In recent weeks, I have completed a few more items on my 101 List.

On June 9th, Elizabeth surprised me with #75, a rock-climbing class at Boulderdash. The picture at right shows me traversing the room, but we also learned vertical climbing and belaying. We got a great workout and had a lot of fun throughout the evening! I was proud of myself too for successfully climbing to the top of their highest 45′ wall.

On June 14th, I did #92. I’d written the item as drinking a small bottle of tequila with the worm, but, really, it’s more accurate to say it was a large bottle (consumed over two months) of mezcal with the worm gusano rojo (commonly called a worm, but really a Hypopta agavis moth caterpillar). It doesn’t matter what it is. I drank and ate it. And, since it didn’t turn into the Poltergeist II tequila worm vomit creature after I swallowed it, all is good.

Finally, I’m counting as completed #20 which dealt with making improvements to the backyard. I have a new tenant in the back house who just installed a patio dining table set (and a gazebo with netting over it), thus taking the place of where I would have built some kind of permanent wood overhang and sitting area. I still might do that eventually, but with this new outdoor set there, it’s no longer a priority, thus giving me a chance to pay off the other construction loans.

pictures by Brian “Rosie” Rosendahl

I moved into this house in August 2006, at which time I received a letter from the City of Los Angeles that cited the guesthouse as being illegal. I could have turned it back into a garage, but I chose the route of legalizing it.

It was a long and very expensive process, but the good news is that the place went beyond guesthouse to now being defined as a “second family dwelling”, complete with its own unique street address. I also completely renovated it from being an empty cement shell to now being a comfortable one-bedroom home, all up to code and featuring new appliances. Thus, the renovation is completed.

Because it’s now legally a separate dwelling, this also counts as a third investment property. In fact, the project has already raised the entire property value to more than what I actually put into it, and that will only go higher when California property values eventually go back up.

To celebrate all this, as well as to celebrate my 31st birthday from April 15th, and my four-year anniversary of moving to Los Angeles from March 17th, we threw a party last Saturday night, and that completes the other item on my 101 List.

Cash’s version of the song is included on the American 2: Unchained and The Legend of Johnny Cash albums, both of which I’ve had on my iPod and iTunes.

As a location scout, I liked its tongue-twisting list of fun North and South American place names (which are particularly difficult to sing when drunk on martinis and beer), so I thought it would make a good addition to my travel sections.

Thus, I just added it to the lower-right corner of this page.

According to that chart, it looks like, as of April 2008, I’ve been to about 41.3% of the places. That’s pretty good, considering that these are generally not the most popular destination places.

Now, I just have to book my tickets for, uh, Diamantina, Gravelbourg, or Chicopee, and, I’ll have one more!

Technically, though, this role was not actually a speaking part, but I am still considering the item finished for three reasons.

First, it was a featured part for which I had to grow my beard for six weeks, go in to the studio backlot for several wardrobe fittings, and sit through some unique make-up applications.

Second, this role is significant in the film because I’m portraying a #######, and how many people get to say that? As a fan of this movie too, I can say that it doesn’t get much cooler than this! I am extremely grateful to the director, producers, and assistant directors who made this once-in-a-lifetime experience possible.

Third, the experience reminded me of how much I really do not enjoy acting. Yes, one of my minors in college was Dramatic Arts and I did get my start in the 1990s in extras casting, but I moved on when I realized my lack of talent. I also discovered other careers paths that were far more rewarding to me, i.e. location scouting and managing.

As supportive as I am of my friends who act, it’s just not something for me. I don’t like the lifestyle and daily routines. I don’t like spending so much time on set (as a Location Manager, our time there is split 50-50 since we’re also out dealing with neighbors and other issues). And I really just don’t have the desire. As Rush said in their classic song Limelight, “Living in a fish-eye lens // Caught in the camera eye // I have no heart to lie // I can’t pretend a stranger // Is a long-awaited friend.” Yup, that’s me.

If a speaking part comes up someday, I might take it (as long as it doesn’t require too much emotional range or ability), but I’m not going to seek it out. I am very, very happy to have appeared in this particular film and that will suit me just fine for well into the future.

