Newsom Is Nuts; You Can't Be Honest About Your Positions And Win

SO FAR, A MAN OF HIS CONVICTIONS EXPLORES A RUN FOR GOVERNOR
San Francisco Mayor Gavin Newsom might be too young, too inexperienced and too forthright to be the governor of California, but he was, at times, inspiring this week at the Commonwealth Club when speaking about the issue most closely linked to him nationally, same-sex marriage.

“The idea that someone wants to share that moment and that experience of something that has been denied them their entire life and they want you to share that, and for [me] to say no because I'm worried about my politics is everything I'm not about. If I was worried about politics I would have never done this, ever. Do you think it's helped in the context of everything else? These guys are running around -- these politicians -- on this.

"I know it's not good politics," he continued. "I understand it better than any human being alive. Every single day people are expressing their point of view about how outraged they are and every consultant saying, 'Well, just tone it down.' I can't tone [down] something as fundamental as someone else's rights. If a politician can put aside someone else's rights so they can get ahead politically ... you've got a million politicians who wish to do that. I'm never going to be that person. I never will.”

When listening to Newsom speak so candidly about controversial issues like same-sex marriage and the death penalty, you can't help but think either he is psychotic or possibly a political visionary who ultimately will benefit greatly in the future when some of the vehement opinions of the right water down towards acceptance. Nevertheless, I have never heard a politician for higher office ever speak like Newsom did last Wednesday.

To read my article on Mayor Gavin Newsom's appearance Wednesday night at the Commonwealth Club of California's blog. Click here.

The Homeless Cellphone Kings?

CONSERVATIVES WANT A FOIL? CHECK OUT S.F.'S LATTE-DRINKING HOMELESS

The dust-up over the photo of Michelle Obama being photographed by a "homeless" man's cellphone reminds me of President Reagan falsely highlighting the notion of the "welfare queen".

Conservative bloggers have been merciless in poking fun at the fact that a person at a soup kitchen has a cellphone. To that, I say, is it 1995? Who doesn't have a cellphone and do any of those critics know how much a phone costs these days. Back in the early 90s, George H.W. Bush famously did not know the price of a gallon of milk. Have conservatives gone to the T-Mobile kiosk at their local mall lately? For all we know, the phone in question may be linked a billing plan suited for low-income people or more likely a pay-as-you-go type deal.

What is funny are the cracks about a homeless shelter serving mushroom risotto (in the above photo you can see the day's menu posted). Salon's Alex Koppelman didn't grasp its humor, though, sounding much like one of those liberals oblivious to jokes centered to closely to politics he wrote, "(For the record, it was actually mushroom risotto. And her nasty 'weird crap' remark? It's rice cooked in chicken stock with some vegetables, something most cultures are quite familiar with, no matter what you choose to call it. Come on.)" I love risotto. Maybe being homeless wouldn't be so bad, after all.

All I have to add to this story is that I have encountered an instance of homelessness that Bill O'Reilly would love. In November of last year, I wrote an article about a homeless woman in San Francisco named Rhonda who sat on the same spot near Market Street seemingly without notice of passing businessmen and tourists. Read the article here.

It would seem to conservative eyes that Rhonda is the richest of the poorest. On many occasions, I've seen Rhonda sitting in the nearby Starbucks sipping a venti coffee. Ah, those latte liberals, O'Reilly might scream, but how much is a regular cup of coffee at Starbucks? Two bucks. Don't tell O'Reilly about this, but if you do, the offending Starbucks is near the corner of 4th and Market and the barista is the fastest I've ever seen.

Rhonda Becomes Invisible

AS THANKSGIVING APPROACHES, DON'T FORGET THOSE IN NEED. THEY MIGHT BE OUTSIDE OF YOUR VIEW


Try sitting on the sidewalk. The rhythm of the noontime San Francisco foot traffic is steady on the corner of 2nd and Market, and the skies have been graying on the verge of rainfall. Businessmen and tourists stroll by and hover over you. This is the epitome of power, like Cassius Clay looking down at a destroyed Sonny Liston.

