You know that guy (or girl) who you try to convince yourself you’re over? And your friends all tell you (I am this friend) all the red flags, every reason you shouldn’t like him/date him, whatever. And you hear them, you really do. Like, maybe, he really should shower more often. Or maybe he should wash his hands after he goes to the bathroom. You know, things like that.
Reasons I should be over San Francisco:
One. I definitely saw a car that was on Pimp my Ride. Xhibit definitely had a hand in it. Definitely. This very day, in fact.
Two. This weekend, I was walking down the street and a man, obviously high on something, started screaming at the sky. (Also one time, a man stood below my window and yelled, “The Moon! The Moon!” until the police came. I wonder what he saw up there. And why is it always a fascination with the sky?)
Anyway, while I was walking, and this man was screaming at the sky in broad daylight, I heard a man say, “Calm down. What are you yelling about?” His voice was leveled and measured. He appeared perfectly normal. Then, as he passed, I realized his dog was wearing Oakley sunglasses. And I thought, “That’s San Francisco for you. The man who puts sunglasses on his dog is the voice of reason.”
Three. About a month ago, a homeless man was cautioning people walking by about the dog doo doo on the street. He was very nice and polite about it.
Four. Kanye asked Kim to marry him here. In this city.
Also, if you missed it. I was spat on, on my birthday.
San Francisco is a crazy place, I won’t lie about it. One time, a man decided to form a street band below my window at two o’clock in the morning. Now, if you walk down Market Street (the main drag, here) on a friday afternoon, you will find some great street performers–singing, drumming, rapping, clapping. This man did not belong on Market Street. This man belonged in a monastery taking a vow of silence. He just up and decided he was going to sing from 2 to 4 in the morning and he didn’t really care if the words rhymed or even made sense or he had any rhythm at all.
Five. I just remembered. There is also a homeless lady with a giant gerbil that she strokes while she asks you for money. I avert my eyes. I can’t do rodents. But one time, I saw it. That gerbil is fat. What is she feeding it? (Smelly Cat, Smelly Cat, what are they feeding you? Smelly Gerbil, Smelly Gerbil, it’s not your fault…)
Reasons to love SF:
There is something about it, I will tell you. I fall in love with the details–mailboxes, art deco golden gilt, a sweet drink on a hot day. Even though I wear a scarf when it is sixty degrees, just so I don’t look like a tourist (laugh Chicagoans, laugh).
Who knows if it is a passing infatuation or true love?