Blogging can be dangerous, like a brutal mixed martial arts boxing match that gives the public blood and gore. No school teacher’s red pencil. No editor over the shoulder. Even the spell checker is a non-human, and it can be tripped up, and here I am, going for it, first draft out the gate...
Like they are in Stockton, where those brutal boxers are going at it, and, of all people, tickling a San Francisco sports TV anchor gal, who gushes, “Much more barbaric than any sport I’ve ever seen!” This from the center of PC? I guess... Stockton is the place Ringling allegedly chose over San Francisco — if what a ticket seller at the Cow Palace on the phone keeps telling me. Standard excuse. “They wanted to try Stockton.” Good choice, perhaps. In Stockton, I think a pachyderm on pointe would be cheered; not jeered as it would in the city by the golden gate, where all things modern — including bloody brutal boxing matches — are peachy fine, cause, well, they are so cutting edge...
San Francisco is a city without a decent amusement park; it does have trendy Pier 39, where my sister, recently in from Omaha for a visit, wanted to go, in search of chimes. Seals not home that day. Tourists everywhere. The “F” line streetcar out there was so crowded, folks were told to crash the back door without paying. And all of us who had lined up and paid had to suffer. How brutally insensitive...
Barbaric boxing matches and other “extreme sports” give the public what it once got at the Roman Coliseum, and may again — if a band of ambitious promoters wanting to revive Circus Maximus have their way.. If Rome says no, they might try Stockton ... ‘Ya see, though the circus as we know it may pass into sawdust oblivion, its primal parts, trust me, kids, will find other venues in which to thrive... If the “circus” goes ballet, its daring humans may go skate board or martial arts, or be fitted for the gladiator show on TV — is it still on?.... So far, spelling probably horrible. I only promised you first draft. Are you still with me? Sister Kathy and I, up in Santa Rosa at the County Fair, took a chance on the dark ride; she was spooked by a skeleton that surprised her, jumping out in her direction. Ride very short. I walked through a spooky fun house; passageways too narrow for my sister, who stayed out on the midway. I should thank my luck stars for getting out alive. About that time where the carnival played (we later learned), a young kid was gang stabbed. Injured, not killed. Security check at front gate unable to keep young thugs at bay... All folks patted down. Hoods still find a way. This in Santa Rosa; no town is safe or serene anymore...
San Francisco, or as they call it “The City” reminds me of an aging madam, nearly stumbling in her vanity, desperate to be wanted. “Adore me. Adore me!” And so the crowds come to gawk at her, to sample her rare geographical charms, and they all end up in just another half-baked amusement park called Pier 39... No stabbing that day, far as a I know. Here in Oakland, don’t know about last night. Missed the body count on the ten o’clock news... And soon I’m off to the tea shop. Such gentle civility over there. Maybe it, too, just a facade. A facade, nonetheless, to believe in — as long as it believes in me...Anybody still in the seats? Hey, I don’t get paid for this.... I think of it as typing practice, just as long as I don’t fall off ...
[p.s. no, i can't spell that well; my spell checker SCREAMED for equal time]
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