The state of the San Francisco rental market.

Back to this topic again: why are all these landlords so greedy? Everybody uses craigslist here to find places to rent. Consequently, if a place is truly great for the money, 50+ people will show up for the open house. I don't know why, but more and more people are moving here again. I saw a place in the upper Haight last week, and two guys just out of college were telling the landlord that one of them had a job and the other one had enough savings to give the landlord 5 times the rent in advance. Everyone has a right to live here, and there is no question about that.

But someone put on craigslist tonight a large paragraph on the topic of landlords who advertise one bedrooms + another room which turns out not to be a legal bedroom and charges over $1000 each for these two supposed bedrooms. AND, what used to be a low-rent area like the excelsior or the bayview has now become equal with trendy areas like the Mission and Noe Valley. It is hard for me to believe that people are paying so much money for places that are in dangerous areas.

I saw a house in the Balboa Park area which is quite humble and rumbles with cops all the time. I used to have to drive through there to get to my job as a teacher of 8th grade English. It was an area of the city, since I'd only lived in the Mission, Haight and South of Market areas, I'd never seen before. When I went out to look at this house, I thought the rent was still over-priced because of the area. The rent was $1700. for a small three-bedroom house. I know there are people paying $1000. or less for a good neighborhood and equal amount of space. It's because rent control still works for some people--yay!

Unfortunately for me, my landlord sold my house I had rented in 1994 for $850./month. This was a whole house with a huge bedroom upstairs and a massive one downstairs. We paid $425/month in rent. By the time I was forced to move out, the rent was increased to $560. or something like that. The other night I spoke to someone who's been living under rent control for 20 years in Bernal Heights. I told him that he couldn't imagine how lucky he is. The author of the craigslist blurb about the inflated rents and demands of landlords in San Francisco said he was moving to India. Now, there's a thought.

LA ARDILLA ROJA.

This is a very sexy movie--LA ARDILLA ROJA. It begins with a scene of a tall, thin man with dark, longish hair kicking a railing high above the sea rocks. He can't get himself to jump to into the abyss. Instead, a person on a motorcycle crashes into the railing and the two of them fall, fortunately, to the sandy part that separates the road from the abyss. The motorcyclist is a woman, we find out from him, as he gazes into her eyes which are the only distinguishable body parts under her motorcycle gear. He says her eyes are a "tangled blue," but they are actually brown.

She says she can't remember anything. Where is she? What is her name? He is happy to her that her name is Elisa, the same name as his ex-girlfriend who broke his heart. She is ok with this, and the two of them have a hot love affair that is quite unusual because the camera does alot of the work to make this happen. There are many shots of just their eyes and faces looking for each other. He is a famous Spanish rock star from the band called Las Moscas, The Flies. He wears a t-shirt with just his face on the front.

That's enough for this movie. You'll have to rent it to find out more. It won many awards at Cannes in 1993.

Other people's parents and I KNOW WHO KILLED ME.

No one knows what horrible experiences you had with your own parents. NO problems? NO problem. But for those of us who know otherwise, the parents who were not even the slightest bit hippy or were first generation Irish-American or Republicans presented their children with MANY problems. This isn't the place for me to talk about my parents. But this evening I met one of my housemates' parents--his father, specifically.

My housemate's father, is, in many ways, a freak. Just what that means, I'd rather let Derrida figure it out. Meanwhile, this man had the look of someone seen on the streets many times who is not receiving proper psychiatric care. This man has absolutely no social intention. He has never worked. I know that sounds like the privileged class, but, hopefully people will all want to give back to the community who can.

This man really surprised me when he cupped his left hand and patted the outer edge of my upper arm near the shoulder and said, "Thanks for taking care of my son." Sensing the obvious, I said "We're friends." My friend said he could take care of himself. Then, the freak father said, "She's a nice lady...I just wanted to thank her."

It's too bad that this freak father, Mr. Irish-American father, couldn't really control himself. He is the ultimate co-dependent, saying shitty things to me to try and control his son's feelings. Trying to bring "Reality"--in his own negative way--to the fore.

