Category: Urban Life

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Bob and I have two cats and I sometimes feel like all I do is tell them no. Cisco wants out doors. No. Chloe wants to scratch the furniture. No. Cisco wants to eat the food off of my plate. No. Chloe wants to scavenge the kitchen counter for leftover. All they hear from me is no.

What worries me is that it makes absolutely no sense to them. For example, why can’t Cisco drag the chicken bones across the kitchen counter and then drop it on the floor so he can eat it. I was obviously done with the bones, why can’t he just pick the bones for whatever he can find. Why is he getting all hysterical about it?

Or why is it all right for Chloe to scratch the cat scratchers that Bob has so artfully arrayed around the house but not the couch and the chairs that are just a juicy targets. Why is one scratchable and the other not? And how, a poor cat, supposed to the difference.

They just run and hide when we raise our voices but I am sure they are thinking WTF. This is what animals do why are these two humans such pains in the asses.

I am surprised that they are both still civil with us. But they are.

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I have been in San Francisco on several occasions when a nearly nude man will be walking around with the barest of fig leafs leaving his genitals clearly visible. My San Francisco friends informed me that this is perfectly legal and happened all of the time. I tried to confirm the legality when I started to write this blog because I know that things are changing in the city but was left with a lot of ambiguous information. From what I could learn, it isn’t exactly legal and it isn’t exactly illegal.

My San Francisco friends supported these men’s rights to walk around nearly nude. They thought that they should be free to do what they want. I was uncomfortable with both the naked man and their response. At the time I was unable to enunciate my disagreement. After thinking about for some time, years in fact, I think I have figured out what I want to say.

I knew if I had small children I wouldn’t want them to see it. Not because the child would be traumatized either. I am sure that most children wouldn’t even remember it happening the next day. On the other hand, it might require some awkward explanation on why the man is walking around the streets of a city naked. Like is it all right for me to walk around naked?

Well, it isn’t all right to walk around naked in most places. It might not even be all right in San Francisco. It seems more like San Franciscan cops have given up on enforcing the law as opposed to it actually being legal which is a nuanced position for parents to make. Yes it is a rule Johnny but it is too difficult to enforce so people don’t get in trouble for doing it. Does that make sense to you? Of course, it doesn’t.

And yes this is small potatoes. In a city like San Fransisco there are bigger problems for the cops to deal with. It is a nuisance more than a crime. It is one of the hundreds of small annoyances that people in a city encounter. It requires self policing from individuals and that is what isn’t happening.

There is an extremely small number of San Franciscans who want to walk around with their dicks hanging out. I hardly ever see it. The mass of San Franciscans I have seen almost always have their clothes on. I am talking 99.99 %. It is irritating that this infinitesimally small number of people feel the need to indulge their exhibitionist tendencies for the rest of us to see. It isn’t very neighborly.

There are plenty of places — nude beaches, nudist camps, your own home — you can walk around nude. And then there are also plenty of places where you don’t. You wouldn’t walk into a school nude. Or a restaurant. Or a museum. Or a church. So, even the most free thinking of individuals set limits to when people should walk around naked. The argument then is where to draw the line.

Living in big cities means you are around thousands of people with different ideas of how to behave. We should try to get along as best we can. This means I agree to not being able to do everything I want to do. So, for example, I don’t play music loudly. Now, I may want to play my music loudly but I won’t because I know that I might bother my neighbors. I want to get along with my neighbors so I don’t listen to music loudly.

These men need to face the fact that some people might not want to see their junk and keep that in mind when they go on one of their strolls. Being a good neighbor isn’t that hard, and I’m willing to give up these really minor freedoms to live in a big city. Because I really enjoy living in a big city and, to continue to enjoy this experience, I want to be a good neighbor. I wish everyone would.

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For most of this summer, I struggled with a spider on our side porch. It all started one day when I noticed the string that turns on our porch light was out of reach for some reason. I pulled it down so I could reach it better. A few days later I noticed that it was again out of reach and I wondered what was happening to the string. This was when I noticed that the string had been incorporated into a spider’s web.

At first I thought I am not going to let some spider beat me. I pulled the string out of her web but the spider kept spinning the string back into web. Every morning I would take it down and the next morning the string would be back in a spider web. This went on for a week or so before I decided I would let the spider have her way. It was only a little stretch for me and I imagined it was a bit more work for her to spin her web and pull the string into it. I was being silly to fight with her about. So I surrendered.

Every so once in awhile I would need the porch light on so I would pull the string as gently as I could so I wouldn’t yank it out of the web. Occasionally, despite my best efforts to be gentle, I accidentally would pull the string out of the web. But the spider would repair it the next day and the string was where she wanted it.

Until the other day. The string dangled freely outside her web which was no longer translucent but grey and old. Day after day, I would check to see if she had reattached the string into her web and each day I was disappointed to see it hanging there.

She hadn’t returned to her web. I told myself stories. She didn’t need the string any longer or she moved to a new location but I knew she was probably dead. Spiders don’t live much longer than a year or so and it had been at least six months since I observed her work with the porch light string. She had probably come to the natural end of her life. It has bummed me out nonetheless.

I was of Katherine Mansfield short story “The Fly” where a man who lost his son in World War I struggles with a fly caught in his inkwell. Each time the fly gets out, the man puts more ink on it and roots for the fly to struggle free from his dilemma. He keeps doing it until the fly eventually surrenders to its fate and dies — upsetting the man.

I am at a certain age when people have begun to die around me at a frightening pace. Three people who I know in just six months. Others are getting sick and taking a long time to recover. Some, I surmise, just aren’t going to get better. Then there is the daily reminder of my own diminishing abilities — not hearing everything, pains in the knee, getting winded when climbing stairs, trouble seeing while driving at night and most of this is not going to get better. Only worse. Yet we, for the most part, carry on.

In the meantime I am waiting for my spider or one of her children to return.