A local newspaper ran another ad for San Franicsco beat reporters, offering a little more than minimum wage. Angry and insulted, I sent them this response:"I am responding to the job you posted on Craigs List. I believe that I am an ideal fit for the position, because I'm a team player, a prime mover and the wind beneath your wings.
Hey, I admit I will never be Ernest Hemingway (I tried for a while, but I hated all the booze and the bullfighting, not to mention the uncomfortable beard), but I am pretty damn good!
I don't go out looking for stories. Stories come to me. Most of the time, I AM the story.
I could get you great stories just from my day-to-day activities, including:
1.) What are the hookers in the Tenderloin up to? What are they charging? What acts are they committing? Are they offering recession pricing?
2.) What are the bookies in the Sunset up to? What teams are people betting on? Have they had to break any legs lately in order to get paid?
3.) What are the rogue cops in North Beach up to? How many harmless drunks are they beating nearly to death every weekend? How many punks are they tazing, billy clubbing, etc.
4.) What is Gavin up to? Whose wife is he sleeping with currently? What hair gel is he using? Briefs or boxers?
5.) What's going on at the Zoo? Are the tigers still pissed? Is that one poor gorilla still eating his own vomit? Is that spider monkey who looks like Dianne Feinstein still peeing on visitors?This is the kind of stuff people in The City want to know. And I can get it!"
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