Today seemed to be the day of saying: enough is enough. Let's dispense with the kid leather... Get down to some nogahyde.

At some point during the weekend that I packed up my apartment in San Francisco, I was sitting on the porchhaving a smoke when a neigbhour approached me from across the street. It was pretty late, like around 11:30.
The guy was somene I saw around and exchanged pleasantries with, usually in Portuguese - to the best of my ability: Brazilian he was and I seemed to remember his name was Favio. He was friends with another Brazilian I knew who worked at Serrano's Pizzeria. Local color.
He came walking up with a big smile, and politely asked if he was disturbing me. He had a favor to ask - and it was to be a one time favor - and he hated to ask. He hated to bother me, he emphasized, with something so stupid.
I nodded my head slowly, trying to make something of his elaborate preamble. Just the mere fact that Favio had approached me so intently at 11:30 had me scrutinizing him somewhat. Disturbing a relatively unfamilar neigbhour at such a late hour, with an elaborate, convoluted story - seemed upon reflection to be outside the realm of acceptable behaviour. Night is the land of shadows, and it's pretty uncool to roll up on someone you don't know- and not at least be out with whatever it is they need - which better be pretty fucking important anyway.
What it came down to was Favio needed me to lend him $20 bucks, because his Brazilian ATM card wasn't working, and he had a girl on her way from SFO in a cab, and she didn't have any yankee-dollars, and there was no way to blah blah - and could I lend him the money? It seemed like a pretty hinky story. I hate being a sap, and I try not to take the position, but he'd always seemed like a nice guy. He dressed pretty well - kind of a long hair, tattoo on his bicep surfer type. Whatever. Maybe I'm stupid, but I took a chance. It's seemed like the neigbhourly thing to do. What's the gambIe I thought: $20 on the goodness of the human race; I'll take those odds. I'd considered asking for his watch as collateral, but that seemed rather mean and ungentlemanly.. I'd feel like some moth-eaten old pawnbroker, taking the guy's watch off like that. Making someone give up their watch seems very dehumanizing - It's kind of like; "You won't be needing this anymore." There's a thing about a watch in The Pianist. It's always the last act of desperation when you sell or trade away a watch

Of course favio never showed up with the money. All the next day kept an eye open for him, but he was gone like Buddy Holly. And I felt like a jackass. Had I learned nothing from three years of living in the Mission district?
Two weeks went by and I finsihed moving down to L.A.: The sting of Favio's little scam passed - I'd even forgotten about it, when who should I run into today? I don't think he was expecting to see me. And again, there were more greetings and saluations. Where had I been, he asked pleadingly. As he explained how he'd come by, again and again... And I just stared at him. When I finally answered, it wasn't in playfully broken Portuguese.
"What the fuck is up with my money dog?" I asked, without a trace of humor. "You got it? Give it to me now."
He padded both his front pockets with his hands, to indicate that he wasn't carrying twenty bucks. I insisted that he absolutely had to put the money in my hand that day. Slipping between Englisn and Portuguses, he protested that he had wanted to pay me, and that I was treating him like "um vago".
"As far as I'm concerned you are a vago." I said. "I want $20 in my hand to-day."
I turned slowly to walk away, then looked back.
"To-day." I said for the third and last time.

I'd related the story to my pop as we sat out on his front porch. I told him all about the Tag Heuer watch the guy'd had, and I laughed scornfully about the vago brand. I also laughed and bragged about how I'd kept repeating "to-day", emphasizing the two separate words, like Robert deniro says in Goodfellas. We were laughing, and kicking it like that when Favio walked up and handed me a twenty dollar bill folded in four.
"Thank you." I said pleasantly. I took the note and held it in front of my face.
Favio walked off sullenly, his hands in his pockets.
"Looks like it's your day to make deals." My pop said.
I admired the likeness of Mr. Jackson on the double sawbuck.
"Yeah, it looks like." I said smiling.






























