COURT JESTERINGS
               With h. brown
                
                h. "Court Jester" brown 
                 Photo(s) by  
Luke Thomas
               
              Court Jester rubs shoulders with Senator John 
                Kerry 
              By h. 
                brown 
              February 3, 2008
              Karen Babbitt is 40 and I don't know anyone 
                (that's a good thing) 
              I also didn't know anyone, more or less, at the Obama rally yesterday 
                morning in the rain following Karen's 40th birthday beer bash 
                at the Temple Bar, following Salon in the rain where I knew everyone 
                and they all voted to move the whole thing to the 3rd district 
                for my campaign for supervisor. 'Cookylooky' says everyone knows 
                me there - and that's a start - but where to start on this column? 
              You having fun? I really am. It would seem that involuntary celibacy 
                does not condemn one to being a miserable shrew like Arthur Evans, 
                but as I look at the ladies from 18 to 80, sex is never off my 
                mind. Thanks for that, ladies. Ah, the ladies. 
              Arm candy and door passes 
              Popular or threatening guys will do too. No sex, but who you 
                walk into an event with is recorded by all and the size of their 
                political balls is definitely relevant. I talked Aimee Iura into 
                coming to Karen's birthday party and she turns heads. 
              So does Angela Alioto. As does young Bob Brigham with his Montana 
                steel-toed boots and flannel shirt and hunting vest (I tell everyone 
                - from a distance - that he's a bounty hunter and has been showing 
                their picture around the crowd) 
 I like to be with the in-crowd. 
                Shamelessly. 
              Luke 
                Thomas, Elaine 
                Santore and I took the Fog City contingent to Babbitt's party 
                and Aimee came along and everyone thought she was a new flame 
                for me and I wish it were true and I let them think it and build 
                my myth. But it isn't, and that's OK because she's an old friend 
                and they last longer in my life anyway. Probably the same with 
                you. 
              Aimee left early, but we hard-core political junkies went on 
                and on through countless pitchers of beer and discovered that 
                the mural on the wall across from us was a Charlie Lennon original. 
              Charlie's an old friend and Luke took pictures of us standing 
                all under and around it and I'm supposed to watch the Super Bowl 
                tomorrow with Charlie and Patrick Cassidy ('Journey to Bohemia' 
                author) with Luke and Bob at my SRO where I have bad TV reception. 
                
                h. brown, Elaine Santore, Karen Babbitt, Sasha, and Bob Brigham 
              But it doesn't matter because we all end up painting the walls 
                and hanging posters and taking turns at the keyboard of the computer 
                that John Donofrio gave me and Phil and Marc keep running. I do 
                YouTube videos of old tunes and Bob knows every political site 
                on the web and Luke makes everyone prove everything they say and 
                I always phone Sue Vaughan to tell her that there are the '3 or 
                more men talking politics' quorum that triggers an automatic call 
                to a rabid feminist to invite someone with ovaries to hear from 
                the other side, and she says not to say 'dear' or 'honey' or 'babe' 
                and gives us her blessing to continue. 
              Is your life anything like that? I thought not. Too bad for you, 
                buddy. I mean, honey. I mean, babe. I mean, dear. Why don't guys 
                complain if I call them all 'dude' and 'stud' and 'bro' and 'cowboy,' 
                and other equally sexist characterizations? 
              You following any of this? It's a column about Barack Obama. 
              It was a rainy day in London 
              I don't know my place. Never did. It wasn't London either. Everett 
                Middle School was where we ended up, but not before youngsters, 
                Brigham and Thomas had their coffee to combat their hangovers 
                from the previous night's feting of Karen's 40th. 
               I used my own tried and true hangover remedy and polished off 
                half of a half pint of Ancient Age as we trudged through the early 
                morning drizzle working our way up Market from U.N. Plaza, to 
                the incredible complex that is Everett Middle School sitting on 
                Church Street on the border that straddles the Mission and the 
                Castro. Man, what a building! 
              Daly was standing out in front collecting signatures for his 
                petition to counter the Lennar takeover of every place every black 
                person lives in the Bayview and Hunters Point. Their supervisor, 
                Sophie Maxwell, could care less. 
                
                Supervisor Chris Daly collects his 1000th signature outside Everett 
                Middle School. 
              I gots lots of problems with Daly. Oh, I love the guy. He's the 
                Progressives' clean-up hitter for the last couple of years. He's 
                our thousand-plus yards running back, or all-pro quarterback, 
                but I'm the grouchy old coach who is never satisfied and keep 
                'em all humble. All of 'em. 
              While he gets his ass kissed all around, I come up front and 
                kicked him in the balls over the Progressive (?) supes baseless 
                attack on Dick Sklar. 
              Debra Walker approaches with a friend and she gives me a quick 
                hug. 
              Ahhh, San Francisco! I walk across the street to get perspective 
                and Everett is something to look at. They didn't spare labor or 
                money when the City and the Nation were poorest ant built places 
                like this and Mission High and so many other structures. 
              The columns that support the center edifice of the school façade 
                is flanked by 2 wings that each contain a courtyard of 70-year-old 
                palm trees 
 front façade is supported by fabulous 
                Corinthian columns that run around 40 feet or more into the air, 
                made of some kind of jeweled terrazzo, capped by carefully carved 
                crowns and flanked by an assortment of perfectly balanced Spanish 
                tile artwork that would draw a nod from Michelangelo. 
              A woman approaches me for an autograph. I ask her if she's crazy. 
                Turns out she is. Oh well. I cross back across the street smoking 
                a cigar and attack Supervisor Ross Mirkarimi who forthrightly 
                answers all my questions about the Progressive board cabal oncoming 
                attack on Sklar, but it's all 'off-the-record.' 
              Sklar rebuilt the collapsed sewer system in Hunters Point and 
                the cable car system before Daly was even born. And, lots of other 
                things. None of the Supes ever built a tree house. They presume 
                to judge Dick Sklar, the guy who rebuilt the U.S. airports infrastructure, 
                as well as the bridges, power plants and water systems of Bosnia? 
               
