearing shoes. But there was something abnormal - she was wearing two different shoes. These shoes weren't even similar, though, so the odds of an accidental "mistaking" of the shoes was out. One of the shoes was white, the other black, and they were completely different styles. At least she was wearing shoes, I suppose.

Life in Berkeley...

The joy of cordless phones

This is really more of a "people listening" story than a "people watching" story, but I think it's worth telling, so here it is. It has been nearly three years now since I've regularly used a cordless telephone, or any landline for that matter (with the exception of phones at work for business). Aside from the phone numbers assigned to my dorm room in college, I have never had my own "home phone number." I've had the same cell phone number for years now. While it has a Utah area code, I've actually never lived in Utah for anything longer than a summer between college semesters while owning the phone. And now for over two years, I've been living in San Francico - definitely not Utah.

After several people told me that I needed to get a new phone number, I finally caved. I didn't want to give up my Utah number - after all, I've given people that number for the past 4 or 5 years. So... I found a solution. I signed up for a high tech home phone service. Now I have a home phone with a 415 area code (San Francisco). When someone calls my home phone, though, more than just my home phone rings - my cell phone will ring as well! This means that I now have TWO cell phone numbers - the normal 801 Utah number and my new 415 number. Now people can reach me anywhere in the country with a local call from two different geographic locations.

Well, when I got the home phone line, I hooked up a new cordless telephone to the line. This evening as I was on a phone call, I started to get a little bit of static. At first I thought it was just because I was in the kitchen and the base station is in my bedroom. But then I started hearing other, non-static noises. It was clear that I was somehow picking up on someone else's phone conversation. At first I couldn't make out anything more than a man's voice. I couldn't distinguish words because there was still significant static. Going about some other business, I stepped into the dining room and almost instantly the call I was on went silent and this "interfering" call came into crystal clear, virtual surround sound.

The first thing that I noticed was that there were two parties, a man and a woman. But let me say that only one of the two - the man - was actually speaking any words. Most of the words he was saying are probably best not repeated here, and what I heard from the woman can't actually even be typed. * moan, groan * just doesn't have the same effect as if I were to offer a live impression. This was definitely an X-Rated conversation. Some might call this phone sex... and there it was, right on my phone, while I was talking to my mom. That's just great. Welcome to 415!

I was in the United States Submarines!

Working in Berkeley, CA, I see a lot of interesting people - pretty much everybody in Berkeley has something interesting about them. I could probably make a living writing for this blog with all the great content Berkeley provides for me. As it is, though, I believe this to be my first post specifically related to a people watching incident in Bezerkeley.

I arrived at work early this morning - 7:15. Since it was rather early and I had only about five and a half hours of sleep last night, I headed back out from the office at about 7:40 for some coffee and a blueberry muffin. In the few minutes that I was in the Addison Annex Coffee Shop, a homeless man that I see frequently in town showed up on the sidewalk. Not a big deal - he's always been very friendly and has frequently commented on how well I dress (usually when I'm wearing a tie, which I'm not today).

But today, he was a little different. It isn't unusual to see homeless people acting a little - dare I say it? - crazy, so it doesn't shock me; however, I have never seen this particular homeless man talk to himself or yell at nothing. Today was different. As I was walking up the sidewalk towards him - his back toward me - I didn't think anything of it, until I heard him start to yell. What was this about, I wondered? As I came closer, I could see that he wasn't yelling randomly. He was standing only inches away from a parking meter and was yelling at it furiously, as if it were a human being.

"Are you listening to me?? I was in the United States Submarines, do you hear me? Answer me!!"

Clearly to his dismay, the parking meter did not answer and the homeless man became even more enraged by this defiance. He saluted (I'm not making this up) the parking meter. The parking meter did not return his saltue.

"Is that all you have? I was a Submarine! We played a huge role in the United State Defense Attorneys!"