It’s as if I’ve achieved the ultimate already, so now I can simply sit back and retire....

NOTE: The paragraph that is censored above is due to confidentiality until after the movie gets released. I’ll be able to write more (and perhaps someday post pictures) after that date eventually arrives.

“Fedoras or Not, Sanfrancisco’s Still the Tops”
by Barry Tompkins, Marin Independent Journal, 24 February 2008.

A friend recently sent me a story written back when men wore a fedora to a baseball game and women wouldn’t dare think of going downtown without gloves and matching purse. It spoke of San Francisco as I remember it — a quirky “town” that held itself to a different standard than Cleveland or Pittsburgh or any other American city for that matter.

I am a born and raised San Franciscan who still thinks there’s something unique about the place, and who wants to reach down an offender’s throat and physically remove his adenoids when a reference is made to “Frisco.” Anyone worth his weight in “It’s-Its” knows that not only isn’t it “Frisco,” it’s not San FRANcisco either. It’s basically one word: Sanfrancisco.

And, while I’m at it, the same is true of Sanazzay, Losgatas and Elsabrantee as well.

Here in “The County” (Marin is acceptable and so is The County — but Marin County is used only by those who still cling to the image of hot tubs and peacock feathers) we have Sanrafell. As soon as you hear “Ra-fa-yell” you know the speaker is either from Guadalajara or has just scored big on his Spanish I grammar final.

I was raised on Cabrillo Street in San Francisco — not terribly far from Arguello. And with all due respect to political correctness, if anyone had referred to either street as “Ca-breeyo” or “Ar-gwayo” they would have been looked upon as someone with the local knowledge of Alf.

San Francisco, to a San Franciscan, is a village. A local is defined by his or her school, and I’m not talking about Harvard or San Francisco State (Which incidentally, is the only “State.” Sonoma, Stanislaus and Hayward must find their own moniker. “State” is only San Francisco State). When a San Franciscan asks what school you went to, he only means what high school did you attend.

If you went to Lowell, you were pretty smart and very likely Jewish or Chinese. Lincoln was the Sunset (never the Sunset District, or Richmond District — just the Sunset or the Richmond). Washington was a melting pot where nobody knew what racism was and everyone co-mingled. If you went to Galileo, you knew every place to eat in North Beach and everywhere in Chinatown you could buy firecrackers. St. Ignatius was Italian Catholics and Sacred Heart was Irish Catholics. Mission and Balboa students were from blue-collar, working-class and sometimes hardscrabble backgrounds where grit was the ticket to life success.

And, as soon as the question, “Where’d you go to school?” was answered, the immediate response was, “Do ya’ know…?”

And you always do.

If a San Franciscan goes to “The Lake,” it is always Tahoe — not Clear or Stow or Berryessa. If he goes to “The River,” it is always the Russian River, never the Sacramento, Petaluma or Feather. “The Beach” was what there was at the end of “The Park.”

Dorothy Parker was right when she said, “There is no there there” in reference to Oakland. To a native San Franciscan, Oakland is a part of the netherland simply referred to as, “Across the Bay.” That would include El Cerrito, San Ramon, Alamo, Danville, Walnut Creek, San Leandro, Hayward and God knows what other burgs might have come along since we last visited. As a true San Franciscan I am proud to tell you I’ve been to Istanbul more times than I’ve been to Walnut Creek.

“The County” is another issue. As I’ve mentioned in this space before, Marin was to a San Franciscan what Oz was to Dorothy and Toto.

A real San Franciscan can usually tell what part of The City you came from just by inflection and speech pattern. If you were born “South of the Slot,” your accent was a dead giveaway. North Beach had its own lingo. And, one person from “The Road” could identify another.

The story my friend sent me reminded me that San Franciscans know that when you refer to an intersection, it’s always 25th and Balboa, or 16th and Mission. Numbered street first. Always. Don’t ask me why — it just is. And you never have to identify Street or Avenue — you just know.

Even though my city, I think, has become something of a transient sort of place where a native is someone who barely remembers life before Gavin Newsom, I think that’s OK. It’s now in the hands of Gen X, or is it Y or Z — or have we started back at A yet?

