Nathaniel Solley/Staff

In an effort to improve access to key business districts, the city of Berkeley will implement changes to its parking policies Tuesday.

The changes include varying meter rates based on the demand for parking in particular areas and raising time limits for street spots. The city seeks to address frustration over congestion and businesses’ concerns that customers don’t have enough time to shop.

Parking meters Downtown, in the Telegraph area and in the Elmwood district will use a demand-based pricing model, said Matthai Chakko, a spokesperson for the city.

“By increasing the price in the high-demand areas and then lowering (it) in places where parking is more ample, you hope to encourage people to be parking in different places and to not have as much congestion in one spot,” Chakko said.

Parking in popular areas near shopping destinations on Southside and Downtown will cost $2.25 per hour, while parking in less frequently used areas will cost $1.25 per hour, said Matt Nichols, principal transportation planner for the city.

Current parking rates across the city are $1.75 per hour Downtown and $1.50 per hour elsewhere, according to Nichols.

Elizabeth Deakin, a UC Berkeley professor of city and regional planning and urban design who appeared before the City Council as long ago as 2006 to discuss demand-based pricing, emphasized the importance of promulgating information about the new prices and time limits. It could take several months for shoppers and visitors to adjust to the new system, she said.

“If it works well, it will be a little easier to find a parking space if you really want one and you’re willing to pay a little more,” Deakin said.

In the Elmwood district, near College and Ashby, one-hour street-parking limits will increase to three hours, with an increasing hourly rate.

That came as a relief to Melissa Hatheway, the director of marketing and communications for Rialto Cinemas, which operates a theater in Elmwood. Patrons often struggled to find sufficient parking for two- or two-and-a-half-hour films, she said.

“We’re delighted,” Hatheway said. “We’re hoping this parking solution takes off a layer of anxiety and stress from everybody so they (can) come and spend money.”

UC Berkeley senior Max Jason said he would pay more for parking if it resulted in longer time limits and better availability.

“When I’m going and driving around the city, it’s been pretty difficult (to find parking),” he said.

The new rates are the latest in a series of projects in a three-year transportation pilot program funded by federal and regional grants called goBerkeley, Chakko said.

Nichols said it is unclear how the program will affect city parking revenue, but officials will present a detailed revenue report to the City Council in March.

Contact Connor Grubaugh at cgrubaugh@dailycal.org.

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Arya Aliabadi/File

Every campus has its own traditions and “signs” that differentiates it from other campuses. Nothing says home like these four #typicalBerkeley behaviors.

1. You don’t follow street lights

Maybe the Beatles could bring crosswalks back into style.

Regardless of whether the light is green or red, students unabashedly walk across the street to get around the city.

2. You have defined calves from walking up hills

Picture of Bancroft Avenue.

Seriously, we could be renamed University of California, Hills. Lugging around our heavy books from a Southside apartment to Evans inevitably leads to us getting some mad calves.

3. You’re back in bed by 10 p.m. because everything is closed

This kid knows how to party.

For a college city, we tend to shut down pretty early. Heading to Shattuck past 10 p.m. will leave you walking around with nothing to do if you’re under 21.

4. You can’t go anywhere without seeing people drink boba

The tapioca balls are a favorite.

The proliferation of boba shops around campus shows just how obsessed we are.

Image Sources: beatles maniac11, tpholland,  davedehetre and punctuated under Creative Commons

Contact Sujin Shin at sujinshin@dailycal.org.

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From the age of 6, my brother was able to navigate the busy streets of Sacramento. I remember one incident when my mom and brother got lost downtown. Neither my mom or I had a clue about how to reach our destination. But in a few short minutes, my younger brother figured out where we should turn around and what street we should get on. Some people are simply born with a great sense of direction.

And, unfortunately, I am not one of them.

I used to get lost driving on a daily basis. I constantly missed exits and street signs. Despite many years of driving around Sacramento, to this day there are  times I forget my highway exit is coming up or have to pull over and look up new directions. The worst is when another driver doesn’t let me into his or her lane and I have to rework my route on new streets.

And that’s just when driving around my hometown. When I transferred to Cal last year, my lack of sense of direction took an even deeper plunge. It took me months to remember the names of streets.

To this day, I hesitate to give people directions because I might send them down the wrong street. I know the names around Southside: College, Dwight, Haste, Channing and Bancroft. But I don’t remember where they intersect with one another or what shops are on which street. Around Northside, it’s even worse. At Calapalooza, one freshman asked me where The Daily Californian’s office is. “On Hearst, of course!” I replied. Then she asked the name of the cross-street, which (of course) I had not an inkling of an idea of.

