Category: San Francisco

Storms and the Sunset

I’m really amused at how excited I am about the current round of storms here. By the east coast standards of someone who has seen hurricanes, this El Nino crap is pretty tame. But in my five and a half years in San Francisco, this is the first storm I’ve seen which has been even moderately worth paying attention to.

To start with, there was thunder and real lightning, sporadic though it may have been. There was even actual real (almost) hard rain, but of course, this didn’t really compare to the east coast soakers which force even the most arrogant drivers to the side of the road.

All the same, it was pretty, unless you had to experience it as your house was sliding down a hill or rushing down a river. The roomie and I were inspired to make a quick beach trip during a lull on Saturday afternoon, in search of carnage, choppy seas, or at least the woman we’d been watching all weekend on the Weather Channel. We found the choppy seas, but settled on lunch at the Doggie Diner in lieu of the rest.

Aaah, the Doggie Diner on Sloat Blvd…it’s the last relatively-intact remnant of a mid-century Bay Area chain. One still stands in Alameda, but minus the defining doggie. The SF location, across from the zoo and now known as the Carousel, serves up great burgers and chili dogs, and makes you forget completely that you’re in the most pretentious city on the west coast.

People know each other here. People are friendly here. The guys are very cute in that semi-suburban way which says they haven’t yet bought into the wholesale fashion culture mandated east of Twin Peaks. Everybody in the place knew the guy shown above; they talked about how he was going to Chico State now. I had really intense cravings to follow him there, not just becuase he was fuck-gorgeous (which he was) but also because he looked like he was capable of having a really good time on the spur of the moment without getting too complicated or worrying about what he was wearing or how developed his pecs were.

It’s like this all over the Sunset, actually. I worked in the area for a couple of years and was amazed at how different the west side of town is. And while I’m not itching to pull up stakes and move here, I’m also not convinced that this difference is necessarily as bad as we on the “cool side of town” seem to believe.

But I digress. Back to the storm. After the Doggie Diner, we took the unbelievable maze of subdivision roads into Pacifica, where some real weather was starting to kick in. The pier was closed, the roads were getting wetter, and just for a minute it almost looked like an eastern coastal town (except, of course, for the mountain backdrop).

Pacifica is such a creepy place, but I’m fascinated by it. The overall tone is suburban, but I’m not sure if it’s a suburb of San Francisco, Daly City, or just the ocean. It doesn’t really act like a beach town either. Maybe the perpetual fog just attracts those who would rather not be bothered by anyone else and who want an eerily quite space in which to commune with the sea, each other, or whatever.

Darkness set in, and we headed back to the City, still being amused at how exciting this relatively low-level storm seemed given the general blandness of Northern California weather. I watched the Weather Channel some more. This may be the closest experience to a “blizzard watch” I get for a while. That’s probably not a bad thing.

Nicotine Fits, Part 2

So I finally ventured into one of the nifty new California smoke-free bars Friday night. I’d been putting it off since returning from the holiday trip because I wasn’t sure I’d know how to behave and also because I was a little worried about just how a smoke-free bar might SMELL.

As it happened, I ended up coping in much the same way everyone else seemed to be doing so. I just went ahead and smoked. It was very simple. Of course there were no ashtrays or cigarette machines. One bar even featured a prominent “no smoking” sign. No one — patron or staffer — seemed to care.

At first I was a little timid, cupping the offending cigarette in my closed hand like a joint or something. I guess I was afraid the principal would walk by and catch me. It all felt so very junior high; I feared a month’s detention.

By the end of the night, with several beers in my belly and a cute little clubkid on his knees in front of me, however, I felt much more secure. I was pushing his head down on me with one hand while puffing away with the other. Somehow the opinion of the State of California mattered very little to me at this point.

