The people behind proposition 8 put out a new ad last week for some reason. In addition to the usual manipulations and outright lies they’ve employed throughout their campaign, ably deconstructed by Stop8.org, this ad was bookended by the phrase “San Francisco values” replete with scary music.
I’ve lived in San Francisco for 15 years, which is 15 years more than anyone connected to this ad. San Francisco changed my life. I found a career here. I was married here. I bought property here. I’m never, ever leaving. So I think I can speak to what San Francisco Values really are. Here are a few of them.
We value bravery. In the great westward expansion of early America, the people who made it to San Francisco were the ones who didn’t give up along the way. We only stopped here because we ran out of land.
We value liberty. Most San Franciscans weren’t born here. We came here because we couldn’t be who we were at home. We’ve come from all over America and beyond to be our true selves.
We value tolerance. If you value your own liberty, you have to allow everyone else the same privilege. More, you have to celebrate the diversity.
We value opportunity. San Francisco’s first boom was when gold was discovered. Its next was the web. We find new opportunities and embrace them with gusto. That’s why most of the sites you visit every day started within 100 miles of here.
We value reinvention. In 1906, when the city shook and then burned to the ground, we rebuilt, better and stronger. That’s why the phoenix is on our flag.
We value perseverance. San Francisco can be a hard place to live. It’s expensive as hell, foggy and cold in the summer, and the earth occasionally tries to swallow us. We’re here because we want to be.
We value love. The summer of love happened here. The Castro happened here. The first of many equal marriages happened here.
We value a good cup of coffee. Ritual Roasters. Four Barrel. Blue Bottle. I’d sleep more if I lived someplace else, but I’d live less.
We value community. I lived near LA for years and never knew my neighbors’ names. But I’ve always known my neighbors here. Once, a friend was walking our dogs, and a dozen people stopped her to ask where Derek and Heather were.
We value idealism. Yeah, our politicians make news. Sometimes it’s because they’re ahead of their time, sometimes it’s because they’re just odd. But to a fault, we believe in things, and that’s good. Idealists founded this country, remember?
San Francisco is far from perfect. We have a homelessness problem that is shameful. The city government has historically been full of graft, cronyism, and weirdness. San Francisco was home to both Harvey Milk, California’s first openly gay elected official, and Dan White, who shot Milk dead after only 11 months on the job and then blamed it on Twinkies.
But I’m sad when San Francisco becomes political code for dangerous America-hating baddies. I believe San Franciscans embody the best American values: bravery, liberty, tolerance, and opportunity. I look around San Francisco and I see people who risked everything to move to a place where they could be free. People who decided, out a mix of idealism and insanity, that they could make a more perfect union that values life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
San Francisco values and American values are one and the same.
“It takes no compromising to give people their rights. It takes no money to respect the individual. It takes no survey to remove repressions.” – Harvey Milk, 1973
I grew up in a small town somewhere in the sprawling mess of spaghetti freeways that form Southern California. To be a person in Los Angeles is to have a car. And sometimes, having a car means becoming a driver.
A driver is not just the operator of a car. A driver is someone who knows the pulse of the roads. Someone who can navigate rush hour. Someone who can tell if the car in front is really going to turn, or just forgot their blinker was on. Someone who knows the silhouette of a speed trap from a mile away.
It doesn’t matter what you drive – my first car was a VW Bug that was born before me – it matters how you drive and how driving fits into your life.
Skip forward 20 years or so and now I’m a San Franciscan. I’ve been a Muni commuter, a walker, a biker, and a carpooler, but after all these years, I’m still a driver. You can take the boy out of Southern California, but you can’t take the LA out of the boy.
Make no mistake, cars are filthy, Earth-killing, city-ruining monsters. Cars can turn the sweetest mom into a rage-filled, bird-flipping, Tourette’s syndrome demonstration. They’re bad for cities, bad for people, and bad for the planet. I know all this. But being a driver is just about my last vice. I gave up smoking (something that always went well with driving). I got married. I settled down. Leave me this one bad habit.
San Francisco is not a car culture like LA. There are almost no freeways within the city limits, and most businesses don’t even have parking lots. And to most public transit commuters or bike lane denizens, if you’re in a car, you’re pretty much the enemy.
But I don’t think it has to be that way. You can be a driver in San Francisco without being a dick. Here are my personal rules for how to be a driver in San Francisco. I share them with you in the hopes that, if you, like me, truly love driving and love San Francisco, we can make them both a little better.
Chill.
