ocean beach chronicle #2

made with luv in ob

the ocean beach chronicle

1

featuring OB’s only oxygen bar

2

the ocean beach chronicle

made with luv in ob

Now Available!

The “fun-official” OB Calendar

W

elcome to the second installment of the ‘infamous’ ocean beach chronicle.

Join us as we explore the flavor of our beautiful and unique town. What a year 1973 has been, I’m sure you’ve all now heard, the War is OVER! Nixon has announced that a peace accord has been reached in Vietnam and that the first release of American prisoners of war is underway.

The World Trade Center officially opened in New York City this last April - what a feat of modern engineering.

The Watergate Scandal continues to embarrass us, and that jerk, President Richard Nixon announced that top White House aids H.R. Haldeman, John

Ehrlichman, and others have resigned.

Yippee, our government has now founded the official Drug Enforcement Agency, ahh, we can all sleep a little easier now.

This issue we are honored to have a piece by Frank Gormlie of The OB Rag. Please check out their blog at www.obrag. org.

Also, glad to have the irreverent and quirky OB writer aboard, Dayna Celise.

What a dynamo Dayna has turned out to be as she also puts her skills to advertising sales for our humble little publication.

Rather than refer to it as advertising, I think of it as a partnership. Without our partners, the Ocean Beach Chronicle would not exist.

We look forward to bringing you the Chronicle on a monthly basis and ask for your continued support. Help us create a forum for thought and expression that truly supports our wonderful community.

We invite local artists and writers to contribute. This is your place, too!

For advertising information contact Dayna Celise at 619-808-5038 or Trina Evans at 619-454-4701 ( + our ads are extremely inexpensive! ) I do look forward to your comments, ideas, submissions and whatnot.

Enjoy the chronicle.

Cheers, Trevor trevordesigns@yahoo.com

Available at most stores in Ocean Beach Makes a superb souvenir A time-capsule of OB Spreadin’ LOVE OB Style Get yours NOW photos by steve cummings

made with luv in ob

the ocean beach chronicle

3

“Yeah, down by the Pier.

That’s where it’s happenin’ Down at the edge of the Pacific.

Down in the corner of California.

We call it OB And that’s where you’ll find me.

O

cean Beach is my neighborhood. It’s a small enclave surrounded by the expansive domain of San Diego. A magical place lying between the outside world and the country we’ve left behind.

Those of us that live here call ourselves OBecians, we call this town OB. We are a hodgepodge; surfers, travelers, peaceniks, runaways, drunks, college kids, liberals, veterans, oldtimers, squares and everything in-between. Strange bedfellows, but somehow we’ve figured out how to get along with each other.

Tolerance is our collective middle name. We’re laid-back and that suits us just fine.

It’s a haven of free thought where our only enemy seems to be convention.

Some days I think Ocean Beach exists only because we believe it exists. We have a catchphrase that reads ‘Ocean Beach, an attitude not an address.’ a disclaimer we’re proud of.

Stroll down our main street, Newport Avenue and you’ll still get a sense of true community.

On this street alone there is a hardware store, affordable café’s, clothing stores, gift shops, pet stores, and cocktail bars. We even have an authentic head shop that with a little imagination transports you back to the psychedelic sixties.

You can find just about everything you need in OB without trekking to the malls. This is a walk-to-everywhere neighborhood, reminiscent of years gone by, a reminder of more idyllic times, of life spent in a simpler world. If you settle here long enough you’ll soon both recognize and be recognized by others on the street.

Unlike other areas of San Diego, the marine layer can often cloud our summer days; it curls around our neighborhood hiding us from the rest of the county. OB is the port to hide and shelter from the storm.

We’ve got tide pools and hidden coves, trails and eucalyptus groves. We’ve got awesome surf breaks. We’ve got our own historical society and a local merchants group. We’ve got a member-owned cooperative food market that’s been serving the community since 1971. We’ve got annual events where we welcome outsiders by the thousands to come and share the love.

We’ve got a youth hostel that hosts an eclectic mix of young backpackers from around the globe. We’ve got a beach just for dogs, how sweet is that!

Wednesday evening we boast one of the best street markets in San Diego - The Ocean Beach Farmer’s Market. Newport Avenue comes alive with the smell of tulips and sandalwood, fresh bread and piping hot kettle corn. Hawkers and traders peddle their wares. The sounds of the strolling minstrels and drummers are so evocative that you might think you are part of a modern day renaissance faire. All of OB comes out for this event, our way of paying respects to one another.

This small old-time beach community and bastion of counterculture holds on.

Sadly though, there are signs that our charming seaside town is changing. We are on the endangered list. An east coast souvenir chain has replaced our local movie theatre. Java Joe left, his space now filled by Starbuck’s.

The Arizona Cafe closed its doors after providing over fifty years of saloon solace.

Affordable housing is now an oxymoron and the rents are tipping the scales.

The added populace of San Diego is spilling over into our neighborhood. These are a new type of resident, eager to gentrify OB. They see funky as shabby, quaint with ‘it needs tearing down’, and offbeat with ‘off course NOT!’ Some of them try to hoodwink us into believing that they want to preserve Ocean Beach as they stroll the neighborhood in their designer scruff, jacking up the rents month by month, pushing the boundaries of affordability. This is the antithesis of what OB is all about.

I’m hoping that we’ll zealously fight to protect our neighborhood. It’s going to be a battle, but OB is definitely worth it.

Hope we’ll stand up and shout ‘j’embrasse mon rival, mais c’est pour l’etouffer’ Maybe that’s just the point, we don’t speak the same language. – Trevor

‘Tis a mad, mad moon of late.

Ne’er a moment to concentrate.

Ne’er a moment of lapse in FATE. Ne’er seein’ LOVE without seein’ HATE. All the time waitin’ to reckon yer GREAT! Can’t wait, WON’T WAIT!

Midnightish

by Dayna Celise

4

the ocean beach chronicle

Git yo’ MIND STRAIGHT! Go be Sooooo, Sooooo GREAT...

Fore it’s Tooooo, Tooooo LATE!

made with luv in ob

1973

Jonathan Livingston Seagull By Richard Bach

to believe in ourselves, and always do our best without giving up.

I would like to point out that some people say that this book is full of New Age ideas. I really don’t think so. Okay, I certainly don’t know much about those ideas, and I’m not interested enough to learn more about them.

But in my opinion, we often find in a book what we want to find in it.

For me, this is only a charming allegory with a very pertinent message: DON’T ABANDON YOUR DREAMS... For that reason, I recommend this book to you. And whether you read “Jonathan Livingston Seagull” (English edition) or “Juan Salvador Gaviota” (Spanish edition), enjoy it !!!

Now available at a good bookstore near you $2.10

Travels with My Aunt

“Most gulls don’t bother to learn more than the simplest facts of flight--how to get from shore to food and back again”. “For most gulls it is not flying that matters, but eating.

For this gull, though, it was not eating that mattered, but flight.”

That is what the author of this book says about the “hero” of this story, a seagull named Jonathan Livingston Seagull.

Jonathan Livingston Seagull is different to the other gulls in his flock. He doesn’t live to eat, but eats to live and pursue his passion: flight. But his search for perfection and speed doesn’t endear him to the other seagulls, that eventually expel him from the flock for daring to be different.

To know what happens afterwards, you will need to read this book, because I don’t want to spoil the ending.

The real question here, I guess, is whether you want to read a story about gulls... I mean, there are so many good books out there, why read a book about a bird?. The answer is simple: the story in “Jonathan Livingston Seagull” is a metaphor about things that can happen to you in real life. Have you ever felt tempted to do the same that everybody else, just for the sake of conformism?. Have you often felt like given up when something you really want to do demands too much work?.

Just think about it...

I believe that many of us are sometimes like most of the gulls in this book, and we need to learn the lessons that “Jonathan Livingston Seagull” gives us: the most important thing is

Finally, a Graham Greene book I sort of liked (following disappointing experiences with Stamboul Train and This Gun For Hire)!