I wandered into Perry’s on Union Street the other night and it looked just about as it did a generation or so ago, when we spent countless hours solving the world’s ills and sopping up the last drop of chardonnay. Only there was someone else sitting in my seat.

And I think I went to high school with her mom.

Barry Tompkins is a longtime sports broadcaster who lives in Marin. Contact him via lifestyles@marinij.com.

© Marin Independent Journal

#49 — Obtain copies of silent films written by Charles Darnton and learn more about his career. — Over the Christmas break, I watched the new DVD of The Iron Horse, directed by John Ford, which, as far as I know, is the only currently available silent movie that was written by my great-granduncle Charles Darnton. Not too long ago, I also found and photographed his old flat in the Miracle Mile neighborhood. There’s more that I can do eventually (including having another go at the Margaret Herrick Library), but I’m considering this done for now. Charles Darnton, my father’s mother’s father’s sister’s husband, is the only close relative who was significantly involved in the film industry, although this bit of trivia hasn’t helped my career in the slightest!

#51 — Visit the last of the 50 states. — This one is not done yet, but I just visited several new states that I had not fully been to before: Wisconsin, Indiana, Ohio, West Virginia, and Michigan. Thus, I now have only four more states to visit until I’ve been to all of them! By the way, I was just in Charleston, West Virginia, for my 9th Annual New Years Eve Roadtrip.

#96 — Have my dad teach me how to take apart and clean a gun. — While visiting my family in Northern California, I finally completed this item, something that I should have learned how to do a long time ago!

This week, while on my 9th Annual New Years Eve Roadtrip (to Charleston, West Virginia, but I am passing through many other places as well), I went to Petersburg, Kentucky, a suburb of Cincinnati, Ohio, to visit the controversial Creation Museum that opened just this last May.

I’ve been asked why, as a scientifically-minded atheist and skeptic, I would ever want to go there, but I think it’s important that we occasionally look at things from other points of view, if only to better understand other people.

Also, my degree at Cal was in Anthropology, and, really, this was certainly a unique opportunity to study another culture, that of devout Christians who actually believe that Earth is only around six thousand years old.

That aspect of the museum surprised me. I knew that it preached Creationism, but I wasn’t sure whether or not it specifically sided with young earth Creationism. In fact, the museum even went so far as to show that humans and dinosaurs existed at the same time up until shortly after Noah’s Ark and the great flood.

As I progressed through the very impressive displays (some of the people and creatures were actually audio-animatronic, just like at Disneyland), I was comforted at first by the fact that they seemed to be showing both sides: Human Understanding (i.e. science) vs. God’s Word (i.e. the Bible). Fair enough; let people make up their own minds.

That didn’t last long, though. They soon showed that our embracing of science has led us astray and that our abandoning of the scriptures has led to all that they perceive to be “bad” in the world. What a load of crap. The rest of the exhibits were purely in favor of the God’s Word side of things, taking the Bible as literal fact.

Overall, even though their “science” was not really science, and even though just about everything they showed was completely absurd, I didn’t really object all that much to the museum itself. I’m a Libertarian too, meaning that I feel that anybody can do whatever they want as long as they don’t harm anybody else. Thus, if somebody wants to spend $27 million on a stupid museum, that’s their right to do so. Nobody forced me to visit. Nobody forced me to believe.

The thing that did bother me was just how popular the museum appeared to be. Granted, that day might have had an unusual number of visitors, or maybe there were other “spies” like me (unlikely), but, surprisingly, the place was packed. Particularly distressing in that popularity were all the many children who gleefully absorbed all the exhibits. It reminded me of the recent documentary Jesus Camp. These kids were basically being indoctrinated (i.e. brainwashed) with all of these false ideas. They were being forced to believe — by their parents. And they represent the next generation of true believers, thus continuing the cycle.

