What more has to happen on these streets for something to change?
"Mayor Gavin Newsom says violent crime is down and so is the City's homicide rate."
Newsom, you're a douche. Open your eyes, your City is deteriorating. But I guess, your "recovery", your wedding, and your race to the Governor's mansion are more important, right?
---
"1 out of every 100 Americans is imprisoned."
Yes, our corrections industry has grown to grotesque heights. At present, the California Corrections Peace Officer's Association is so heavily financed that they're willing to petition current Governor Arnold Schwarezenegger's recall from office. And WHY? Because they haven't received their raise this term.
Fuck them. While you're asking to get paid more, California's education system is reaching new depths. Money is being taken away from students, who already need 2-3 part-time jobs just to survive, and being put into our prisons. Statistics show that half of those imprisoned aren't even of age. 50% of those release are rearrested in 2 years. The other 50% released are illiterate or dealing with major mental health and drug addiction issues.
We are raising a generation of prisoners, people. That doesn't fly with me, considering that those growing, maturing, and learning RIGHT NOW will be the people that are going to take care of me in my old age.
Fuck, I just hope that my Criminal Justice degree doesn't bite me in the ass someday. Thank freakin' God, Obama shares my views. More money put towards diversion programs, drug court programs.... but as he promotes turning the issue away from the corrections and prison industry and toward public health , California is sitting still on a state budget that has already cut numerous mental health programs, especially here in San Francisco.
September 7, 2008
September 6, 2008
Working on Saturdays
If the paperwork is done by 9am, you may youtube for the rest of the day. Coffee, bagel, and an air conditioned office? I'm straight.
#1 Rex Navarette- Death of a Manila Folder. Quite possibly my favorite segment ever. "What the fuck was Narding thinking?!"
#2 Courtney & Will- Samba. I. Want. To. Do. This. Give me a dress, a man like Will and I'm all over it. Thrills.
#1 Rex Navarette- Death of a Manila Folder. Quite possibly my favorite segment ever. "What the fuck was Narding thinking?!"
#2 Courtney & Will- Samba. I. Want. To. Do. This. Give me a dress, a man like Will and I'm all over it. Thrills.
September 5, 2008
Tales of the Mission.
(please click) Mission District Headlines, Sept 05, 2008
Trina E. is on assignment in the hood where I spend a majority of my time. She asks me, "What kind of issues does the Mission District face?" I am astonished that she doesn't already know.
This is what I'd like to call the armpit of San Francisco. It sits at a lower elevation than the rest of San Francisco, insulated from western Pacific fog and wind, it is almost always sunny. Everyday I walk on sidewalks that reek of human waste and on hot days like these, the Mission becomes the devil's playground. This is what the tourists don't see.
----
Between the BART elevator and the local Walgreens sits three Latin men, sprawled on the pavement clutching 32oz. aluminum cans masked by brown paper bags. Their faces have traces of dirt and grime, indications of where they laid their heads the night before. Fifteen feet away, crouching up against the BART rails is a woman, 30 going on 70, breathing deeply. I watch as she lifts up her soiled dress and pierces her outer thigh with a needle. Across the street, where the McDonald's is, there is a line of children wearing blue and white plaid school uniforms taking in their environment and learning from it.
----
On my way to the office, there is graffiti on the wall. It reads, "Beer Picnicy" in bold red letters right next to a mural that tells a story of hope. But you would never notice it underneath the spray paint. Every other week, I put in a maintenance request to have graffiti washed off of my building's walls.
----
I look out my window and watch a grown man and grown woman duke it out on the street over a small plastic ziplock bag and its contents. They yell. They push. He spits on her. My coworkers and I watch the drama unravel and finally the police are called. But by the time the cop car rolls around, they are long gone.
----
Three teenagers are shot in the face: two dead, the other paralyzed. A 15 year old daughter picked up for prostitution, brought home only to steal money from her father and head back out to the streets. Another daughter kicked out of her home because her family cannot make her go to school, instead she robs liquor stores. A man living out of a suitcase tells me that he would rather pay two grand on gold jewelry than pay for rent. Three males who don't look a day over 14 sit atop Dolores Park on a school day carrying around 40oz Old English bottles instead of books.
----
He asks me, "Why do you want to help me so much?"
"Because I want to feel safe when I'm out there," I say pointing out the window. "I don't want my children to live in a world where people like you are roaming around. If I can help you become better, then that world becomes better."
It sounds selfish, I admit. Maybe a little harsh, but it is the truth. With this man, I think I am making a difference. I pat myself on a job well done.
