The Wild Somethings Of Telegraph Hill

A mind is a terrible thing to lose.

Alex and I watched a documentary last year that completely charmed both of us. It was about a man who was sort of down on his luck, but didn't see it that way. This guy had very modest needs and he squatted in a cottage behind a home for a number of years and nobody ever complained.

I think he was a musician, but if so, he made very little money. He lived in the Telegraph Hill area of San Francisco and got his coffee free at a local dive where he read his newspaper every morning. If memory serves, he got basic supplies from a food bank but rather than seeing him as deprived, he seemed to be living a very rich life. This was some amazing storytelling.

The guy developed a relationship with wild birds who lived near him and several of them trusted him enough to move into his cottage with him. He watched them form relationships, have offspring, lose mates, and documented most of what he was seeing. It was amazing to see the affection these birds and this man had for each other.

In a rather lovely turn of events, the man in the film actually married the woman film maker who did the documentary on him.

I went to lunch with my friend Nelson shortly after seeing the film. I was explaining how delightful the man was and how simply and frugally he lived. (Nelson is all about the simple life, but I think he has stock portfolio and a trust fund that make his simple life a little less simple than the guy in the film.)

In any case, Nelson asked me, "What was the name of the film?" and I drew a total blank. It was "The wild somethings of telegraph hill" I responded to him. "Wild Somethings?" he asked. Well, wait, it was the "Wild Pirates", no, that's wrong. I started flapping my arms like a bird at him and said "Wild Pilots". At this point, I was snorting with laughter and nearly falling on the floor. I then offered "Wild Parents of Telegraph Hill", which of course was wrong as well. I choked out "Nelson they are green and some are red! And look at me!" as I flapped my arms even harder to get him to understand.

Nelson looked at me and I know he was embarrassed by my behavior because we were in a restaurant. I kept saying "Wild Pirates!" and then "No! Wild Pilots!" "Wild Parents!" and flapping my arms in frustration and hysteria.

The word "Parrots" would not come no matter how hard I tried. I finally quit trying much to Nelson relief. I had Pilots, Pirates and Parents in my brain and they would not allow Parrots in at that point no matter how hard I tried. I was sort of annoyed that Nelson had been so embarrassed at my theatrics, but I thought he would have guessed what I was trying to say. It should have been obvious enough.

As soon as I got home from lunch, I went in the house and the word "Parrots" came to me immediately. I never told Nelson.

Screw him!

Sleeping With Girls...

I guess you aren't surprised.

As one of four girls in a family, I spent a lot of time in bed with girls, whether I liked it or not.

By the time I was 12, I had a good friend named Linda and she and I always slept together when we had sleep overs. By the time we were 15 or so, we had discovered her parents diet pills, and we would pop a couple of those at bedtime, enabling us to stay up talking and listening to Top 40 radio almost all night. A side effect of those pills was that we were very skinny. Oh hell, we were skinny before the pills too. It really didn't matter to us. It was just fun to lie in bed and have "one more cigarette and one more song" until 4 AM or so.

We finally took so many of Linda's parents pills that they were looking at us funny, so we quit. We quickly gained back the weight we had lost and still had "sleep overs" but they were now curtailed before midnight when we crashed.

Years later, after I was a married woman of 19, Linda would still come and spend the night. When she did, we banished my husband to the couch so we could re-live our youth together in bed.

It was several years before I slept with another girl. This girl was named Sandy and her dad was an Army General. We spent the night at the Army post and always slept together because the place was scary and seemed a little haunted. I was divorced and had two kids at this point, and Sandy was also a divorcee. We talked but not with the intimacy that existed between my teenage girlfriend, Linda.

Several years later, I spent a drunken New Years Eve at my house where I had a soiree for several of my closest friends, including Cogie and Evan. These girls were from Ireland and I loved them both. I awoke early on New Years Day in bed between two lovely naked Irish lassies. We pulled on clothing, (actually, I just threw on a full length mink coat) and went to the corner store for some "hair of the dog". We came back home and drank beer till about noon when we all decided they should just go home and we should all deal with the upcoming hangover and stop trying to put it off.

When I was almost 40, Natalie (a gorgeous Persian girl) and I drove to Lake Tahoe for weekend. We got a room at one of the hotels that had a round bed, a round over-sized bath in the center of the room, and a mirrored ceiling. The bellboy was more interested in us than most of the hotel clientele. I guess I see his point.

Natalie and I were good friends and it seemed very normal for us to share a bed and even a bath, but if truth be told, we took turns playing "maid" to the person bathing. We would bring the "bather" a glass of juice or champagne, or whatever was desired. Natalie and I went to the spa at the hotel and were astounded at all the naked ladies walking around. She and I both modestly wore bathing suits for the hot tub.