At least he wasn't going around with a 12ga. and a roll of duct tape. I gave him three cigarettes: How's that for compassion? I was very worldbeat then.

Watching Baby play at the dogrun I got to thinking... That in the future we will likely see a greater tendency towards an international socialist system - despite the present conservative trend. What with all the nation remodelling the "coalition" is undertaking (Iraq is what's known as a tear-down), there will probably be a merging of the duties of the U.N. and the big international lending and development agencies. The basis of interventionism lies in a kind of internationalism, despite the lack of consensus on the part of the U.N.

I think history bears out that such an enterprise as a international socialist system requires a strong central power, and the world does not want for one of those lately. And socialism seems to be the likely destiny for a civilization driven by its quest for perfection: It's better living through science.

I'm not saying this a good thing, fellow bloggers - it's just a prediction.

We left the dogrun, and baby and I were walking up Duane St. to where I'd parked the truck. It had just stopped raining half an hour before, and I carried a new, black, gentleman's umbrella. The streets were still wet. As we were on the steepest part of the grade, two big dogs suddenly came running out of a yard and straight at me and Baby. The dog that got to us first was REALLY big - like over 100 lbs and his mate was two-thirds that size.
I was completely stunned by the speed at which they were upon us. I hadn't time but for four synapses: Dogs, big, fast HERE! I think I looked around nervously for someone who may be the owner of these hounds, but in that instant they were upon my dog. The big guy was snarling like mad, rearing up and landing on Baby's shoulder's. His smaller accomplce seemed to hook around low, as if to get at Baby's face. baby's ass was totally on the line, and he spun around again and again, whimpering - and then bolted into the street.
Actually it was like the three dogs moved as one, in their snarling combat, ending up right in the middle of the street - and it happened SO FAST!

And then a fucking car is comig down this steep hill, and the road is wet, and the driver slams her brakes - and the little blue car screeched to a stop but five feet short of the three dogs. The encounter had not begun 1.5 seconds before.
When I saw the car bearing down on my dog, my hands went up in to the air, like a goal referee declaring a filedgoal was good. I yelled the word out: FUCK! I'd lost that second because I bothered looking around for the owner of the two curs, but it had gone beyond the point where they could have helped.
I charged the bigger dog, whose back was to me, and brought the umbrella down on his back in a slash, like a Hussar sabering an infantryman. It got his attention, and he turned out not to be that tough a dog - not when the steel is on his back - he turned and bailed, and his mate followed, but not before I caught him as well, on the neck with my umbrella, in a backhand swing...
I was yelling too. I don't know what I was saying. But those dogs were gone dogs. Baby had managed to slip away during (the distraction I created for him) during the melee. He ran into a neigbhour's yard across trhe street, but returned when he saw the mean kids were gone.

It took him a little while to shake that one off. He had the most disquieting smell on him after... I don't know what it was. It smelled a bit like pee, but without the pissy, ammonia characteristic: Instead it was more like base-pee - like slightly fermented grains... But I would also describe it as a kennel smell; or the fecund, hot smell of livestock. I think Baby figured he was a goner, and some gland or other related to being a meal unloaded itself in him. He's alright though.

I'm formulating a theoretical viewpoint of sorts, that the true gulf that separates East from West is the notion of perfection. (Now I'm not an anthro[pologist, except in the general, human longing for knowledge way).
Me and a friend were looking a a Persian rug, and he pointed out the deliberate flaws in the geometrical designs... As it is prohibido to attempt perfection - You leave that for Allah. Sounds good to me man. Let's celebrate imperfection!

But now the cult of the West has it's basis in the quest for perfection - through our technology. Our tower of Babel... Instead of living simple - everyone in this socity is pushing the envelope... And it's infectious - no culture can resist it.
Pundits will often decry the appearance of a coca cola sign in latin America ( it's pretty sad) but in truth it's not products that neutralize culture and traditional relationships - it's the people's conversion to a way of thinking: The cult of the individual. Los Angeles is the heart of it... It's as west as you can go!