We are spotted as natives, most likely because we are not burdened by backpacks and we don’t stare dumbly into cellphones at busy street intersections.
This means that we are asked directions…usually to the Golden Gate Bridge.
“Go west young man, and stop at water’s edge. You can’t miss it.”
Jogging is popular here.
“Can you direct me to a store called “The Runner’s Mind”? inquired one sweat drenched stumblebum.
I explained that it was about to merge with another retailer, “The Runny Nose.” They would then rename the new enterprise, “The Runs.”
He didn’t get the joke. He might have been a bit slow in that regard. But no more so than other fat middle aged men wearing shorts and trainers.
The “misery tourists” frequent our Tenderloin District, where drug addicts and troubled derelicts hang out.
They often ask: “How can you live in a city like this?”
Well, it’s not so bad really.
We have a world class Opera, Symphony and Ballet. Jazz and supper clubs abound. There’s also several professional sports franchises, if you like sort of thing. All of them have won significant championships in recent years.
Our museums are OK, when not overrun by kids. It’s best to go there at dusk just before closing when the tykes are being swept away for bedtime and tantrums.
The art galleries are first rate, but our theatre scene is a bit tired. Still, just walking our downtown boulevards is entertaining enough.
“And what about the random violence?” one might ask.
True, one of our 49ers was winged in some gunplay there over a struggle for his watch. But he recovered from the wound to finish out the football season, and he kept his Rolex.
The universal question is another irritation.
“Taken any trips recently?”
No. I don’t have a bucket list, nor do I wish to declare: “Been there, done that.”
Airline travel is for those who enjoy waiting in lines, and to be shouted at by security creeps on the way to the boarding gate.
If you are lucky, you’ll be asked to step aside to be scanned by “the wand” for hidden handguns and explosives.
Even First Class, is Third World these days. Your seating companion is likely to be wearing flip flops and sweats.
Then there’s the mundane interrogation.
“What do you plan on doing this beautiful sunny and warm weekend?”
Staying at home, waiting for nightfall.
As for weather, we live in San Francisco because it is the cold, dark, and damp.
Furthermore, we prefer the weekdays, when the sidewalks are not mobbed out with strollers and errant children (brats) and dodgy off-the-leash dogs.
As for sports, we are often asked “what’s wrong with your basketball, baseball, football teams?”
An easy explanation: “You can hardly expect them to be world champions when half their starters are in clinics with torn ligaments, deep bruises, gimpy gamps and bad girl friends.”
Bicycles, and the dorks who straddle them, are everywhere. These misfits spit, perspire, and break wind while violating all the traffic laws with impunity.
What’s become of poet George Sterling’s “Cool City of Love”?
It’s still here, and it’s a little like The Eternal City.
While hardly ancient, the mystery and romance of the place has to be absorbed with quiet contemplation. The great art critic, Robert Hughes observes in his tome, Rome, that the Sistine Chapel was, and still is, overrun with noisy bores.
Here, it’s the cable cars. A transportation mode still favored by locals, but abused by visitors.
An overheard conversation: “I just got a raise from Social Security. For doing nothing. How great is that? Just for being old, the government gives me money. No free medical care, however. But I don’t need it. I get free medical advice from the cable car conductor. And the kids here get free educational advice from the brakemen. These guys know everything…even more than cab drivers.”
Cab drivers are cool, too, because the eschew the “ rolling stop” when signs and red lights clearly tell motorists to come to a complete halt.
One cabbie explains this way: “Most ordinary SF drivers pretend they are stopping, but they are just giving a gentle genuflection. You know, like in church when you are walking past the alter. It doesn’t show respect…and it’s dangerous. You could go to Hell for that.”
But there are others of us (not Marxists) who maintain that sharing insights like these is intrusive, and rude.
Keep your wants and needs to yourself.
The Beats had it right: Just dig the vibes, Man.