A Merry Katsopolismas: spreading the Word

Oh, my Gavinistas and Katsopolistas! It’s been one heck of a holiday, but I’m back and good tidings I bring! On Thursday morning, I filmed a segment on the scores of Bay Area travelers camping out at the airport in hopes of catching a flight to Colorado as soon as the Denver International Airport reopened after being shut down by a nasty blizzard. It was a stirring report that included this tragic kicker (both written and delivered by yours truly): “For many, it’s the most wonderful time of the year, but these tearful travelers will be spending it here. Gone is their worry that they’ll be getting a shiny new Nintendo Wii or TMX Elmo for Christmas. All these folks want [long pause] is to make it home for the holidays.” As we wrapped up the report and my cameraman Guy headed back to the van to dice and splice, I had one of those hit you upside the head Full House revelations: It’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey.

It’s the lesson so movingly delivered in Full House season two, episode nine when a Christmas Eve blizzard leaves the crew stuck in an airport on their way to the first annual Tanner Family Christmas Reunion in Colorado…Denver, Colorado. Some might call it a coincidence that I was sent to cover the story of San Franciscans thwarted from their holiday in the very same town. I, however, call it a Christmas miracle. This was a memo from the big guy upstairs; he wanted these travelers to learn the lesson bestowed upon the Tanner family some 17 years ago. My mission couldn’t have been any more apparent: afterall, I just “happened” to have the season two DVD in my laptop bag -- a little treat I’d planned for myself during my lunch break.

I stayed with those troubled travelers that day and through the night. But, we did not sleep a wink. The seven of us huddled around my laptop, watching the uplifting episode 32 times. And, as though through some kind of divine intervention, my laptop battery lasted the entire night. The tears continued to flow, but I would venture to say that sometime during our thirteenth viewing they became tears of wonder, tears of clarity, tears of joy. Eric Gertz, a five-year-old screaming his cute little head off at the prospect of being stuck in an airport on Christmas -- sans a chimney, he cleverly pointed out -- was heartened by the magical appearance of the Tanners’ gifts on the luggage carrousel.

But, of course, it’s Uncle Jesse who articulates the heart of this true-life parable. Everyone’s complaining about their own sorry predicament: DJ wants her presents, Stephanie’s throwing a fit because Joey masqueraded as Santa and Becky misses her cow back home in Nebraska. Then our beloved Jesse Katsopolis offers up a core-shaking sermon: “What’s the matter with you people? The first Christmas was in a manger -- they did okay. I mean so what if we’re stuck in this crummy dump? Christmas isn’t about presents or Santa Claus or cows. It’s about a feeling, it’s about people. It’s about us forgetting about our problems and reaching out to help other people. Christmas doesn’t have to happen in one certain place…it happens in our hearts.”

Indeed, Christmas is about people. And, in my heart, these travelers -- once strangers -- became my family. If Full House teaches us anything, it’s that family is not about blood relations or conventional domestic set-ups. The Tanner family is our family; “the Tanner family” is synonymous with “the human species” or “the American dream.”

Feel that? The JesseGav family just grew by six. Pay it forward, my friends. Pay it forward.







--Maggie Arlington

A Very JesseGavin Christmas

-- Alex Newkirk

Holiday Break & Link of the Day: the handsomest holiday

Greetings Katsopo-Gavinites,

As you've probably noticed, Magz and I are taking a little break for the holidays. Yes, a little R&R after a long, eventful year. I suppose we should have posted this note before we went on vacation...but isn't that the point of a break? Wanton apathy? Oh, and partaking of a little spiked eggnog.

Well, as you might expect, one person in the city of San Francisco isn't taking a break for Christmas. No, he's pretty much running full steam ahead on the Awesome Express. Who am I talking about? Why, Gavin, of course.



From The Examiner comes this tale of Mayor Newsom's holiday heroism. You see, some mayors might sit idly by in their mansions, smoking cigars and sipping brandy by the fire, leaving the children of their fair city to their collective Christmastime fates. Some mayors might not care what happens to the little urchins, insisting on the term urchins as they dine over fatted goose with the captains of industry in a feast of holiday splendor the likes of which you or I will never see. Yes, this scenario is all too likely.

Thankfully, our Gavin has a heart. The Children's Community Tree project had their tannenbaum woefully stolen this year. Once Newsom got wind of the theft, he raced to replace the tree--relighting the hope and joy in the hearts of San Franciscans everywhere. What a guy.