The parking meter was unimpressed. At this, the homeless man huffed and puffed, storming around in circles on the sidewalk, devastated that this parking meter was refusing to recognize the signifcant contribution that he had made to the US Defense Attorneys as a Submarine. The last thing I saw (and heard) as I turned into my building half a block up was the man now yelling at a wall. I guess he hoped the wall really did have ears.

I've Got IT Goin' On... I Guess

This would be a fantastic People Watching story if it weren't for the fact that I was one of the people being watched! This takes place at the Cherry Creek Mall in Denver, CO on December 28, 2006. I was in Denver visiting my dad just after Christmas and I happened to receive a wine opener kit from him. As luck would have it, though, I already had one, so I decided to return it to Sur La Table, from whence it had come.

So, my sister, dad, dad's wife and I piled into the car and headed to the mall to make the return. When we arrived at the store, I walked up to the counter, placed the Rabbit Wine Kit on the counter and told the clerk that I wanted to return the item which I had received as a gift. When the clerk started speaking to me, it was quite obvious that he was gay. Now, I don't much care for stereotypes, but the plain and simple fact of the matter is that some are true, and the mannerisms, speach patterns and demeanor of this particular sales clerk fit the classic mold of the gay man. In the past, I've never felt uncomfortable talking with gay men. In fact, I've had many gay friends... but this guy was different... this guy was hitting on me.

It all started innocently enough. He asked to see my ID for the return. No problem, I handed it over. He looked at it.

"California, I see," he said, noticing, I imagine, that my ID says "CALIFORNIA" across the top.
"Yes," I replied.
"Oh! San Francisco," he exclaimed, "that's a great city."
"Yes, it is," I answered.
He smiled, gave what you might perceive to be a wink and then asked, "Can you take me home with you?"

OK, seriously, what am I supposed to say to that? I can't say "NO" without seeming really rude and I can't very well say "SURE WHY NOT" or "WISH I COULD" without making him think that his flirtations are welcome. Instead, I just opted to give a light chuckle and say nothing in response. Apparently this wasn't enough of a cue to get him to stop trying to pick me up. He continued to talk about how much he loved San Francisco, and how much he wished he could live there, and how he often thought about how he could transfer from the Sur La Table in Denver to one in San Francisco. All the while he kept asking me questions about where I lived, where I worked, what I liked to do, how long I had been in San Francisco, where I like to go out, and so on. At one point my sister, seeing what was going on, came over and stood next to me, but after about 30 seconds she had to leave. I later discovered that she found it too difficult to keep a straight face - I'm telling you, this guy was obviously & unabashadly flirting with me. Slightly annoyed with the whole affair, and really just wanting to get my gift card and get out of there, I glanced around and noticed that I was being spied on from several vantage points within the store - my dad from near the front of the store and my dad's wife, Betty, from behind me.

Normally, I wouldn't think too much of this whole affair, but just days before my girlfriend dumped me, and I wasn't particularly in the mood to be out and about flirting, let alone with another man. So rather than being either falttered or neutral, the whole thing just served to annoy me. To add insult to injury, after the whole thing was over, Betty kept on for the entire day about how I "still had it," whatever the hell "it" is. I opined that it wasn't terribly great to have "it" when "it" was only useful with other men, but that didn't seem to dissuade her insistance that I was apparently in high demand.

Oh well, maybe someday "it" will be truly useful again.

Just a little higher here, straighter there

I went to get my hair cut for the first time in several months today. Some might say it had been 7 to 8 months since I last cut my hair. It was becoming unruly, and I wasn't thrilled with that, but I was just too lazy to go and get it taken care of. Finally, I did it today.

I went to New Century salon. It sounds either ultra-chic or dive. It was dive. There were two chairs in a hole in the wall just two blocks from my house, but it got the job done. When I arrived, I had to navigate my way through the door in an awkward manner because a gentleman was standing right in the doorway, staring intently at a boy who was getting his hair cut by one of the stylists. I'm not sure if it was the kid's father, uncle, adopted father, family friend, or what, but he was clearly very intent on watching every move that the boy's stylist made. The man stared at the activity without ceasing, sometimes moving around to inspect from a different angle.