The last girl I slept with was CT, my gay girlfriend. She got very sick at our house after a dinner out. I needed to keep an eye on her so I got in bed with her.

Now, lest you think these are the only girls I have been to bed with, I assure you they are not. But the ones you probably want to hear about, well, you won't hear it from me.

The Antique Opium Pipe And Me

I know a Chinese man named Fred. He is a good friend.

When Fred goes to China, he brings me back some really interesting gifts. A couple of years ago, he brought me an antique opium pipe.

Now I've never had the occasion to use this pipe, but if you happen to have some opium laying around, I would smoke it.

Years ago, I saw a movie called "Indochine" with Catherine Deneuve and I loved it. She smoked opium in the film and it looked like something I would like a lot. I told my doctor I wanted to smoke opium before I died and he laughed. He said he had tried it when he was very young and it made him very sick. I don't think it would make me sick, and I'd take the risk.

Fred also brought me a 100 year Chinese calendar. It's the round piece on the table with the pipe. The other object is a lamp and it's not Chinese or old either. I think we got it from Lamps Plus.

I love getting gifts that are really unique. Still, people give me a lot of things and I feel obligated to keep them even when they are a little on the squirrely side. I finally told Alex yesterday I was going to clear out some of the "clutter" because you can get carried away with clutter.

My mother was a great collector of "pretty things". She at one point had about 30 little objects on top of her toilet tank. Now lest you think she had the "pretties" sitting on the porcelain tank she did not. They were on the toilet tank cover which matched the fluffy blue toilet seat cover.

Mom was never a fastidious housekeeper. These little objects were never dusted or even noticed by her year after year. I think people gave her pretty little things and she couldn't figure out what to do with them so she stuck them on the toilet tank. Bless her heart.

I used to shudder when I would do a little housework for her after she was older and in poor health. I would suggest from time to time that we "ix-nay" (pig-latin for "nix") some of the arty little objects but she wouldn't hear of it.

Several years ago, a friend gave me a little statue of Mary with a lamb. I mean the holy Mary, not the "Mary had a little lamb", Mary. Well, my friend didn't realize that I am not religious in the slightest and that a statue of Mary with a lamb might not be the perfect thing for me. Since I could not throw it away, I put it in the bathroom.

I woke up after about 5 years and really noticed that religious statue sitting on my toilet tank (not with a fluffy tank cover either) and I was horrified. I took the holy Mary and tossed her. Yeah, I felt guilty, but it had to be done.

Today I went through several rooms in the house and tossed some things that I had received as gifts. They are simply not my taste. And they were pretty much butt ugly things.

Oh, I'm keeping my opium pipe though. You never know.

Doing It Right

Alex wanted to "get away" for a couple of days.

I am a stay-at-home woman. I live in paradise. Why do I want to go anywhere? I don't really, but being a sometimes compliant wife, I tried to figure out a plan for a few days away.

We have two big dogs, Harry and Honey. Neither of them like to travel any more than I do. Harry cannot lie down or even sit on a road trip and that means hours on his feet in the cargo area of the station wagon. Harry does not like to "poo" anyplace but home either.

He also requires bottled water any place we go. His preference is Fiji Water which is quite expensive. (But I like it too.)

Honey sleeps in the car on any ride, but she gets sore and cranky after hours of inactivity. I think she takes after me.

I made us a reservation in Santa Cruz, California, on the Coast. The person who answered the phone took my reservation, but he also sounded totally bored by the whole thing. "Yeah, we take dogs" and "Yeah, we have a room". The place was equally lackluster. The hotel was my idea of a "hot pillow" joint, except it cost $200 a night, but was lacking in the presence of crack "ho's". (Now come to think of it, I did see a couple and even had a conversation with one.) I'm broad minded like that!

The room was poorly arranged and we all fell all over each other trying to get from one end to the other. Overall Rating: Fail. It was a depressing and weird place even if it was two blocks away from the piers.

Santa Cruz may be good for young families with very little money to waste except on cotton candy and roller coaster rides. I don't really understand why anyone would go there. There are no "good" places to eat. It's dirty and crowded and the population makes you wish you had brought your 357 magnum for protection.

The following morning, we drove up to Half Moon Bay, also on the coast where I had made a reservation for one night. It was about a two hour drive from Santa Cruz. When I called for the reservation, the person I talked to was helpful, made every effort to accommodate us and even convinced me to change our original travel schedule. We actually were so disheartened from our Santa Cruz adventure that we considered just driving on home and forfeit the deposit. I convinced Alex that we needed to get a suite if one was available after our dismal trip to Santa Cruz.