Now some might point out that the children's tree was stolen on December 9th, and The Mayor's office didn't officially announce their plan to replace the tree until the 21st. Some might point out that there are a scant three days between the day of the tree ceremony (the 22nd) and the 25th, leaving a somewhat irrelevant amount of time for the children to appreciate the tree before it and their handmade ornaments get thrown in the trash and covered by empty Starbucks cups. To them I say this: ever heard of a little thing called suspense?



Christmas miracles take time. You don't just pop in and sucker punch Mr. Potter at the first whiff of trouble. No sir. Like a fine wine, a true holiday rescue requires the gut-wrenching doom to really ferment. Sure the orphanage just found out that they'll have to close, shoving hundreds of skinny urchins out into the streets. But you just can't make the saving donation until they've noticed the coming blizzard, the evil headmistress has made a deal to turn the orphanage into a sweatshop, and little Timmy has started coughing up blood. The clouds truly have to gather before the bleak words can come whispered from trembling lips: "I guess there just might not be a Christmas this year, kids."

Then, bam! Who's that fat old man squeezing his way through the window? Why, it's Santa, kids! And he's got money and teddy bears and vaccines! And all the little urchins rejoice. Believe me, it's the suspense that makes them so happy. If you had just written a check at the first sign of trouble, they barely would've looked up from their gruel long enough to notice.



Thus, Gavin executed a beautifully timed Christmas miracle, waiting until the very last second to bestow upon the children a new tree, and rekindling their faith in humanity just before they had the time to go out and buy a Nietzche primer and start wearing black eyeliner. Well played, Gavin. Well played.

-- Alex Newkirk

Link of the Day: Is this even a question?

The web's latest sad and desperate attempt to transform itself into ultra-hip Web 2.0 belongs to eBay.

Apparently, being the web's #1 resource for Full House merchandise (hello, holiday shopping) just isn't good enough for today's youth. Apparently, eBay's marketing execs think of today's youth as having goldfish-like attention spans for anything that doesn't allow them to leave meaningless and poorly spelled comments on the web. Yes, bloodthirsty consumers who will forget you faster than they can text their MySpace friends about how their nano totally kicks your Wii's ass, while doing the Dew or totally slamming some X-treme Doritos.

So the uber-site decided to go with a tried and true method of success: ride the coattails of someone way cooler than you right into sweet, undeserved popularity. And who is quite possibly the coolest person one could choose? That's right, they piggybacked on Uncle Jesse.



The link will take you to a "match-up" where users must decide which person/thing best answers a simple question, as in boxers or briefs? Nevermind that these "match-ups" are blatant wastes of time. Nevermind that they're an embarrassing fumbling of the word "mash-up" (but the kids love those crazy songs, or so I hear!). This face-off dared to ask readers if they would prefer the company of a) our Uncle Jesse or b) the stern, pointing figure of Uncle Sam.

First off, as I pointed out in an earlier post, what's with angry pointing Uncles? According to the popular image, once your sibling has a kid, you turn into a pushy asshole. Uncle J is cool, laid back, and lovable. Okay, there was that one time DJ and Gibbler were all up in his recording equipment and taped over his jingle with Kimmy's inane whining. But come on, it's Kimmy. That day's outfit was particularly eyeball-shattering, and she might have even used her blood-curdling epithet, "Mr. Goodpart."

Okay, Uncle Jesse screamed and freaked out a little. But one look at Kimmy's scrunchied side-tail bobbing over her gaping cow eyes and you would fly into a violent rage. I guarantee it.



In retrospect, I think Jesse showed remarkable restraint. Plus, Jess bought DJ a whole drum set to make up for it, and he still sat down for a heart-to-heart with her about family values. Maybe that's why The Hair is such a fantastic guy. Definitely his agreeable, boyish charm is one solid reason for picking him over ever-angry Uncle Sam. Nevermind that Jess knows to never let a fussy van dyke distract from his mane--or to cover it with a gaudy hat, no less.

Secondly, I don't think this is the time for good ol' Uncle S. to be getting in any popularity contests. Do you read the news, eBay? Ever heard of a little country called Iraq? You're pushing it. The closest Uncle J ever came to a bloody, uncalled for occupation was the time the Tanners got snowed in at the airport overnight, and he even then he was wearing a cheery holiday-themed sweater. And his hair looked consistently great--even in the face of a pressing gel shortage!