That said, it’s not great stuff, but it’s at least fairly entertaining, diverting, and sad.

The tale is of Henry, a middle-aged bachelor (and presumably virgin) who has been forced to retire from his bank job after 30 years. He’s a total zero, dull and timid, with nothing to look forward to but 30 years of watering his dahlias. At his mother’s funeral he meets his Aunt Augusta for the first time since his baptism, and she immediately rocks his world by announcing that his mother was in fact not this biological mother. She then proceeds to disrupt his empty life by insisting on his accompaniment for a various trips, notably a ride on the Orient Express to Istanbul, and a furtive trip to Paraguay. She’s old, but with way more zest than her nephew, and their interplay is a clear call for everyone to live life and not let it drift by (carpe diem and all that). Of course, her interpretation of this involves smuggling a gold ingot, running around with a young Sierra Leonian pot merchant, and tracking down her Italian war criminal lover-all while spinning tales of her life and loves. Of course, it’s obvious to everyone except Henry that his “aunt” is his real mother, but that the one story which goes untold. In the end, it’s hard not to feel sad for the pitiful Henry, whose passive approach to life is characterized as being a product of his upbringing.

By Graham Greene $2.50

celebs sighted this month in OB Abbie Hoffman was in OB this last weekend. Wasn’t long before our local cops busted him yet again. This time he was organizing a little bash on the beach to celebrate the end of the Vietnam conflict. We say more power to him.

Gorgeous Sonja Kristina vocalist with the British band - Curved Air was spotted browsing the aisles of Rock Paper Scissors.

She can come and sing for me . . . anytime!

cool

English sex -bomb, Julie Christie was spotted flirting with Tim at Tower Two. Shameful, what even movie stars will do for a free OB Philly & Tater Tots. Tim, c’mon, you’ve got a lovely wife . . . leave her to the amorous advances of old single farts such as myself!

French actress, Catherine Deneuve was spotted going into the Vine Wine Bar on Bacon Street. Rumour was that she might be in OB to shoot a new flick. We’ll keep you informed.

Marc Bolan and Steve Perregrin-Took were hanging out at Jungle Java after playing an acoustic set. Rumour has it that when they get back to England they are going to shorten their name to T-Rex.

Prankster, Emmett Grogan was here from San Francisco giving a lecture “Do Your Own Thing” at the Masonic Temple. The turnout was disappointing. C’mom OB, get off yer asses, we need to support these things.

made with luv in ob

Richard Roundtree was in OB this past weekend promoting his new TV show - Shaft. Throngs of young women followed him everywhere. Word on the street is that he’s a real charmer and a nice bloke on top of it.

the ocean beach chronicle

5

Sunday afternoons at 2:00pm (with half hour intermission) Dr Zhivago (1965)

Come experience this hauntingly beautiful, epic romance, set against the backdrop of the Russian Revolution.

Julie Christie plays the gorgeous & enigmatic Lara, a woman whose station in life makes her vulnerable to misuse by men, yet she possesses a genuine resourcefulness and inner strength.

The handsome Omar Sharif is brilliantly empathetic in the role of Zhivago, masterfully conveying his character’s emotions. This sweeping panorama, the era’s tumultuous political events, and the emotional portrait of one sensitive man’s experience of them, create a visual masterpiece and a truly immortal screen saga.

Late Night Double Bill

- doors open at 11:00pm Sorry, no one under 18 admitted Butterfield 8 (1960) Starring Elizabeth Taylor and Laurence Harvey.The romantic life of a fashionable Manhattan beauty who’s part model, part call-girl--and all man-trap.

Foxy Brown (1974) A sexy black woman, Foxy Brown (played by Pam Grier) seeks revenge when her government agent boyfriend Michael is shot down by gangsters led by the kinky couple of Steve Elias and Miss Katherine.

Saturday Mornings at 10:30am Yesssongs Come experience Yes as they were captured performing in their recent Close to the Edge tour. A truly mind-blowing concert!

Let’s hope they come play in Ocean Beach!

6

the ocean beach chronicle

O

by D.A. Kolodenko

cean Beach is a young person’s hood. And summertime is a young person’s season. All you need to do is find it, and the rest will find you. There’s a beach you can drink on, a pier you can walk on, a main street where you can find whatever you’re looking for, and 14,000 people who like to barbecue on their front lawns in their underwear. O.B. is pot, beer, sun and lust-fueled madness.

There’s more public drug hustling here than anywhere else in San Diego. Newport Avenue is just about the only place south of Haight Street where you could light up a joint, walk right down the sidewalk and most people wouldn’t bat an eye. If you can’t handle the dead-eyed runaways, drunken vets, arrogant surfers, tired hippies, lost punks, homeless drifters, starryeyed pagans—the whole laid-back menagerie—then you won’t like O.B. You’ll take one look at its crusty layer of sandy, booze-soaked funk and never return. You’d have to be brave or insane to let your daughters grow up in O.B. But if you can handle the decadence that pockets of freedom collect, you will find O.B. a joy, especially in the summer. An oddly isolated little slice of 1970s San Diego that progress seems to have forgotten. A place where people walk and ride bikes barefoot, where you don’t have to do much to make a friend, earn some trust, get laid, get high or get away from the rat race. O.B. has more street festivals, pointless parades, bonfires, organic vegetables, music blaring from garages and random acts of kindness than anywhere else in San Diego, and I’ve lived all over this town. I love O.B. beyond reason, and these days I can hardly imagine living anywhere else.

When I was in junior high, my punk-rock friends and I used to hang out in O.B. in the summer. We liked Buford’s 24-hour candy store. During the day, Buford and Bernice, the elderly couple who wore colorful matching western outfits, would run the store and sell wax lips and other old-school favorites for change. Bernice had been a trapeze artist in Ringling Brothers’ circus, and they put up vintage circus posters all over the walls. At night it would turn into a sketchy convenience store, and the candy section would be closed and dark, but whatever surly graveyard character they had running the place overnight would always turn on the light and move the barrier and let us get at the candy at 2 a.m. That’s what O.B. still means to me: youth, eccentricity, playful transgression.

But what does summer in O.B. mean when you’ve lived through 70 of them, when you can’t see past the carnivalesque ugliness that has desecrated the quaint seaside hamlet you grew up in and circumstances force you to stay? Since the experience of a place is inevitably shaped by one’s perceptions, I decided to revisit my chosen, beloved neighborhood through a radically different lens—through the eyes of someone who hates it but has no way out. What I learned from this revisiting of Ocean Beach is that there really is no place, no “there”there. There is only the place as it is lived.

I recently spent a beautiful sunny spring afternoon sitting on a porch with an elderly man a lot less cheerful than Buford the Candyman. Living just a few blocks from the beach since the 1940s, this guy really hates it here. He lives in such fear of reprisal from locals that he wishes to remain completely anonymous. He consented to talking about Ocean Beach only if I removed enough clues to his identity to protect him from his perceived enemies, the young OBceans.

“The young kids around here have no respect,”he says. “Three girls walking down the street the other day: One of them says, ‘I don’t care what my parents say. I’ll do whatever I want. I’ll take whatever I want.’”

Seven years ago, Mr. Island—this will be his moniker—had his property hideously vandalized (he has asked me to leave out the details) by unknown assailants, and he’s never been the same. “That’s why I just sit here, minding my business, not talking to nobody.”

“Do you have any friends that live here?”I ask him.

“They’re all gone now. Dead. The people I used to sit out here and talk with.”

“What do you like to do in O.B.? Are there places you like to eat? Things you like to do?”

“No. It’s not safe anymore. Especially at night. It’s crazy. I just stay home. There was a robbery this morning down the street. Cops were chasing them down the street. They caught one guy and took him back to jail, but the others got away.”

“You’re just a couple blocks from the beach. Do you ever walk down and look at the ocean?

Watch the sunset?”

“No. Not for the last 12 years.”

“What did you like about O.B. in the past that you think has changed?”

“Young people would have respect for their parents. They wouldn’t run around yelling ‘F this’ and ‘F that.’ They’d get dressed up on Sunday and spend time with their families.”