Enough about him. Let's talk about Lindsay Lohan's father in I KNOW WHO KILLED ME. Poor Lindsay's father had separated her from her twin sister at birth. This father kept the secret from the mother. In many scenes, Lindsay gets her right fingers chopped off. She also does pole dancing. But, back to the father--he isn't the one who chops off her fingers, in case you want to pay to raise your thinking-ability quotient enormously.

THE BEST FRIEND comes from France.

No wonder every cinema has its "stars." Sometimes the script or the plot--or even the other acting--may stink, but the "star" holds the cinematic galaxy together. In THE BEST FRIEND, the obvious star is Daniel Auteuil (sp?). He has been in many good French films. I can't think of the names of these films at the moment, but I've seen at least 5 good Daniel A. films. In THE BEST FRIEND he plays an art/antiques dealer of fame and renown around Paris who, according to his circle of acquaintances, has no friends. Leave it to France to ask us to deconstruct "friend."

I don't know about you, but it seems like he has friends to me. But the film portrays him as someone who has great difficulty being close with anyone or empathizing with them. He consequently goes to a support group for people without friends. Because this is a comedy, and because Daniel's character is really not a nice guy (but is trying to be, somewhat). The scene after the meeting when the man with the bottle glasses and Burberry scarf shares his umbrella with the Daniel figure is funny (the play on the British) but also a bit dumb. Being mean is dumb.

Meanwhile, there were many laughs in this film. Parisiens are not very friendly. The self-referential nature of the laughs makes it a good one. You have to like Paris and France to really like this film. It is high brow French realism and BRIDGET JONES' DIARY all in one.

Displacement and TIbet, dreamspell and the Maya.

I was in the doctor's office last week, and I saw that National Geographic has yet another article on the Maya. Got to go buy it! When I was eighteen years old, during the summer after I graduated from high school, I went with my boyfriend to Oaxaca, Mexico. He had been to this region a few months before, but he was overjoyed to go again and spoke of all the spirituality and the Federales. Some may know that there has been a lot of social protest going on in Oaxaca and Chiapas very recently. This is Maya country. When I was there, I saw very small people who lived off the land and were quite shy. In the New York Times magazine from July 7th this year there is an article on the Mayan predictions for December 21, 2012. I am wondering how many people will, by 2012, be cognizant of the Aztec/Mayan calendar and its call for CHANGE.

Meanwhile, back to the discussion of displacement. This year I have had the good fortune to become friends with some Tibetan people who are quite special. One of the women lived in a cave for over 10 years, came out, got married and had seven children. She is a yogini of incredible intent and serenity.

Like Palestine, Tibet has been wiped off the map. I would appreciate anyone teaching me about the plight of other groups of people who have become displaced. My knowledge of the African struggle is limited to that in this country. I watched a C-Span (yes!?) 2 Book Review show the other night. It depicted a Harlem panel discussion with audience participation about the nature of the African-American struggle for human rights in this country. The panel and the audience had mixed reviews of rap and the larger media in this country. Marshall McLuhan was a rare genius.

Naji al-Ali and finding a place.

I saw in the BBC News a small article on what's "In Pictures." The article concerned the work of the Palestinian "cartoonist" Naji al-Ali. If I could put the link in here, I would. Al-Ali was "gundowned on a London street..." in August of 1987. The killer was not found. It is my belief that the Palestinian struggle is much like that of all human beings in their need to have a place, to be in a safe and healthy place that they can afford and that is of their choosing. Naji al-Ali was ten when the state of Israel was created and he became a refugee. His drawings feature a child, about 9 or ten, seen from the back as the figure is looking, and shoeless. The BBC also showed a current graffiti piece from the wall which divides the Israeli side of the West Bank from the Palestinian on the other side of the divide. The figure is peeing a huge arc-full toward the other side.

Just last week I saw a bumper sticker that read: "Don't be a dick." To bitch means to yell or complain excessively. What does being a "dick" really mean? Does it mean being greedy? Does it mean being mean? Does it mean being insensitive and awkward? Does it mean taking someone else's right to a home?