So I guess I’m a desperate outlaw now, darn it…

I hear rumors that the Castro bars are actually observing the smoking ban and enforcing it. I’m not surprised; they’re just so much more sensitive over there. I’m surprised though that no one seems worried about whether or not the noisy smoking drunks on the sidewalk will affect property values.

Of course, there is the issue of workers being exposed to second-hand smoke. Once again, I would state that no one, to my knowledge, has ever been forced to work in a bar. When you take a job, you understand that there are some occupational risks. In bars, these risks include loud music, smoke, and having to cope with obnoxious drunks. Obviously, many people have decided that the rewards outweigh the risks.

Consider this: dealing with rude assholes is detrimental to my psychological health. That’s why I don’t work in retail customer service anymore. I never requested a law stating that it be illegal to act like an asshole in a retail establishment. I knew the risks when I took the job. I was prepared to take them. When I no longer wanted to take these risks, I quit.

But as long as we’re “protecting” people, may I suggest the following:

  • I guess we’ll have to get rid of conversation first. Too many hurt feelings and broken promises. Civil liberties can’t be considered an issue if someone might be offended.
  • Let’s ban on techno and house music in bars because they kills brain cells and make me homicidal, thus putting other patrons at considerable risk.
  • A ban on being horny in bars is probably in order because horniness might lead to unsafe sex.
  • We should eliminate attractive people in cruise bars. Seeing these people could make some less attractive people become victims of reduced self-esteem levels, causing them to drink too much or (gasp) crave cigarettes. Come to think of it, we’d better ban anyone who’s ever been attracted to an attractive person too…
  • No more TV. Radiation, y’know?

Who was it who said that people who are willing to give up civil liberties to obtain a sense of “security” are deserving of neither? I’m off to have a cigarette and see if I can remember…

Christmas in the City

Signs of Christmas in the City:

  • Embarcadero Center looks like four hugely disproportionate Christmas presents and the Transamerica Pyramid looks like an oversized tree.
  • Driving down Fifth Street near Market is something only the bravest among us will risk.
  • The absence of crowds due to Christmas parties and people leaving the city actually made the Hole in the Wall Saloon bearable last night.
  • Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley was closed off today so that all the people who scorn materialism and commercialism could make a quick buck selling T-shirts, crystals, and a plethora of strange-smelling items.
  • The ratio of Christmas songs to other types on Muzak and KABL has finally hit 99-1.

Note du jour: a recent look at a cheap Spanish-English dictionary finds “Hanukkah” defined as “Christmas for the Jews”. I’ll let this one stand on its own…umm…merits and close with it.

Cold

It is absolutely freezing cold here, or so it seems. Mind you, it never really gets all THAT cold in San Francisco; I doubt the temperature has fallen below 40F (4C). But in colder climates people have a miraculous thing which is lacking here: HEAT.

You’d be amazed just how hard it is to find heat here. The place I work doesn’t have any at all, the logic being that the machines generate a sufficient amount. My apartment has one under-powered gas blower which keeps the ceiling of the hallway toasty warm and wouldn’t dare intrude on any of the rooms.

This lack of warmth is everywhere, from restaurants to stores to bars to buses. I’ve spent nights in drafty old Victorians which made me long for the warmth of a snow-covered house back east. I’ve bought clothes in department stores without trying them on just because I couldn’t face being naked in the dressing room.

This could be why San Franciscans seem to get one cold which starts in November and lasts until March, never really getting very serious, but always lurking under the surface. Colds here are just like the weather: chronic, never acute.

