Float My Raft

As of this issue, it's 12 years to the minute since our first column ever. Time's passing -- incidentally generating even numbers of random measures -- is so meaningless, I am moved to wax upon the meaningless.

Meaning is important. It's the raft we float on. A precious thing we make. But the meaningless is important, also. The meaningless is the ocean that floats our raft of meaning.

Because there is so much meaningless, we seek to put it to use. It's what drives people to find an engine that runs on air. You want to be surrounded by treasure without having to dig any up.

Last week, we went to the 2007 North American Street Newspaper Association (NASNA) conference. "We" means two vendors, an intern, a director, a consultant, a reporter, Anitra "ID-Free" Freeman, and I. Some of us were graciously driven to Portland by staff reporter Cydney Gillis. Anitra and I took turns loudly pronouncing Washington State town names as if they were bird cries, like this: PuuuuuuyALLup! EENumCLAW! Walla WALLa! Totally meaningless fun! [Above left: Cydney stopped in Kalama to take care of the car, while bikers watched with interest.]

Advice: wait until you're halfway to be so annoying. You want to set up what I call a "moral dilemma". Don't let the driver think, "I can kick them out here. It would only take them a fortnight to walk back. I would feel only slight guilt."

So there I was, at the NASNA conference in Portland, with my sweetheart, BBQ chips, old friends, new friends, and... no beer!

Paul Boden, of the Western Regional Advocacy Project, was there also, physically, and existentially. No beer! "Let's go get beer!" "Where?" We asked natives. They said, "Go that way, turn left, go that far, there's a store." Paul, Anitra, and I set off.

We get to the store, which is a Tartan Pantry, a Plaid Cupboard, or something. We pick out the beer. Paul steps up to buy his. He's carded!

Let's clarify this picture. Paul is younger than I am, but has a kind of flinty look to him, reminiscent of David Carradine in Kill Bill, or Richard Widmark post-50. He ain't no spring chicken. I'm beside Paul while he shows his ID, laughing. I lied and said, "Ha, ha, you're older than I am!" I look like Willie Nelson put on weight.


[Above left: Richard Widmark in his Jesus Year playing Noir Tough Guy Tommy Udo, where he pushes an old woman in a wheelchair down stairs. Above right: Paul Boden, or Richard Widmark again?]

So then it was my turn. There was a funky beer on the counter. I said, "Hey! This isn't one of mine!" Anitra claimed it, but said I had to buy it. So I said, "RIGHT. I love you, too." I showed the nice cashier my ID.

The next day I remembered where I'd seen that cashier before. He was behind the counter in the cantina at Mos Eisley. The "no droids allowed in here" bartender, Star Wars IV.

He looked at my ID as though I weren't 58 and it mattered it might be fake. He handed it back. I took out money and he said, "Not so fast, I have to see hers," pointing to Anitra, who is a whole 8 days younger.

"Ha, ha, whip out your ID, baby face," I said to her. But she didn't have her ID with her!

So the cashier/Mos Eisley bartender took her beer away. I said, "OK then, how much for MY beer here." And he took THAT away, too! HEY! NOT FUNNY!

"No, no, no, no, NOOOO," I said, "MY beer! You can sell me MY beer! I have ID! Anitra won't drink MY beer."

But the guy says "I'm not selling you anything."

As we walked away to find a supermarket, we discussed what the deal with the convenience store guy was. Paul pointed to the badges we were all wearing, that showed the words North American Street Newspaper Assn., proof that we belonged to an organization that cares about the homeless.

Maybe the cashier created a meaning from those badges he didn't like.

Thanks For All The Beer

Last issue (North American Newsbriefs, July 10) we read about beerforthehomeless.com. Those are the people in Chattanooga, TN, who are collecting donations to pass out beer for the homeless.

We love this idea. We (I mean I myself of course) have been saying for years that homeless people have as much right to decide for themselves whether they should imbibe alcoholic beverages as homeful people do.

What we really delight in is this information from the FAQ page at beerforthehomeless.com: "… the fact is that less than half of the homeless we visit accept our beer." Bearing in mind that they are only talking about Chattanooga, nevertheless someone has finally succeeded in finding a way to substantiate our long stated observation that most homeless people aren't alcoholics, they're just people who don't have a proper place to live at the moment.

And what a straightforward method of proof it is. "Let's pass the stuff out and see who takes it!" To think that researchers have probably wasted tens of thousands of dollars for years trying to figure this one out with pencils and surveys.

The website also gives me hope by reminding me that there are decent generous people out there who really get it. It makes me want to acknowledge all the great generous folks I have encountered and benefited from over the years.

Yours truly (like most homeless people!) has never panhandled. Partly this is because I always found things to sell when I was broke. For example, there was the day I sold the naming rights to parts of my body. I started the day out with nothing. I charged one dollar for the naming rights to each body part. My first customer was this rag's founder Timothy Harris who paid a dollar to name my liver "Intrepid." Altogether I earned twelve dollars doing that.

But I have also found that if you just go about your life and do nothing unusual money can be pushed into your hands even AGAINST YOUR WILL!

For example, early one morning I was pacing back and forth in between St. James Cathedral and the Rectory. I was pacing because I was early for an appointment and had nowhere else to go, being too broke to go to a café or anywhere else. I wasn't panhandling, I didn't have my hand out, but along came this tall guy in a suit smoking a cigar and wouldn't you know it? He walks right up to my face, whips out a twenty and stuffs it into my shirt pocket, saying, "A friend told me to put this in the poor box, but I'd rather give it to someone who looks like they know what to do with it."