Now those who remember that I'm looking for a new home due to the landlord's greed and harassment-issues, might think, how can this bitch equate the major problem facing the people on earth with her own stupid, trivial life? How? Because I can. And you can be a dick any time you want to. Someone can put a bumper sticker or some other message out to the public to read, but that doesn't mean that you have to do it. That's because no one kills you if you're a dick.

Bro Jud on Love Energy and AZUCAR AMARGA

We taped The Bro Jud on Love Energy Show this past Wednesday night. Jud used to wear a 4" leather peace sign on a long black string. For the past two or three years, he's been sporting a wool-tweed oversized sportcoat and some sort of collared shirt. I don't think he picks out these clothes. But then he's been so full of corporate language for quite some time. "Multi-tasking" is keeping him feeling young, he says. That's good for him. But it's a drag when one person has to the work of more than one person in the name of "multi-tasking." Whatever happened to doing one thing really well? What happened to the land of the expert?

Meanwhile, I haven't mentioned a film in a while. Since having seen MEMORIES OF UNDERDEVELOPMENT in my film history class, I've had a real interest in Cuban film. AZUCAR AMARGA (Bitter Sugar) is a "true" story of two lovers in their twenties who become conflicted by their situations and desires in a country where learning and accomplishment are somewhat rewarded but in which (inescapably???? ...the nature of the relationship between male and female?) "money changes everything." He is a scholar and is told that he will be sent to study in Prague. She spends her time meeting men of money in the hotels where most Cubans are banned. This is an actual recount of people who lived, let's remember.

I was not surprised that the women in this film were not educated. The date, though, of AZUCAR AMARGA is 1995 or so. This doesn't seem long ago to me, but my notion of time is built upon the separation from my punk life in the Mission to my entering the world of Monday through Friday work--full-time. Dull, I know. Several relationships are in there, of course.

But now back to the film. There is no country on the planet that discusses life decisions in terms of Socialism like Cuba. AZUCAR AMARGA is full of doubt about the success of socialism in Cuba, yet everyone agrees that Socialism is conceptually sound. The problem I had with the film is the seeming fact that few people have a "spiritual" life there. Decisions are made along ideological--or rather social concerns--rather than along metaphysical ones.

SICKO

Sooner or later a Michael Moore documentary will really cause the change we are all begging for. In a very humble way in his new film SICKO, he shows how his work caused one hospital to decide to give a child soon-to-become deaf the cochlear implant for the OTHER ear, TOO. He draws on the past (mainly through old Hollywood footage and nineteen- forty-ish cartoons) because it has created the present.

BUT not only in the United States of America--this time. He follows the healthcare industry and its history from the post-WWII era in the U.S., Canada, France and England (we're hoping its true for all of Great Britain--even Northern Ireland) and Cuba to this year! The National Health System in England is portrayed as a really well-run, fair, just institution. The same is true of health care systems in France and Canada. Behind Canada and England's national healthcare philosophies are individuals who somehow elicited the natural human emotion of empathy in creating a just healthcare program. France is a place where the state fears the power of the individual. Demonstrations are shown in France to present this point.

Americans live in fear; there is no doubt about this. People, in general, don't like "demonstrators." Those of us who walked all throughout the spring and fall 2003 against the invasion of Iraq did it because we meant it. We still mean it. What happened?

The search continues.

Once in a while, stereotypes get revisited, even amidst the glimmer of hope that change is possible. Yesterday I looked at a place on 24 Street. This is like the Upper West Side--without all the great places to see performances, etc. I suppose it really has nothing to do with the Upper West Side. In fact, San Francisco and New York have very little in common except for the fact that they both have huge parks in the center of the city. After all, there is only one Haight Street.

