What Gavin told me

Back to the census story, briefly. I made up for being slighted by pissing off everybody -- the Mayor's staff, a Supervisor, and the Mayor himself -- on Tuesday morning. Or at least trying real hard to do that.

"No other Mayor has done more for the black community."

I got that nugget after I read to the Mayor a quote from the publisher of SF's only black newspaper, after the Mayor's Office scheduled a press conference in the Fillmore District, talking about black people, without -- so they all said, anyway -- telling people in the Fillmore District. Which means, without telling black people.

The publisher said something along the lines of, "Gavin Newsom doesn't care about us. Gavin Newsom only cares about money. His interests are big interests."

So the conference ends and it's quote time. While the other press hacks are swarming around and asking Gavin about the Olympic torch, I snake over to Sup. Ross and give him the quote. He gives me a one-sentence answer and then we have the eye-lock silence for 10-15 seconds. I prod a little more and I get some good stuff out of him.

"(The census) won't do a damn thing about black flight," he said. "This (the press conference) is just sugarcoating it." Ok, now we're talking.

So finally everyone else is done with Gavin, and I have my moment. I don't open my mouth before Nathan Ballard swoops in to eavesdrop, but I read it, Gavin asks who said it, I tell him and he laughs. Puts a hand on my shoulder, tries to dismiss it. He's good, that one. Gavin goes off to list all of the things done recently that "disproportionately" aided SF's black community.

Gavin Newsom: SF's first black mayor? (Sorry, Willie).

Gonzo moment/G. gets scooped

Pretty effing steamed right now. Weeks ago, I overheard on a BART train that the Mayor was challenging the census. I called the office with the info -- had it confirmed off the record that it was indeed true, but a 'non-story.' Told to bide my time, I'd be informed as it developed. Did what I was told.

Today, Mayor G. lets drop to the A.P. and the Chronicle that there's 100,000 extra people in town that the census somehow missed. There's 867,000 of us, not 767,000, the rest in hidden in undisclosed locations or something in Western Addition and Bayview.

(To the non-West Coast friends and family, this means thus: that everyone's hiding out in the black part of town.)

The story I had weeks ago. The story I was told to sit on. I played ball, and struck out.

Lesson learned? Ahh... forthcoming. Wanna break stuff right now more than anything else. Am looking forward to giving press officer the business tomorrow. She'll listen, cos clearly Gav's Office cares about the local media, local issues and local politics. Clearly...

"It is a city of haves and have-nots," Newsom said.

No shit.

*******************

Before that broke in my face...

Was going to tell you how, on the way off the BART and onto the street, walking towards the car for Stage 2 of my one-hour in-city commute, I turned the corner and saw flashing lights, cops crowded, cops concerned, cops talking to guy laying on the street, wrapped up in the frame of a bike in front of a white truck. Cops talking, cops human, cops trying to find out who was hit, why was hit, what was hit. No ID, no talking. In pain. BART-load of people shuffling past in the dark, cops yelling, 'ANYONE SEE WHAT HAPPENED?' Couple stares, couple slowing down before putting feet back in gear and down the road. 'ANYONE SEE WHAT HAPPENED?' Reporter didn't take photos, statements, didn't even slow down.

Had to take a leak.

Had to drain it before I hopped back in the car, before I drove past and looked again, saw dude extracted from bike and inserted into ambulance, jeans cut away to reveal swollen leg, me driving off to Safeway where bread, tomatoes and strawberries flown in from Mexcio cost more than they did a few months ago.

Would you like to work for brokeasses?

You've done it. You've made it. You've worked your way up the ladder. Not the corporate ladder, or Jacob's ladder, or the chute and ladder, but up to the upper reaches of the journalism community. All the long nights, lost weekends and paltry meals while your friends from college were out partying, making gobs of cash and not having to use cash advances to pay the rent have paid off.

You are a staff writer for a broke alt-weekly.

It's hard to get a job in journalism these days. If you're the SF Weekly, for some reason it seems hard to keep a job in journalism.

COS THEY ADVERTISE ALL THE DAMN TIME FOR A STAFF WRITER

The older posts have expired, but I swear, and some others in the perennial-job-seeker-community will attest, that the SF Weekly has been continuously advertisign for a staff writer since the freaking summer.