Yes, it was slightly depressing seeing so many people buying into these fairy tales without using even a little bit of critical thinking. Although, I do also realize that human progress moves in waves (two steps forward, one step back) and that, to quote Richard Dawkins, the zeitgeist will still move, so I’m not too worried about it. There’s still so much religious mania in the world, but it’s nothing like a thousand years ago, so, a thousand years from now, maybe we will have mostly moved on from feebly clutching on to such ancient mythologies.

Anyway, I took lots of pictures, of course. Enjoy them, or not. And leave a comment, please. I’m curious how many of y’all think I’m going to burn in hell. Hah!

First, I took out #11 [Start the LMGA’s first regular newsletter / magazine publication]. I had already started the groundwork on this getting this one started, but the project was later continued by and eventually completed by Stevie Nelson, Peter Gluck, and Kayla Thames-Berge. They deserve a tremendous amount of credit for the great job they’ve been doing with the official newsletter.

Second, I removed #27 [Fall in love. Get married] and #28 [Start having kids]. Don’t get me wrong. I definitely still want to marry and have kids, but I’ve been realizing lately that there’s no need to be in such a gosh darn hurry. Maybe it was as a consequence of turning 30 earlier this year that family life had been on my mind in recent months (my dad was 30 when I was born), but, really, isn’t 40 the new 30 anyway? Further, I’m just getting to the point in my career where I’ve been able to get paid travel to places like Virginia, Amman, and Utah, with even more exciting places to come. Why give all that up now? If a family happens sooner, then, fine, it happens, but, if not, I’ve got plenty of time!

I wrote in a (blank) tag on each of those three items on the list. If I think of a new goal later, I can fill in the blank spot, or, if not, then, hey, I just got three freebies!

Man in the Chair

Alpha Dog

24 Hours on Craigslist

A new trailer was recently released for an indie film called Man in the Chair which came into limited theatrical release on December 7th.

My German Shepherd, Sadie, appeared in the movie as an animal shelter dog who was set free by Christopher Plummer (best known to me for Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country, but best known to most people for The Sound of Music). I saw this movie at the crew screening last January (and made mention of it in an earlier blog post) and it wasn’t bad.

The interesting thing that I want to mention is that Sadie actually appeared in this new trailer! Not only that, but this was the third time she’s been edited into a movie’s trailer (see the captured trailer images above).

Filmmakers must be catching on that the key to making their film successful is the inclusion of a German Shepherd. At least three other movies in release this month feature German Shepherds: Beowulf, Alvin and the Chipmunks, and, especially, I am Legend. They really are the best dogs! But I’m not biased or anything. Nope, not in the least.

P.S. Here’s a quick shout-out to Sadie’s trainers, Sarah Clifford and Claire Doré. If you need any animals for your movie, even if they’re not the mighty German Shepherds, contact them through Animal Savvy.

This means that I can now start the actual physical renovation of the newly-legal guesthouse! Completing this major hurdle means that I can soon look forward to moving on towards other real estate investment projects.

Consequently, Jenn and I celebrated tonight. We got dinner at Sushi Dan’s in Studio City, then relaxed at my place by finally cracking open the bottle of absinthe that I’d purchased through the Czech Republic last summer, thus completing 101 item #89.

I must say, though, that the absinthe wasn’t as good as I’d hoped. Not only was the taste of anise was pretty overpowering at first, but, also, as I drank more, I just never saw Kylie Minogue flitting about my bedroom. If the rumors are true that absinthe will soon be legalized again in the U.S.A., then, really, it’s about time; there’s nothing very special about this kind of liquor.

P.S. The title of this post is a pun on The Absent-Minded Professor which, strangely enough, was the movie on which my second Hollywood movie job ever, Flubber, was based. It’s not often that I admit to having worked on Flubber (what a piece of crap, it was), but I still like the original black-and-white movie, so all is good.

Over the long Thanksgiving weekend, I went back to see my family in the San Francisco Bay Area where I completed two of my 101 List items.

The original list item #83 said to go to the top of one of the Golden Gate Bridge towers, but, unfortunately, that’s just not allowed anymore due to superfluous security measures enacted since 11 September 2001. So, I did the next best thing — flying in a helicopter above said towers. Thank you to the gracious pilot for taking me up during the holidays! We also flew over San Francisco and the East Bay, and I took about 200 photos for my location scout archives.