Meanwhile, what I'm trying to convey, is that this street and surrounding area appeal to a person of a certain monetary income and of a certain taste category. In other words, they fall into a stereotype. In my own way, I fall into a stereotype, but I'm not sure what it is. Am I a Haight (lower or upper) Street type? Am I a Mission type? The telling question is, Am I a Noe Valley type? I've never lived in this neighborhood before, but I have lived in the others more than a few times.

To get to the point: in viewing the apartment on 24 Street, I was attending an "open house," in which all contenders for the same place could be seen. Everybody looked more American than me. Everyone looked like they have more money than I do. All of them looked like opium was only a fragrance.

Today I called the owner of the property. He was nice to me. I am a karma-dharma kind of person in that I teach for the school district...and my students are the specially "impaired" kind. In the end, however, he revealed that he had offered the place to someone else and was awaiting their decision. I thought, "I knew it was going to be Mr. and Mrs. America who would get the place!"

If anyone wants to vote on whether my attitude is defeatist or realistic, let me know.

Greed and harassment, in all its forms.

I have been living in San Francisco, California, USA, for many, many, many years. The reason why I first moved here was because it was very affordable and artistically stimulating. In 1985, I was able to live on $400/month, rent included. My main occupation was painter and musician, i.e., artist. I worked at a European-style cafe next to the warehouse I was sharing with five other housemates. We had an immense garage, music room with a piano and various instruments, painting spaces, a large sun room, a tv room, two bathrooms, etc. My total rent was $110./month.

By 1990, five years later, my then boyfriend and I found a place in the Mission (this is where the warehouse was, too) for $675./month, one bedroom Edwardian apartment. Four years later, in 1994, he and I moved to Bernal Heights and paid $850./month for a two bedroom house with a backyard, garage, etc. I had two huge closets in my room!

In summer of 2003, over nine years later, the landlord informed me that he was selling the house. By that time my boyfriend and I had long since moved out. The landlord didn't even give me the option of trying to buy the house. I moved to Berkeley, thinking that rents would be cheaper. I lived in a crack neighborhood off of Sixth Street and was constantly being harassed by tenants in my building and having my car windows bashed in and stereo ripped off. I had signed a six-month lease, fortunately, and tried to move with my two cats in December of 2003. No rooms in San Francisco accepted cats--or, at least two of them. I was forced to take an 8'x9' room in a boarding house situation back in Bernal Heights.

No formal papers were signed. The landlord said he was considered a roommate (even though there were no rooms available to him in the house and he in fact did not live there). Because I had to keep my babies, I decided that I would accept this place. It is now 2007, so I've lived in this place for 3 and 1/2 years. During this time, one of my cats died of old age (she was 17, named after rocker Lita Ford!). The other cat died prematurely this past January ( he was only 9 years-old).

I find myself in a situation in which I could possibly find a better place, but there are so far so many places that are extremely expensive that I don't know what to do. Today one of my housemates and I looked at places. The biggest one, and one which is in the Mission, was $2750./month for three bedrooms. The bathroom was the 4'X3'. The landlord wanted first month's rent plus two months' deposit. Although the place had high ceilings and nice floors, it was completely overpriced. The most depressing, saddening place we saw was back in Bernal Heights. The landlord wanted close to $3000./month for a "three" bedroom house that the elderly woman who greeted us at the door had been living in most of her life. The rooms were tiny. There were bars on the front windows ( I suppose since this woman had been living there a long, long time, she lived there when Bernal was a "bad" neighborhood and therefore still kept that idea in her head).

So many people have moved to San Francisco with tons of dollars that landlords are taking advantage of the fact. Areas of the Mission that were severely dangerous are full of people in designer clothes and cars eating and drinking in the chic neighborhood restaurants. One of the teachers where I work told me that she lived in what is definitely considered a dangerous neighborhood: outer Ocean View. I'd wondered how she could live there. What choices does one have to make? Live in a "safe" neighborhood like Bernal but with a landlord who harasses his tenants (particularly me because I moved my musical equipment up from the garage and put in the "common space") or move to crack neighborhood again and be harassed by neighbors!!!!

What is this all about: greed, harassment, i.e., non-community living but instead a city where "money changes everything."