there are no answers

It all continues and nothing changes.The man continues to hover on the block. Thursday he lay in the restaurant doorway screaming as patrons stepped over him. I called, my property manager called, finally an officer came out, phoned me, said "Oh someone's flagging me down about him," and when I went back down later, he was gone, cited for trespassing.

Friday night I returned home with my bike and the man was screaming, pacing rapidly up and down the sidewalk.

It was a game of dodge-em to get myself safely inside.

My property manager A has been helpful and empathetic and doing her best but ultimately is powerless.

*

Officer Lewis came out today about 8.20am. I’d exited my building to see the man sitting wrapped in a blanket on the porch of the Airbnb next door. I called 311 and the officer was pretty snotty when she first arrived. Couldn’t find the police report, said he wasn’t breaking any laws, the homeowner would have to complain. Meanwhile he sat and stared sullenly across the street at me standing outside the cop car.

I went inside to get my hard copy of the report and when I came back, he was gone.

She looked it up, said it was entered as trespassing not indecent exposure. Then she said, "Oh he’s gone?" (quelle surprise)

I’m annoyed, tired of explaining over and over what’s happened. Tired of feeling like I’m the one to blame. Meanwhile church goers are arriving, setting up coffee and pastries outside, the work crew nearby (Spanish speakers all) looking uneasy.

My neighbor walked up, coffee in hand. Now the officer addressed him. (Yay sexism)

She said the man's name is Shawn, he’s well known for vandalism, exposing himself, screaming and harassing. The coffee shop around the corner has dealt with him, a bar had its window broken out. He was on the next street over for awhile. His sister lives in the neighborhood, feeds and houses him sometimes, but he cusses her out and leaves. He’s been hospitalized.

So again there are no good solutions. S. doesn’t want help and is crafty enough to elude the cops and any long lasting treatment or penalties. The officer said he’s been arrested before but then they get complaints about the police harassing homeless people.

I'm trying to live my values, of compassion and not harming anyone, but what do I do when I feel so unsafe?

I'm trying to be brave, and patient.

But this man S. refuses help. He harasses, assaults, and craftily runs away.

I want there to be a record

I don't want to end up stabbed, assaulted, dead.  

assault and the pervasive silence

I experienced assault this week.
Physically I'm OK, psychologically not so much.
The assaulter, let's call him Willy, is an unhoused person who hangs around my apartment building.
Beyond the houselessness--he sleeps and lolls in nearby a restaurant doorway--Willy is a screamer. For months he's roamed the neighborhood, yelling about killing people, slitting throats, murdering all the white people. The restaurant doesn't do anything, so sometimes their well-heeled patrons literally step over him to get inside.
Other times he'll be smiley, wishing you a nice day. It's a shit-eating grin that I don't trust for one second.

A few days ago he pulled down his crusty old sweatpants and displayed his admittedly sad and pathetic dick. Made eye contact with me as if to be sure I got a good long look. Shocked, I hurried away to run my errand.

My next instinct was anger. Fuck that guy. I wanted to beat the shit out of him with my baseball bat. I texted a neighbor. Then called my apartment's emergency line. Call the police, they said.

I hesitated. Willy is a black man in America. I know what happens. And I also know I want to feel safe going in and out of my home. Eventually I called the non-emergency police number. He needs mental health treatment, I said, but they only sent a cop, a couple hours later.

Officer L took my report, said the neighborhood softies obviously had made it too comfortable for Willy. I don't disagree but he was pretty callous. By this time one of the apartment managers was on site so I talked with her too.

Three days later, not much has changed. I exited my building this morning to see him waddling up my street, looking around and then going into the port potty by a building under construction. I made the calls, police, apartment, but what will change?

The other interesting part of this is the reactions. Some acquaintances laughed it off. You should point and chuckle. You should kick him in the throat. You should...

Others are properly shocked or angry or both.

One called me to listen and talk. Like many of my women friends, she has also experienced assault. 
Many of us have gone through much worse than this. A sad reality.

One friend didn't respond at all. Like it never happened. Which feels kind of like the cops and my apartment managers. Waiting for it or me to go away, to be quiet, to stop complaining. I'm not sure how much energy I have for this fight.

don't F with psych 210

 

clips of the nazi at University of Washington

horses uncover a spy and other lols

 heh

 

**

 

 **

complete (COMPLETE I say) failures in the kitchen 

our hearts are with beautiful Chicago

 

                                                                Chicago, September 2025

the day my wallet made it home before I did

The other day I went out to run a quick errand before work.
A pleasant morning, got my errand done, left the store and saw the bus I hoped to catch approaching the corner 1/2 block away.
Never run for the bus, a friend always told me, but I ran, caught it and paid my $1.25 fare. As I sank into a seat, enjoying the air-conditioned blast, I looked down and saw my bag gaping open.
Minus my cute pink wallet.