              I count 390 incandescent light bulbs in the 11 classic chandeliers 
                hanging over the perfectly proportioned auditorium that seats 
                fifteen hundred or so and is packed for the arrival of John Kerry 
                who is here to inspire us. A woman standing next to me says the 
                lighting is bad and she can't see. 
                
                
              George Santayana said that the fulfillment of the expectation 
                of pattern is the essential ingredient in any aesthetic experience, 
                and he's damned right. Whomever the hell designed Everett has 
                read Santayana. Proportion is most important in the human form 
                and the same it true for architecture. Everyone knows that. I 
                don't even want to get into the ornate mosaic trim that separates 
                wall and ceiling throughout the buildings. Let me just say that 
                it's beyond the grasp of Donald Fisher. 
              "Martin Luther King was 24 in Montgomery!" 
              I finally learned something of interest from John Kerry. King 
                was 33 when he did his 'I have a dream' speech in D.C. I hadn't 
                realized that either and Kerry gave a good speech. I think Obama 
                is going to win the Democrat's nomination going away and I hope 
                he chooses Al Gore as his running mate. Al can't win his home 
                state of Tennessee, it's true, but that just gives us another 
                place to dump the nuclear waste that is mostly created there anyway. 
                
                Senator John Kerry 
              Did I get off message? Not possible. I don't do messages. Just 
                rants. So, who was there for Obama? Barry Hermanson was passing 
                out campaign literature for his U.S. House run for Lantos' seat. 
                Mark Sanchez and Jane Kim were also there and Senator Kerry says 
                that Thomas Jefferson was 33 when he wrote the Declaration of 
                Independence. Is he trying to make me feel like a bigger failure 
                than I already am? 
                
                Standing for Change: Supervisors Chris Daly, Ross Mirkarimi, 
                School Board President Mark Sanchez and School Board Member Jane 
                Kim. 
              There's a 'truck' out front (hook and ladder 6) and I stop and 
                talk to the guys a bit. I was a firefighter for 5 years back when 
                Lincoln was president and have a continued interest in the craft. 
                Their rig is an 85-footer (straight-bed), which is the same design 
                I rode back in the day. 
              They don't have a booster tank (500 gallons of baffled water 
                hooked to inch and a half chemical hose for quick rescues - the 
                SF hills preclude that) and they are there as Standard Operating 
                Procedure when large crowds are gathered. They don't know why 
                there are no cops. Their union president, John Hanley is there 
                alongside D.A. Kamala Harris to endorse Obama. 
                
                San Francisco Firefighters union chief John Hanley 
                does his best Howard 
                Dean impression. 
                
                District Attorney Kamala Harris (center) listens in on an impromptu 
                coversation 
                between Vietnam veteran Kerry and a member of the U.S. Army. 
              The rain continues to patter down. The firefighters won't talk 
                politics with me but are free with comments on their ride and 
                the rain. It brings back memories of the days I rode one of these 
                things to huge fires and even one train wreck. I don't push em. 
              The Grateful Dead, MoveOn.org, the LA Times, La Opinion, and 
                Ethel Kennedy endorse Obama within minutes of each other. The 
                Grateful Dead have scheduled a reunion concert at the Warfield 
                on Monday to support Barack. The tickets sell out in 20 minutes. 
                Brigham somehow managed to get tickets.  
              Luke wants to photograph me at the head of the Deadhead's line 
                that always forms for these things. I've evolved into a kind of 
                FogCityJournal.com mascot, with teeth. The Dead do little for 
                me. Too complicated. I like screaming vocalists, soaring guitars 
                and loud drums, and bourbon. 
              We retraced our tracks back through the rain to the Tenderloin 
                stopping at a little diner at Market and Pearl where I'd always 
                wanted to eat. I skip the food while Luke and Bob chow down while 
                I content myself with a couple of Bloody Mary's. 
                
                h. brown marvels at Kerry's speech with Bob Brigham of Calitics 
                fame 
                while waiting for a bevy of breakfast Bloody Mary's. 
              Life is good and some customers engage us about the Obama rally. 
                Two black lesbians with a little girl are animated in their support 
                of the junior Illinois senator. A lady abandons her counter seat 
                and Thomas gives her a rundown of the event as she beams and goes 
                off uplifted to do her laundry. 
              Back at Casa Brown we drink beer and bourbon and surf from one 
                internet political site to the next, including MySpace.com/MTV's 
                presidential candidates forum. 
              The rain continues to fall and it is a load off my mind. Old 
                people worry about drought more than young people do. Luke partially 
                deflates the Cadillac air mattress that Hope Johnson gave me last 
                week and turns it into a comfortable recliner. 
              I settle into it and pass out. When I awaken the guys are gone 
                and the daylight has turned to dark. I look out the window. It's 
                raining. I open a beer. 
              Obama for president  
              Happy birthday, Karen 
              Patriots 50, Giants 7 
              Niners 0 
              -- 
              
                 
              Permalink 
              h. brown is a 62 year-old keeper of sfbulldog.com, 
                an eclectic site featuring a half dozen City Hall denizens. h 
                is a former sailor, firefighter, teacher, nightclub owner, and 
                a hard-living satirical muckraker. Email 
                h at h@ludd.net. 
               
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