The entire get-away turned around dramatically when we arrived at the Best Western Half Moon Bay Lodge. It was a gorgeous facility set directly on a golf course right next to the crashing waves. The suite had a bedroom with a king sized bed, wonderful linens, robes, and a color scheme that made everything restful, aesthetically pleasing, as well as a large living room with a lovely fireplace.

The people at the front desk were friendly and helpful. We watched the golfers out on our patio while the dogs frolicked on the lawn behind our suite. (Yes, Harry was able to "poo" in these surroundings and that's a good thing.)

We spend an invigorating and restful night there before returning home. There are wonderful restaurants in the area. The bed was like sleeping on a cloud. Heavenly! Alex, Harry and I were very content. Honey is a little harder to impress, or she just reserves her judgment in these things.

From the moment I made the reservation at this place, I had a feeling it was going to be "special". It's amazing that a person who answers a phone can give you that sense of luxury. The man, Kurt, told me he wanted us to consider this Lodge our get away place on the coast from now on. He was on the money!

The whole experience taught me something. When people actually "care" if you enjoy a visit, it's going to be special.

And it certainly was.

My Name is Honey - Redux

I knew when I was born that I was one of those dangerous females. I took no shit from anybody from the time I was 4 months old. I spent a lot of time on the streets and that changes you. Dad was a no-count Pit Bull from Oakland. He only stuck around long enough to get mom pregnant. Mom was a German Shepherd from the Oakland Hills and very nurturing. She did right by me and my brother. I think we were her first litter.

One day, we woke up and there was a man chasing mom down the street. He had a truck with him and grabbed her and stuck her in a cage-like place. My brother and I were left alone at that point. We never saw our mother again. We stuck together for a while. We found the Oakland restaurants that put out garbage and we looked through every evening to see what we could find. Chicken bones, pork, beef, even chicken feet all were on the menu if we went to Chinatown. It was great. We slept under the overpass when it was raining. There were a lot of people sleeping out there. Some of them were really nice and let us get close. It helped on cold nights.

This young guy in an SUV pulled up to the curb when he saw me. He held out something that smelled delicious and I went up close to see what it was. He grabbed me and put me in the back of his SUV. We drove for a while and I got completely confused. I was in an area I had never seen before. He took me through an alley and into a place that had a bunch of wired cages. He put a collar on me and shoved me into one of them. I was worried about my brother, but there was nothing I could do about that. There was water in my cage but no food. I was hungry and wondered where and when my next meal would show up. I found it out would be a couple of days before I would eat again.

There were a lot of other dogs out in this yard. Some looked torn up with scars and bloody faces. I realized to survive, I had to grow up and get hard fast. The first day someone brought a bowl of kibble to my cage, I snarled at the guy and gave him my hardest look. He backed away respectfully. I was learning a survival skill. Some fool left my cage unlocked and I ran off as fast as I could. I spent another couple of years as a homeless dog. I was picked up as a stray (or vagrant) and taken to a shelter. This was bad and good. I was used to cages but that was the bad part. But I did get regular food and water; that was the good part. People wandered through and looked at me and said, "Damn! That's a scary looking dog!" and walked on to the cages with the little fluffy guys. Who gives a shit? I was getting fed. It was okay.

A couple came and said, "We'll take that one" about me after a couple of months. The shelter people did an operation on me before I went home with these people so I couldn't have puppies. It's just as well. I didn't want puppies. We got into the car and we drove to a place called Hercules. I was put out in the backyard and I was fine. I stayed outside all of the time. I was "security" the man said. They fed me once a day and gave me water. Still, I felt like something was missing in my life. These people never even gave me a name. They called me "the dog". Still, it was okay.

After some time had passed, I noticed that I had waited a long time for some food. Nobody came. The people had moved. A guy in a uniform came to the back gate and whistled. I went over to see him. He put a leash on me and took me to a waiting truck taking me to the Oakland SPCA. Here we go with the cages again. But things were a little different this time. I had a warm place to sleep, plenty of food, and a person came almost every day to take me for a walk. I stayed at this place for almost 5 months.

One day a lady walked up to my "kennel". She looked at me and I looked at her and something happened. We just knew each other immediately. She called a man over and said, "Oh my God! This is the one we want! She's beautiful and I must have her!" The man said, "Uh, that's a pit bull" and the woman said "Don't be ridiculous; she's a German Shepherd". They got someone who worked there to take us into the "get acquainted" room. They both seemed just fine, but who really knows! I let them pet me and showed them that I had a few manners and that seemed just fine.

Two days later, they came back with a new collar and leash for me and told me I was going "home". They put me in the back seat of a car and we drove for a few minutes. When we got to their house, the lady said "This is your house, Honey". Okay, my name was "Honey" now. Not dog, not Fern (as I was called at the shelter" but Honey!) I liked it. We took a long walk and I marked every place I could so I could always find my way "home".

