Only because I have a decent anecdote to relate: After giving a whirlwind tour of San Francisco's famed crackwhore district, (aka grumpy hobo junction, just below the posh Union square plaza) to some out-of-town friends, I stood with my college chum Frank just outside his hotel door, enjoying a cocktail and soaking in the local flavor at arm's length. Frank, vodka and tonic safely tucked into the potted fern to our right, soon grew tired of supping upon the basket of iridescent yellow popcorn he insisted on knicking from the hotel bar. As evidenced by the trail of popcorn kernels underfoot and really all around us, the time for feeding had past, and now was the time for spontaneous acts of generosity. And so, perhaps due to the innumerable requests for spare change we had suffered from pan handlers merely walking around the neighborhood, Frank began to aggressively shop the remaining portion of popped corn to the masses. At first it proved difficult. It seemed the well-to-do people passing by wanted little to do with us, and our cocktail and popcorn party. Frank, however kept concluding his requests by yelling "don't ignore me!" just as people turned heel. Finally Frank spotted a homeless women and grew excited at the prospect of offering her the nutrition-packed meal of stale popcorn. Immediately he thrust out the bucket. Of course the woman then started in with how she needed ten dollars to get her hotel and how the weather was shitty and so on and so forth. Clearly Frank had thought that this transaction would end as soon as the popcorn had been exchanged, and was a bit taken aback when the woman continued to explain how badly her stomach was feeling etcetera etcetera. "Just take the whole basket," exclaimed Frank, thinking that perhaps the plastic container which housed the popcorn might somehow pay her way into a hotel and out of our lives. Nothing doing. Then Frank did something so shady and underhanded and drunk that I can barely conceal a smile when I think about it. He looked inside the hotel at a bellhop who was on the phone doing who knows what. He then pointed out the bellboy to the homeless woman, and says "I think, yup, he's definitely calling the police right now. You should probably get out of here" I think at that point I became so uncomfortable that I made movements to leave, however, the woman reluctantly trudged onward, bucket of popcorn in hand. Ah Francis, you come up to the city, with your countrified backwater ways, and you order our homeless people hither and thither like some C. Montgomery Burnsian plutocrat, high on his own inflated sense of self-worth. Good times. Perhaps later this week I will divulge the secrets of my new fantastic sweating Yoga regimen. We shall see.