“Does O.B. change in the summer?”

made with luv in ob

“Yeah, it gets wild, out of control. Stay away from down there,”he says, pointing toward the beach.

“What would you recommend to people who want to come to O.B. in the summer, to visit the beach and have fun?”

“I guess just come early. Have your fun on the beach and leave before it gets dark. Don’t be out here at night.”

You can’t change someone’s perception of a place when it’s so fixed in their mind. Where I still stubbornly perceive a scruffy but magical beach town stuck in the past, Mr. Island sees a lost paradise that can never be retrieved. He’s chosen a retreat into lonely nostalgia right in the middle of all this life. He may never see another sunset over the ocean. And it’s right down the street.

This column first appeared in San Diego CityBeat.

Write to David, dakolodenko@gmail.com

70s Dictionary abzug (‘ab-zug) n.: a violent eruption, such as from a volcano. (“Run for your lives or the ABZUG will get us!”) agnew (‘ag-nu) v.i.: to turn out differently than expected; to boomerang. (“The ball AGNEWED and hit him in the face.”) brando (‘bran-do) v.i.: to speak incoherently; to mumble.

Art Photography

super

(“Who can understand him, the way he BRANDOS!”) buckley (buk-le) v.i.: (1) to make a succession of right turns until onereturns to the original position. (2) adj.: intellectual to the point of being incomprehensible. carson (‘kar-son) n.: a glib huckster. syn.: griffin, cavett, bishop (obs.). chiang (che-ang) n.: a small, broken fragment of antique china.

1973

cosell (ko-sel) v.i.: (1) to infuriate an audience by speaking in a tiresome manner. (“He COSELLED until twelve million viewers turned off their sets in disgust.”) (2) n.: an inflammation of the mouth. (“’I thought it might be strep, but it’s only a COSELL,’ the doctor said.”). eagleton (e-gultun) n.: anything supported 1000%. faisal (‘fi-zul) n.: an energy crisis. (“We can’t turn out the lights, baby, because of the FAISAL.”)

Local OB artist, Brandie Lamprou brings her show to Ocean Beach.

“The purpose of my art is to celebrate the design of everyday things. I do this by enhancing the color, lines, and texture to make them larger than life. Each piece is special to me in that it holds a memory of a place and time I originally shot the photo. They become original works of art when I digitally enhance them by using high saturation, solarization, texture, and hue changes.”

“My background is not in art or photography. I came to photography by purchasing my first good digital camera while traveling for my job “working for the man” in corporate marketing. I would come home from conventions and wind down by working on my photos using the software that came with my camera. I explored every feature and option and came up with pieces of art that I wanted to share with everyone! I then started entering them in contests and posting them in online galleries. It was a way of expressing my vision of the places I had been and the things I had seen in a ‘not so ordinary’ way.”

You can view more of her portfolio at www.earthsangelphoto.com.

Please join Brandie on August 9, 2008 at 7:00 – 9:00 pm for an art opening party at Sweet Salon. There will be drinks, lite snacks, and best of all….door prizes! Enter a drawing to win a free print!

Sweet Salon - 1855 Bacon Street, Ocean Beach, CA 92107 – 619-758-1823 – www. sweetsalon.com

made with luv in ob

the ocean beach chronicle

7

i O

A Paradise Guarded by the Tides

story by Frank Gormlie - photography by Patty Jones

CEAN BEACH, CA. There are secret caves along the cliffs in Ocean Beach. It just so happens that the stretch of cliffs next to the boulevard of the same name, from Point Loma Boulevard south to Ladera Street, contain an array of beautiful, hidden and fairly inaccessible caves. Only during real low tides are some of them reachable. But these hidden geological grottoes and cuts in the sandstone cliffs and the beaches and pools inside them are nature’s displays of the wondrous interplay of land and sea that has occurred over time - right here on our front porch. For many of the populace who reside above them, these are truly secret caves, as one can live in OB or Point Loma for decades without knowing or visiting these caves of mystery.

On July 4th, Patty and I joined a handful of others in meeting Larry O’Brien and his wife Kerrylea for Larry’s famous tour of the caves. Larry is a local and is a lover and expert about the cliffs and the caves. He gives the tour on occasion to planning committee members and city staff, and what he has to say is very poignant and pointed.

Over the years, the City of San Diego and the Army Corps of Engineers have been destroying the caves and the cliffs by dropping “foreign” boulders over the sides in efforts to shore the cliffs up against the erosive tides of time. By doing so, the natural eco-system of the cliffs is chopped up, making it more difficult for all the native species to thrive along the entire length of the cliffs.

We met Larry and Kerrylea atop the cliffs in the moist foggy darkness of 5:10 in the morning - on our nation’s birthday. We arrived that early as that was the lowest tide in weeks. We had flashlights, some food, and clothing and footwear that was okay to get wet. We started down the cliffs in single file, over slippery boulders that seemed out of place and down onto the beach level. As we carefully found our footing around the sea creatures and through the rocks and water, we entered the first set of caves - filled with sand - with only raccoon paw prints on the sand before us.

Larry gave us a continuous narrative about the rocks dropped by the City and Army Corps mostly in 1970. They were “foreign” rocks - boulders really - many of them probably from Catalina Island.

They are granite boulders, solid, tight - impervious to water - nothing can grow on them - nothing does grow on them. We could plainly see as the light brightened the huge disparity in what was growing on “local” rocks and boulders and what was growing on the outsiders. Nothing. No animal or plant was able to hang on and survive on the granite chunks brought in by humans. We could see the drastic cuts in the shoreline eco-system, as the boulders blocked one section off from another all along the cliffs.

8

ag.org r b o

the ocean beach chronicle

Moving on in patriotic wonder, we entered one long stretch of hollow, crouching down slightly as we felt our way through the grotto. Larry pointed out the different tide pools inside the cave - calling one a “Japanese Bath” as it was large enough for a couple of people. The stretch continued and we came out on a different side, having traversed an entire point of land. We emerged in an area of rock, cliff and water that humans rarely see. The road and civilization are right above us, but down here is a paradise that is guarded by the tides.

We carefully crept and sloshed past sea anemones, crabs, fish and barnacles - a few of us saw a small octopus - and at times up to our waist in the calm ocean. We understood that many of the caves that we passed through are normally full of water.

Finally, our last cave was a huge cavern - large enough for boulders, a large swath of sand and a million small shells. We munched on some dry food and pondered the trek that had brought us to this hidden, mysterious cliff world. The tour changes you, as you now appreciate more fully the shore life and the hidden grottoes that lay just beyond your area of vision as you cruise the boulevard of the cliffs looking for waves and surf and freedom.

Inside, looking out.

A tight squeeze through the hollow

made with luv in ob

Below – A cathedral formed by mother nature

T

By Dayna Celise

’was mid-May in Ocean Beach. May Gray was momentarily at bay, spring had sprung, and every Obcean could smell and see sweet summer coming. Whilst walking my precious pooch, Kindle, on Voltaire Street mere moments before sunset, I daydreamed with the rest of my ‘hood of long, warm, and salty dog beach days to come...drinkin’ Vitamin Water.

(We the people of OB are, after all, all law abiding citizens eagerly willing to comply with our right to drink alcohol at the beach taken away!) I can almost taste the cool grape of the Revive hangover cure flavor.

Suddenly, my personal OB pause is wildly interrupted by a beastly beak savagely pecking, and terrible talons ripping, tearing, pulling the hair out of the crown of my head. Feebly flailing my arms in defense, I turned to face my attacker. Beady yellow eyes leered back at me, unafraid, from the rooftop this baby crow wanna-be black bird had landed on. Fill in your own expletive here, as I lunged toward said bird and he departed for a higher perch.

Kindle and I quickly sprang home with our tails between our legs. (Has anyone out there seen that movie “The Birds!?) I shared the traumatic story with a few close friends and figured I must’ve had it comin’!

Wrong place, wrong time, maybe? Bad Karma? Even though this happened in extreme close proximity to my pad, I avoided the area and scene of the attack for about a week and a half.