I know the car ahead of you is being an idiot, or the bus stopped in your way, or there’s some guy trying to sell you pot at a red light. Take a deep breath. Look around. It’s a beautiful city with beautiful people in it. We often smile at each other. It’s nice. Before you know it, the annoyance will be gone.
Do not honk your horn unless you’re about to die.
This is a small city. Most streets are lined with bedrooms. Honk your horn pretty much anywhere and you’re annoying a dozen people, at least. Don’t do it unless it’s seriously a life or death situation. (Hint: stoners in the crosswalk is not a life or death situation.)
Muni always has the right of way. Always.
The city has a lot of public transportation. This is a good thing. But it means your path will be crisscrossed by dozens of buses, trains, and streetcars. They always have the right of way. Even if you have a green light, they have the right of way. You know why? They’re carrying your fellow citizens. There’s more of them than there are of you, and they’re in a hurry. Let ‘em go. Also, trains and busses tend to slam into cars here. Don’t provoke them. They’re bigger than you are.
That red spot? That driveway? Don’t park there.
I read somewhere that there are twice as many cars in San Francisco as there are parking spaces. I don’t know if it’s true, but if you’ve ever had to look for parking around 6pm near Haight Street, it seems like it. So it may be tempting to park somewhere you clearly shouldn’t. Don’t. The sidewalk in front of my old apartment had a space clearly painted red. And almost every day I saw some idiot park there. And almost every day I heard the telltale crunch sound that the ass-end of a Muni train makes when it swings with wild force to make the turn, doing major damage to a car parked where it shouldn’t be. Imagine that every red zone and driveway in the city is there because a giant piece of metal is going to fly by that spot at 40 mph and smash into whatever’s there. Think about that as you’re considering the spot.
That bus stop? The middle of the street? Don’t park there, either.
Look, I know it can be hard to find a space. And back home in LA, a store would have a proper lot. But you’re in San Francisco now. The rules are different. If you park in a bus stop, even for a moment, what will happen is, a bus full of angry people, being driven by the angriest person, will invariably pull up. And you know who’s got the loudest, most annoying horns? Busses. They’ll blow it and you’ll have to do the walk of shame in front of all those angry people to rescue your car. And you will have to rescue it, because if you don’t it will be towed away and you’ll get a ticket and have to pay through the nose to get it back. And that’s assuming the bus doesn’t simply smash into your car, which, apparently, is legal here. All this goes double for double-parkers. Park in the street, and it’s totally legal here for anyone waking by to bash your windshield in with a bat. Really, it is. We’re very progressive and don’t have a lot of outlets for our stockpiles of rage. Do not tempt us.
Cabbies drive like lunatics.
Cabs everywhere drive like idiots, but San Francisco has a special breed of cabby. Many cabs here seem like they’re being driven by people who woke up this morning thinking, “today would be a great day to die,” smoked a pile of crystal meth, and then shot out of the garage without even waiting for the door to open. No time! Here’s the thing: Cabbies are the Alpha-Males of the automotive world. You could get into a vroom-vroom contest with them, but, look, you’re going to lose because they have no fear of death. Personally, I have the same attitude about cabbies as cops: better in front than in the rearview. Get out of their way, and let them fly to their next magical destinantion.
Don’t be that guy.
That guy I saw stop in the middle of Valencia Street, open his door, stand in the street, and while cleverly using his open door as some kind of impromptu privacy screen, he emptied his entire bladder as the traffic behind him honked and passers-by gawked? Don’t be that guy. That guy who ignores the stop sign at the top of our street and has nearly run over almost all of the dogs as they’re running toward the park? Don’t be that guy. That guy who, for no apparent reason, sat in his car on my street at 7am one morning playing some sort of tinnitus-causing thoom thooooom music? Don’t be that guy.
Bikes are our friends.
I love how San Francisco has gotten so bike-friendly over the last few years. There are a lot more bikes on the road now than there used to be, and I think it’s rad. So be a good driver. Really look around for bikes. Note where the bike lanes are (they’re not always where you think they are). Stop when a bike is approaching. Smile and wave to let them know that you’ve seen them. You’ll often get a smile in return. That kind of brief moment of pleasantness can fill my sails all day.
Market Street: Just say no.
Don’t drive on Market Street. I know, it looks big on the map, but don’t. It’s not for you. It’s for busses and cabs and shady fronts and crazy people that pull their pants down. Do Not Drive on Market Street. Never. Never ever ever.
Dude. Seriously? Chill.
San Francisco is a beautiful place. And the social norm we treasure above all else is our culture of Mellow. Nothing harshes the mellow worse than aggressive, cranky, LA-style driving. Relax. Take a look around. You’re not in LA anymore. See? You’re mellowing out already.
