All Betza Off

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All Betza Off
01.13.08 (11:37 pm)   [edit]

Regarding Carl Michael Betza, our "neighbor" in 308. No doubt you've heard him in the wee hours, rummaging through the garbage bins downstairs, sorting through varied and sundry debris, and rearranging rubbish into orderly stacks. Besides Scumlord Arikat Realty benefitting by this FREE janitorial service (about which I'll have much to say in an upcoming blog post), there is also a SINISTER aspect to Carl's late-night scavenging.

Many years ago (don't forget, I've LIVED here since '85 GoddessHelpMe), Carl (who then went by his middle monicker "Michael"...changed his name just a few weeks after I changed MINE in 1996, the friggin' copycat) told me a story about his old friend Beauregard. Or as HE states: FORMER friend. You see, Beauregard had found a way to blackmail a poor immigrant family recently arrived to these Pacific shores. (I don't think they were Asian, though...more likely Russian, Ukranian, Kurdistani or Eastern European.) Beau's successful sabotage afforded him a generous retirement at the hands of this newly minted household, siphoning a considerable percentage of the profits garnered by their corner liquor store.

Carl hails from The Big Apple, a streetwise orphan who quickly learned the ropes of cat-burglary. (BTW, he made me promise never to bring up his Manhattan life of crime to anyone else, but I think it crucial at this point in time, to break a vow that was dubious all along.) He became quite adept at his un-chosen profession, and after many years success at The Trade, finally QUIT before he ever got arrested. Or so he claims. We are speaking of the late 50's through the early 70's during which time he came to hobnob with the underground artistic elite, such as Andy Warhol et al.

Did I mention he was also QUITE the dashing young man, whose services as up-and-cumming hustler were in great demand? I've seen photographs of his younger self; I was not impressed. When we first met in 1974 I found him a MOST handsome man in his middle age (much better looking than in his youth, AFAIC. He's now approx 75, you do the math). In fact, he took me to his room which then was at the Viking Hotel, a few blocks inbound from 2306. We stripped and ALMOST had hot sex (I was 24). But he made some rather rude and insulting remarks, which inspired me to zip my pants back up, replace my T-shirt, and exit stage left.

Funny thing this sex angle: Carl has ACCUSED me several times over the years, of having some sort of HANGUP about our briefly-naked tryst, when I know that is absolutely untrue. Any resentment I hold towards him arises from a totally different quarter, has NOTHING to do with fleshly intrigue.

Since his arrival in San Francisco (circa 1972), Carl has become MOST familiar with the queer underground...or should I say "underbelly". He'd make a SENSATIONAL tour guide for The Dark Side of Gay Mecca, were he not so corrupt himself! No question, he's an incredibly FASCINATING character with much wisdom to impart, albeit dark and unutterably WICKED. Like Svengali, Hitler or Vlad the Impaler. Wouldn't wanna be a close friend but dammit, they sure are CAPTIVATING in their own unseemly way! And just as detective Colombo is enchanted by the clever manipulations of his suspects, likewise am I regarding C.M. Betza.

Anyone residing at 2306 is in danger of identity theft, if they toss ANY personal data into the garbage bins. Carl Betza rummages through ALL our garbage, in hopes of performing his OWN "Beauregard Blackjack". Bank account or social security number, phone numbers of coworkers and close friends, highly personal letters and/or diary missives, billing statistics, airline (and other) tickets, school/employment name it, Carl knows it!

I STRONGLY recommend that all residents of 2306 shred their personal papers (of any sort) before depositing them into our communal garbage bins...OR tear them up and drop them into their kitchen waste, where they'll be sealed in a twist-tie, and dumped down the back-porch chute. Even CARL doesn't go THAT far, as to prod through each individual plastic refuse bag! But I COULD be wrong, thus shredding all sensitive papers IS advised by yours truly!

There is also a health issue of Carl's pawing through filthy debris with bare hands. No disposable gloves, no tongs, not even a STICK to secure his safety from exposure to bacteria, as well as cuts from sharp metal lids and broken glass. Which explains very well (thank you) the debilitating CELLULITIS he suffered four years ago (which infection BTW can also be a precursor to "fasciitis necroticans" or flesh-eating virus). It had spread all over both legs, forced him to spend a week at Davies Medical Center where he was intubated like a funereal cadaver, and left serious scars that are STILL quite visible whenever he wears those hideous Bermuda shorts. NEVER shake hands with this man, he's a Locomoting Vessel Of Pox!

Numerous times, Carl Betza has informed me of specific DETAILS regarding certain RESIDENTS, which information could only have been garnered by searching through the basement refuse, prior to being hauled off by our local sanitation department. So what I'm saying to YOU, Pegala, is this: If you value the security and happiness of (not just yourself, but of) your two INCREDIBLE and LOVELY daughters, please SHRED all personal-type papers before discarding! If any readers of this post think I'm simply paranoid, I can only rebut:

Wear MY hat for a day, bastard!


posted by: soulsought (reply)
post date: 01.14.08 (10:35 am)

Now Zeke,

I hope none of this is new to you. I've known the Bronx born Hungarian orphan about as long as you, and am well qualified to confirm everything you've reported above.

I too didn't shred my trash, and in the 80s Michael found my parents' address in the trash, threatening to send them photos of me nude sunbathing on the roof. I laughed it off, telling him a man of his intellectual sophistication and theatre experience can certainly find more interesting uses of his fact-finding skills.

It is sad that like all of us to an extent, he has a difficult time not taking life's blows personally.

Mr. B. is mad at me. When our other neighbor Richard moved to Chelsea, Manhattan in '94 and I moved to Philly in '96, we sincerely wanted to arrange a big apple trip visit for Mr. B.

It never happened, and MB is pissed at me for "broken promises". Well, it's just one of those things. Both Rich and I were beset with burying our mothers and grief. Richard in the interim went broke, and I couldn't extend help because I was dealing with health issues, which luckily seem to have subsided.

Mr. B. would be the first to tell us in his 15 year elder status to you (he's 73, born Capricorn '35) and 18 to me (there's a half missing, I'm 54) not to take things personally. But he evidences a difficulty realizing that the world doesn't revolve around him either.

At this point in his life with limited social alternatives, his nihilistic atheism offers him no refuge from a chaotic world. His best bet would be to find a network of support in some faith circle, regardless of how truly devoted to it he may be.

posted by: ZekeBlog (reply)
post date: 01.14.08 (8:35 pm)

Holy mac-ackeral! Thanks for the enlightening feedback. My friend Peggy will benefit much by your affirmation re. Betza. Your succinct comment adds proof of my veracity regarding ALL my warnings to her about various skunks who dwell at 2306!

Carl's such a TOXIC soul, perhaps all the grief and trials shared by Richard and yourself, were simply due to even THINKING about Betza's tentative visit! I mean, there's little GOOD in a person who constantly plot's my demise, by gossiping to emotionally disturbed residents and vagabonds. You were both SPARED his miserable presence. There is a Goddess!

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