AKA the post full of hyphens and parentheticals
Rather than “he-loves-me/he-loves-me-not,” I’ve been spending the day thinking, “I love SF, I love it not.”
First, a preface: my very-late/very-early flight last-night/this-morning took me through the hell of Las Vegas where enclosed rooms full of smokers at garish slot machines dominated the airport. Imagine my delight when the very generous Pat Poon appeared at the airport, without any sense of obligation, to deliver me to Karen and Manu’s SoMa loft at 2:00 AM.
And I thought to myself, what a wonderful world.
Waking up with the sun streaming through 12 foot windows at the ungodly hour of 7:30 AM (de-deified all the more because of my treacherous flight) was a surprisingly serene start to my first day back in the Bay Area.
With so much sunshine, open space, and high ceilings, I found myself absent-mindedly going through yoga exercises and looking forward to the day ahead. I love SF.
I had lunch a few doors down at Brain Wash: a combination Laundromat/café with free wireless and a great mix of old and new rock-punk-indie music. The cashier had too many tattoos and piercings to count, and the café was filled with relatively normal looking 20- and 30-somethings, half of whom happened to have blue or pink hair. Hadn't I once had both hues attached to my own locks? Still, realizing that I noticed such things made me feel like an interloper. So I looked around for a place to sit where my staring wouldn't be as obvious.
My own version of musical chairs went something like this: looked around stupidly trying to get my bearings in this new place whose newness was confounded by my fresh arrival to SF in general; sat down outside to enjoy the weather; realized I needed a plug for my enormous laptop with the 53-minute battery life; moved my operation indoors, glass of iced coffee in tenuous tow; no plugs available; sat down on a long bench that rocked side-to-side anytime anyone got up or sat down; out-wait the buff hipster (strange, but true) by the coveted plugs; I slide down the bench making it rock in my wake, and finally settle in. Not a terrible experience, but I find myself loving SF less.
With my lunch and the internet at my disposal, I set about to locate the things that I need: a cobbler to repair my broken heel and a grocery store (I'm making dinner for my hosts tonight) that will sell me more than granola. In New York, these things naturally occur every few city blocks. (Incidentally, every block in SF is more like the length of an avenue in New York) No nearby cobbler, grocer, or even bodega. (When did I become more of a New Yorker than a Californian?) I do not love SF.
I finally find my way to Trader Joe’s (I love me some TJs), and though they don’t have everything I’m looking for they are still my best bet over Rainbow or Harvest markets, which are crunchy to a fault. Then I find one of my favorite wines (Fetzer Gewurztraminer) for literally half the price I get it for in NYC. I bought two bottles (one for dinner, one for Karen and Manu to enjoy later), and was soundly back in love with the city by the bay.
(Dinner was tilapia with an olive-tomato-garlic tapenade accompanied by a wilted-greens salad in a honey-vinaigrette dressing with dried orange-cranberries and freshly candied pecans. The Gewurztraminer was a hit, but I think Manu may have had a little too much. After dinner entertainment included several animated Guitar Hero performances by Manu)