Then I awoke one morning hung over and thirstier than anything only to find one or two lonely drops remaining in the water jug. Need water. Dying. The voice spoke in my loopy half drunk mind as I armed myself with sunglasses, slipped into my flips, found a quarter and headed to the water machine at Litickers: “You know that bird is right across the street.” (Luckily my mind was talking, since my mouth was drier than an unsalted rice cake.) I assured my inner voice that I surely would watch my back, A.K.A., the back of my head, lest I be attacked feeling this wretched before my first cup of joe. Anyhoo, that feathered fowl would not be foolish enough to attack an animal loving vegan more than once! (Did I mention I was drunk?)

All clear. I cross to the safe side of the street, my red eyes peeled. Mmm hmm. I see ya, black bird. I don’t want any trouble. I’m just gonna keep an eye on ya.

No funny business. I am going to walk backwards to this corner. Got my eyes on ya. We are cool, right?

Cool. I am just gonna turn this corner, go home, and drink my Wa-AAHHH!! AaHHHHH!! AHH!!!

That mutha-scratcher! I tried to fling the jug up for protection as I took off screaming and sprinting for home. Four times he dive bombed me painfully ripping and pecking.

I suddenly became a vegan band-wagoner, meaning I jumped right off of it! Banging through my front door, “Where’s th F@#N slingshot?” Seconds later my man was creeping around shirtless, slingshot in one hand, rock in the other. He didn’t take long to come to his senses without taking a shot. I sipped my joe, and my water, inside, sad and defeated. Woe was me. Woe was me. Thoughts of self pity quickly diminished to the sounds of blood curdling screams. Another victim! I bet they aren’t vegan, I thought to myself with a sadistic sense of satisfaction.

Thank God I am not the only one feeling that foul feathered freak’s razor sharp wrath! I was fixin’ to find out how far from the only one I was... “I figure in the last six weeks, that bird has attacked me fifty plus

times. Four times a day, he attacked me when I left home, and when I came home.” stated deep in the OB streets John R., who luckily also had a bird’s eye view of said shenanigans to counter the insults added to injuries. “The bird just pecks me and I’m just at the point where I’m over it. I went to the OB Quik and some Stick (Tilted Stick, bar) patrons were outside smoking. He (bird) went ‘Chuh, chuh, chuh,’” John remembers, motioning to the back of his head. “I didn’t react, and they yelled, ‘HE DOESN’T EVEN CARE!’” John then recalled that a couple’a weeks ago he had some people over. “Couple’a random drunks, couple’a locals, and some friends. One guy claimed he was an ornithologist and declared that the bird wasn’t attacking to protect his eggs or to be territorial. He told us that he was collecting hair to line his nest. A few days later this bald guy was attacked, disproved that theory. Blew it outta the water! I think the bird is a grackle. I think they’re distant mischievous cousins to the crow,” he smirked. (I also heard that it was a starling, which actually are related to crows.)

John also witnessed a premeditated capture involving a few dudes watching and one dude baiting an attack.

The friends informed the baiter when the bird was coming and he threw a trash bag up over the back of his head, catching the bird with every intention of slaughtering it. Female onlookers persuaded them to release it.

I saw John a few days after that and inquired as to if he had any recent encounters to share and he replied that he hadn’t seen Ole’ (Maybe) Grackle for days. “I think he...um...I think someone put an end to his life.

That’s not gonna be a very happy ending to your story.”

As grateful as I am for John’s help, I am the writer.

Naturally, I decided to look further for sources.

I asked Val, the sweet girl from Brazil who runs Cafe Bella in front of the OB Quik, if she had seen Mr. Brazen Black Bird of late. She sorrowfully claimed that she had not. “It was here Wednesday, I had Thursday off, and Friday it was gone. I think he must have had his babies and left. I don’t think someone killed him because there was two. I’m so sad. I had so much fun with those birds...

This one girl, she’s real vegetarian. She goes to People’s everyday and complains about our soy milk not being organic. She got attacked by the bird and she just stood there under the tree staring at it for like, five or ten minutes. Maybe trying to talk to it. I don’t know. But she finally turned around and it attacked her to right here,” Val recalled, pointing to the drive-thru of Cafe Bella. (About 100 feet from the tree the bird was in) “She screamed, she was so desperate, like from a horror movie. I laughed so hard. She was really mad!”

So there I had it. I gladly believed that this fierce beast did not meet it’s demise by a scornful victim. Heck, I knew how mad it made me. I am thankful my anger wasn’t persuasive enough to convince my redneck boyfriend to shoot him with the slingshot. (Besides, we OBceans are law abiding citizens, remember?)

I shared my happily ever after ending with John. I asked him for a final final thought. “You know what I miss most about him is his overall presence,” he told me. “What I miss is sittin’ out front laughin’ my ass off. I hope he had his babies and left. Otherwise someone took a big chunk outta the food chain.”

Touche, John. Touche. Well, this town, our town, is Ocean Beach. We are SURROUNDED by reality.

We believe what we want to believe, not what anybody tells us.

made with luv in ob

the ocean beach chronicle

9

10

the ocean beach chronicle

made with luv in ob

photos by joe ewing

now showing at a cinema near you

made with luv in ob

the ocean beach chronicle

11

G

udi’s Aromatherapy is ever present at the OB Farmers market.

They offer the therapeutic use of Essential Oils for physical, emotional and spiritual well- being.

Philip and Gudi Rubbo are local certified aromatherapists. The want to help people find alternatives for pharmaceutical medicine and use only organic or wild crafted pure Essential Oils, without any preservatives.

Gudi, born and raised in Vienna Austria, brings with her traditional European blending techniques. We specialize in diffusing blends; natural facial skin care, first aid remedies: body treatments and pain relief for the musculoskeletal system.

The reputation of Gudi’s Aromatherapy lies in our satisfied repeat customers and their success stories with first aid remedies, healthy skin care, massage oils, and aromatherapy.

Beautiful skin is healthy skin and Gudi has products to cleanse tone, nourish and moisturize your skin. They also have oils for scar treatment (first aid), sports massage oil and for bruising/swelling. problems as well.

The aromatherapy oils can be diffused several ways the Aromalamp, Fan diffuser or the Nebulizer. Stop by and see for yourself.

Environmental fragrancing-is the therapeutic use of essential oils to either clean the air we breathe of bacteria or to fill our environment with pure, clean fragrances of essential oils.

Inhaling Essential Oils causes you to breathe more deeply. This provides your lungs with more fresh air, which is turn supplies your brain with more oxygen & stimulates your metabolism. Our sense of smell is the only sense that provides a direct channel to the brain. This directly affects our central nervous system and modifies the brains reaction, stimulating the thalamus to secrete neuro chemicals that produce a feeling of general well being. Oil Blends transform your house into a warm and cozy place they set the mood for a relaxing evening, and help you and your family to settle down. The can also bring out seasons of the year with their distinct scents for example sweet geranium is one of my favorites.

Come visit our Farmer’s Market

Be sure not to miss Cyndee Love at her OB Attitude booth. Great collections of original OB clothing and accessories, all with that OB attitude. This is the place to pick up the “fun official” OB calendar. This 16 month calendar is the ultimate expression of OB and makes for a great timeless gift.

The live llamas are at the market also and will give your children a ride on a real llama as well as let them go onto a blow up llama ride.

If you are looking for special herbs like the star anise for example there is a herb store a block away on Bacon Street called In Harmony Herbs and Spices. Happy Hunting take small bills or quarters for paying the farmers.

The Italia Grille features Sausage Sandwiches & Meatball Sandwiches along with pasta for $5.00 Michael Vitali heads up the grill serving sandwiches while Ed Robinson sells the All Natural Steaks. They feature USDA Beef from Uruguay. Also Certified Wagyu – Kobe beef and the highest quality Midwest corn fed steaks. Pork, veal, lamb, poultry, and game are also on the gourmet food menu. You can buy the steaks there or have FREE home delivery. Come see

us or call us at 619-733-9321 or 760-6122422. Bring the kids for a free toy.