What makes this all the more intriguing is the fact that they gots no money. Whether or not the SF Weekly's parent company, Phoenix-based Village Voice Media (now that's an outsourcing) has to pay the full $15 million doesn't really matter. If they appeal, they'll shovel money down the trash-hole of legal fees. If not, they have to cough up millions, millions that do not exist in a newspaper's budget.

They're only looking for an experienced hack, someone with long-form journalism experience (read: no bloggers or daily hacks allowed) and a sense of humor: cos how else can you justify working for someone you know can't pay you?

The return

Dope Bomb the Bass video, no? Wait, what? It's been three months since an update? I don't work as a sportswriter anymore? I'm back in the city?? I've been a news reporter for two months???

WHAT HAPPENED

Well, reader, you know, since, well, you know me if you're reading this. (If not, just who you be?) I'm back in San Francisco, where I shoot photos and write words for a small daily. Now that I'm somewhat established, I'm resurrecting the blog.

So now, of course, I must tweak the blog's focus. No longer will we focus on Tracy sports, cept maybe when we visit Lopez Field. Sports we may still mention, specially if we are attending baseball games in Oakland, playing frisbee on Ocean Beach, or wiffle ball in the office.

So. Yes. Soon. But not tonight. I've got a cold room full of dirty laundry, and a three-hour board meeting to attend at 9 a.m. tomorrow.

Jeebus.

Olympics free from steroids, clean air, dudes with no legs

Say what you want about International Association of Athletics Federation (and much is said, surely): they care very, very much about the sanctity of their Games, Olympic and otherwise. Yep, after that whole 20+ years of performance enhancing drugs running rampant in track and field, they would HATE to lose anymore face. So that's why this guy:

won't be racing/competing/crawling/blading into the arena carrying the South African flag, thankyouverymuch.


The IAAF announced Monday that 21-year old South African Oscar Pistorius can't 'run' in any IAAF events -- which means he can't run in pretty much anything, seeing as how Pistorius runs, uh, you know, on a track in a track and field event. Home Depot doesn't sponsor many track meets, you see. This means, oddly enough, that a man who can still run the 400 meters in under 47 seconds despite no, you know, effing lower legs is barred from the Olympics. Have to protect the Olympics' reputation, after all.

A German scientist -- whose acumens are always used for the greater good -- was nice enough to take the time and effort to find out that Pistrorius's fake legs provide him a clear competitive advantage over those athletes who have their own lower legs and feet to work for them. If only Barry Bonds had received said memo.

So instead of this:

(I usually hate Nike commercials but come on, that's cool)

This summer, we'll get lots of this:

Wonder what choking Industrial age smog does to an athlete?

Just pretend I'm not here

It's not too hard to ignore some people, but sometimes a body can just get under your skin. Reading over your shoulder. Answering their own questions. Cracking their knuckles ever 30 seconds. I do all three, but one thing I shy away from is The Micromanagerial Hover. I would especially try to avoid this one if I were a megalomaniac of a football owner with a long history of futzing with his coaches, especially when said coach du now is three minutes away from tying an NFL record with a sixth-consecutive playoff loss for my hallowed, storied, extremely-marketable franchise.




No pressure, Wade.

Going too far -- a fair-weather inkling

I'm from New Hampshire. This, the run-up before the Presidential primary -- still the first in the nation, though the state nearly moved the vote up to 2007 to keep it first -- is the only time the state draws the world's attention. The humble residents of 'Arkansas with snow' are humble residents of import -- as then-Governor Sununu said in 1988: "The people of Iowa pick corn -- the people of New Hampshire pick presidents."

All eyez on New Hampshire, then. Under a lens. A magnifying glass. What better time to tattoo the Patriots logo on the side of your head?

From The Citizen of Laconia:

When it comes to being a fanatic about his team even the most ardent New England Patriots fans would likely agree that Victor Thompson is a head above the rest ... literally.

Thompson, 39, a longtime Laconia resident, wanted to pay homage to the team's recent completion of a perfect season and Sunday's victory against the New York Giants prompted him to turn his shaved skull into the canvas with which to voice his appreciation for their dominance.

On Monday Thompson made his way from his Winter Street apartment around the corner to House of Tattoos to get a full sized Patriots emblem permanently emblazoned on the side of his head.

For full effect, here's it is, in all its glory. The young son's lifelong look of familial humiliation is coming along nicely.
I really, really want to be shocked/outraged about this in some superior-sounding kind of way, but it's proving tough. Maybe it's just not all that big of a deal -- other Anglo Saxons have been inking stupid stuff for ages.