From this vantage point you become invisible. You don't really see more than shiny loafers and stylish pumps skitter across the cold concrete. This angle doesn't allow for much eye contact, either way. For a homeless woman named Rhonda this arrangement makes her disappear. Her obscurity lets passersby off the hook. I don't see you and you don't see me. People like Rhonda are easily forgotten.

Rhonda has made her home on 2nd Street for 10 years or as far as anyone around here remembers. John, the shoeshine man on Market, remembers her that far back, and the manager at the Men's Wearhouse, whose wall Rhonda uses as a backrest, agrees. "She thinks that's her home," says John, who is has been a fixture on that corner for 20 years. Members of The Commonwealth Club may have passed her by on their way to a fanciful speech on the downfall of our society, or something like it.

Rhonda's spot is quite large. She lies sideways on the sidewalk. Her elbow propping her body up against a few worn blankets -- a homeless Cleopatra without consorts. To her left is a large cart filled with a sleeping bag, cardboard boxes, half of a broom, a sheet of plastic to shield the rain and various sundry items. "Nothing I have is worth anything," she says.

Rhonda herself is a large African-American woman, though the the multi-layers of shirts, coats and sweaters makes her look rounder than she really is. She says she is 72, but like a lot of what she will tell you, this is subject to debate. The upper bridge of her teeth is gone, along with a few on the bottom, and she tugs a dark blue knit cap to her eyebrows and covers her ears. She's listening to her radio with her earphones. She likes R&B music with a little jazz. She listens to KBLX and sometimes the news to pass time.

There is no denying that Rhonda is one of many homeless people suffering from mental illness. Our conversation devolves into a jumble of non sequiturs and delusions of grandeur, but in between she realizes her life is not what she once imagined.

"I don't want to live like this -- like some wino -- or some dope addict," Rhonda says, "I don't want to be one to beg the streets. I don't want to be a panhandler." By all accounts, she does not ask for money, though she wears a small button on her coat saying donations are welcomed. She says she typically receives $5-$10 per day. She does, though, beg for food, saying "I love to eat."

On this day, she was nibbling on graying pieces of chicken presumably from the Subway two doors down. She would not say whether the sandwich shop gave the food or she found it in a garbage can. With Thanksgiving around the corner, Rhonda says she might visit a local soup kitchen or get in line at Glide Memorial nearby.

"Everybody who loves me helps me," she says, "There's a lot of people who hate me and do nothing."

John says there's a woman who visits Rhonda every day and gives her food and other necessities, but Rhonda doesn't want to talk about it. She calls her "just a friend."

Having survived on the streets for over 10 years, Rhonda has seen awful things. She says she was stabbed early on when another homeless person attempted to steal her purse, and she says she has been in the crossfire of numerous gunfights. Her meager possessions are also always in danger. "You can't leave nothing. You can't even close your eyes with all these vagrants and dope addicts around," she says.

Like many of the downtrodden among us, Rhonda is prone to alcoholism. "I love to drink liquor, especially gallons of liquor," she says, "I hate to even drink if it isn't a gallon."

John has seen her go on binges and notes "when she drinks, she gets the good stuff," but also says she doesn't bother anybody. The manager at the Men's Wearhouse agrees and says it is that fact that justifies not bothering her in return.

"She cleans up after herself. She sweeps her spot. If she would be throwing chicken bones all over or using it as a bathroom it would be different," he said.

Before I leave, Rhonda shakes my hand and blurts out, "I'll probably be locked outdoors for Thanksgiving." As I rise from a kneeling position next to her, my face floats out of her view and our line of eye contact is broken. All I become is just another pair of black shoes walking away from her and Rhonda becomes invisible again.

This article and other by me can be found The Commonwealth Club blog at commonwealthclub.blogspot.com.

Protester Attempts to Arrest Rove in The City

WOMEN NEARLY DOES WHAT CONGRESS IS UNWILLING TO DO.

It's no wonder President Bush has never visited San Francisco during eight years in office.

A protester at a meeting of those downtrodden mortgage bankers in downtown San Francisco attempted to make a citizen's arrest of former Bush Brain, Karl Rove.

I actually know a quite militant lefty who has repeatedly told me that such an act is needed to roundup various members of the Bush admnistration.