The Last Supper

Of course, before last night’s unpleasantness, there was the last supper with Dan, Jamie, and Eugene at Rocco’s on Folsom Street. Various combinations of the five of us have been having dinner together on Friday nights for many years, and last night was the last time, even though it was rescheduled for Saturday since we had the pod to load on Friday. I will miss these people very much…

 

I also said my final goodbyes to Irma and the kids last night. Jamie has taken custody and promises to send me updates. We even considered registering irmacam.com and throwing up a webcam, but I don’t think that’s really going to happen…

Psycho Neighbor

Just to make those last few days a little more fun, we had a little run-in with the asshole neighbor downstairs last night. A bit after 11, Mark accidentally knocked over a lamp and broke a light bulb. Not wanting to step in glass all night (and risk a cut which wouldn’t mix well with the blood thinners I take due to my heart-thyroid combo) I made the fatal mistake of turning on the vacuum cleaner for about 45 seconds to pick up the pieces…

It was less than a minute; it wasn’t like I was vacuuming the house from front to back for a long period of time, but shortly after I finished came the loud banging on the door. I didn’t even bother to answer it lest I lay into the son of a bitch, who unfortunately also happens to be a friend of the landlord. Before bed, though, I did leave notes on the doors of my downstairs and next door neighbors, explaining the situation and apologizing if it had caused any problems…

Mike downstairs is just your basic garden variety prick and busybody whose life is so miserable that he feels the need to spread it around and make everyone else miserable too. In earlier days, I’d tried to be pleasant and neighborly to him. One year, I even had him up for my Christmas gathering, at which point he got drunk (as is his custom) and embarrassed himself and everyone else there…

The past few years, though, he just became impossible to cope with. So I stopped even trying, speaking to him only when absolutely necessary. Like the time when the 90-year-old plumbing in our kitchen sink finally gave way. Unbeknown to us, water was running down the back of the building. He came up, banging on the door, yelling “What the fuck are you guys doing?” as if we were shooting a hose out the window merely to torment him, rather than innocently washing the dishes…

Yes, Mike hasn’t been much of a neighbor. I think Mark’s moving in really pissed him off, whether due to the “extra noise” or just because it meant someone else actually to be happy. Any other neighbor would have congratulated us or at least feigned pleasantness. Not him…

What I might have told him last night is that I was tired of ten years of trying to be a good neighbor to him. I’d have mentioned the outstanding lengths I’ve gone to over the years to avoid making him deal with excessive noise. I’d have added that I’d put up with his perpetual hammer-banging and “renovation” for years without a complaint, not to mention smelling his nasty second-had cigar smoke and putting up with his nosiness and his snide comments about what he’d heard from my bedroom the night before…

Some people miss their neighbors when they move. Right now, I don’t particularly care if this one lives or dies. And if he says a word to me, including “hello”, before we leave, I’ll probably advise him that it would be really easy for us not have to speak to each other again at all for the next five days…

Just to make those last few days a little more fun, we had a little run-in with the asshole neighbor downstairs last night. A bit after 11, Mark accidentally knocked over a lamp and broke a light bulb. Not wanting to step in glass all night (and risk a cut which wouldn’t mix well with the blood thinners I take due to my heart-thyroid combo) I made the fatal mistake of turning on the vacuum cleaner for about 45 seconds to pick up the pieces…

It was less than a minute; it wasn’t like I was vacuuming the house from front to back for a long period of time, but shortly after I finished came the loud banging on the door. I didn’t even bother to answer it lest I lay into the son of a bitch, who unfortunately also happens to be a friend of the landlord. Before bed, though, I did leave notes on the doors of my downstairs and next door neighbors, explaining the situation and apologizing if it had caused any problems…

Mike downstairs is just your basic garden variety prick and busybody whose life is so miserable that he feels the need to spread it around and make everyone else miserable too. In earlier days, I’d tried to be pleasant and neighborly to him. One year, I even had him up for my Christmas gathering, at which point he got drunk (as is his custom) and embarrassed himself and everyone else there…