Once I was seated in the second chair, I couldn't really watch what the man was doing except for what I could make out in the mirror, but he started getting really into the cut. As the boy's stylist was almost complete, the man started walking full circles around the boy, inspecting every inch of his head. "Straighten out this line," the man would say to the stylist who immediately went to work. The man continued walking around, inspecting, frequently walking up to the boy and moving his head back and forth, up and down. "I'm just trying to see if the two sides are even," the man said. After comparing the two sides of the boy's head, the man told the stylist, "take this side up a little more. The other side is already higher and it needs to be even." The stylist complied with every demand that the man made, and some of them were ludicrous. I'm not kidding when I say that the man was twisting and turning the boy's head examining the work of the stylist. The man also kept calling the stylist "lady." For example, he would say, "that's good lady," or "here you go lady."

When FINALLY the stylist was told that her work was "close enough," the boy was allowed to stand. Apparently the stylist's job of blowing out the loose hair wasn't satisfactory, because the man took the boy and vigorously shook his head and batted his hands through the boy's hair. Then he started rubbing the boy's head against his chest, as if his shirt had some special "hair attraction" power that would pull out all of the loose hair.

When this ritual was completed, the boy and the man left. It was perhaps one of the strangest hair cut experiences I've had. Oh boy do I feel sorry for that kid, though!

Salute to Gretchen

I am in Santa Cruz today, hoping to go surfing later if the waves get a bit bigger. I just got back from a stroll on the beach, checking out the surf. While down there I saw a large pelican sitting majestically amongst a flock of seagulls like a god amongst mere men. I was drawn in by his regal stature so I walked closer. As I rounded in front of him, I noticed a severely broken wing draped by his left side. A tragic twist of perception that left me feeling quite sorry for this beautiful bird.

Soon I realized that I'm in California which is probably the animal protection/rights capital of the world. I called 411 and got the number for the Native Animals Protection Agency (I think that's what it's called). The dispatcher on the line said she would send someone out right away and 5 minute later Gretchen was there with her net, towel, and cardboard box. Brought together by a common cause we made eye contact, said a few words, and then did what needed to be done. Gretchen took the towel and tossed it on the bird as it snapped at her with its long pointed beak. It was as poetic as it was tragic. Gretchen began to cry as her sympathy for the bird overwhelmed her - she realized that she would most likely have to euthanize him because of the severity of the break.

We stood up and parted ways. Fighting back tears she thanked me for making the call. I thanked her for the important work she does.

A walk to forget

Today I was walking north up 8th street in Soma, checking out the shops and watching my back. I was being extra attentive because at one point this shitty Astro van with tinted windows drove right in front of me on their way to a gas station and they were blasting some rap song with the lyrics "I drink, I smoke... don't get it twisted pimpin' this a hood dance." They were screaming the lyrics and staring at me as they rolled deep into the absolute pimpinest place in town: the Shell gas station on 8th and Harrison. (side note: what's up with that attitude anyway?)

NEXT: I turn left on 8th and am looking for the 19 bus but can't find a stop. During my search I came across one of the most ridiculous things I have ever seen. Two men sitting in a bright blue Honda Matrix and a third was leaning on driver's side door. At first glance it was an innocent enough affair, maybe a riveting conversation about global politics or something. At second glance, I realize with horror that the driver has his hand wrapped around the third guy's ass and is performing an enthusastic fellatio on this man. As I walk by, I distinctly hear 'yeah, that's how I like it." ... I didn't need a third glance.

Less than a mile later, now north of Market in the tenderloin, something entirely random and unexpected happens. Walking up a hill on Hyde I'm looking around and taking in the scene of liquor stores and XXX shops when all of the sudden about 30 feet in front of me a man falls off a two story ladder and lands on the sidewalk feet first. The metal ladder actually folded on him, causing the fall. He stood right up but was visibly shaken, other people were closer and were able to rush to his aid before I was able to. Craziness.