The Craigslist Theory

As easy and effortless my move to the west coast has unfolded, there is still one small factor that has become a huge burden at the moment; finding a place to live. I’ve been staying with my cousin Alex and his wife Natalia in San Mateo for the past five weeks. The experience with them has been both truly memorable and totally awesome. But, I've also been busy looking for a place in the city to end the additional two hour CAL Train and BART commute that I make four times a week, to and from the Academy.

I have a question for all you people out there; have any of you tried to find a place to live in San Francisco?

It’s absolutely nothing you might think it is. In the old days living in suburbia, I could just pick a town that I might like, drive around looking for “For Rent” signs, write down the phone number and make the phone call. Most of the time you can see the apartment during the same day. Not in San Francisco. But you see, there’s this system that’s been around for a while now, a means for mass communication over the Internet. This system is called Craigslist.

I’ve never used Craigslist before in my life, for anything. If I needed a car, I went to a dealership. If I needed a job, I went to the establishment. And if I needed a place to live, I drove around until I found one. I’ll say it again; not in San Francisco and especially not to find a place to live. I’ve been on Craigslist for five weeks now. I’ve seen several places that were "inhabited" by the weirdest people; having numerous experiences trying to locate this new homestead of mine.

So how many apartments had I seen? I couldn’t even recall as I drove around, searching for a parking space that Valentine’s evening. I had made yet another appointment to see a room available somewhere in the Castro and there was absolutely no parking within a mile radius of the address. The woman who owned the home assured me that there would be. This was the first red flag. How I found the place was a miracle in itself. The woman told me that it was an old Victorian home nestled between two modern apartment buildings and that I couldn’t miss it.

Well, I missed it alright. There wasn't a glimpse of an old Victorian home anywhere in sight. I had to call the woman over my cell phone so she can step out of her home and flag me down. The funny thing was, I was standing right in front of the house. Old Victorian…that was red flag number two. Then, there was the woman.

She carried a short handled purse over her shoulder (in her own home, mind you) as she stood at the rickety front door. Her long and frizzy, dyed red hair didn’t cover up all the grey roots that sprouted out from her pale and flaky scalp. Her gaunt features (the sheer sign of a vegan) only enhanced the ghoulish scene of an already moist and foggy evening that could have been mistaken for Halloween.

“We take our shoes off,” she said.

Now, I didn’t mind this of course. But as I reached down to untie my sneakers, I noticed the long vines of hair that hugged her chicken skinned legs. I almost barfed in my mouth. I plainly knew that this wasn’t gonna work out but I just didn’t have it in me to leave right then and there. What I needed was a camera.

The wooden floor creaked with every step as she walked me down the extra long hallway, which clearly revealed itself to be somewhat of a hostile. We passed by two doors that were marked A & B with cheap, hardware store stickers. Didn't I just leave Texas and the shot-gun homes I'd driven by so many times, I thought to myself?

“Here is your room,” she said.

When she opened the door, I couldn’t believe my eyes; it was a closet. It was an expensive closet, I might add.

“You’re asking how much?” I asked, trying to refrain my sarcasm.

“One thousand,” she answered, wth the overhead light in the glossy painted room giving her a jaundice hue. She looked me up and down, deciding to release her clutches from her baby-blanket purse. She smiled at me and asked me how long I had been looking for a place. I told her that I had just started. She now wanted to show me the kitchen. Humor me, I thought to myself.

All I could hear when we entered the kitchen were the sounds of frogs ribbiting from the back yard. A plethora of frogs, possibly hundreds, kept sounding off into the night behind the door leading to her back porch. I was startled for a moment, thinking that this could have possibly been her food source. Nah…it couldn’t be. She’s vegan. She showed me all the cupboard space that was already taken and assured me that I would be allowed a shelf in the refrigerator. Gee, thanks!

“And now for the best part,” she said, and she opened the back door.

All at once the orchestrated frog ribbits filled the kitchen as she escorted me out to the back door. Was I in the everglades? With a smile on her face, she did all but pick up a wand to conduct the frog symphony that empowered her back yard.

“How did you acquire so many frogs?” I asked.

“They’ve been very good to me these past years,” she said. “Isn’t it just beautiful?”

Now...I love nature, everyone. Just ask anyone who knows me. I appreciate beautiful things. But she actually thought that her frogs were going to be the final selling factor? Wow, I thought. She probably does eat them.

“Do you model?” she asked. “You’re very handsome.”

"Thanks,” I replied.

“So, do you like the place? I really hope you do. You’re fun to look at, too.”

And there went the final red flag, even though the first one was enough.

“Is it too expensive for you?" She said, probably seeing the angst on my face. "Look, why don’t we discuss it over a glass of wine,” she said, somewhat stepping into my space. “Maybe I can wave the deposit…”

Now, who wants to know what I did at this point? You guessed it! I wasn't about to copy-cat Woody Harrelson in "King Pin". I fled the tree huggin’, frog leg eatin’, old floozy who was tryin’ to get me to braid her leg hairs!