Okay, but here's the real travesty: when I checked out the link, the competition was dead even. Fifty-fifty. Whaaaa? Are blind monkeys somehow navigating to this site, then randomly mashing the mouse with banana-smeared fists, thus "voting" for someone other than Uncle J? I mean, the monkeys would have to be blind. We know that monkeys love Jess, and any monkey in charge of his or her faculties would click one for Katsopolis:




Well, my fellow Katsopolistas, we know what we have to do. Happy voting.



-- Alex Newkirk

Photo of the Day: So close, yet so far...

I really shouldn't peruse Mayor Gavin's photo album before I go to bed. The above shot of The Gav riding the Muni sent my subconscious into a bit of a PG-13 frenzy. Yes, I had The Dream again:

The day starts out like any other. I step into a crowded Muni car, only to discover that my faithful Muni pass is not in my purse! I scrounge around, hopelessly, before I look up into the angry eyes of the driver to say, "I'm sorry, I have to get off." Suddenly, there's a strong hand on my shoulder. A deep, gravelly voice fills the pit of my stomach.

"It's okay, chief" says Gavin. "I've got this one."

The ambivalent driver shrugs, taking The Mayor's money and I'm saved. But before I can say anything, the train lurches forward, and I stumble a bit, bumping up against Gav's steely pecs--which I can still feel swathed beneath his crisp Armani suit. His arms, and his manly chivalry, reach out to catch me, wrapping my hips in an embrace.

"Oh! Are you okay?" he asks me. His eyes twinkle in the morning sunlight, and I realize he's still holding me in his strong arms. Shouldn't he have let go by now?

"I guess I just wanted to thank you," I say. I can feel the flutter in my stomach, and my heart pounds in my ears. He's still holding me against him--surely he can feel my nervousness.

Gav smiles. He reaches down to tuck a stray bit of hair behind my ear, and the tips of his fingers brush the side of my neck. Goosebumps explode along my spine as he says, "There are other ways to thank me, you know."

A flush burns up my cheeks, but before I can respond, Gav leans in to kiss me. As our lips lock amid the hustle and bustle of the commuters, a part of me thinks, "Is this really happening?" But all signs from Gavin indicate that, indeed, it is. His advances are surprisingly bold for being in public, but I really can't say I would expect anything less from our headstrong leader. As we kiss, I can feel the power behind a million memos and vetos, and reader, it is sexy.

We've only had time to come up for air twice before we hear the driver announce Civic Center station. The Mayor doesn't seem to notice, but I feel the responsibility to pull myself away and remind him where we are. After all, he has a city to run! He smiles sheepishly as the doors open. That gleaming dome rises in the background as he says, "Now I guess it's my turn to thank you." I giggle, trying to smooth down my tousled hair and rumpled coat as best I can as he steps off the train, and into the annals of Mayoral history.

--Alex Newkirk

Strategic 'DO-ality

Via the Chronicle's Culture Blog comes this pic of Gavin sporting a new gel-free look:



Some people commented that The Mayor's new 'do reminded them of teen pop stars like Aaron Carter, or Melrose Place dreamboat, Jake. I would simply point those confused souls in a different direction--into Gavin's heart.

You see, The Gav isn't going to waste his time or his stalwart hairline imitating any celebrity or, shudder to think, some fictional TV character. No, he was merely sending out a message to his compadre Uncle J, courtesy of the San Francisco photogs. Note the resemblence of The Mayor's coiffure to this:



Need I say more? Of course he chose the source of their bond as the medium for said message--would you send Mozart a candygram? No! Of course you'd write him a song, send a little serenade! Thusly, The Mayor used his locks to compose a little coded "Howdy" to the hair maestro himself, Jesse Katsopolis.

Nice one, G. I for one am proud to live in a city where The Mayor takes such pains to communicate messages of support and solidarity with his closest friend. It kind of reminds you that such signs of human kindness can really be all around us. That in fact, "It's everywhere you look."

-- Alex Newkirk

WiFi, don't mess with the hair, huh?

On Sunday, Alex broke the news that the realization of San Francisco’s citywide WiFi network was being held up because of Uncle Jesse’s extreme misapprehensions about technology. Indeed, in Jesse's world there are only four technological innovations that rock: hairdryers, jukeboxes, electric guitars and Aqua Net. But, I’ve dug a little further and it seems our loveable Luddite’s fears may be well founded.