The second item completed was #85 which said to go on a tour of the Oakland Film Center which my longtime friends Sean House and Ami Zins helped to start up back in 2004. The facility was truly amazing (I’m jealous that this kind of a place does not exist in Los Angeles) and I urge everyone to continue to support the OFC since it keeps alive the vendors and filmmakers in the Bay Area film community.

Along the way, we passed such places as the Los Angeles Convention Center, Byzantine Latino Quarter, Wilshire Vista (my old neighborhood), Pico-Robertson, 20th Century Fox, West L.A., and Santa Monica. Here is the complete photo gallery.

By the way, despite the long, long walk, neither one of us have any aching muscles and not a single blister. And if you buy that, I’ve got some oceanfront property in Arizona.

It’s time once again to catch up on some recent 101 in 1001 items, starting with Saturday night when I went to the Queen Mary in Long Beach with my parents. They were here overnight in order to leave on a Mexican cruise the next morning. We looked around the ship and eventually had some drinks at the Observation Bar.

Now, I know my list said that I would “take a date to dinner at a restaurant on the Queen Mary” and now I’m counting it done by “tak[ing] my parents to drinks on the Queen Mary” instead, but, really, the place just wasn’t worth going back on a future occasion. Don’t get me wrong; it was a fascinating location that I would very much love to film at someday, but it just wasn’t as romantic as I’d thought. Going out on an active cruise ship would be a lot more fun.

I also did item #71 way, way back on 15 July 2007 when I went on an L.A. Conservancy tour. This one was hosted by Harry Medved and it showed off parts of Los Angeles City Hall as they appeared in various movies. My own LMGA helped to put on the function and I answered a few questions about some recent downtown filming.

Over the last week or so, I finished item #48 in that I organized most of the many boxes of family history. I put the old books on shelves, and some of the knick-knack items in display cabinets. All that’s left now is to organize the hundreds of papers and photographs, but that belongs in item #26 wherein they’ll all need to be filed in a new filing system. I’m already on my way towards starting that too.

About five to ten years ago, I was pleasantly surprised to find the article below which confirmed what I had already known. Not only did I see myself in its examples, but it also reflected the ways of speech of all my relatives too. Even though I now live in Los Angeles, I am actually a sixth-generation San Franciscan (on both my mom’s side and my dad’s side), so the San Francisco accent is probably particularly ingrained in all of us.

I know that the article was written by Carl Nolte of the San Francisco Chronicle, but I have not been able to find the original date of publication. If anybody happens to know, please leave a comment since I’d love to pull the original text from the local library.

Anyway, I just happened to rediscover the article in my personal archives, so, in the interest of historical preservation, I will post here now:

“Talking Like a Native”
by Carl Nolte, San Francisco Chronicle, Date Unknown.

If you have spent any time in bookstores lately, you must have noticed that there are books on San Francisco’s past, present and future; books that tell you where to eat, where to drink, where to drive, where to take a bus, where to stay, what to look at and even how to cook in the San Francisco style, whatever that is.

But no book tells you how to act like a native San Franciscan, because it is widely assumed that the breed, if it ever existed, is extinct.

One book, “San Francisco Free and Easy,” subtitled “The Native’s Guide Book,” says on the first page, “San Franciscans are notorious newcomers. You’ll find few people here with the sort of roots common to East Coast cities?”

Another, written by a carpetbagger named John K. Bailey, is called “The San Francisco Insider’s Guide.” It begins, “On my first visit to San Francisco, 15 years ago….”

Fifteen years ago? I know a cat who’s lived here longer than that!

A terrible thing has happened to native San Franciscans. They have become strangers in their own city. Their whole culture is in danger of being swallowed up by foreigners from New York, Ohio, New Hampshire, Denver, and other places Back East. These newcomers all assume everyone else is a newcomer.

The first thing to go is the language. Despite everything you’ve ever heard, there is a distinctive San Francisco way of talking and it is important to make note of it, for the record, before it becomes as dead as Latin. Here’s how to talk like a San Franciscan.

