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By Benjamin Wachs

Something weird happened today at the city’s Budget and Finance Committee. A bunch of people showed up to talk about a proposed city plan for spending $7 million in development fees … and all of them maintained that the plan must be good because the committee worked really, really hard on it.

There are two things wrong with this. First: Um, no. It doesn’t work that way.

Second: Um, no. Even if it did worth that way, the committee didn’t actually work all that hard.

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by Benjamin Wachs

I try not to call Chron columnist Mark Morford out on his stylistic problem as a writer, because who has that kind of time? But as a fellow journalist I feel that research – knowing at least a little about what we’re writing about – is the very least we owe the public.

The very, very least.

So a few months ago I called him out on the sheer ignorance of his attacks against Christianity. Anti-Christian is fine, but hating on anyone from a position of ignorance is not. Today marks yet another Morford column that might not have needed to happen if he’d made a phone call (like journalists do), or checked out Wikipedia for Christ's sake.

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Two days ago the Chronicle reported an apartment fire that damaged four buildings and set off a testy comment thread on sfgate.com. Readers were not discussing the fate of the buildings and their residents, however, but the validity of the neighborhood name, Little Hollywood, where the fire was reported to have taken place.

The first commenter on the scene expressed exasperation thusly: "'..in the Little Hollywood neighborhood of San Francisco..'?? These stupid, manufactured 'neighborhood' fantasy-names are made up by some deluded real estate agent. They are meaningless. And you come across as a clueless idiot when you use them."

The writer is certainly not alone in their vexation. Complaining about the arbitrary and spontaneous nature in which San Francisco neighborhoods are established and named is practically a city past time. But several people repudiated the first post by claiming long term residency and then offering evidence for the neighborhood’s namesake, the most popular of which seemed to be that silent film stars once lived there. "Yes it is called Little Hollywood because of the actors who had vacation homes in the neighborhood. (included an actress named Mae West…ever heard of her?)" snotted one poster. The argument was put to rest for me when a Google map search turned up one Little Hollywood Community Park.

But the debate made me wonder, what other tiny "neighborhoods" in San Francisco would spark a similar spat?

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"Being naked in San Francisco is not a crime, unless the gentleman had lewd conduct or was obstructing traffic.''

That's D.A. spokesperson Debbie Mesloh in 2004 in response to the public nuisance complaint filed against George Davis - a.k.a. the Naked Yoga Guy who we last saw prancing around in the buff at the tail end of the Olympic Torch protests earlier in the month.

In 2004, Davis staged several impromptu nude demonstrations at Fisherman's Wharf to promote his book Naked Yoga. He's had run-ins with the cops before and after those memorable episodes but is still going strong (remember how he ran for mayor just last year? Our Joe Eskenazi documented that nicely). In fact, Davis will be signing copies of his new book Weapons of Mass Deception at the wharf (northeast corner of Hyde Street @ Beach) tomorrow, May 1, at noon.

Incidentally, the book's protagonist is a naked yoga guy himself.

P.S. Those who've dreamed of working as an assistant to a nekkid yogi can contact Davis at (415) 722-2968. --Janine Kahn

Meet a very unusual man in the street…

By Joe Eskenazi

Financial District workers stream past Carl Christensen on their way to the office, shoulder to shoulder, four or five abreast. Montgomery Avenue teems like a river full of salmon headed upstream to spawn – but while there may be Starbucks and spreadsheets in the workers’ near future, there will be no spawning.

Christensen, however, does not move. As heads bob by at double-time he is conspicuous via his stillness. Well, that and the fact he’s pointing a digital camera at the rapidly retreating workers mid-sections, below head level and just above the hips. Since I have a notebook in my back pocket and it’s ostensibly my job to ask people just what the hell they’re doing I ask Carl just what the hell he’s doing. Given a million years and one day, I would not have guessed what his response would be.

Christensen, 63, is an extremely tall and thin man with a wrinkled shirt and tie and a fuller brush mustache and electric, long white hair that gives him the appearance of the rumpled love child of Albert Einstein and Albus Dumbledore.