But in a few short months, we’ll be warm again. The temperatures will climb, and — of course — no one here has air conditioning either…

I Just Don’t Understand

I just don’t understand:

  • Why does anyone watch MTV these days? Is it just that I’ve aged out of the target audience or are endless reruns of “Road Rules” and “The Real World” just plain BORING?
  • How is it that in one of the wealthiest cities in one of the wealthiest nations in the world, there are homeless people who will spend the holidays barricaded outside Golden Gate Park?
  • Why is it that I always expect people in Volvos to be really incompetent and indecisive drivers? And why am I correct in this assumption about 80% of the time?
  • Why is it that I always expect people in BMWs to be really arrogant and inconsiderate drivers? And why am I correct in this assumption about 95% of the time?
  • Why do people who live in outlying suburbs, pay no city taxes, and contribute virtually nothing to the urban economy feel they have ANY right to complain about the city?
  • What is the point of the SF Sidewalk web site? And why would anyone go there when they could hit the Guardian site instead?
  • Who the hell buys all those millions of copies of “Reader’s Digest” which are sold every month?
  • Why does it cost 50 cents more to sell a gallon of gas in San Francisco than in Atlanta? I somehow thought there was more oil in California than in Georgia.
  • When did people start believing that being rude and unreasonable would get better “results” than being civil and polite?
  • How can anyone spend an hour talking on the phone with someone who lives less than a mile away?

Nicotine Fits

As many of you may already know, smoking is officially banned in all San Francisco bars as of 1 January 1998. I’ve been waiting to write about this, trying to find some version of logic which works for me on this subject, and so far I’ve been unable to.

Don’t get me wrong here. I don’t really have a problem with regulations covering smoking in restaurants, most offices, and stores. But bars? Give me a break. With all due respect, bars ain’t health clubs. People don’t go to bars for that warm fuzzy feeling that comes after a good workout or a really tasty smoothie. Frankly, bars are inherently unhealthy places, and frankly smoking is an important part of this ritual unhealthiness.

I’ve been really hard-pressed to find anyone who really supports this move, among smokers or non-smokers (although I’m certain I’ll hear a few comments to the contrary now). From a number of eavesdropping sessions, I’ve been able to learn that the police couldn’t even give a fuck on this issue, and that enforcement will probably be pretty lax.

So has the drive to create a prettier, healthier, sanitized, family-friendly San Francisco gone too far? Maybe I’m being completely irrational, but I think it has. I also think this law will have about as much weight as the prohibition against jay-walking.

Frustrated

I think my recent rants about SF may have given the impression that I don’t like it here very much anymore. I may even have said as much somewhere; I can’t recall. I’m now serving notice that it ain’t true. I still love the city, despite all its faults. I will say that I’m concerned about the direction it seems headed in, and that I’m just not sure I like the company it’s keeping lately. I will also admit I am considering leaving Sodom-by-the -Bay for a number of reasons, only some of them related to the city itself.

But I still have an unbelievable love for this place. I care what happens here. Enough so, I might add, that I feel the need to criticize things which are just plain wrong. Maybe my romantic love has turned into a parental sort of love. That said, I will add that I’m trying to look at things with a more balanced eye and to start once again occasionally observing some of the things which I love.

I couldn’t find my wallet for a few minutes yesterday. The frustration almost moved me to tears. Tonight I was cleaning up my room. My impatience with the never-ending pile of stuff actually DID move me to tears. I sat on my bed, looking at piles of paper and dirty clothes and started sobbing. I put my head in my hands and began bawling. It was scary…

So what the fuck is going on here? Dirty clothes don’t usually affect me this way. I’m not the type who spontaneously combusts at the slightest provocation. This is not normal behavior.

What thoughts ran through my head? Well, mostly I kept pondering the fact that I’m a 33 year old chain smoker with a beer gut, living in a tiny little apartment about two steps up from squalor, working part-time at a job I could do in my sleep, and suddenly realizing that at this “ripe old age”, I have absolutely no more idea what I’m going to do with my life than I did when I was ten.

It was not a particularly pleasant state of mind.

Being an aimless slacker may be cute when you’re 25. Jeez, an entire media culture and demographic profile has developed around it. But when you’re reaching your mid 30’s, it becomes damn near pathetic. And scary as hell.