Even in my second semester, as I was reading an article about Telegraph, I really had to think about what “north of Dwight Way” meant, even though I walk around Dwight all the time. It wasn’t until a few very long and extremely stressful minutes that I was able to figure out that north of Dwight was between Dwight and campus.  To put it simply, I’m terrible at finding my way from point A to point B.

That brings me to point A: Sometimes, one must simply accept one’s weaknesses and move on.

I’m never going to be one of those people who can rattle off directions to any store in the city on the spot. That’s not the way my brain works.

My theory is that my poor navigation skills have to do with my way of thinking. I don’t work systematically or think in a linear manner. Usually, when I start writing something — a paper, a poem, this article _ I start at the end. Sometimes, just to switch it up a little, I’ll start at the middle. And on those rare moments when I decide to at least try to work linearly, I’ll start at least near the beginning.

Eventually, by the end of  last year, I was able to get the gist of  the map of Berkeley and the campus. But then I confronted a new problem — which brings me to point B.

After I learned how to get around the area, I began to take the same route every single day  — and fast. I probably could have beat the best of speed-walkers on my routes to class. But I missed a lot of what Cal has to offer along the way.

During my first semester at Berkeley, I walked faster than usual because I knew that my lack of directional awareness would lengthen my trips to class. If I didn’t prepare in advance and leave early, I would absolutely be past “Berkeley time” and miss the first few minutes of class. Thus, speed-walking quickly became one of my most important skills. The more I got to know the area around campus, the more quickly and efficiently I walked. I learned to avoid Sproul as much as I could, because fliers got in my way.

By midsemester, I was stuck in a rut. It started to feel like my community college days again, when I drove 45 minutes down the same highway every single morning.

Getting lost can cause panic and frustration. It’s not necessarily fun. But getting lost also affords you the opportunity to discover new places. Oftentimes when we think we know where we’re going, we lose that desire or freedom to travel down new paths. And these other trails may distract us, but they also make life all the more exciting.

Near the end of last semester, I started wandering around campus again. I found myself in buildings I had never set foot in, such as the East Asian Library. I walked through the music department’s part of campus to get back to my apartment. I didn’t speed-walk — I strolled aimlessly.

And you know what? I didn’t get lost.

The post Finding my way around appeared first on The Daily Californian.

Contact the opinion desk at opinion@dailycal.org.

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Marcus Gedai/Staff

UC Berkeley is on the rise in all the right places. Last month, Cal Bears everywhere learned that their alma mater placed in the top five universities worldwide for academic reputation (beating Stanford). Last week, three of UC Berkeley’s graduate programs (English, history and sociology) were crowned by US News & World Report as the best in the country. Today, on the heels of March Madness, Bleacher Report announced that Berkeley’s student population is one of the hottest in the country.

But is this shocking news? After all, Cal, situated in sunny California with a view of the Golden Gate Bridge, just seems to be a natural habitat for some of the smartest and most attractive student body. Here is a short list for why we’re sexy and we know it.

Endurance. Years spent trekking the rugged campus hills every single day transform the Golden Bear’s glutes into a work of art. And why is CKC dining hall’s breakfast fit for champions?  Try hiking four blocks from Clark Kerr uphill to make your 8 a.m. class.

Agility. Dodging the stray dogs on Southside and crossing trash-laden Telegraph has led to fancy footwork. And Cal student’s calves are basically the product of crowd maneuvering in flier-infested Lower Sproul.

Speed. Berkeley’s 10-minute extension period between classes is the fundamental reason why Dwinelle-to-Tolman migrants can practically teleport.

Strength. What goes into a Cal student’s backpack? A laptop, a notebook and a few pens. But don’t forget how in every class there’s enough required reading to choke a whale.

Flexibility. Four four-unit classes, a couple of decals, half a dozen clubs, a job or two and throw in a social life. At Cal, we make contortion look painless.

Oh, and Stanford — is it on the list? Nope.

Contact Alex Mabanta at amabanta@dailycal.org.

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Graham Haught/Staff

Reasons I love Southside collide with reasons my parents hate Berkeley, and that’s pretty dope, man.

See, Southside is the place I can live my bleary-­eyed Woodstock pilgrimage of hippie lore in peace and harmony and total disquiet.

It is the place where a 300­‐pound man with flowing black hair and a medium T‐shirt waits for sorority girls to pass so that he can growl loudly and then laugh.