San Francisco is a small place. It’s not like LA, where you can flip someone off in traffic and know that you’ll never see them again. Here you will see them again. And we San Franciscans, we remember.
So, please, for all of us who want to be Drivers and San Franciscans, drive like everyone around you knows your cellphone number. Pretend they’re all friends of your mother. You don’t want it getting around that you gave that nice old lady the finger on Highway 1 just because she slowed down to see if that deer was hurt, do you?
Since the first one went so well, I decided to up the ante. Last weekend I attached six Woolly Pockets to my office wall and filled them with two dozen plants to make a vertical tropical garden. The installation was a breeze and, so far, all the plants are still happy. I love it.
If you’re thinking about doing the same, here are a few tips based on my experience.
The instructions say to put the holes in the wall 22 inches apart, but I found that my pockets stretched a bit. Err on the wide side, so the pockets don’t sag.
Pick plants you know will be happy in that spot. Most of the plants I put in the pockets had lived in my office near that window for months, so I knew they’d be okay there. Once they’re in the pockets, they’re difficult to move.
Go for variety. I tried to plant a few different plants in each pocket. Some will grow up, some will grow down. I figured out that having two ascenders or two descenders next to each other didn’t look good, so try to alternate.
If you do buy new plants for the pockets, get small plants, like 4-inch pots. If they’re larger than that, you may have to break them up into smaller pieces, which can kill more fragile plants.
Water sparingly. Really, really sparingly. I’m a compulsive over-waterer, so this is the hardest part for me. The instructions say 3 cups per pocket, but even that will leak out the front if you water too fast. I’ve taken to misting them when I feel like watering. I think the plants like it, but I know it’s helping me.
If you over-water and the pocket leaks, it may stay wet for a while. One trick I discovered is to put something in between the pocket and the wall, like a piece of styrofoam, for a day or so to increase air circulation. This helped the pocket dry out faster.
So far, I’m absolutely loving my new vertical garden and can’t wait to see how it evolves.
Twitter is currently testing a new feature called “Who to follow” (henceforth referred by its unfortunate acronym, WTF). When I log in there’s a box on the main page that suggests two users for me to follow. If this sounds familiar, that’s because it’s exactly what Facebook does.
The purpose of a test like this is to gather feedback, so here’s some feedback. (The usual caveats apply: I don’t work at Twitter, I don’t know the specifics of their technology or the requirements for this project, and I may be grumpy from the cold I’ve had all week.)
I hate it. It’s poorly named, poorly placed, and poorly implemented.
Poorly Named
“Who to follow” is a command. It’s like saying “Do This Now.” People don’t like suggestions phrased as commands. So why not call it something like: “Suggested Twitterers” or “You Might Like”?
It’s important to understand the emotions you’re triggering in the user. Human brains have evolved to recognize and react to faces. Showing the faces of people you know, along with command language, can create dissonance. It’s as if the person is giving you the command. That’s one of the reasons people are reacting so strongly.
Poorly Placed
The location of information on a page offers insight into the company’s priorities. In this case, WTF appears on the right side of the page, above the main Twitter navigation (@replies, Direct Messages, Favorites, Retweets, and Search). This location implies that WTF is more important than the rest of those things. I disagree. It should be below the main navigation, with the rest of the optional items (Saved Searches, Lists, Trending, and Following).
Speaking of those optional items, all of them can be toggled into a closed/minimized state that shows only the title of the section and not the content. But WTF does not get this toggle. Why? Adding the toggle would provide a pressure-release valve for members like me who don’t like it, while still making it available for those who do. Twitter’s designers clearly know this – a toggle is available for every other sidebar item outside of the main navigation – so the fact that it’s not implemented for WTF is perplexing.
The only rationale for its placement, as far as I can tell, is that the top right corner is where it’s implemented on Facebook. But that’s not a good reason.
Poorly Implemented
WTF routinely recommends people I’ve blocked, and as you know, I block liberally. It also suggests people I’d followed for a while and consciously decided to stop following (sometimes you can like a person and not like their tweets). So suggesting these people is unhelpful at best, aggravating at worst.
Finally, it’s aimed at the wrong audience. I can see how a feature like this would be very helpful to new members, but I am not a new member. My first public tweet was four years ago (my account was private before that). Twitter knows this about me. A more elegant interface would be active in making suggestions to new users, but more passive with active users like me, who’ve shown they already know how to find and follow people.
