My flight to New York leaves in less than twelve hours. I sold my car this morning to my co-worker and her partner; the Subaru has driven off with the lesbians, and all is as it should be.
I’m home, wiped out. Some sober friends threw me a little going away party at an apartment on Castro Street overlooking the city, and I only cried like once. I know myself; I get caught up in the details and I put off the waterworks for the actual moment of departure. I feel sorry for whomever gets to sit next to me on the plane tomorrow morning.
I’m still in checklist mode. I intended to write a couple of lists; one for the things I won’t miss about San Francisco, and one for the things I will. But the “things I won’t miss” list was kind of boring, with bullet points like “cold summer nights”, “no thunderstorms”, and “The Governator”.
Instead, I’ll give you a quote from Pauline Kael:
“San Francisco is like Ireland. If you want to do something, you’ve got to get out.”
That’s just my experience, and I’m partly to blame. I have not in any way taken full advantage of this city. But for me living here, especially in the years since I got sober, was like growing up in a nice, warm, incubator. And now I’m ready to get out.
But here’s what I will miss; I’m sure I will think of more later. My apologies if I’ve left anyone off the list. I’m a little distracted.
What I Will Miss about San Francisco:
- Wade aka Bearbait
- Brian, though he moved to Los Angeles of all places
- Jamie (what does become a legend most? You, lady, you!)
- local bloggers, especially Jeff, James, Jill, Raman, Vince, and Aaron
- my big brother Joe
- and my other big brother Karl
- my lovely, cheap apartment
- my roommate
- our free washer and dryer
- the Saturday morning meeting and some of those insane alcoholics
- the New York scramble at It’s Delectable before the Saturday morning meeting, and seeing Kelley walk in every week with her bottle of french vanilla creamer
- the lights of the houses on the hills
- the fog rolling in on summer evenings
- driving up Roosevelt Way at night with the windows down
- walking down the hill to the Castro, but not back up
- driving home through the wide, empty Avenues after seeing a movie alone at the Balboa
- the view of St. Ignatius from Buena Vista West
- the sound and smell of fog dripping from the eucalyptus trees on my street
- Gold’s on Brannan at noon
- the barbeque chicken at Cordon Bleu next to the Lumiere Theater
- Tuesday evenings at Cafe Flore
- all the guys from Kaliyuga Arts, though I will see some of them in New York
- the Sunday afternoon beer bust at the Eagle, even though I haven’t been in four years
- David Harness and Ruben Mancias spinning at the End Up, even though I haven’t been in four years
- the disproportionate percentage of my sexual partners who’ve done porn
- Trader Joe’s
- Peet’s Coffee
- Books, Inc, Booksmith, and Browser Books
- fresh produce
- those few sweet months when I thought I was in love. With a space monkey who never landed.
- last but certainly not least: my boy Louie. I’ve written twelve pages about my decision to let him stay here with my ex, his other daddy, who’s also moving into my apartment. But until I get that written, the short answer is that his quality of life will be better here, across the street from a dog park, with his other daddy and my roommate, who love him. And like some other things on this list, I’m trying not to think about it too much.