And I get to sit against a wall covered in graffiti with red eyes (damn the allergies) and giggle to my heart’s content … and I like that.

I like Southside because there is a certain culture and promise to the place.

It’s a place flooded with seeds of the ’60s, which somehow sprouted and grew into the dystopian scene that Northsiders believe it to be.

But they are wrong. They are wrong with their scarves and Moleskines and clean white cups filled piping-hot with thick espresso crack.

They are wrong because munching on Blondie’s at 1 a.m. with your best friend after being attacked by a high girl who is friends with lots of drunk heroes is somehow infinitely more exciting than green tea strolls along moonlit rose garden paths.

Some say Southside is dirty.

I say that its smells and textures and shadows become something like home, no matter how bad they may sting your nose — something like your mom’s famous sauerkraut anchovies chilled onion soup, or your dad’s armpit in your face while you wrestle on the lawn.

Clean isn’t always better, and Northside doesn’t get that.

There is a place for trees filtering soft light through quaint cafe windows, but there also is a place for a man named Fidel who’s only got three teeth and who’s charmed because at least one person now knows his name.

And I know “It’s not safe”; my girlfriend has briefed me well.

But for the idealist with a hippie streak and an appreciation for the wisdom that springs from plight, Southside has its offerings, too.

Telegraph is hung across from campus like a dare, as if to shout, “Fix this and you shall learn the key to fixing the rest.”

On any given stroll, I can live a different me, sensitive more to this sight than that, aware of my place in a different sort of picture.

My education as a humanities man is packed tightly with tales of woe; I am nicely attuned to it. I am forced to read the likes of Hemingway and Eliot and Fitzgerald and Poe. I am also forced to read books about prison rape and incest and murder and hate.

But Southside is part of what makes the experience of Berkeley — well, the experience of Berkeley for engineers and math kids like my first roommate, Jin.

Southside is a reminder that there are inequities and realities that will continue to exist alongside that first paycheck earned after four hard book-learning years.

It’s a reminder that pain doesn’t only exist in that village in the Congo you saw in that video in that international justice seminar that one semester before you got that totally awesome Fair Trade Organic-grown. Like, to help the farmers, man.

It’s a reminder even to all of the academics in the pristine Northside cafes that their lofty theories need somewhere be applied.

But it’s also a place of hope and light, and it somehow promises peace.
Not because people go prancing down the street or hold each other’s hands while they sing.

I mean, that does happen quite a lot.

But it is also a place of hope because there are small evidences everywhere of a breathing, living optimism.

I know it’s hard to believe in it anymore.

Charities don’t actually use their money to help anyone, politicians care about policy more than their people and pundits care more about the color of skin than unity and recovery.

But students do leave their leftovers on top of trashcans, and we do leave our slightly longer cigarette butts sitting politely on window ledges and walls.

And every now and then, I do see the kind girl from the Christian club kneeling solemnly next to a homeless man who I know is a scammer, and yes, that does hurt.

But Berkeley is a light, right? I know that’s why I came here.

So I’m proud to say that I am of Southside claim and that when I look back on Berkeley, I won’t remember comfort or warmth or safety.

I’ll remember that Southside taught me to love uncertainty, because hell, ideas are more dangerous than any man named Fidel.

Contact D.J. Sellarole at dsellarole@dailycal.org.

The post Ode to Southside appeared first on The Daily Californian.

Cal students talk about why they prefer living north or south of campus.

The post Cal students discuss northside vs. southside housing appeared first on The Daily Californian.

It’s two in the morning and music is bumping, the walls and floors are vibrating from sound and you feel like you’re at a club or in the middle of a raging house party … but you’re not. You’re in your bedroom trying hard to study for an exam that you have tomorrow, but don’t try telling that to your neighbors.

Having noisy neighbors is more than likely something that every student will encounter during our time at Berkeley. High risk areas include frat row, anywhere on Southside, or the occasional tricked out dorm room. Since avoiding these high risk areas isn’t exactly practical or possible in some cases, we at the Clog want you to be prepared to handle a noisy situation.

While there are more conventional ways of dealing with a noise problem such as speaking with your neighbors directly, leaving them a note, or talking to your R.A. or landlord, we at the Clog have developed some more unconventional ways of dealing with a noise problem when the normal way just won’t do.

Come baring gifts: While some may call this “bribery,” we personally find that small requests such as asking them to turn down the music are more likely to be heeded if it involves giving them something sugary for their trouble.