There’s a growing movement to raise awareness about a condition sadly ignored by most of the scientific world: electromagnetic field sensitivity. Sufferers experience headaches, nausea, short-term memory loss and the feeling of “being shouted at all the time” whenever subjected to a WiFi network. In fact, Cindy Sage of Sage EMF Design, which conducts surveys of these fields, has published a 30-page critique of none other than San Francisco’s WiFi plans, Wired reports.

But, there's more. I managed to speak with an anonymous source from a local EMF sensitivity advocacy group who revealed that within the last few weeks a “sexy voiced” man had called repeatedly, identifying himself by Jesse's birth name, Hermes. Interestingly, he inquired about the effects of EMF on “filamentous outgrowths of dead cells” -- in other words, hair.

Let’s review the science, folks: Peer-reviewed studies have found that these low-frequency fields can damage human tissue and cause “cell death, faster-growing tumors and DNA damage.” DNA damage! If these WiFi signals can wreak havoc on human tissue, just imagine what they could do to human hair. Even freakishly good, resilient hair. I don't like jumping to conclusions, but I think we can all agree that this suggests that the WiFi hold up goes beyond even Gavin's selfless attempt at first catapulting Uncle J into the Internet age. We're talking about the possible destruction of the very essence of JesseGavin.

Gavin, we forgive you for not revealing the truth -- you can never reveal your weaknesses when enemies lurk nearby. Luckily, we’re all friends here. And Jesse, it seems pretty clear that you followed your misgivings about the implementation of citywide WiFi, discovered the serious health threat and, like Superman -- with a super mane -- single-handedly saved our fair Metropolis from certain illness, possibly even death. For that, we are eternally indebted to you.

--Maggie Arlington

The Sincerest Form of Flattery?

Or should I say Fattery?

I know, I know. "Those kinds of cheap insults aren't like you, Alex." I'm upset, and my emotions are on some kind of Leaving Las Vegas-style bender I just can't control.



Usually, I'm a huge fan of Google. Like a migrating bird returning to its nest after a long winter, I instinctively, compulsively search a few of my favorite terms: Mayor Gavin, Gavin Hair, Jesse Katsopolis, and of course, Uncle Jesse. That's how I came across the above image.

That's right, this uglier, fatter, balding man is clogging up the search results for our beloved Uncle J.

Forget that fact that Google, my most dependable and mockery-free newsroom colleague, has betrayed me. I just can't stand the thought of our Uncle J having to deal with this. Who is this angry yokel, what is he up to, and what on earth is he pointing at?

Well, I have no idea who this imposter Uncle Jesse is, but I'm not afraid to admit that I don't trust him or anyone who chooses to wear overalls past the age of four. And here's guessing that whatever he has hidden in those cabinets isn't fatherly advice and excellent comedic timing.

It's time for action. Surely something can be done to tip the search scales in favor of our well-coiffed hero. Anyone with ideas please report! I mean, The Hair may not have the physical girth of our Kentucky Fried nemesis, but he makes up for it with heart and a boat-load of style. Could this so-called "Uncle Jesse" rock this 'do around his bald spot, or sustain the coolness of having a working jukebox in his bedroom? Ha! His moonshine-stained overalls would bust at their mended seams with the effort.



And as for me, with my emergency supply of Toblerones officially decimated, things looks pretty bleak. I just might have to call in sick tomorrow, take a day, and work through this one step at a time. Here's hoping I'm up to the challenge.

-- Alex Newkirk

Photo of the day: Gavin groovin'

This photo (via SFist) of The Mayor totally grooving -- or, perhaps, groove-waving to the crowd -- should slay any doubts that the buttoned-up Gav could share an intellectual and spiritual bond with the freewheeling Uncle Jess. Now here's a guy who could really get down with some lip-biting, hip-swaying action to "Forever." Am I right or am I right?

--Maggie Arlington

Where's IT at?

It’s been about a year since The Mayor first started making promises about outfitting the entire city of San Francisco with free wi-fi. As a journalist, blogger, and online shop-a-holic (but who could resist this total find?), I am behind this idea one hundred percent! (Of course it being Gavin’s idea helps just a smidge, too.) So, like me, I’m sure you’ve been wondering, “Hey, Gav! What’s the hold up?”

Well, while The Chronicle might be breaking "news" about community meetings and negotiations with Google and Earthlink over "personal security" issues, I, Alex Newkirk, am here to break the truth. The root of the hold up all goes back to the Hair.

