Honk Your Horn, Pump Your Fist, Eat A Torta!

I Just came in from the street in front of my pad (International BLVD) where a huge protest and general chaos were taking place. It was an awesome kind of chaos. Thousands of Latinos and political activists were out in force to show support for immigrants and migrant workers who are currently being targeted by republicans as a way of distracting from the war in Iraq, whitehouse leaks of classified information, etc. You know the routine. It's propaganda 101 as taught in Ivy League institutions to aspiring politicians, lobbyists, and Halliburton CEOs. Need someone to blame for the mistakes of presidents and politicians? Immigrants will do. If you are seriously worried that migrant workers and immigrants from Mexico and Central America are going to compromise your safety and even worse (for Americans) the quality of life you've grown accustomed to, then you have definitely reaped the benefits of our stellar public education system. Good job, and by the way, who is your pick for the next American Idol? This is serious business.

I don't know if taking it to the streets really works anymore in terms of the big political picture, but in terms of community I have to say that this neighborhood has never seemed more alive than today. That goes for the big Cinco De Mayo celebrations, and even the Day Of The Dead festival that I attended in 2005.

Oh, and let's not forget the dozens of police that were out in force today, with their bullhorns, cameras, and paddy wagons. Our car has been broken into and vandalized (along with most of our neighbors' cars) at least three times since we've lived here. Not once have we ever witnessed a single cop patrolling this street or doing anything else in our neighborhood besides hanging out at taco trucks and busting prostitutes. It's good to know that they have their priorities in tact. I wanted so much so confront one of them in some heroic manner, like a young Huey Newton, but I could see that their fingers were already fiddling with the buckles around their nightsticks, while their faces exhibited those nervous smiles that try but fail to distract from the exagerrated clenching of jaws and grinding of teeth. I'd sooner save my money for a trip to Paplona, Spain and the next running of the bulls in July.

The Secret FLIPPER Show Last Night.

We were tipped about this secret basement show by a local record label owner and semi-well known scenester about town. The address of the venue (basement) was slipped to us is a dark parking lot (okay it was behind an already occupied bush in Aquatic Park), and then we were off to the show! The rain had stopped and we found our way to the hood, near where the Tidal Wave metal fests take place every year, and then it was just a matter of finding parking and the right house. Both of which were easy to do....TOO EASY. When we got to the house (and you could tell that it was thee spot) there was a sign on the door that read: Flipper canceled. Sorry, we tried to calll everyone.

Shit. It would have been perfect. Perfect weather, perfect location, and oh shit...were we duped? Maybe, but the joke is on anyone who left too soon because while we stared in disbelief at the handwritten sign, Sly Stone pulled up on a three wheel Harley. Yes, Sly fucking Stone! He has platinum hair that's spiked up everywhere - I guess the mohawk grew out or something - and it turns out he is a huge Flipper fan. He told us a story about picking up that old Posh Boy compilation that had Negative Trend on it, and then about how he'd bought every Flipper record, but never got a chance to see them with their original line-up. Will Shatter R.I.P. It was cool. As if that wasn't mind blowing enough, Sly then pulled out this cool little keyboard and played us a couple of new songs that he has written. Powerful, life altering shit. The powers that be will never let him release it. They'd sooner give Fidel Castro his own talk show on MTV. Oh well, that about does it for this secret Flipper show report. It turns out that no one hooked us or our staff photographer up with passes for tonight's show at the Fillmore (I blame Depace), so even though we missed Flipper this time around, a half hour spent with a forty and a sober Sly Stone in San Francisco on a rainy night in April still counts for something.

-Jay Unidos