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Farewell to All That

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, JillRamanVince, 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.

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