holidaze

San Francisco, nine years ago, Christmas Eve, 1996. It was a damp, cool evening, but far from the bitter winter chill so familiar to me from my former life on the east coast.

Mallory, Pat, and I were stuck with each other for the holiday. I had been home at the end of October for my sister's wedding and could not get the time off from work to fly back to New York again. That night the three of us were the renegade orphans of the City by the Bay, and together we created our own unorthodox version of Christmas.

We lived out on Post Street in a "limbo" area that I cheekily referred to as "Lowest Pacific Heights." More accurately, it was on the outskirts of the Richmond and the Inner Sunset. Regardless, it was December 24, and in lieu of sitting around the flat and drinking away our holiday spirit, we hopped MUNI to downtown. We started out with food at Sotano Grill, a Mexican restaurant on Powell near Union Square. I recall that the staff was happy to serve a trio of wandering Christmas Eve dipsomaniacs full of trenchant glee. Yes, we enjoyed the food even as we got lit on a couple pitchers of margaritas.

From there it was an uphill stumble to the Tonga Room at the elegant Fairmont Hotel (950 Mason Street). That was a trip. The Tonga Room features indoor thunderstorms, an easy-listening cover band on a floating stage, and strong, fruity (and pricey) drinks served in imitation coconut half-shells. It was definitely not the hip scene, but for Mal, Pat, and I, the Tonga Room provided a delightful evening of unhip merriment. We sat at a "lakeside" table where we were occasionally lightly sprayed by the rain as the female Asian singer and her piano-playing companion entertained us from the floating stage.

Afterward, full of Christmas spirits and Mexican food, we clambered onto the California-1 MUNI bus and headed toward home. But before that, if I remember correctly (and I might not after the heavy alcohol consumption), we rode the Fairmont's glass elevator up and from above we caught a glorious Christmas Eve view of our city.

stoppage

The trains have stopped.

Transport Workers Union, Local 100 has abandoned the people of New York City. The union leaders suck like leeches. The union members adhere to a sheep-like herd mentality and obey their masters call to strike.

This union revolts me with their irrational greed. But, to a degree, I am almost relieved they went on strike, and I'll tell you why. If they hadn't, it would have given them more of an excuse for continued slipshod subway and bus service, defended with a rationalization along the lines of, "Hey, we didn't go on strike when we should have, so you riders shut yer traps about the shoddy service." Now they have no excuse. They have also managed to corrode much (if any) sympathy the riding public had for their so-called plight. Ask anyone forced to walk to work this morning in bitter weather on this final day of autumn.

Now, the suits at the MTA are by no means saints. As a matter of fact, they have much to answer for regarding questionable financal record-keeping, deficits that raise fares, and a surprise surplus. But the MTA did concede to nearly every demand the union had, and offered ample raises over the next three years. These TWU workers have it much better than many -- not only in this city, but across the country (as far as benefits, salary, pensions, and retirement age are concerned).

MTA Average Salaries:

Bus operator - $62,551 annual, $23.65 hourly
Bus maintainer - $68,152 annual, $25.85 hourly
Train Operator - $62,438 annual, $25.02 hourly
Station Agent - $50,720 annual, $21.91 hourly
Conductor - $53,959 annual, $22.01 hourly
Cleaner - $45,596 annual, $20.39 hourly

So, to the leadership of the TWU, continue to whine and wring your hands. Stalk the picket lines uttering inane slogans. Claim there's a dire lack of respect for MTA employees. Your television spots on New York 1, meant to invoke commiseration, are simply ludicrous.

I will not argue that, yes, there should be a contract, but there is also no question that the TWU had a suitable offer from the MTA. So look beyond your own blighted, vainglorious posturing and see that police and teachers (also two professions that, unfortunately, lack proper respect) continue with their duties to society whether there is a contract in place or not. And here's the absurdity - they make less than MTA employees.

So TWU, you've had your moment of infantile apostasy. Congratulations.

Now get back to work.

wisdom

“For those who believe in God, most of the big questions are answered. But for those of us who can't readily accept the God formula, the big answers don't remain stone-written. We adjust to new conditions and discoveries. We are pliable. Love need not be a command, or faith a dictum. I am my own God. We are here to unlearn the teachings of the church, state, and our educational system. We are here to drink beer. We are here to kill war. We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that Death will tremble to take us." – Charles Bukowski

Docs

As anyone who knows me will attest, not only am I a snappy dresser, I am also an arbiter of high-fashion.

So, I declare now, for all who see this blog to know, that I am singlehandedly responsible for the resurgence in the popularity of Dr. Martens footwear -- especially since I got my new pair of boots last week (8 Eyelet Boot Leather: Greasy is a full-grain leather with integral oiling which gives the surface an oily feel and robust nature).


Okay, I know, I'm giving myself far too much credit, even though I've worn Docs for the last twelve years of my life. There is no way I could ever be responsible for a fashion trend. Contrary to what I wrote above, if anything, I'm anti-fashion trends. This might be one reason why I still wear Docs a decade after they allegedly became passé.

But in the past two weeks I've seen Docs on more people than I have have in the past two to three years. And why not? They're comfortable (once you break 'em in, that is), and always stylish with that yellow stitching, the Air Wair tags, and the air-cushion sole. They're even still a little (dare I say it?)... edgy.

And perfect for winter in New York City.