All in all, Twitter’s WTF is a great case study on why a feature that works well on Facebook cannot simply be copied and placed into another social context. Facebook is all about fastidious friend list maintenance – that’s the basic element there. Twitter is about … something else. The relationships are part of it, sure, but there’s more afoot. That’s why I like it.
Just to be clear, I’m not arguing against the existence of the feature, I’m just critiquing its implementation. Having a steady stream of new inputs is how community systems avoid groupthink. So the system should encourage users to follow more/different people. It should just be done as an optional suggestion, with more smarts behind it, in a place that’s equivalent to its value to the user. In other words, it should be designed to feel like Twitter. As it stands now, it feels like a piece of Facebook, grafted on to Twitter.
I should also say, I feel for the Twitter design team. They’re tinkering with a speeding train with a billion passengers that’s laying track as it goes. And all the passengers have bullhorns. It’s a tough gig and I want to see them succeed. I hope this post is taken as just a little piece of feedback from a longterm member with a pounding headache.
In February 2004, as Heather and I were planning our wedding, San Francisco mayor Gavin Newsom decided that he could no longer tolerate the state’s disregard of its own constitution, which states that all citizens are equal under the law. On Valentine’s Day 2004, City Hall began issuing marriage licenses to all couples, regardless of gender.
Word spread fast and Heather and I went down to City Hall to see what was happening. What we saw was indescribable joy. Floodgates of love opening. Cheers from the growing crowd as each couple exited the building, finally legally equal.
We know what happened after that. The weddings were halted, Proposition 8 was put on the ballot (and paid for by mostly out-of-state religious zealots). And in perhaps the biggest moment of cognitive dissonance ever, on the night we elected Obama to be president, Californians amended their constitution with the words, “Only marriage between a man and a woman is valid or recognized in California.” A lawsuit ensued.
Plaintiffs do not seek recognition of a new right. To characterize plaintiffs’ objective as “the right to same-sex marriage” would suggest that plaintiffs seek something different from what opposite-sex couples across the state enjoy – namely, marriage. Rather, plaintiffs ask California to recognize their relationships for what they are: marriages.
Proposition 8 places the force of law behind stigmas against gays and lesbians, including: gays and lesbians do not have intimate relationships similar to heterosexual couples; gays and lesbians are not as good as heterosexuals; and gay and lesbian relationships do not deserve the full recognition of society.
Many of the purported interests identified by proponents are nothing more than a fear or unarticulated dislike of same-sex couples. Those interests that are legitimate are unrelated to the classification drawn by Proposition 8. The evidence shows that, by every available metric, opposite-sex couples are not better than their same-sex counterparts; instead, as partners, parents and citizens, opposite-sex couples and same-sex couples are equal.
The evidence did not show any historical purpose for excluding same-sex couples from marriage, as states have never required spouses to have an ability or willingness to procreate in order to marry. Rather, the exclusion exists as an artifact of a time when the genders were seen as having distinct roles in society and in marriage. That time has passed.
In much of the news coverage today, I’ve seen the phrase “Pro-Gay Marriage” used to describe the people who are celebrating Judge Walker’s ruling. But this rubs me the wrong way.
I’m not Pro-Gay Marriage, I’m Pro-Equality. I’m not Pro-Gay Rights, I’m Pro-Common Sense. I’m Anti-Discrimination. I’m Anti-Enshrining Your Queasiness About Buttsex In My Constitution. I’m Pro-When The Constitution Says We’re All Equal, It Means We’re All Equal.
I’m married, and it matters. It changes the way I look at the world, and the way the world looks at me. It comes with state and federal benefits and rights. Withholding those things from same-sex couples is discrimination, pure and simple. If you support withholding rights from people because of who they are, you’re a bigot. Period.
My grandmother taught me two important lessons. The first was tolerance. Enjoy people who are different from you. It’s the variety that makes life wonderful. The second was to always look out for the rights of others. Because if you sit by and let discrimination happen, you’ll be next.
My grandmother learned these lessons firsthand as a Jewish woman in Poland in the 1940s. In this country, we’re fortunate to have a mostly equitable, mostly tolerant place to live. But Proposition 8 is the clearest kind of discrimination – no different from the laws that kept my grandmother from going to school, or the anti-miscegenation laws from America’s past.
It is the duty of all people blessed with common sense, people who see in same-sex couples the same love they share with their partners, people who believe in equality and liberty, to stand up for our gay and lesbian friends and neighbors. We are Pro-Love. We are Pro-Equality. We will not tolerate discrimination. We will not shut up.
Because if you don’t stand up for other people’s rights, who will stand for yours?