Glass Distractions is hand blown glass jewelry, vases, jars, perfumes bottles and bowels. They are beautiful colors, unique designs and one of a kind glass art. Favorites are the fish statues, the zodiac necklaces, and little wine bottle with 6 little glasses. Glass Distractions has been at the market for over 2 years and is a family business.

Fiori by Frenses is new to the market with unusual fabric designs. Frenses Perez studied fine art in Italy thru San Diego State. She started with purses as her fashion interest and markets flowers for you hair at

come see the latest Brit Roadster at OB Motorcyles - Abbot St. 234-EASY

12

the ocean beach chronicle

the farmers market. The flowers have rough edges, are various colors and range from funky, bold or subtle to suit different tastes.

Frenses will design to suit you desires. She started designing for Boutiques in Del Mar, Little Italy. University Heights and Coronado.

Frenses made handmade purses, shirts, and headbands. She called on one boutique and forgot her portfolio meanwhile the boutique owner took her headbands next door and everyone liked them so much they all bought some when she went back to pick up her portfolio. It was good luck because from then on every boutique bought her work.

made with luv in ob

A cease-fire in Vietnam January 28 ends direct involvement of U.S. ground troops in Indochinese hostilities. Former president Lyndon B. Johnson has died of heart disease on his Texas ranch January 23 at age 64, the draft of men for military service begun in 1940 has ended January 27 (although men must still register at Selective Service offices when they turn 18), the army will be an all-volunteer organization into the 21st century, the last U.S. troops leave South Vietnam March 29, but America’s combat death toll in southeast Asia has reached 45,958; U.S. bombing of Cambodia continues as prisoners of war are repatriated,

and President Nixon vetoes a Senate measure that would halt the bombing.

Last year’s Watergate break-in creates a national scandal in America. President Nixon names Plainfield, N.J.-born Harvard law professor Archibald Cox, 60, special Watergate prosecutor and tries to have CIA director Richard Helms prevent an FBI investigation into the Watergate break-in; when Helms refuses, Nixon forces him out February 2 and appoints him ambassador to Iran (Helms will plead guilty in 1977 to having lied to the Senate Foreign Relations Committee during his confirmation hearings when he denied that

the CIA tried to overthrow Chile’s Allende government in 1973; his 2-year sentence will be suspended and friends will pay his $2,000 fine). Nixon replaces Helms with New Yorkborn former Atomic Energy Commission head James R. Schlesinger, now 43.

The Ethernet goes into operation linking desktop computers, or work stations, into office networks through an open system made possible by a combination of hardware and software. Xerox Parc researcher Robert Metcalfe, now 27, and a co-worker have invented the system; it enables workers with desktop computers to share printers, file servers (central storage computers), and other equipment, transmitting at a speed of 3 million bits per second.

The FDA announces April 1 that it will recall diet drugs containing amphetamines.

At The Movies – Martin Scorsese’s Mean Streets with New York-born actor Robert De Niro, 28, Brooklyn-born actor Harvey Keitel, 26 opens this month.

In Sports – Miami beat Washington 14 to 7 at Los Angeles in Super Bowl VII.

Kent State University Incident: The End of the Innocence

In Music – Hitting the charts – “I Shot the Sheriff” by Robert “Bob” Marley, “Give Me Love” by George Harrison, “Bad, Bad Leroy Brown”

by Jim Croce

A

fter a long period of fighting a defensive war in Vietnam, on April 29, 1970, President Richard Nixon launched a full scale attack in Cambodia, which greatly accelerated America¹s involvment in this conflict. When Nixon announced his decision on the following day, many people were upset, and thousands of people protested. The end result of one particular protest was bloody, and a perfect example of what terrible shape our country was in during that period of time (Guard Fired in Self Defense). Thoughtless mistakes such as the ones made on that day will often have a snowball affect that lead into problems for all persons envolved.

On May 3, 1970 students of Kent State University rallied to protest Nixon¹s announcement. There was violent protesting all through the night. Windows were broken, cars were destroyed, and the ROTC building was burned to the ground.

When the firemen arrived, their hoses were taken by students and used aganist them.

At that point Governor James Rhodes called for the National Guard to come in and protect the campus(Four Deaths at Noon).

The following day Kent State University was under the ‘protection’ of the Ohio National Guard. Around noon on that day, students fromed in protest. They were told to disperse, but refused. The first action of the National Guard was to release tear-gas grenades upon the masses of students (Guard Fired in Self Defense). These grenades were marginally suscessful, and only caused a temporary retreat. The students then responded by throwing concrerte, rocks, and everything else they could find. This was the first of a group of poor decisions that led to the bloody disaster of May 4, 1972 and all of the other problems associated with the disaster (Kent State Continued).

From a distance of about sixty feet from the crowd of students, a member of the National Guard believed that he heard sniper fire. In response to these alleged shots, he opened fire on the students with his M1 .30-06 caliber rifle. He was immediately backed up by several of the men in his squad, all of whome were shooting the same rifle except for one man who shot a military issue Colt .45. When the smoke had cleared, ther had been about thirty-five shots fired, and four of the students were dead. It is unknown exactly how many others weere injured, but sources report from eleven to fourteen students and onlookers. These lives were shed due to judgment.

It is nothing more than that. However, had this incident been handled in a better manner, there would have been much less of a shock wave of emotions sweeping through the country. (Olson) The following day Governor Rhodes was accused by the campus senate of bringing the troops in for political reasons, and the entire nation was outraged about what had happened. There were countless protests held against the war and this incident. Also, memorial ceremonies were held all over the country. Nixon released a couple of statements that showed no sorrow for the victims, but rather implied that that they got what was coming to them. His basic argument was that violence would only end in tragedy, and that people should demonstrate their feelings peacefully if

they felt it necessary to demonstrate them at all.

After a lengthy investigation, there there were several inditements handed out, but they were not given to the shooters.

The people charged with crimes were the protesters. Eventually there was a hearing for the shooters, but they were found not guilty. They argued that they had been afraid for their lives and were left with no option. Again the nation was outraged.

At this point a massive student strike was launched. At schools all over the country students made violent protests against the government, but there was nothing that could be done (Olson).

Nixon had been warned in a letter signed by thirty-seven university and college presidents of the potential danger of students when he launched his attacks, but he was seeing the results now on full scale.

He used the actions of these students to boost his campaign among Republicans in America. He called the protesters ³bums², and blamed them for many of the problems in the country. At this point one poorly delt with mistake had turned into a major national issue and caused a great deal of low patriotic morale (Four Deaths at Noon). The entire nation was in shambles, and the actions of the citizens reflected these feelings. It is clear that the Kent State incident was a horrible mistake on the part of both the victims and on the shooters, but with the way things had been going, it was predictable.

It was a very bad situation for the government, because there was no solution to the problem. The most significant result of this entire incident was a new fear of danger to the protesters.

As with all major incidents, it just kind faded away with time.

Now it is just another history lesson, but for someone who looks closely, it could be much more.

made with luv in ob

the ocean beach chronicle

13

Trevor: Let’s talk about what you’ve been doing since you were here last.

Plant: We’ve been to Italy, Switzerland, Denmark. We did a tour of England, intending to go back to all the old clubs that we played in the beginning. .

Trevor: ....around Birmingham...

Plant: All those sorts of places. In some way it was a successful move, in other ways it was a bit of a dead loss, because you’d be playing in places that only hold 250 people.

Trevor: Isn’t that what the club trip is like in England? A lot of smaller halls and stuff?

Plant: Yeah, that’s what it used to be like at the beginning. But there’s always something bigger than a club in each town, a hall or something. Not so much a Coliseum, though.

Trevor: I heard you had some problems in Milan.

Plant: We went to Milan, and there was a big music festival with people from all countries contributing. They travel around, and we just came for one gig. And we were told that it was a cool thing and even though there was a reputation for bottles being thrown in Rome, we were assured it wouldn’t happen to us.