He’s a retired cabdriver (which explains why he can film everyone else scuttling of to work). As for why he’s pointing a camera at places on the body that’d get you sucker punched at the Hotsy Totsy tavern, that’s a little less intuitive.

Christensen told me he takes his videos of San Franciscans hurrying to the office and transforms them into video teleidoscopes – that’s like a kaleidoscope without the colored glass. This is not the sort of thing you hear every day, so I asked him to send me a DVD of his work.

I was surprised when he actually did. I was more surprised when I found it to be utterly and totally mesmerizing.

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Remember this charming No On 98 video? There's a spate of videos up on the interwebs denouncing the anti-rent control ordinance, and while most of them are cutesy and homegrown, like this one featuring a songstress of modest income and her neighbors, the one above borders on terrifying. Just because anyone with a camera and modeling clay can produce a passable piece of stop motion animation doesn't mean they should. These are the talking melon proponents of tenants' rights that will haunt your nightmares. -Andy Wright

By Benjamin Wachs

Monday, April 28

10 a.m. – public Safety Committee

Ross Mirkarimi’s three-ring circle of justice continues as the Public Safety committee grills the city’s top law enforcement officials about why the city’s so damn dangerous. The fact that SOMEBODY’S actually taking city agencies to task for performance kind of warms my heart.

1 p.m. – Land Use & Economic Development Committee

I admit I was thrown when I first saw that this committee would be authorizing “four new full-service restaurant uses” in the Haight.

Seriously? Because, like a chump, I’ve only ever used them for eating. What else could there be?

Of course, that’s just “zoning” talk for “we will allow four more restaurants” in the Haight Street Neighborhood Commercial District.

Doing so, according to the legislation, would allow the city to “respond to increased demand for restaurant services.”

Anybody know how they measure that? I’m not objecting to new restaurants, I’m just wondering: how many people actually pull Ross Mirkarimi or Tom Ammiano aside and say “Dude – I NEED more restaurants in the Haight. In fact, I demand it.” Or is there some kind of survey that I didn’t get?

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Despite the fact that God callously ignored their prayers for ponies and army tanks as children, adults across the country are hoping the Almighty will benevolently lower the price of gas.

Rocky Twyman is a church choir director, community organizer and, unsurprisingly, a PR consultant, who has taken it upon himself to lead people in gas station pray-ins across the country. His quest hit the Bay Area Friday when he lead one at a local Chevron Station.

As he told the Chron, “God is the only one we can turn to at this point, our leaders don’t seem to be able to do anything about it. The prices keep soaring and soaring.” Rocky helpfully admits that maybe people should car pool and walk more in addition to asking God for help at the pump.

The last time Rocky was in the news was three years ago, when he spearheaded a petition drive to get Oprah a Nobel Prize. God wasn't on his side in that endeavor.

Check out a brief but awesome audio clip of Twyman discussing his plan here.

God could not be reached for comment. -Andy Wright

Pitcher’s high-profile train wreck a microcosm of bigger (and badder) things

By Joe Eskenazi

A few years back on a crisp and cold winter’s day, former Major League journeyman “Subway” Sam Nahem told me a story. After a particularly odious outing in 1940, the young Brooklyn Dodgers pitcher was queried by a New York Daily News reporter just what good, exactly, he was doing the team.

Nahem’s response was instantaneous: “I am now in the egregiously anonymous position of pitching batting practice to the batting practice pitchers.”

These days, many a Bay Area reporter (and fan) has to be wondering the same thing about the San Francisco Giants lefty who can do no right, Barry Zito. After yesterday’s latest fiasco – Nine outs recorded, eight runs allowed – his record fell to 0-6 with a historically awful 7.53 Earned-Run Average. And yet Nahem-style repartee won’t inspire too many chuckles. Subway Sam was earning $150 a week (and damn happy to be doing so) and had a law degree in his back pocket in case this whole baseball thing didn’t work out. Zito, meanwhile, is in year two of a seven-year, $126 million contract.

Once one of baseball’s most dominant starters, Zito has transformed into the Old Faithful of awfulness. His consistency is almost admirable; the chances of him getting shellacked are virtually as high as spotting a lower back tattoo in a porno movie.