I was given a bath (not so great) and given flea medication, and taken to a "vet". The vet told these people that I had bad arthritis problems that was causing me to limp and move with some pain. My people said, "What can we do to fix it?". I was given medicine and taken to a specialist for something called an MRI. My people were told that there really wasn't much that could be done except to keep me "comfortable". The pills helped a lot. Also, the lady (who I now call Mom) hired an acupuncturist to stick needles in me to try and make me better. It was okay. The needles didn't hurt. (But I did look funny with about 100 needles sticking out of me.)

Six years have passed. I have changed in so many ways. I am well fed, I am well groomed, and I am well loved. I only eat organic food that Mom cooks for me. If I can't walk, they carry me. I live indoors and only go outside when I want to. I have a brother named Harry and I can bite and growl at him any time I want. Life is better than before. Mom worries about losing me. I worry more about losing her.

Shady

You thought this was going to be about some whackadoodle shady business, didn't you?

Maybe something about porn, or misbehaving, or turtles in love. But it's not. The word shady here refers to just that. Shady places.

As summer has come upon us with a bang, I have to find shady places to hang out. I don't do well in hot weather. I like it cool. I used to broil myself in the sun, smeared with baby oil and a little iodine (to hurry the tan along) for hours. I'm fortunate that so far, my skin has not rebelled because of the sins of my youth. I think being Mexican helps. I used to think of the sun as a lover and give in to him on every possible occasion.

For the last 20 years, I've been more careful in the sun. I slather on the sunscreen and stay in the shade. In fact, I sometimes put on the abaya mi esposo brought me home from Saudi Arabia when I go in the yard. I keep it covered in other words. In the old days, people asked me if I was Egyptian because of how dark I was. Egyptian? Okay.

These days, my dogs and I prefer the shade. There is a 100 year old big Oak Tree in my front yard. It's interesting to note that it is always a good 10 degrees cooler under that tree than it is in the sun. That makes it the perfect place for a siesta or a good place to read. Our street is usually not very busy, so I am not concerned that someone will walk by and grab my earrings even if I fall asleep.

My husband Alex doesn't like being in the sun either. As a 100% Navajo Indian, he already has a permanent tan. In fact, years ago, my sister asked me if he was "that color" all over. I assured her that he was. Frankly, very white men just don't do it for me, usually. I love a little color on a man. (Or in some cases, a lot of color, but that's another post.)

The heat makes me drowsy, lazy and incompetent. I hate it. But I do like sitting in a shady place and knowing that because of my aversion to heat, there's nothing else I am expected to do. You have to relax in the heat. No silly jogging or walking. No crazy riding a bike.

The heat was made for quiet contemplation. And ice cold beer.

Christal Shanda Leer - Porn Queen

If I was a porn star, Christal Shanda Leer would be my name.

I think it has a touch of class and it's not all hoochie mama or anything. Actually, porn star names are sometimes pretty clever, but a lot of times, they are just too obvious.

I really don't see much porn these days. Gone are the days when Candy Barr starred in her first and only porn movie. I saw the film (which was made when Candy was only 16) after I was married and had my first child.

We were at a friend's house and they had a porn film they they showed from a projector. I remember the man in the film was wearing black socks through out the movie.

The movie was called "Smart Alec" and it was much more humorous than erotic. Still, I was very uncomfortable watching it in "mixed company".

Oh, and Candy Barr was not her real name. Her real name was Juanita Slusher and she was from Edna, Texas. I think I like the name Juanita Slusher just as well as Candy Barr. She was born in 1935 so the movie was made about 1951. I think Candy Barr was considered one of the first porn queens. I saw the movie in 1970 or so.

The next porn film I saw was at a theater in San Francisco. The movie was "Behind the Green Door" and I think the year was 1972. Marilyn Chambers was the star and she was formerly the "Ivory Soap Girl". Pretty woman. Again, it wasn't a great film, and it wasn't as funny as "Smart Alec" either.

The problem with porn to me is that there isn't really any plot. Plus, there's usually not a lot of dialog. I end up wishing the people would stop fooling around and have a conversation.

I'm glad that porn is available at the video store and on the internet. Even though I haven't seen a porn film in ages, I am pretty sure it's much better not to go to the theater to see it. There are always a lot more men at the theater than women. Plus, who can eat popcorn and watch porn? Not me.

I think I'd be good at making up porn star names. Plus I have some good titles in mind too. "Teenage Enema Nurses In Bondage" is one I thought of. That's good, isn't it?

And you have too admit, Christal Shanda Leer is sort of brilliant.