***

Break for panic, a quick search of my shopping bag, cursing, jumping off the bus, running full out 2 blocks back to where I boarded.

***

Now I remembered hearing a horn honk as I ran for the bus. Did someone see my wallet fall out?
I retraced my steps once, twice, went into each neighboring business, asked at a taco truck, a tire shop, a gas station.
A panhandler on the corner said he hadn't seen anything. You just paid for a whole lot of day drinking.
Where's my karma, I despaired. I've returned countless IDs and whole wallets over the years.
Then my phone rang. My front door, someone trying to get in my building.
As I pushed Decline, it hit me: maybe someone saw the fortunately correct address on my license and was bringing me my wallet!

***

Break for panicked waiting, please call back please call back.

***
Another call. My front door again.
Hello, I have your wallet?
Yes!
However, I was a long bus ride from home and even a fast Lyft would take 15 minutes.
The call kept dropping. I yelled out my cell phone #.
The good samaritan called me. Brittany, she said. A 504 number. She agreed she'd leave the wallet in a planter.
I'm so grateful, I'd like to pay for your gas or something, I said, and the call ended abruptly.
I got in the Lyft, tried calling her back. Again and again. The call didn't even ring. She blocked me!?

***

Break for panicked riding, calling my bank, calling the good samaritan, and my partner, who was now inside the building and saw no wallet.

***

At my building, leapt from the Lyft and ransacked the planters.
There it was, my wallet in the dirt, ID and credit card and debit card all still there.
And zero cash.
All gone, including a quarter for the bus. 

***

The adrenaline rush left me exhausted. 
I was mad, at myself for being careless. 
At Brittany for cleaning me out.
I asked a kind neighbor to do a reverse look-up on the number and she found a little information, but in the end what did it matter who Brittany was or wasn't?
In a world full of me-firsts a stranger drove across town to return the important things, the stuff that's hard to replace.

*

Good people exist, I guess. But as always, it's complicated.

K20: day 2 at Louis Armstrong Park

My second day helping out at the K20 event was busier. Back at the info tent, the rain had stopped and the crowds began to flow into the park. A different krewe of volunteers so I made my introductions again. (I flubbed names and still feel like an idiot.)

One talkative lady wore Tulane socks, Ms Roseanne, a history professor. We talked about the need for more research and work in environmentalism. I’m a transplant, she said, but she’s been here 30 years. (My 3 were waved off. Unremarkable.)

I handed out meal tickets with Roger, a calm soft-spoken young man, who along with the professor, talked of having older parents and how that informs your outlook on life.

We gave away t-shirts including to a group of 4 aunties who’d asked for them the day before.

And when the t-shirts and meal tickets ran out, we handed out bandannas. Ayu bakery cookies. Water bottles.

Some folks, including an older white man, came again and again, staying to chat. They didn’t want to be alone, I think. Some charged phones.

I saw Megan, director of OBONO, her children performing with Congo Kids. They’d been at the levee Friday too. I’m glad I’ve been so busy, she confided. No time to break down.

Timothy came by, the lovely soul from Friday. He’d taken a 4-hour nap, exhausted from Friday. He’d been at the mayor’s event at Gallier Hall, had met General Honore. When I asked how it was, he said, I listened to what he had to say. When you’re in the presence of so much wisdom, that is what you do.

A vision in crisp white, Miss Brenda (I think, I know her from museum shows) walked through, having also just left the mayor’s event. She talked about caring for 300 S&WB workers through the storm and aftermath.

Then a distraught woman: she’d set her phone down on the sanitation station and when she emerged from the port-a-potty, it was gone. We called, texted, walked around: no phone. :(

A man asked for a meal ticket and when Roger explained we were out, to try again tomorrow, the man said angrily, sounds just like Katrina. You brought me right back to Katrina, y’all. He stomped off. Roger said it didn’t bother him but I think it did. People can be so nasty about free things.

As the afternoon wound down, I ate curried vegetables and rice, watched Big Chief Brian & Nouveau Bounce and his performers (shake that booty like a tambourine) on Congo Square, listened to Roger’s raptures about Disney World, the amenities as you wait in line, his joy in the experience.

*

We missed Al Gore, my neighbor texted me. Apparently he’d been at the levee and other events. I’d wanted to go over to where the crowds were Friday but she wanted to go. Also, we had our experiences. We held space for the day.

We didn’t miss anything, I don’t think.