Your humble narrator was in the upper deck yesterday on an otherworldly beautiful Sunday, watching Zito absorb his ritual beating. It was bat day for kids under age 14, and by the time the sixth Cincinnati Red crossed the plate with only one gone in the first inning, I began to fear that a shower of Louisville Sluggers would come cascading out of the stands. Thankfully, this did not come to pass (but two more Reds runs did).

As a longtime baseball fan, I can tell you that not many ballpark experiences are more frustrating than being caught in the same section as the two twerps who won’t stop talking business (a development made infinitely worse by the ubiquity of cell phones). I’m not the sort of person who believes in baseball as some sort of mystical fantasy land; I was more than a bit suspicious when players began hulking up and enjoying career renaissances in their 40s. But the ballpark is a refuge from everyday life. I don’t want to think about the pressures of my job and I certainly don’t want to think about yours.

But Zito’s epic failures conjure up more than angst about deadlines, office politics and HR losing your W-2 forms (yes, again). Watching a handsome, wealthy and powerful young man of once-unlimited promise fail on an inexplicably grand scale reminds me just a bit too much of the sorry state of the nation. And dwelling upon that can certainly suck the good times out of an afternoon spent -- to paraphrase the words of The Daily Show’s John Hodgman -- watching a man hit a ball over a fence with a stick.

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Since it's Friday, and only about two hours until drinky time, here's an NPR story on a "green" bar in the Mission that serves eco-conscious boozy lemonade made of organic rye and "biodynamic" wine. Just make sure you hand someone else the keys to the Prius before you imbibe. -Andy Wright

By Joe Eskenazi

Barring another ship colliding with the Bay Bridge and triggering environmental Armageddon, Mayor Gavin Newsom is off next week for a 10-day "mission" to the place a disturbing number of Americans believe will host the real Armageddon (and soon!): Israel.

(Actually, don't kid yourself. He's outta here no matter what.).

On Newsom's agenda: Visits to Tel Aviv, San Francisco's sister city of Haifa and "a briefing from senior Israeli foreign ministry officials"

It's amusing to imagine a meeting of the minds between Gav and the Israelis:

— "Mayor, we need you to look handsome in the publicity photographs and avoid getting blown up."

— "I'll try not to disappoint you."

If Newsom wants to push for gay marriage in Jerusalem, well, good luck with that.

But, knowing our mayor a little, here's a few phrases he could stand to learn in Hebrew:

• Hello, I am America's sexiest mayor.

Shalom, ani ha'rosh ir hachi sexy b'artzot ha'brit.

•How much should I leave as a tip? For a taxi? For a massage? For ... something else?

Kama ani tzarich la'a'zov bishvil tip? Bishvil monit? Bishvil massage? Bishvil ... mashehu acher?

•Where can I buy hair gel?

Eifo ani yachol liknot mishchat-seh'ar?

•At home I am very popular.

Eifo she'ani gar, ani me'od pohpoolari.

•Nobody knows why.

Af echad yodeah lama.

CLICK "MORE" FOR MORE, INTUITIVELY ENOUGH...

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Costco, the bulk item store known for selling drums of mayonnaise, does not seem like a business whose name would be connected with the word “rationing.” But according to recent news reports, Costco has been forced to do just that with it’s 50-pound bags of rice due to a global shortage that's just begun to affect the Bay Area. You can’t get long grain rice at the Berkeley Bowl. Sam’s Club, that other store that sells drums of mayonnaise, will only sell you five enormous bags of rice. Local restaurants may stop giving out free refills and at least one proprietor has raised the price of a bowl of rice by 30 cents. Meanwhile, Agriculture Secretary Ed Shafer insists that there is no shortage of rice in the US. That doesn’t stop at least one writer from asking the question on the tip of everyone’s tongue: is it time for US families to stockpile food? (Answer: Yes, totally.) First the matzo,now the rice. What’s next, an It’s-It shortage? -Andy Wright

Picture Credit: eng.ritsumei.ac.jp

San Franciscans meet to Stop the Spraying
by Benjamin Wachs

Town School for Boys
2750 Jackson Street, San Francisco
6:00 p.m. Thursday April 24, 2008
Public meeting on the proposed aerial spraying of the Light Brown Apple Moth

Light Brown Apple Moth people like to talk. A lot. They also like to listen to each other talk about the Light Brown Apple Moth. That’s why they’re selling DVDs of previous meetings.