Anyway, we started playing in a big cycle arena, and they’d been booing everybody else, and as soon as we walked onstage, I noticed some smoke at the back of the arena. And there’s all this smoke and there’s firemen behind us and I was going “fire! fire!” in my finest Italian.

Anyway, nobody took any notice of me and we carried on for about a quarter of an hour and the fire had gotten all around us. And I turned around and looked at everybody and Peter (Grant, the manager), his eyes had all gone big and red. And everybody was suddenly coughing. People suddenly appeared with masks and things like that and suddenly there were bombs going off, everywhere.

And the whole thing about what I’m doing is that I’ve been doing it seven years and I’m... what time is it?

Trevor: Midnight.

Plant: I am now 23.

Trevor: Your birthday? Well, let me be the first to congratulate you (we shake hands).

Plant: And so it’s been seven years and suddenly I find we’ve been tear gassed. So I got an Italian guy to come on and I told him to tell everybody to (Robert purses his lips and blows several times). And everybody’s blowing. And everyone was just sitting down and coming around and digging it.

14

the ocean beach chronicle

And I was getting so I couldn’t sing, and the feeling, if you’ve ever been tear gassed, is that if you move, you’ve got 15,000 kids who are going to freak out. So you don’t move and you become so nauseated. Anyway, it finally broke up and there were kids running everywhere.

There were 250 stormtroopers there, in line, and I forgot to tell you, as we got there, there were wagons all alongside the road, and there were all these guys lined up by the front door.

So I jumped out of the car and I was saluting and shouting and checking the uniforms and walking up and down the ranks going (makes faces) and I saw something I’ve never seen before, because they were completely devoid of anything human. They just looked at me as if to say “Objective number one” or something.

And suddenly everyone was running. And the kids came running over the stage, and we split and ran down a passage under the cycle arena. And then they tear gassed the passage.

So Peter, who can’t run very fast, was in trouble. So we found a room and we barricaded ourselves in. Broke into a medical cupboard and had all these fucking weapons and stuff. They were bringing the roadies in unconscious. And it was because we stood up on stage. But that was not the real reason for it

all. There were 250 people who just didn’t know what the fuck was going on. 15,000 people are jumping in the air trying to escape the fucking tear gas and they don’t understand.

And as we drove back to the fucking hotel, round the wrecked cars and round the fights and all that, there were roadside hospitals all the way to the center of Milan. I’ve never seen anything like that.

And I got up the next morning and got the papers and the driver translated and just told us that the kids had caused a riot and the police had had to move in and do the fucking honours. People lost their sight. I cried for days and days and everything I think about it, or I think of something gentle, I even saw a silly film with Cary Grant in it, and he was going on about what man must do to be man, and I was fucking crying. Because it just fucking hit me and if I’m ever down in America all somebody has to do is say. “Are you a boy or a girl” and I’ll fucking dive at him. Because it’s an animal reaction.

I’ve already been in a rathole once.

And I know it’s not just because we’re radicals or rock ‘n’ rollers. It’s because there’s nobody understanding. And our side of the fence are going over there and saying “Fuck That”, and that side is coming over and saying “Up Yours”, and it’s the wrong thing, you know. The concerts should be in twice as big a place and everybody should bring their parents. And then we can get it together. What we need is more of a bridge between the two sides... and in Milan? What are you going to do?

Trevor: Well, you’ve finished your new album.

Plant: We finished that, and we did it in our own home.

made with luv in ob

Well, how it went was that we used a mobile truck for our recording unit and we went to an old manor in Surrey. There we put up all the equipment in one room and stuck all the mike leads through a window. Straight into the recording van.

So anything that we did just went straight down on tape. Bit by bit it grew up into a great collage of numbers.

Trevor: Do you like it?

Plant: (nodding head): Yeah. It was another atmosphere altogether.

Trevor: What about rock critics? They seem to be the other extreme. On one hand you have the audience screaming Whole Lotta Love, and on the other a critic saying the opposite.

Plant: Well, a critic who’s been a critic in one position for more than six months gets a bit cocky, right? He feels pretty cool. So he suddenly starts making assumptions and statements that aren’t his to make, man. You can’t condemn something just by.... a critic can’t fucking state what he wants to... like if he goes to a concert, like tonight, and he goes away and writes, “Well, I don’t know what to say because it wasn’t too good at all.” For 17,000 people going it was fucking too much, but that one guy could get quite a reputation for decrying it. And unfortunately that seems to be the general system of critics.... to make themselves a name. Instead of just transposing what happens, and saying it was accepted, they suddenly start becoming an entity for themselves, instead of a courier for the people.

And just as a new society is growing and moving, we’ve got to eliminate all this old crap, and we’ve got to be fair with each other. Because if we get all these blasé attitudes at an early stage where we’re still trying to prove to a lot of people that it’s a wholesome, positive thing and they keep tearing away inside it, well, it’ll be ruined before it’s even gotten halfway. Because that attitude doesn’t stop just at music, but it goes everywhere.

And that attitude of somebody in a position to influence somebody else is open to somebody with no talent but a pen and a job. And it worries me, really, because I don’t just see it for us, I see it for people who I really fucking admire. They’ve given something and are working really hard. And people are digging it and going out and getting some satisfaction from it.

But that guy, well, he’s on another one altogether, isn’t he?

Trevor: I’d have to agree, even though I’ve been accused of the same thing on a few occasions.

Plant: Well, you’ve only got to be fair.

Trevor: Right, the way I look at it is that a critic is no good unless he’s honest with himself. And if he has constructive things to say. That’s part of criticism. It should help more than hinder.

Plant: Yes, but things like Rolling Stone get out of hand.

Even in England people buy it because it’s been around for such a long time. It gets to be a habit. And what they read is something else, man. Because it’s always down, down, down.

Why don’t they stop all that and start being nice? Is that such a hard thing to do?

Trevor: Yeah, but they’re in it for the bucks and controversy always sells more than good news.

Plant: Yeah, but we’re in it for a buck as well, to an extent.

But we go out there and there’s no bad ones. People could throw a fucking bottle and it would still be cool because they’re there and the thing incites them to do that. So you just ride along with it.

Trevor: What direction is your new material taking?

Plant: It really varies, Because having that place in the country... it’s that old cliché about a place in the country... but it was really great. The mikes coming in through the windows and a fire going in the hearth and people coming in with cups of tea and cakes and people tripping over leads, and the whole thing is utter chaos. Bonzo’s drums are in the hall, in the entrance hall, with one mike hanging from the ceiling.

And things like that. And everyone’s going... and we set up anther set of drums and I was playing drums... and it was a good feeling, and we did it as easy as pie. So this album’s got a lot of feeling to it.

The Led Zeppelin Interview...

Ocean Beach, July 19, 1973

By Trevor

Music

I

recently had the good fortune to catch a free live performance by A Shadow’s Edge outside Rock Paper Scissors during the weekend flea market.

Wow! what an interesting and eclectic group.

Refreshing arrangements of other artists’ work such as Jethro Tull, King Crimson and Janis Joplin, as well as fantastic original compositions.

Ray, Lance and Rick handle a wide variety

of instruments with outstanding skill.

Jackie delivers the vocals with absolute mind-blowing strength and . . . what a stage presence!

Do not, and I say again, do not miss a chance to sear and hear A Shadow’s Edge perform. They are Brilliant! – Trev Ray Conseur, Jackie Austin-Singer, Lance Jordan and Rick Leighton are A Shadow’s Edge

made with luv in ob

the ocean beach chronicle

15

Interview Cabo Bob

MEXICAN SLANG 101 has been the best-seller at The Black for ten years, but “Cabo Bob”, the perpetrator of the infamous yellow book, lives deep in Mexico. However, he recently visited Ocean Beach with what he describes as a “skeleton staff of merry men and unmarried women”, and gave an exclusive Chronicle interview to Avis Charlot, a Brit journalist staying at the OB Hostel.

CHRONICLE: Listen, last night was a mistake.

CHRONICLE: Hello, Mr…. “Bob”. Glad to have you you back in Ocean Beach. Thanks for the official “Cabo Bob” T-shirt, by the way. But I think it’s too small.