The first lesson — learned at birth — is never to call it Frisco or San FRANcisco. Most resident tourists have settled on something that sounds like an Anglicized version of the Spanish San Francisco, but natives run the two words together and add a couple of extra sounds, and it comes out “Sampencisco.”

It may also be called thecity, which is one word. It is never called The City, which is two words and tacky.

One way to tell San Franciscans is the way they run words together. Another way is that all native San Franciscans know something about other native San Franciscans. This cannot be faked.

The first test comes when a native San Franciscan is introduced to someone he does not know at a party. Sooner or later, one will ask the other where he or she is from. The correct dialogue goes like this:

Q Whereya from?

A Here.

Q Oh yeah? Whereja go to school?

A Poly.

Q Oh yeah? Doya know (fill in name of acquaintance)?

At once, the two people realize they are both natives and doubtless have friends, experiences, and a whole subculture in common.

There are several keys to this small bit of conversation.

First, the true native runs all the words together. He never says, “Where are you from?” because that is the way they talk Back East. When he asks where you went to school, he means high school — not college, not trade school, and certainly not P.S. 178.

The correct answer is one of several San Francisco high schools. “Poly,” of course, means Polytechnic High School, which not only reveals your high school but what district of the city you came from, and other details.

If, for example, the answer is “S.I.” you know the man went to St. Ignatius High and was probably raised a Catholic and is from an upper-middle-class family. SH people were from North Beach and the Mission, better known as Sacred Heart.

If the person says “Mission” or “Bal” (for Balboa High) you know he is from the Mission District, and his father was probably a member of the working class, called “a workin man” in the San Francisco dialect.

If he went to Lowell, he may well be Jewish; if he went to Galileo, he is probably a North Beach Italian, and not a Mission District Italian.

One has to be careful, though. Some women, asked where they went to school, will respond that they “went to the madams.” A tourist will immediately leap to the conclusion that the poor woman was raised in a whorehouse, but natives understand immediately what this woman means She attended the Convent of the Sacred Heard, conducted by a ritzy order of nuns, and is doubtless from a wealthy family. She is not necessarily a Catholic, however. Diane Feinstein went to the madams.

The next thing to note about this conversation is that the proper response to a remark is “Yeah?” not “You don’t say so?” or “Is that right?” San Franciscans say “yeah” a lot, but it doesn’t always mean yes.

Now you are ready for your geography lesson. Oakland, Berkeley, and all those other places are “across the Bay.” The largest city in Santa Clara County is “Sannazay,” not “San Jose.” Sannazay is near Sannacruise. To get there, you have to go Down the Peninsula, past South City, Sammateo, Rewoodcity and a whole buncha other towns.

The River is the Russian River, and no other, but the Lake is Lake Tahoe only if your family was wealthy; otherwise, the lake is Clear Lake. The Mountain is Tamalpais; Mount Diablo is “Dyeaablo,” and is has no first name.

The town on the river is called Gurneyville, even though the correct pronunciation is Gurnville. San Franciscans know the correct pronunciation but choose not to use it. If corrected on this, a native will likely say, “If those guys up there are so smart, what’er they doin’ livin’ there? People who live in Gurneyville all year are a buncha Okies anyway.” It should be noted that being called an Okie — as in persons from Oklahoma or anywhere south is among the worst insults a San Franciscan can offer; it means a person lacks taste or sophistication.

Natives are often asked for directions, sometimes by tourists and often by pseudo-natives. A San Franciscan of course, has no idea where anything across the Bay is, but he knows all about San Francisco.

To start with, unless a street is tiny, like Saturn Street or Macondray Lane, it is never called by its full name. You never say “Taraval Street,” for example, only “Taraval.” When you direct someone to go “out Geary,” by which is meant you go west. You know, toward the beach. One never goes “in Mission,” or “in Geary.” To head in the general direction of downtown, one goes “down Mission” or “down Geary.”

It is “the beach,” too, not the seashore or the coast. The coast is Down the Peninsula, near Sharp Park. There are no beaches on the Bay, despite evidence to the contrary — only on the ocean.