Two weeks later, I find out that he is back in jail.
----
I see these things. I hear these things. And while I do not suffer the same fate, I live these things. I try hard not to let this world ruin my idealistic version of San Francisco life but it does. Am I fighting a losing battle?
Even if I am, I can't stop fighting.
Trina E. is on assignment in the hood where I spend a majority of my time. She asks me, "What kind of issues does the Mission District face?" I am astonished that she doesn't already know.
This is what I'd like to call the armpit of San Francisco. It sits at a lower elevation than the rest of San Francisco, insulated from western Pacific fog and wind, it is almost always sunny. Everyday I walk on sidewalks that reek of human waste and on hot days like these, the Mission becomes the devil's playground. This is what the tourists don't see.
----
Between the BART elevator and the local Walgreens sits three Latin men, sprawled on the pavement clutching 32oz. aluminum cans masked by brown paper bags. Their faces have traces of dirt and grime, indications of where they laid their heads the night before. Fifteen feet away, crouching up against the BART rails is a woman, 30 going on 70, breathing deeply. I watch as she lifts up her soiled dress and pierces her outer thigh with a needle. Across the street, where the McDonald's is, there is a line of children wearing blue and white plaid school uniforms taking in their environment and learning from it.
----
On my way to the office, there is graffiti on the wall. It reads, "Beer Picnicy" in bold red letters right next to a mural that tells a story of hope. But you would never notice it underneath the spray paint. Every other week, I put in a maintenance request to have graffiti washed off of my building's walls.
----
I look out my window and watch a grown man and grown woman duke it out on the street over a small plastic ziplock bag and its contents. They yell. They push. He spits on her. My coworkers and I watch the drama unravel and finally the police are called. But by the time the cop car rolls around, they are long gone.
----
Three teenagers are shot in the face: two dead, the other paralyzed. A 15 year old daughter picked up for prostitution, brought home only to steal money from her father and head back out to the streets. Another daughter kicked out of her home because her family cannot make her go to school, instead she robs liquor stores. A man living out of a suitcase tells me that he would rather pay two grand on gold jewelry than pay for rent. Three males who don't look a day over 14 sit atop Dolores Park on a school day carrying around 40oz Old English bottles instead of books.
----
He asks me, "Why do you want to help me so much?"
"Because I want to feel safe when I'm out there," I say pointing out the window. "I don't want my children to live in a world where people like you are roaming around. If I can help you become better, then that world becomes better."
It sounds selfish, I admit. Maybe a little harsh, but it is the truth. With this man, I think I am making a difference. I pat myself on a job well done.
Two weeks later, I find out that he is back in jail.
----
I see these things. I hear these things. And while I do not suffer the same fate, I live these things. I try hard not to let this world ruin my idealistic version of San Francisco life but it does. Am I fighting a losing battle?
Even if I am, I can't stop fighting.
September 4, 2008
Impatience.
My horoscope says to me today, "Romance does very well for the paired Fish but may appear to go on hold for some reason for those in new or non existent status. Opportunity appears to be delayed until the cosmos can work out the next encounter. Smile and know that the Universe is working on it."
Today I want to say "Fuck the Universe" . . . but I won't because I trust.
This only makes my impatient-demanding-addictive personality more agitated. A Pisces can only have so much patience before she packs up and leaves. Keep in mind... water douses fire and fire boils water to steam.
Smile, eL. New York City is less than a week away.
Sidenote: I just got my ticket and I found out that we're getting $900 for 9 days. Smile, eL. Smile.
Today I want to say "Fuck the Universe" . . . but I won't because I trust.
This only makes my impatient-demanding-addictive personality more agitated. A Pisces can only have so much patience before she packs up and leaves. Keep in mind... water douses fire and fire boils water to steam.
Smile, eL. New York City is less than a week away.
Sidenote: I just got my ticket and I found out that we're getting $900 for 9 days. Smile, eL. Smile.
September 3, 2008
Reason # 2 Why I <3 Music.
It provides a bridge between people to connect on one united front. It brings a message to the people.
Due to a lack of cable TV, I missed the entire convention. But I loved this. Thank you, Ricky Vincent.
Due to a lack of cable TV, I missed the entire convention. But I loved this. Thank you, Ricky Vincent.
Cosmpolitan Magazine 08.31.08 // Lyric 09.03.08
"2% of women can have an orgasm without even being touched."
Holler. =)
----
Holler. =)
----
I said, "Excuse my hands."
She said, "Boy, stop playin and
Make love to your #1 fan."
-Please Excuse My Hands
Plies ft. the Dream
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