Another time I was in Belltown and on the street, so I visited the Denny Regrade Park at Third and Bell to relax a while. Right after I sat down in the park, two strangers sat down next to me and struck up a friendly conversation. They were openly passing a beer back and forth and generously offered me some.

I know what you're all thinking. You're thinking that, OK, maybe most homeless people aren't alcoholics, but Dr. Wes has a liver named Intrepid and for sure he's a lush and there's no way he would turn down free malt liquor in the park.

But there IS a way! For one thing, I hate the taste of malt liquor. I prefer lager, thank you. For another, I can't enjoy drinking any alcoholic beverages openly in a park with police looking over my shoulder. I told my new friends that they were at risk of being busted. Sure enough, only a minute later two security officers pedaled up and poured out the bottle. So the guys decided to leave the park and I tagged along so we could continue talking.

We were not twenty feet out of the park when an older guy with a torn T-shirt saw us and said, "You guys look like you could use some beer. Here, take this ten and get yourselves a couple of pitchers."

Yes, there is hope for humanity!

Beer, Not Guns

At the recent Urban Rest Stop Panel Discussion, it was asked, "How may we bring the homeless ... spiritually into the general community?" Being homeless myself this is a little out of my jurisdiction. But if you ask "How may we bring the NON-homeless spiritually into the general human community (including the homeless community) ?" I would have an answer. I could call upon all the homeless to take part in the `ADOPT A NIMBY!' program.

The idea of `ADOPT A NIMBY!' is simple but effective. As wayward NIMBYs are identified each becomes eligible for `adoption' by a volunteer homeless sponsor. The sponsor only commits to writing `their' NIMBY at least once a month. Personal visits are encouraged but not required; we at `ADOPT A NIMBY!' understand that not every homeless sponsor can comfortably meet with NIMBYs. But it has been shown that as little as one letter a month from a homeless person enables most NIMBYs to identify spiritually with the homeless, and thus rejoin the human race as a whole.

Due to high demand, certain eligible NIMBYs on our list can not be exclusively adopted. For example, everyone wants a piece of Norm Rice these days.

Speaking of NIMBYism:

Mark Sidran, Seattle's City Attorney of No-Sitting Ordinance notoriety, reportedly now wants 40-ouncers of beer banned from the shelves of some city stores. One morning, as I drank my 1st coffee of the day at the Counter Culture Cafe in Belltown, they were playing a Johnny Cash CD. This is the result:

So You'll Ban My 40-Ouncers, Mark?

(Look for it on Johnny Cash's next album!)

NOTE: I do not personally drink 40-ouncers in public nor do I endorse such
behavior. Like most people I drink 40-ouncers indoors.

So you'll ban my 40-ouncers, Mark?

So I can't drink them in the park?

Then you oughta get this into your head -

I know what I'll be doin' instead:

I'll just get me two 22's Mark

and I'll name them each after you.

I'll just buy me two 22's

that's what I'll do.

Before I go on, let me clarify, that that's BEER not GUNS - I don't want to be your next Jason Sprinkle, thank you.

So then you'd ban my 22's, Mark?

So I can't drink them in the park?

Well there's something you need to hear, Mark -

I'm not as helpless as I appear

I'll just get me a 6-pack of beer, Mark

that's 6 twelves for 72.

I'll just buy me a 6-pack of beer

that's what I'll do.

So you'd ban my 6-packs of beer, Mark?

So I can't drink them in the park?

Well there's something you need to get straight

- and next election'll be too late -

When the homeowners can't buy beer, Mark

they're gonna blame it all on you.

And they'll cheer as they vote you out

that's what they'll do.

Speaking of Haiku

Speaking of haiku

The consummate poet al-

-ways has one or two.

If you don't recall what a haiku is check out my first:

CHECK IT OUT

or Opus 3, My First Haiku

First: five syllables

Second: seven syllables

Last: five syllables.

Cool huh? O.K., here's one more haiku to whet haiku-appetites, one which I'm sure will be well-received by all your "poetry-cognoscenti." Like many great poems it seeks the Universal in the Particular. It is after all that only by staring unflinchingly at each "pixel" of our reality in this world that we can create a gestalt of our other-than-realities in this world, such as the Universal Objective. So have some gestalt on me!

The Beer Drinker's Haiku

or Opus 5, My First Haiku with Content

H! A! I! K! U!

Don't be drinking all the brew!

Or you WILL upchuck!

Having surmised my views on the Seattle Commons plan Peter Powers, a local building contractor, writes:

Dear Selfish Ex-homeless Jerk -

Let me explain something to you and your kind about the Seattle Commons. We
are not trying to "make people homeless". For every apartment we lay waste,
we will build a new "low income" apartment to replace it. So you see, our
goal is not to increase the total number of homeless but instead to pass the
experience of homelessness to people who haven't already had it. You've had
your chance to be homeless; now let's see some other deadbeats and losers hit
the streets!

But - just to show you I'm a nice guy - here's a poem you can stick in your
"column":

I'm not a bad person you know,
I'm just a guy seeking to grow.
But messing up lives
By leveling dives
Fulfills all my needs to get dough.

I believe you, Peter. But next time could you please keep to a hundred words or less? THANKS!! I have needs, too!

And THANKS!! to you, Reader, for reading. Read next month, and learn something about the poet's craft.