San Franciscans know there are 30 numbered streets and 48 avenues; they know Arguello is First Avenue and Funston is 13th Avenue. They know that First Street is not the first street, and that Main is not the main street.

The Richmond district is always called “The Richmond,” and the Sunset District is always called “The Sunset,” but Noe Valley has no article in front of its name; neither does downtown or North Beach. No one knows why.

Natives do know it is always 24th (pronounced twenny fourth) and Mission, not Mission and 24th. It’s Second and Clement, not Clement and Second. The Street is not pronounced “CLEment” but “CleMent.”

There is no need to make a distinction between Second Street and Second Avenue in this case, since San Franciscans know that Second Street and Clement do not intersect. They know several other things too, that Alcatraz is not called The Rock, that Yerba Buena Island is called Goat Island or YBI, that French bread is not called sourdough bread and never was. The name “sourdough” for honest bread was invented by advertising guys from Chicago or someplace.

They know that Italians do not eat pizza. They eat spaghetti, tagliarini, or some other stuff, mostly in North Beach, but sometimes in small places in the Mission or Daly City. Daly City is near the county line. San Francisco has no city limit.

San Franciscans call the movie theater “the show,” as in “I went to the show last week, and jeez, the guy behind me was coffin all through the pitcher. I couln’n’ hardly stant it.” “The theater” (pronounced “thee-ater”) refers to the legitimate stage.

There are San Francisco threats, too. One of the worst is to act so irresponsibly that you will be put away, as is “if you keep actin’ like that, you’ll end up in Napa,” which, of course, is the local mental hospital. This threat has lost some of its power lately, since these days half the people at Powell & Market appear to be deranged.

Another threat is the danger of being forsaken by your family and friends in your old age and sent to Laguna Honda, the city’s old folks’ home.

When San Franciscans read papers, they read the Ex (the Examiner) or The Chronicle (never called the Chron). Old guys usta read the Call (as the Call-Bulletin was called) or the Noos (The San Francisco News, which very old residents called the Dailynoos). San Franciscans never, ever read the San Francisco Magazine, which is written, edited, and produced for tourists.

Television is pretty much a wasteland of standard spoken English, though there are a few bright spots. Joe DiMaggio, a native of Martinez who was raised in North Beach, sometimes appears on behalf of a product he calls “Mista CAWfee,” and it is possible to watch the news on KPIX, because anchorman Dave McElhatton is suspected of being a native, or, on KGO, where Van Amburg holds forth. He went to State, ya know.

With any luck, you might catch Russ Coughlin, also on KGO-TV. He is a graduate of Mission High, and has the last pure San Francisco accent on the local airwaves.

As for the rest, it’s pretty hard to hear all these radio and TV types mispronounce the names we all grew up with (”I’m standing here at the Persiddio” or “at Mare Island, up by Valley-jo.” Or, as I heard last week, “He was buried on Colima.”

Most of us grew up under the delusion that everybody was a native San Franciscan. It was the largest small town in the world, and we thought it the only city that counted. Occasional tourists complimented us on the city, but we never dreamed they’d move here and take over. Everywhere else was far away, and the jet plane hadn’t been invented.

I went to high school with a guy who was a direct descendant of Francisco De Haro, the first alcalde of Yerba Buena, and I have a friend whose great-great-grandfather walked to California from Rabbit Hash, Ky., in 1844. No big deal.

Once, after she bought a house in the Richmond, one of her new neighbors asked her where she was from. “I moved out here six months ago,” she said. “Oh, from the East or Midwest?” the neighbor asked. “No,” she said, “from California and Buchanan.”

Perhaps you are now thinking of fooling your friends by pretending to be a native. Don’t try. There is only one way to be a native San Franciscan. You gotta be born here.

“Anybody,” my grandfather used to say, “can be born in Oakland, or Back East. It’s an honor to be born in Sampencisco.”

By the time I got to episode #98, I decided that I would listen to entire series, starting all the way back with episode #1 from 4 May 2005. Now, this was not the first time I’d gone back to listen to a whole series. I did that too with Grammar Girl’s Quick & Dirty Tips for Better Writing, but those shows are less than five minutes long. Each of the weekly “Skeptics’ Guide” episodes averages about seventy-five minutes. This was a big endeavor that I was undertaking!