The past few years, though, he just became impossible to cope with. So I stopped even trying, speaking to him only when absolutely necessary. Like the time when the 90-year-old plumbing in our kitchen sink finally gave way. Unbeknown to us, water was running down the back of the building. He came up, banging on the door, yelling “What the fuck are you guys doing?” as if we were shooting a hose out the window merely to torment him, rather than innocently washing the dishes…

Yes, Mike hasn’t been much of a neighbor. I think Mark’s moving in really pissed him off, whether due to the “extra noise” or just because it meant someone else actually to be happy. Any other neighbor would have congratulated us or at least feigned pleasantness. Not him…

What I might have told him last night is that I was tired of ten years of trying to be a good neighbor to him. I’d have mentioned the outstanding lengths I’ve gone to over the years to avoid making him deal with excessive noise. I’d have added that I’d put up with his perpetual hammer-banging and “renovation” for years without a complaint, not to mention smelling his nasty second-had cigar smoke and putting up with his nosiness and his snide comments about what he’d heard from my bedroom the night before…

Some people miss their neighbors when they move. Right now, I don’t particularly care if this one lives or dies. And if he says a word to me, including “hello”, before we leave, I’ll probably advise him that it would be really easy for us not have to speak to each other again at all for the next five days…

Full Pod

 

6:40 AM. At sunrise, we loaded the last of the stuff. All in all, we took almost no furniture, and we still have quite a bit to ship. But at least the overnight pod nightmare is almost over, assuming that the damned thing isn’t overweight and also assuming they can get the misaligned door shut properly…

Either way, we should be able to go to bed in, oh, four or five hours. But wait. We don’t really have a bed anymore…

Watching the Pod

It’s 9:30 on a Friday night. I probably won’t be sleeping for at least twelve hours, because our pod is out on the street with a large part of our stuff in it, and there’s no way I’m leaving it out on the streets of Purgatory San Francisco all night without watching it…

Not only is it excruciatingly difficult to live here, it’s even difficult to leave…

What WILL I Miss?

I guess we’re really going…

A big part of the packing is done (more thanks to Mark than to me) and last night we started saying our official goodbyes by having dinner with Sarah and Brad. And I’ve hit that point where every time I visit a certain store or restaurant, I’m assuming it will probably be my final visit…

Strangely enough, I’m finding that — friends aside — most of the things I’ll miss aren’t actually IN San Francisco. That may be due to the fact that aside from work and home, I haven’t really spent that much time within the city limits for several years now. My leisure time is spent in Oakland and San Jose and even Sacramento and Fresno, and it’s these places that I think I’ll really miss. And I’ll hate not having LA nearby as well, since I’ve lately found it much more fascinating than San Francisco…

So very much of what I used to find so interesting about San Francisco either isn’t here anymore or isn’t exciting to me anymore. Most of the bars and clubs I liked are closed –or radically different than they used to be — and I don’t really care about that scene anymore anyway. Except for parts of the Richmond and the Sunset and the Outer Mission, the city has pretty much have become a boutique caricature of its former self, a theme park if you will. Of course, this was a trend which was well underway even in 1992, but it’s gotten completely out of hand now…

Some other casualties:

  • Live 105 before it turned into the land of Limp Dipshit and Korn.
  • The dogs, Jim Gabbert’s editorials, and even the KOFY call letters on channel 20.
  • That whole great neighborhood of warehouses and piers that used to be where SBC Park is now.
  • The Emporium.
  • Mike’s Night Gallery.
  • Army Street.
  • The little cafe that used to be in the building where I work and serve lasagna every Wednesday, even though they always ran out by 12:15 or so.

More to come. And all sentimental notions are, of course, subject to change…

Pillow Talk

There are many reasons I love my husband. One of the biggest is the fact that he can discuss urban planning in bed and do so intelligently. And I have a very rigorous definition of “intelligently” when it comes to this particular subject…