_ _ CK _ FF Abbreviated Vocabulary!

Cali, San Fran, J Lo, P Diddy? What the hell?  What’s with the abbreviations? Can't we just say the damn word? 

"Hey, congrats bro, happy b-day! How's San Fran? Is Cali cool, or what?”  Are we so lazy that we can't simply say "Congratulations?" Say that crap to me and you’re likely to get an abbreviated punch in the nose. 

Until his passing in 1997, the great Herb Caen shot down anyone that used "San Fran" instead of San Francisco.  If he were around today he would have a lot of shooting down to do as “San Fran” seems to have become the standard reference.  Watch any ESPN broadcast, and if they get around to saying something about the west coast, Ken or Barbie will invariably refer to our city as "San Fran" which drives me crazy.  There is no such place as San Fran. Never has been, never will be.  

Words, language, description, phrasing — all are under attack by the infiltration of social media.  It started with those pre-teens who created a new language in the confined space of their flip phones. Then Twitter came along and limited us to 140 characters. Otherwise little negative red numbers show up and cut you off.  

I know 140 characters, I’ve served with 140 characters, and you, Senator Twitter, are not one of them. 

Where does it end? Refrigeration made humans far more susceptible to food poisoning, changing the course of physical evolution. Will the impact of social media be another example of social evolution directing physical evolution? Will our brains recede like our hairlines? Flattened, barren wastelands where texture and meaning once flowed through our synapses like a lover's fingers through our once lustrous locks?

I say fuck off abbreviated vocabulary!  Take your San Fran, Cali and IDK, and stick it up your arse where the sun don't shine! 

Now doesn't that sound a lot better than SIUYAWTSDS? 

  

Note:  With thanks to my late, great friend Robert Cook, who frequently told me where to stick it in many different and creative ways. RIP bro.

Allow Me to Introduce Myself

~

Now that I've insulted the majority of my six followers with my remarks about the motives of the Tea Party, I'd like to take a moment and tell you what I'm going to write about in my blog. I know, I know. That should have been the topic of my first column, but Sarah Palin and the Tea Baggers were just too juicy to pass up.

To give you some context I need to tell you a little about myself and my personal influences. While all of you know me, some know more about me than others, but none of you know all there is to know about me. So please indulge me while I tell you about one part of my life that none of you know about. How's that for an introduction?

I grew up in the small Central Valley town of Newman, about as far from anything you might consider cosmopolitan or current. In the mid-1960's Newman had a population of about 2,000 people (we outnumbered the Tea Party convention, but there wasn't a $500 fee required to live in Newman), a typical rural community kept alive by dairy farms and agriculture. The world of Newman was the Main Street coffee shop, high school sports, church, and not much else. The outside world was not of much concern to the people of Newman, but it was a great place to raise your family and live the simple life.

We were a typical middle class family, with two loving parents working hard to support a family of five. We didn't have much, but then we didn't know we didn't have much, so we thought we had all we needed.

One thing we did have growing up was the San Francisco Chronicle delivered to our house each morning. This was a small luxury that my mom afforded herself and she read the newspaper front page to back page every morning. My mom spent some of her teen years living in Berkeley where she learned to love the Chronicle and its many feature columnists, so she maintained a daily subscription all her life.

I fondly recall sitting at our kitchen table with her and exploring the outside world through the words of the Chronicle's unique columnists. Herb Caen told the story of The City everyday; Charles McCabe tackled everything from politics to hangovers; Art Hoppe skewered all with his sharp, acerbic style; and Stanton Delaplane wrote whimsically about life from his Telegraph Hill apartment. My mom and I shared the newspaper before I went to school, and I read those columns almost daily.

Through the portal provided by Caen, McCabe, Hoppe, and Delaplane, I witnessed another world far different from my life in Newman. But most importantly, reading those columns has given me lifelong memories of those mornings with my mom -- she reading and reminiscing of times past; me reading and dreaming of a future beyond the streets of Newman. I can still hear her laughter from behind the pages of the newspaper, emanating through the waffs of her cigarette smoke as we sat at the kitchen table together.

I read the columns of Caen, McCabe, Hoppe, and Delaplane until the day each one stopped writing or died. I remember learning of the death of Charles McCabe on May 1, 1983 and feeling a deep loss, as if a favorite uncle had passed away. I have a book of his columns that I still read from time to time.

So now you know something about me that you didn't know before. And now you know what I want to do with this blog - live out my fantasy of being a topical columnist like my heroes from the SF Chronicle of old. Now I don't believe for a second that I'm in the league of those titans of the Chronicle (I love stating the obvious!), but if you'll take the time to read my blog, I'll do my best to provide you with a blog worthy of your time.

I hope that I'll get your comments about the content of my blog, but I also welcome your comments about the writing, format, prose, etc. Your constructive criticism is welcome!

Thanks for reading this far down the page. I hope you finish here often.