I am proud to say that not only did I catch up on the previous ninety shows, but I also caught up on the most recent shows that I’d missed while listening to the archives. Thus, as of this morning, I’ve now heard every single show from the first one through #105. That totals an approximate listening time of over 130 hours (or 5½ days if I’d listened to them back-to-back without any sleep). That just goes to show how much time I spend location scouting, commuting to movie sets, and working on the computer!

This science podcast is hosted by Dr. Steven Novella (president of the New England Skeptical Society), Robert Novella, Rebecca Watson, Perry DeAngelis, Evan Bernstein, and Jay Novella. Besides the NESS, it is also produced in association with the James Randi Educational Foundation. James Randi, by the way, is one of my heroes and somebody I hope to meet someday.

I’ve been a skeptic for most of my teenage and adult life, but, at some point, I’ll have to write about how it was only in the last two years I learned that I fall within this so-called “skeptic” label or category. It was similar to my other relatively recent discoveries that I am actually a Libertarian (instead of “middle of the road” or “part Republican, part Democrat”) and Atheist (instead of “Agnostic, leaning towards Atheism”). It’s comforting to learn the correct labels and that there are other people out there with the same beliefs.

I don’t remember anything like this in the previous Harry Potter books, but what I’ve noticed is that J.K. Rowling repeatedly used commas when she should have used either semi-colons or periods. Every time I run into one of these errors — at least every other page or so — I trip up and lose the momentum I’d had.

Figuring I’m not the only one who has noticed these errors, I did some googling and found at least one blog post on the subject. [By the way, this article also mentions some pronoun errors; I’d noticed them too, but they’re not as common, nor as disruptive, as the comma mistakes.]

This is all particularly frustrating because kids are having enough grammar troubles these days, what with MySpace leet and text-messaging shorthand. This poor role model will only set them back further. What’s going on here? Why is Rowling letting us down?

I completed item #2 which said to make my Go For Websites company profitable. I officially started it in December 2005, and, at my lowest point on 17 June 2006, I was several thousand dollars in the red. I’ve been growing the company steadily, though, to the point that on 20 June 2007, almost a year to the day later (and a year and a half since I first started), I permanently went into the black!

Not only is this good financial news for me, but this will also benefit the customers. You see, I’ve always had a policy of giving back to them as much as possible. I did it even when I was in debt, and I will now be able to do it even more often now that I’m profitable. In fact, just yesterday, I hired a programmer to start working on some upgrades.

I also completed #36, an item that I referenced recently after I got rid of a lot of my old T-shirts. Since then, I’ve gone out and bought lots more new shirts and pants. As ZZ Top would say, I’m a Sharp Dressed Man. Okay, not exactly. I’m still me, but at least I’ll be looking a little better now.

How bittersweet it was, though. With its excellent ensemble of actors, great writing of situations and dialogue, and its clever incorporation of current issues like religion, war, and censorship, this show was, by far, one of the very best shows on TV, yet, once again, sadly, the network had to cancel it.

Why is it that shows like Arrested Development, Invasion, and the recently-resurrected Jericho get axed, while crap like How I Met Your Mother, Ghost Whisperer, and The New Adventures of Old Christine gets renewed? I really don’t get it.

I recently completed item #94 in that I bought a brand-new lawnmower and leaf blower, thus meaning that I was able to get rid of the Mexican gardener who’d been coming every Wednesday. I’m glad for that because, even though he was cheap, the work done wasn’t so great. One of my tenants is now mowing the lawn instead.

I’m not counting it done quite yet, but I made some progress towards #36 last Saturday. I donated two bags full of T-shirts to the Goodwill, then replaced them with some nicer new shirts instead. I’ve got some more clothes to get rid of and buy, though, so perhaps I’ll be done in another weekend or two.

I also made some progress on Sunday towards #26 and #48 in that I boxed some books to sell, recycled old movie scripts I’ll never read again, and threw away a lot of other junk. This is all to make room for the upcoming re-organizing of the papers and family history.