Homeless Former Hell’s Angel Brings New Interpretation of Bible to San Francisco
Walking down a security-compromised dark alleyway near the Elbo Room last Saturday, my friend and I were approached by a scraggly old fellow who was bearded, toothless, Caucasian but black with dirt, and holding a 40-ounce bottle of malt liquor. Addressing us with a profound slur, he wanted to find a good place to sleep. I pointed towards a porto-potty across the street and suggested he take the luxurious bathroom suite over there. Pleased, he began to walk in that direction, which was — crucially — away from us. Noticing a Ducati sport bike on his way, he had to return and discuss it with us:
“Hey man…You see that fuckin Doookahtee over there?! I’m a motherfuckin Hell’s Angel prospect man and I hate motherfuckin crotchrockets man mother fucking Hell’s Angels prospect, man… man I hate motherfuckin crotchrockets… but i love fuckin Doookahtees man.”
He repeated the above several times.
We tried to make him go away. But then he wanted to talk about Jesus.
“You know what else I fucking love, man, mother fucking Jesus Christ man. I love Jesus man, Jesus got people like us man. He was one of us man. Jesus Christ… that guy, you know he was hanging out with guys like us man, with whores, and killers… and bikers, man.”
Jesus Christ was hanging out with bikers. This was his message. Jesus was on his side; Jesus was a bad-ass, he subverted the status quo of the Jewish and Roman ruling class, and he did it by shacking up with hustlers, turning water to malt liquor, and cruising on his hog.
At this point the Prospect wanted to show us the way Jesus did things. He slipped his hand under his vest, revealing the belt that held up his dirtbag pants, and caressed what appeared to be the chrome butt of some kind of firearm. He asked, “Do you pray?!” Swaggering, caressing the chrome, he repeated “Do you pray?!”
I said no. My friend said, “Sometimes.” He didn’t like “sometimes.” He wanted to know how often. I jumped in with “Wednesdays and Sundays.” He asked “What do you pray for?” My friend said “My family.” The Prospect said “Why don’t you pray right now?!” I said “Its not Sunday yet,” though it probably was.
Somehow, we eventually got this guy to start laughing and he backed off and we got the fuck out of there. Moral of the story is: Jesus Christ may save your soul, but you’ve got to save your own ass from his followers.
City of Opportunity Declares Bankruptcy
Apparently, this is old news, but I don’t often follow local stories, so I just heard about it on the BBC world service…
I simply want to congratulate the City of Vallejo. In declaring chapter 9 bankruptcy, it has officially made the road sign that greets Highway 37 motorists as they enter (and mostly pass through) this forlorn municipality one of the world’s most ironic. It reads:
“Welcome to Vallejo: City of Opportunity”
I’ll get a picture next time I’m passing through, unless they’ve taken it down, which they probably should.
Dan Bejar of Destroyer likes to drink (booze).
Swigging bottles of Stella Artois, swaggering in such a serious way, approaching the microphone stand as if it were the steering wheel of his ill-fated car, Dan Bejar had these things to say from the stage of the Independent last night:
“Did you guys eat dinner? Fuck Dinner.”
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“This is about a song…in Los Angeles…that I wrote…about two days ago…when I was there.”
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“This is the part of the show where we play another song…”
I realize the quotes don’t convey the besotted slur with which they were uttered. But this isn’t to say the show was a mess. Bejar completely maintained musical fidelity despite his loopy banter and threats from his sober bandmates — all the more reason to love Destroyer. Which everyone should.
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Fittingly, I found this picture of Dan Bejar (’s legs) on someone’s flickr:
![Destroyer / Dan Bejar and Jameson [Bowery Ballroom / 04.23.08]](http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2290/2438518002_bc18c31fc6.jpg)
the overwhelming fullness of being
lately, as temperatures in san francisco have been so perfect as to cause one to forget temperature exists at all, i’ve been suffering from an inability to totally comprehend the beauty around me. i work on the twelfth floor in a high-rise that stands on the peak of parnassus heights; the floor-to-ceiling windows of our howard hughes-funded research facility look out over golden gate park, ocean beach, and mt. tamalpais. standing behind that tempered glass i can’t even absorb the splendor, but rather stand unfulfilled, analyzing and not experiencing the profundity of what i’m seeing. i want to merge myself with the view; and i wonder if a life not spent learning to do this is a bit wasted.
sometimes i want to capture it with a photograph, but the photograph presents exactly the problem: with it i can capture the image, not necessarily the experience. a photo of a person can capture the experience of the subject, but how do you capture the experience of the photographer, as the strokes of the brush capture that of the painter? here i tried to use angles and exposure to represent the experience of being overwhelmed and unable to capture the fullness of the scene:
the gargantuan carbon footprint of the american infrastructure
a study by MIT mechanical engineers has found that while the average American carbon footprint is five times the world average, the carbon footprint of the American homeless is still greater than twice that of the average human.
a homeless person living in the United States, who sleeps in a shelter and eats in a soup kitchen, is by engaging in the safety net of American society responsible for 8.5 metric tons of carbon emissions. the average global citizen is responsible for 4 metric tons.
in light of this, it is unquestionable that the solution to America’s carbon excesses must be systemic.