What do I have to say about this so called system of conveniently trying to find whatever you need over the Internet? This list (which I have found to be mentally abusive) can be either deceitful or in some cases, unforgiving. It doesn’t surprise me to hear about the fatalities of innocent people who have responded to ads, which they assumed led to a promising future.

“Haven't found a place to live yet, Erick? Have you checked Craigslist!"

"Fuck Craigslist!" I’ll remain the old fashioned guy that I am. I'm confident that networking through my own channels will ultimately lead me to that one special place that's been waiting just for me. What’s the old saying? Oh yes…good things come to those who wait. And that is, without a shadow of a doubt…an ERICKISM!

Are you kiddin' me?

Year 1, semester 1, week 1...

Moving right along, I really couldn't wait to tell you all about this...uh, well...I don't even know what to call him, actually. He's this student in my editing class. He's a "chick" in my vocabulary but I can see an ocean of vicious drag queens chasing me out of the Castro down market street, both chanting and labeling me as a homophobic bigot. Can you just see me running? But I'm really not a bigot (trust me) and I honestly think that Harvey Milk would get a big kick out of this as well. So, bare with me 'cause I just...(deep exhale) really have to get this off my chest.

My professor had split the class up into separate categories; directors, editors and production designers. He wanted us all to watch a scene from one of THE most remarkable films ever made. The film was The Godfather. Once we had all watched the scene that our professor chose for us, each student had to give his or her opinion on what we thought about the scene (as a director, editor or production designer). Everyone had interesting input. I was chosen to be an editor. Therefore, I had counted the amount of cuts in the scene, I knew the exact amount of lines that were looped (sorry about the film lingo if you don't understand) and I knew which match cuts were just a little off by milliseconds. I have a very keen eye for editing.

When it was time for "Miss Thing" to give his opinion about the scene, (he was chosen to be a director) upon hearing what "she" had to say, I was damaged for a moment. Let's give a little respect here, I apologize. With "his" clear coated finger nails and his tiny little, Louis Vuitton patterned tennis-shoe feet, (which were no bigger than a Barbie's) he looked at the professor as if he didn't speak any English. Now, just imagine a male's voice that's higher than it should be and I don't mean in volume. Now, imagine it an octave higher than that. Y'all with me? Cool. As he crossed his legs and swung his foot back and forth, he said he didn't get ANYTHING out of the scene. He said, that he hated old movies and he usually just tunes them out whenever he has to bare with one. Mind you, this is a kid who wants to be (remember the high pitched voice) an "On-air correspondent on "E" Entertainment." Interviewing big stars during their promotional movie junkets...

You're not fuckin' serious, are you? Okay, where should I start here? First of all, this kid...just considering the fact of wanting to be (remember the high pitched voice again) an "On-air correspondent on "E" Entertainment" is enough to send Steve Kmetko to his grave. I can see Steve howling right now, uncontrollably keeled over with laughter. I know this because Steve is a personal friend of mine and I know his sense of humor. Steve molded "E" Entertainment to what it is today. There would be no "E" if it wasn't for him. Steve may be gay but he's not Gloria Swanson! Of course, there's closet cased Ryan "Sea-Crust" who commands the stage now at "E", I believe, correct me if I'm wrong. I don't watch television anymore but if I did, I wouldn't want to see someone anchoring an entertainment show who knew nothing about film history. That's number one. Number two...butch it up, tulip! You're gayer than a parakeet! I don't think this kid could buy enough testosterone to drop the balls he was given, even if he had all the money in the world! Avoiding the risk of being sued, I unfortunately can't release a photo of him on my blog spot. But I was lucky enough to snap this one photo of him from behind. He's always in this position...doodling away, bored as hell, clueless to the real world around him. I'm sure his favorite movie of all time would be Avatar. I'm not sayin' Avatar isn't good James, I think you of all people would catch my drift in this situation.

Live and let live, I always say. You wanna run around in dresses while you're tuckin' your tinkle, go for it. You wanna open your mouth and let your purse fall out, go for it. There are some exceptions to the rule, mind you. Take Marilyn Manson for instance. Incredible visionary. Amazing musician. Very well spoken and he possesses an intelligence which is unmatched by other artists of his kind. He can wear dresses, wear make-up, parade himself in any manner that he pleases. He's informed, confident and knows what he's talking about. He's not a follower, he's a leader.

Here's the deal. There's no doubt in my mind where this kid is headed. He's in school after all. A school of the arts, mind you. I have several friends who thought they would make it in Hollywood in the film industry but ended up working as, "On air correspondents" with some gay cable network and all they do is base on famous people and what they wear. Robert Laughlin, for one, gets paid God knows how much money to rip people apart. And I know Robert very well. But you have to know something, classmate of mine, something you need to carry with you for the rest of your life; if it wasn't for the past, there would be no future. If it wasn't for George Lucas, there would be no James Cameron. Ask James some day...IF you interview him, he'll admit to that. And that's an ERICKISM!