You see, Gavin just doesn't feel right about implementing the new technology without his good buddy Jesse K. on board. According to Jesse's neighbor/borrower of sugar, Gladys Hornpepperschmidt, it all began one fateful day in October 2005, and it went a little something like this:

(knocking on door)

Jesse: Yello?

Gavin: It's me, and I've got fresh Moo-Shu! Open up!

Jesse: Oh boy!

(door opens, muffled sounds)

Gavin: Hm, I knew you'd be excited about the moo-shu.

Jesse: Oh, the moo-shu helps.



Gavin: So, I wanted to rap with you a bit about something that's been a bee in my bonnet over at the Hall.

Jesse: Shoot, my man.

Gavin: Well, one day as I was riding the bus to work, surrounded by the sweaty hopefulness of The People, I wondered, what can I do to make their lives better?

Jesse: Oh, Gav. You wonder that everyday!

Gavin: True. But, I don't know. I was just feeling extra inspired that day. It was right after we'd seen Mad Hot Ballroom, and--

Jesse: Omigod, that was so good.

Gavin: I know, right? Anyway, I had the idea to outfit the entire city of San Francisco with free Wi-fi! That way anybody, anywhere could access the internet!

Jesse: The inter-what-what?

Gavin: The internet. It's so essential to the lives of thinking people everywhere that I can't even think of a definition so much as to simply repeat myself: The internet.

Jesse: (laughs) Oh, yeah, I hear you now, buddy. I go through about a can of that stuff a day to keep my hair in place!

Gavin: (stunned silence)

Jesse: You gonna finish that?



Later, The Mayor tossed and turned on his satin pillow. His wi-fi plan was meant to bring the internet to all people of San Francisco. If he was honest with himself, there was one particular person in San Francisco he cared about above all the rest--and especially more than that smug-faced Robin Williams. Gav couldn't let his plan happen without making sure his good friend Uncle J. was tech-savvy enough to reap the benefits. Thus began a long and arduous campaign to rid The Hair of his 1980's technology--one see-through telephone and hypercolor beer cozy at a time.



But I'm here to report a sad update. Jesse is still clinging to the technology, and let's face it--the good times, of the 1980's. Just look at the band demo he's been passing around town:



Ever heard of a CD, Uncle J?

While I admire Gavin's commitment to his technologically-inept friend, I'd ask him to consider that the rest of us are patiently waiting for our long-deserved free stuff. Here's hoping that The Gav is able to bring Jesse into the 21st century sometime soon, so we can all obsessively check our inboxes while waiting for cappuccinos at Blue Bottle.

Meanwhile, I have to hand it to him--Jesse is giving the year 2006 the old college try. Recent sources have spotted him timidly lurking outside a T-Mobile outlet, and the days when he brought home a helmet and knee-pads for his first internet lesson are long gone. And for his efforts, rumor has it that a certain someone will be getting a certain "glowing mp3 device-pod" in his stocking this year!

--Alex Newkirk

Found: Gavidence!

Tonight on my walk home from the Civic Center BART station I took my usual route past City Hall. I never pass up an opportunity to gaze up at that gleaming, royal dome. I always imagine Gavin hunched over his desk, a pile of important memos and fan mail towering just above his shining slick of hair. I imagine that at this point in the day -- as my hard day at the office has ended -- he has just rolled up his sleeves and ordered Chinese delivery at the office. You know why? It’s hard running an entire city.

All these times I’ve walked by the very building where the Gav works his magic without thinking to look for evidence. (Or, for our purposes, Gavidence.) And I call myself a journalist! I was mysteriously drawn up those many steps, thinking that I would just take a quick stroll past the royal staircase; maybe stand for a few minutes by Gavin's framed photo near the entrance. But standing there, grasping the very doorknob Gavin undoubtedly grasps every morning, I just happened to look down and find a souvenir. Several, in fact.

Embedded -- and I do not use that word lightly -- in City Hall’s welcome carpet are what I’d venture to guess are hundreds of strands of hair. On my hands and knees, I managed to retrieve only six before getting the evil eye from an armed security guard inside. I’ve included a photo of the hairs above (click the photo for closer inspection). Any or all of these could belong to Gavin. If there are DNA specialists in the audience interested in running a test on these, shoot me an e-mail and we’ll make arrangements ASAP.

We’re getting closer my friends. We’re getting closer.

--Maggie Arlington