I’ve been in a rotten mood all weekend, Maybe it’ll get better tomorrow. Right now, though, I keep looking around this dark, microscopic little apartment and I think I’m gonna scream. Of course moving out of the apartment would mean moving out of SF, since the only way I can even afford the current hovel is through rent control. I’ve been living here five years and the place has never seemed quite so unpleasant before.

But tonight, as I tried to sort through and rearrange all the physical shit, I kept conjuring up assorted emotional shit at the same time, and the two shits combined were overwhelming. Maybe a little Pepto Bismol…

And I can’t seem to focus on anything lately. Right now, I’m in the process of reading four different books. I’m working on three different big projects for Planet SOMA. I can’t seem to commit completely to any of them, so all the projects and the books (and the email) are just sitting around in various states of completion, waiting patiently for me to give any of them a respectable amount of time.

I won’t even discuss the fact that I almost have to force myself to leave the house lately. Or that I seem to be screamingly impatient with everyone and everything when I do. Or especially the fact that I didn’t even watch “The Simpsons” tonight. If I did that, someone (like me) might get the notion that I’m depressed. Couldn’t have that…

So before I get even whinier, I think I’ll just go to bed. At least I’ve managed to remove all the dirty clothes that were covering it.

Disillusioned

The McDonald’s at Seventh and Market is really creepy and getting creepier. It’s a strange mix of crackheads, career alcoholics, street people, and very scrubbed but very lost foreign tourists. How so many tourists end up here I don’t know. For some reason I felt extremely paranoid there today; the place usually doesn’t phase me. It got worse when this really scary guy brushed up against me as he got in line behind me. When I reached for my wallet to pay, it wasn’t there. I freaked. It turned out I’d left it at home, but this thought didn’t even occur to me at the time.

Why am I so paranoid lately? Frankly, I usually feel safer in SF than almost anyplace else. But I’ve noticed myself being much more apprehensive lately. I find myself checking my back pocket constatly to make sure the wallet’s till there like I do in New York. I’m afraid every time I go to my car that I’ll be missing a window. I’m more likely to keep the windows rolled up and the doors locked. Muni is getting more and more frightening.

The neighborhood’s getting annoying. Too much construction. Too many noisy, drunk yuppies. Not nearly enough parking, even on my sticker-protected street. More on this soon. But doing any of the following one more time may cause me to snap and go “postal”:

  • Standing in line behind one more stoned trendoid who takes ten minutes to decide on one bottle of liquor at the corner store.
  • Walking in the middle of Folsom Street because Julie’s Supper Club can’t contain all its loud-mouthed slumming stockbrokers or even make them leave a path on the sidewalk.
  • Getting a parking ticket on a street two blocks from my house because the Department of Parking and Traffic can’t seem to control the non-residents parking on my own sticker-protected street which is where I SHOULD have been able to park in the first place.
  • Being awakened early in the morning by whatever that pounding sound is at the building they’re renovating up the street, which is no doubt in the process of being converted into yet another zoning-exempt “artist’s loft” which no artist could possibly afford.

Critical Mess

The tension between cyclists and drivers and pedestrians is not good and it’s exacerbated by the fact that the Bay Area is becoming more crowded with members of all transportation classes, most of whom seem to have no idea where they’re going. Traffic here really SUCKS lately and heightened tension on the roadways is doing no one any good.

Aggressive drivers and cyclists need to get some perspective. Both need to start paying a little less attention to who has the moral high ground and a little more to the mechanics of moving from Point A to Point B. Simply put, why can’t road hogs in cars yield some space without whining and moaning ? And why can’t road hogs on bikes drop the self-righteous notion that they have the ultimate right to any and all street (or sidewalk) space to the exclusion of people on foot or in cars? The perpetual rants about why it’s OK for cyclists to break whatever rules they see fit just because their mode of transporation is “superior” to driving or walking is growing a bit tiresome.

And here’s a biggie: why can’t Willie Brown cart his stylishly arrogant butt out of his limo for a few minutes and do something constructive about the problem?