CABO BOB: Oh not at all, it looks perfect.

CHRONICLE: Thank you. I think. Anyway, where did you learn all of these slang terms?

CABO BOB: Mostly in the gutter and jailhouse. This is not stuff mentioned in classes or phrase books. That’s kind of the point.

CHRONICLE: Lets not get into which particular jails or gutters. But why did you decide to collect these words into a book?

CABO BOB: I’m only in it for the money, baby. Seriously, people used to ask me about things they’d hear me say--particularly at meetings of the Tijuana Bi-Cultural League. So I started doing little xerox lists for friends, and pretty soon the list was getting pretty long and expensive to copy, so I made it into a book to try to make a profit instead of paying for the privilege or educating my fellow gringos.

CHRONICLE: So what do you think about the book’s reputation as a potty-mouth primer?

CABO BOB: I’m glad you asked me that.

CHRONICLE: Well, you told me to.

CABO BOB: Really? Clever. Must have been last night.

16

the ocean beach chronicle

I never do things like that, normally.

CABO BOB: You call that “normally”? Man, I thought I was kinky. Anyway, the idea that “Slang 101” is just a bunch of dirty words and drug terminology is inaccurate. You look at the “Contents” page and you’ll see there are 10 chapters, of which “Sex, Drugs, and Rock’n’Roll” is only one. The other nine are most cultural education, really. I should teach this stuff in college.

CHRONICLE: Maybe if Spring Break was an academic discipline.

CABO BOB: Discipline? Hey, that reminds me...

CHRONICLE: No more about last night!

What do you mean by “cultural”? I can’t wait to hear this.

CABO BOB: Well, slang is really about culture, isn’t it? REAL culture, the way people really live and think and relate. Now just to mention a few of the many precious gems of wisdom in my book, you noticed how “padre” means “cool”, but “madre” has all these negative connotations, not even a polite word to say in certain contexts?

CHRONICLE: Well, like I said, I didn’t....

CABO BOB: Oh, man. Well, anyway, it does.

And what does that say about a culture? What does it mean, culturally speaking, that a woman calls her husband “mi hijo” and her son “papi”?

CHRONICLE: I don’t know, what?

CABO BOB: Well, it’s meaningful, see? These are the sorts of things sociologists go nuts over.

CHRONICLE: But you have to admit that

there is a lot of sexual terminology mentioned.

CABO BOB: You only read that one chapter, didn’t you?

CHRONICLE: Look, I’m supposed to be asking the questions here. If your main interest is sociology and cultural enlightenment, why didn’t you censor the stronger “bad words.”

CABO BOB: So people will know what not to say.

CHRONICLE: That’s so pathetic I can’t even laugh at it.

CABO BOB: No, it’s true. You HEAR these words on the street. If you’d actually done your homework instead of spending the evening at my place with your chains and whipped cream and trained chihuahuas...

CHRONICLE: That is NOT TRUE! CABO BOB: I didn’t think they were trained.

I don’t know if you even can train something with such a small brain.

CHRONICLE: I don’t HAVE chihuahuas or chains or.... I’m leaving now. Oh, wait, I was supposed to ask you about the cover art. Is it a ripoff of the “Day of the Dead” skeletons?

CABO BOB: I guess. It as done for me by Jessica Kreager, a very fine painter from Seattle, who used to be known for a “punk” sensibility. I thought skeletons were the perfect image to reflect Mexico and appeal to student-aged travelers.

made with luv in ob

CHRONICLE: Well, speaking as a studentaged traveler...

CABO BOB: Who’s thirty-five, doesn’t speak Spanish and doesn’t read books.

CHRONICLE: I think that’s about enough of this crap.

CABO BOB: Amen, sister. I could use an eyeopener myself. Maybe a little hair of chihuahua.

CHRONICLE: I TOLD you not.....

CHRONICLE: Wonderful. I’m out of here.

CABO BOB: Nos vemos, guapa. (Translation on page 2) Those who’d like to sample Cabo Bob’s wit and wisdom first hand can find it in The Black, and should check out the video on the website at www. slang101.com

May You Live All The Days of Your Life

O

cean Beach is a town that many veterans call home. Where our main street, Newport Avenue, meets the Pacific Ocean, a P.O.W./M.I.A. (Prisoners of War/ Missing in Action) flag is flying, the concrete is speckled with various sizes of circular veteran’s memorials both personal and anonymous, and a large stone monument stands decorated simply with a bronze plaque. It reads: Dedicated to all Veterans, living or dead, who have served in the Armed Forces of the United States of America and shared a portion of their lives to preserve the honor and integrity of this great Nation. I feel obliged to print that due to the embarrassing fact that I had never read it through myself before setting about to write this article. O.B. is also home of the Veterans of Foreign Wars (V.F.W.) Post # 1392, a non-profit organization consisting of a thrift store and a “Members Only” canteen. I repeat, “canteen”, not to be confused with “bar.” (May my readers learn from my mistakes.)

Regrettably, Ocean Beach is also the dwelling place of a substantial number of United States veterans that have no home to call their own. It hurts me to say that one in four homeless persons nation-wide is a veteran. The National Alliance to End Homelessness reports, “Convergent sources estimate between 23-40% of homeless adults are veterans...This is true despite the fact that vets are better educated, more likely to be employed, and have a lower poverty rate than the general population.”

As a concientious resident of our charming beach community OB, this powerful and wealthy country called the United States of America, and this planet earth, I have to ask myself this question: How could it possibly be true that the men and women who defended and served their (our) country in foreign wars in the name of FREEDOM and DEMOCRACY could still be “living” outside from “Sea to Shining Sea?” At the veteran’s monument I met a man named Glyn Franks who runs a soup kitchen in OB and is the president

of a homeless outreach program. He wonders the same thing, “Most of the homeless are seniors and a lot of them are vets...We’re supposed to be the finest nation in the world, how are we treating our heroes?”

Obviously we are not treating them the way we ought to be. Homelessness is not the only problem our veterans are at risk for. The Associated Press reported on July 28th, 2008 that the Department of Veteran’s Affairs (VA) released the following appalling statistics. “Eighteen (18) veterans a day commit suicide...Twelve thousand vets attempt suicide each year under the VA’s care...According to a recent RAND Corp. study, roughly one in five soldiers returning from Iraq and Afghanistan displays symptoms of PTSD, (post traumatic stress disorder) putting them at a greater risk for suicide...

Researchers at Portland State University found that male veterans are twice as likely to commit suicide than men who are not veterans.” The VA website reports that, “for Americans in general the highest rates of suicide are among older men, but middle aged vets appear to take their lives in greater proportions than their elders.”

The common denominator in both of these unfortunate afflictions our veterans are suffering from is PTSD. As defined by the National Institute of Mental Health, PTSD is an anxiety disorder that can develop after exposure to a terrifying event or ordeal in which grave physical harm occured or was threatened. Jon Soltz veteran co-founder and chair of VoteVets.org, expressed on the Huffington Post.com that, “ the real point to this tragedy (homelessness) is buried in the AP story: ‘The Iraq vets seeking help with homelessness are...less likely to have substance abuse problems, but more likely to have mental illness - mostly related to posttraumatic stress, said Pete Dougherty, director of homeless veterans programs at the VA.’ “ This is only in reference to our current wars.

The hard truth is there are long standing government programs allocated and designed to assist these misplaced, overlooked, mentally and physically ill veterans in acclimating themselves back to civilian life; however, they fall short and

miss the mark in alarmingly high numbers. And when I say, “numbers,” I implore you to bear in mind that I am speaking of human lives. Air Force veteran, honorary Marine, and actor Chuck Norris agrees: “We must continue to fight to care for those who have fought for us, particularly those who now are disabled for doing so...reconsider the costs our service members continue to pay...especially those wounded in heart, mind, and body.”

Allow me to introduce you to some folks who are tryin’ to help to fill this gap, locally. We Care Vets is a grass roots non-profit organization whose mission is to provide acupressure and other body/mind strengthening programs to veterans and their families regardless of their financial ability. (WeCareVets. org) They are currently seeking both funding and a location for a treatment center in Ocean Beach.