Fight fire with fire: Okay, so this may be a more childish way of dealing with this problem but it is definitely the most satisfying, and is free.  Useful approaches are blasting music of your own, turning up the volume on your TV or tapping the ceiling with a broom handle.

Invest in your future: Say absolutely nothing about the excessive noise your neighbor is making.  The benefit of this approach? They can’t say anything about your noise when you decide to have party of your own.

The creep: Whenever your neighbor starts to make too much noise go over to their place, knock on the door and wait for them to answer. When they come to the door put on your creepiest smile, extend your hand and say, “Hi, I’m ‘blank’.” Let the handshake linger for too long, maintain that creepy smile and don’t say anything else. The goal here is to make this interaction as awkward and uncomfortable as possible for everyone involved. Do this every time your neighbors makes too much noise. While this solution may take longer, what we’re going for here is a Pavlovian solution to the problem. Eventually your neighbor will dread these interactions so much that they will stop making noise all together.

Acceptance of defeat: Unfortunately, while there are many ways to try and deal with noisy neighbors, the sad truth is that not much is likely to change them if they are set in their ways. However, what you do have complete control over is how you react and feel about the situation. If nothing else works, simply choose to not be upset about. Instead of working against your situation, work with it. Invest in some earplugs or quality noise-cancelling headphones and at the very leas, bask in your feelings of superiority in having taken the high road.

Image Source: Craig Miles under Creative Commons 

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At around 6 p.m., a transformer exploded and left a number of buildings on the south side of campus without power.

“There’s a little bit of power outage, but no one’s been injured,” said UCPD spokesperson Lt. Eric Tejada. “Authorities are on the scene and looking into it. Hopefully, they will have the power back on as soon as possible.”

It is unknown what caused the transformer to explode or how long the power will remain out, according to Tejada.

During fall 2012, the northeast part of campus temporarily experienced a power outage after an equipment malfunction during a routine switching procedure on the campus’s physical power plant.

Andy Nguyen is the lead crime reporter. Contact him at anguyen@dailycal.org.

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Jacob Wilson/Staff

First they encamped a half-block away.

Then, they moved closer, their flimsy mats and tattered blankets haphazardly covering them. Before blacking out from alcohol, they rock the block with merriment, obscenities and mutual contempt.

That is some nights. The scene changes nightly. Sometimes they don’t show up.

I live a half-block south of People’s Park and a cluster of dorms and student apartments housing a big chunk of the student demographic.

You could call it a student ghetto, although when I moved into this 67-unit monolith on Hillegass Avenue in 1980, I just needed a home — ghetto or not.

I identify with Dustin Hoffman, an “outside agitator,” in The Graduate and can trace my life in teaspoons from Caffe Mediterraneum, where I often sit at the Dustin Hoffman window-seat. A 1967 scene from “The Graduate,” shot in Caffe Med, looks down from a framed photo at my back as I have watched the passing student scene all these years.

Our building went into lockdown a few years ago after a female student was sexually assaulted outside. I wrote about it in the Berkeley Daily Planet in a long piece on campus sex crimes.

I described the terror in her eyes, shortly after the attack, just outside our gates. I didn’t see the attack. That’s when I first began to see my student homies under siege, but I never thought I’d see homeless at our gates.

But coming home from Caffe Med at 10 p.m. recently, what I had dreaded — but expected — occurred. But instead of a sleep-in, it was just a party of three who had descended the steps out front and hunkered down, their backs against our gate.

All they wanted was to blow a little weed and consume a few brewskis. I fought the urge to return later, to see what had become of the party or to find out whether students in units facing the street had complained. My unit does not face the street.

You see, I was homeless in the late 1970s and have these apartment-invasion dreams in which my nest is violated, usually by marauders who make off with my swag.

Sometimes, when I ruminate on my conflict of interests, I recall “Bartleby the Scrivener,” Melville’s 1853 novella of homelessness on Wall Street, in which the narrator’s male copyist refuses to work but takes up residence in a cubicle in the law office where he had once worked.

Our building’s manager, a hardworking immigrant, has always despised the homeless. He thinks they are just lazy. His opinions are locked down, like his building.

It wouldn’t help to confess to him that I was once one of the so-called bums he despises. Some of the street kids call themselves street tramps.
Meanwhile,  the blithering street-dorm down the street moves closer, like a sea swallowing a life-boat.

One day soon,  drunken crazies — my former comrades — will arrive at my doorstep to bed down.

Then what?

Ted Friedman reports on Southside for the Berkeley Daily Planet.

Contact the opinion desk at opinion@dailycal.org.

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