I repeat: the anti-Light Brown Apple Moth spraying forces have DVDs of previous Light Brown Apple Moth meetings for sale in the lobby.

“Stop Them Before They Spray Again: reports from the LBAM Frontlines” goes for $15.

But “Stop the Spray! A town meeting on forced aerial spraying, Corta Madera, CA, March 3, 2008” and “California State Senate Environmental Quality Committee Informational Hearing on Forced Urban Aerial LBAM Spraying, March 13, 2008, San Rafeal, CA, Sen. Joe Simitian, Chair” are sold together as a set for $20.

Think of them as cult classics.

A half-hour before the meeting, a mostly older neighborhood crowd is milling around in the lobby of the Town School for Boys, rifling through the DVDs and trading LBAM rumors.

Did you know that when they sprayed the first time, 640 people checked into the hospital, mostly complaining of respiratory ailments?

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Today’s Chronicle offers up a horrifying tale of tenant abuse. A SoMa landlord couple purchased a three-story apartment building and promptly began evicting the five tenants, some of which preferred not to move. Thus began what the Chron describes as a “campaign of terror” during which the landlords allegedly told workers to cut support beams to the apartment, shut off electricity and phone service, ripped off $2,000 in cash and a Gucci watch, and in a move cribbed from Wile E. Coyote -- ordered a hole cut in the floor of one apartment from beneath.

While the grievances filed against these landlords are extreme, there’s no shortage of crazy landlord stories. My favorite crazy landlord eschewed the tiresome formalities of “Hello” and shot straight to the more pointed “What do you want?” and “I’m out of the country,” when answering the phone. Interestingly, his business trips and vacations seemed to coincide with our plumbing problems. But many renters' horror stories careen right past poor phone skills into small claims court, so leave your best crazy landlord stories in the comments below.

And don’t forget that the June 3 ballot includes Prop 98, which would effectively ends rent control, giving landlords a compelling reason to find a way to boot existing tenants. -Andy Wright

San Francisco’s Dan Cassidy explores how some of our most ubiquitous (and filthy) words came to be

By Joe Eskenazi

Dan Cassidy smells of a heady mixture of cigarettes and mint gum intended to mask cigarettes. He speaks in the thickest New York accent since Dustin Hoffman’s Ratso Rizzo slapped his palm on the hood of a car and bellowed “I’m waukin' heah! I'm waukin' heah!”

In this day and age when newscasters from Portland, Ore. to Portland, Maine all speak in the same hypnotically mellifluous non-accent, men like Cassidy – whose cadences don’t merely scream “New York” but “Brooklyn” -- are a rarity. Cassidy’s raison d’être is determining why people talk the way they talk, incidentally, so his accent fits right in.

I met Cassidy recently in Glen Park for an interview. He declined my invitation to chat in an Irish bar – he quit drinking years ago – so we instead settled into the back of a nearby bookstore. Many copies of his tome, “How the Irish Invented Slang” – winner of last year’s American Book Award – lined the shelves.

In the slowest and quietest bit of dialog he’d utter all night, Cassidy queried whether SF Weekly was an “R-rated paper.” I assured him it is. So he started right in on what sort of slang the Irish Americans have graced us with.

“You’ve heard that expression ‘Wipe that smile off your puss.’ Well, the plural of ‘puss’ is ‘pusa.’ It means lips.”

That’s right, the Irish invented “pussy.” But that’s not all. Cassidy admits the “filthiest word in my book” is “cuas” – or as we’d pronounce it, “cooze.” Literally, this means “hole.”

While Irish Americans' crafting of the two most aggressive terms for the female anatomy is not exactly the sort of thing one learns during heritage week in public schools, it’s a good example of how saturated the American English lexicon is with Irishisms – and nobody even knew.

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