The reason for the creation of WCV, OB, was the tragic suicide of USAF pilot Captain Clayton Lee (Claybird) Wallace, beloved cousin and fellow veteran of WCV co-founder/Outreach Coordinator, Ocean Beach resident, Will L. Waddy, a veteran of the current wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Will states that WCV seeks to “help other veterans and their family members deal with the physical and mental strains of participation in the professional business of life-taking. Right or wrong, good or bad, I don’t care, none of us have all the answers. The point is this: Vets and their family members are not being taken care of properly once they leave the service.”

“The primary modality (of WCV) is acupressurea system of working with the intrinsic energy of the body through light, non invasive touch that has been used by people all over the world for thousands of years. It is a powerful adjunct to any tratment plan for emotional and physical health. Acupressure is a well established treatment for anxiety, stress, headaches, insomnia, back and neck pain- conditions all common to PTSD. As the body heals so does the mind,” states Susan Grant, formerly Director of Clinical Acupressure and founder of We Care Vets.

We Care Vets’ birthing happened last year September, 18, 2007, at Stand Down in Springfield, Massachusetts as part of the pilot program in Northampton, Mass. Susan and Will were part of

made with luv in ob

the three day Stand Down this July which served over 800 homeless veterans. Stand Down was started here in San Diego at Veteran’s Village twenty years ago as, “a belief in the triumph of the human spirit over extraordinary odds. It grows out of a conviction that the overwhelming number of homeless veterans on the streets of America is unacceptable, and that the veteran community itself must respond. ( vvsd.net Stand Down Manual)Will says that Susan, “probably worked on 25-30 vets...male, female, old, young, big, small, toothless, clean cut, all vets...One vet, Jason, chased me down yelling, ‘Will!!!’ He then told me we were the best service there.”Steve Cummings, Vietnam vet, and patient of both post surgical physical therapy and WCV’s accupressure told me in a phone interview, “Both (therapies) combined are really helping in a great way. It’s (accupressure) really a good way to get balance.”

Steve had the opportunity to photograph Stand Down and witnessed that, “Susan gave all these vets a little taste of what this acupressure is about.

I asked her if she felt drained after doing body/ energy work on all these vets and she told me that she felt charged!”Contrary to many judgements, “These veterans are not crazy. They just need to decompress in a safe environment, away from alcohol, drugs, and a society that does not understand, therefore does not empathize with, service-related mental conditions,” claims Will.

Susan wants the community to be reminded that, “Veterans are us. They are our community, our family, and our nation. Forgetting that they are our friends and neighbors is the problem.”If you are a veteran and you would like to find out how you and your family can benefit from WCV, or for more information on We Care Vets or acupressure, please visit www.wecarevets.org. If you would like to make a contribution, they can be made online or sent to: We Care Vets, P.O. Box 70215, San Diego, Ca, 92167

By Dayna Celise

the ocean beach chronicle

17

But of course that didn’t work. Not everybody likes Starbucks. Some resent the ubiquity. Others take issue with the predatory business practices, labor policies, or product quality. They make websites like ihatestarbucks.com. In OB, the opinions vary. Some of us are fine with patronizing the Starbucks in the nearby chain store-laden Sports Arena area, where it fits the already megacorporatized strip mall environment. What unites the majority of us is the desire not to have one in OB. In 2001, I seized on your claim. I joined the effort to preserve the character of our community, as all around us the neighborhoods of San Diego were starting to, in the words of NY’s righteous rabble-rouser, Reverend Billy, “drown in a sea of identical details.” My OB homies and I took you at your word, collecting signatures on a petition (thousands of them—they might still be in a file there somewhere), holding massive protests (hundreds showed up – on March 25th, 2001 OB held one of the biggest protests ever against a Starbucks), and even conducting a survey of hundreds in OB, resulting in rejection of the proposed Starbucks by the OB Planning Board and Town Council.

But Starbucks ignored our wishes and opened on September 11, 2001. It felt like an omen.

The argument was that if some people wanted it, they’d open anyway. Well, there will always be a few who care more about having an “emotional brand experience” as you call it, than in protecting the scale of a neighborhood, but I honestly can’t imagine a Starbucks being less wanted than the one in OB. What you have always seemed unwilling to accept, Howard, is that no matter how much money you give to the Democratic party, no matter how many cups you claim to recycle, no matter how good you think you treat your employees, no matter where your heart is, no matter how much you try to make ethics at the very least a consideration in your business practices, some of us still don’t want you on every corner of every block in every city in every country in the world.

Closing 600 locations to protect profits is fine but how about protecting neighborhoods?

Dear Starbucks Got room for OB in the lucky 600?

To: Howard Schultz, Chief Executive Officer Starbucks Corporation, Seattle, Washington From: D.A. Kolodenko, Columnist, San Diego CityBeat

I

know you won’t respond to this letter. You won’t even read it. CEOs of mega-corporations hire people to read their mail. Maybe if I were Oprah or the President of Kazakhstan your underlings would bounce this up the chain of command, but I’m just a lowly columnist for a free weekly in a city with only 233 Starbucks locations.

No matter. This is an epistolary column, Howard (Can I call you Howard?), and whether or not you read it is irrelevant.

Seven years ago, I wrote a letter to former CEO of Starbucks, Orrin Smith, who took the gig from

18

the ocean beach chronicle

you when you became Chief Global Strategist. In that letter I asked Orrin to cancel the proposed opening of a Starbucks in my neighborhood. I am pretty sure Orrin never got the letter. Otherwise, they would never have opened that Starbucks, right?

Anyway, now that you’re back at the helm and have decided to make the closing of 600 locations in the US part of your corporate restructuring plan to address Starbucks’ plummeting stock, I was kind of hoping you might put Ocean Beach on the chopping block.

According to the AP, you guys are still trying to figure out which ones to close. They report that 70% of the ones getting axed opened within the last two years. That leaves about 180 more Starbucks that you’ll be unloading. I’m assuming that “underperformance” is the criterion.

Surely the OB Starbucks is in the lower tier of profit-makers. After all, the rent you’re paying there is about three times the going rate for Newport Avenue, and most of the 14,000 citizens of OB would rather have their mom catch them walking out of the Hustler Superstore with a stack of VHS tapes than be seen carrying a five dollar cup of coffee out of the OB Starbucks.

But given that there are over 12,000 Starbucks locations in the US, you’ll probably be able to find 180 stores making even less money than the one in OB, which unfortunately attracts a few locals and tourists who don’t know better.

So let me make a case for a different criterion in deciding which Starbucks will go: shut down the ones in neighborhoods where you’re least wanted.

In an interview with Business Ethics Magazine in December of 1995—around the time your coffee empire was just starting to become the ultimate symbol of the corporate homogenization of nearly every aspect of human life—you said that you didn’t want Starbucks to open in neighborhoods where they were not wanted. It was in the context of explaining how you’d do whatever it takes to make everyone like you, remember?

made with luv in ob

To be more specific: some of us would like it if our little corner of the world could remain unbranded. Should there be a Starbucks at the Great Pyramid of Giza? On the Galapagos Islands?

Our little main street of small, locally owned businesses may not seem like much to you, but to OBceans the albeit funky character of this place is as precious as a natural or architectural wonder. It doesn’t matter that you try to blend in by creating a chameleon store facade or encourage your employees to join a beach cleanup. The point is that we need some cities, villages and neighborhoods that are not just a little bit different, but utterly different. Humans benefit most from real diversity, not manufactured diversity.

Last year the infamous Starbucks in China’s Forbidden City was shut down. It was forced out because it didn’t fit the character of the ancient palace grounds. We don’t have the clout of China.

Hell, we don’t even have the backing of the San Diego City Council, but we do have a request: let us be among the lucky 600. Pretty please with sugar stirred in.

made with luv in ob

the ocean beach chronicle

19

20

the ocean beach chronicle

made with luv in ob