“The price one pays for pursuing any profession or calling is an intimate knowledge of its ugly side.”
- James Baldwin
San Francisco definitely has an ugly side. When you love something – a person, a passion or even a city – you begin to find things that you absolutely hate about it. It makes you angry because you still love that goddamn object.
Now in my years in San Francisco, in my many intimate moments with her, there are some things that I’ve grown to hate. And I can say that only because I love her. Here goes:
The Brunch
I like breakfast. I like lunch. I love brunch. It’s a savior on those late Saturday and Sunday weekends that have become rare. However brunch in San Francisco is on a whole other level. People put brunch on a fucking pedestal. They it treat it like the last supper before the tortures of the work week begin again. The people (7 times of 10 they’re either a girl or gay) treat it like it’s a sex substitute. You’ll hear them moan “oh my god, I LOVE brunch!” And every time they say it, they’re just having an orgasm. I hope they keep it in their mouth, but I could be wrong. The constant squealing about brunch, about chocolate chip pancakes and truffle crème fraiche like they’re being fucked with a 12 inch black dildo and jizz on the mention of a mimosa is conversation I’ve had more times than necessary. Mimosas are treated like orange juice with holy wine spiked with Jesus’ cum. Calm down, they meant “bottomless” in a whole different context.
Brunch is not a sexual experience. I can only imagine a YouTube trailer titled “SF Psycho” with clips of young twenty-somethings in yoga pants showing their envy and spreading their productive hours discussing which brunch spots to rub themselves for reservations and which entrees to succulently swallow.
Brunch is good, delicious, timely and social but that doesn’t make it a French toast orgy.
The Wind
A city by the bay does expect some kind of breeze but holy shit, what SF gets is a fucking hurricane in comparison. Where the fuck am I? Chicago?
The SF wind legitimately hampers my outdoor lifestyle. I like to run outside. I want to utilize the infamous hills that make such great outdoor gyms. I need to sweat out the pain (and grease from all the delicious food). But have you tried to run outside and work up a sweat in 16 mph winds? No, you haven’t because it’s fucking impossible – instant cooling. Every drop of moisture I feel is just the fog reaching its dew point on my forehead. Nope, no sweat. Yup, same fatass Zahir.
Okay, working out aside. I still like to have a sweet refreshment of lemonade on a hot summer’s day. But in the hottest heat of the SF summer you can depend on a fierce howl that forces you to grab a jacket and drink some lukewarm juice or blue bottle coffee. Thanks Wind, for ruining the re-living of my childhood simplicity.
The Uniform
San Francisco is a city that almost required its citizens to embrace diversity or risk alienation. There is a singular identity and perspective growing from the masses that sounds ideal - and has no flaws. Everyone you meet is the same person with a different avatar. Our diversity has become somewhat of a farce.
I’m talking about the borderline hipster who denies it, the iPhone toting, Android hating (or the converse), MUNI-disgusted (but loyal a rider for economic obviousness),only-three-neighborhood partying, startup jizzing, SF “citizen”.
It feels liike everyone fits about 80% of that above description. Whatever happened to inquiring and learning about differences? Something inside me is set to to fire when people get elitist about their preferences.
“Oh, you live in north beach?”
“Ew, you like the marina/mission/haight/[YourHoodHere]?”
“What! Who doesn’t have an iPhone?” or “Oh, you use an iPhone - ugh, so unoriginal”
“My buddy is at this cool start up blah blah blah”
When did people begin to think that their version of The City was the proper and only way to do it? Why do people assume their or their associate’s startup is going to the be the supreme leader, the author of technology history and the peak interest of the conversation. If I hear one more conversation about how cool a startup is or about monetization or business models, I’m going to walk away*. People are quick to employ their heuristics about dress, gadgets, places to hang and party. Stop trying to make SF a one personality city. Appreciating Dolores Park became the mainstream and there’s some kind of tension between us and them. Each ego is fighting over right to call a space or an image their own and claim it for their own purpose, whether it’s to call themselves mainstream or hipsters. There’s constant conflict about which operating system and loyalties to different geniuses, corporations and brands that have not just shaped but created from wires and silicon the worlds we physically and virtually live in.
The city belongs to no group or style or brand. San Francisco isn’t exactly a melting pot. When I look over at the different buildings it reminds me of a quilt but we’re not some old grannies here. We’re kids who have found our playground. SF is a fucking 32 color pack of play-doh. We each take our chunk of whatever colors we want and build something that has never been made before. We share, we sip and maybe we’ll tear it down and start all over again.
But let the native sons and daughters of abroad come to our playground and engage in a dialogue. And when you have built a monument of your glory, go tell it on the hill - there’s plenty for everyone.
* And that’s not an empty threat. I’ve asked people to shut up or change the conversation before
- James Baldwin
San Francisco definitely has an ugly side. When you love something – a person, a passion or even a city – you begin to find things that you absolutely hate about it. It makes you angry because you still love that goddamn object.
Now in my years in San Francisco, in my many intimate moments with her, there are some things that I’ve grown to hate. And I can say that only because I love her. Here goes:
The Brunch
I like breakfast. I like lunch. I love brunch. It’s a savior on those late Saturday and Sunday weekends that have become rare. However brunch in San Francisco is on a whole other level. People put brunch on a fucking pedestal. They it treat it like the last supper before the tortures of the work week begin again. The people (7 times of 10 they’re either a girl or gay) treat it like it’s a sex substitute. You’ll hear them moan “oh my god, I LOVE brunch!” And every time they say it, they’re just having an orgasm. I hope they keep it in their mouth, but I could be wrong. The constant squealing about brunch, about chocolate chip pancakes and truffle crème fraiche like they’re being fucked with a 12 inch black dildo and jizz on the mention of a mimosa is conversation I’ve had more times than necessary. Mimosas are treated like orange juice with holy wine spiked with Jesus’ cum. Calm down, they meant “bottomless” in a whole different context.
Brunch is not a sexual experience. I can only imagine a YouTube trailer titled “SF Psycho” with clips of young twenty-somethings in yoga pants showing their envy and spreading their productive hours discussing which brunch spots to rub themselves for reservations and which entrees to succulently swallow.
Brunch is good, delicious, timely and social but that doesn’t make it a French toast orgy.
The Wind
A city by the bay does expect some kind of breeze but holy shit, what SF gets is a fucking hurricane in comparison. Where the fuck am I? Chicago?
The SF wind legitimately hampers my outdoor lifestyle. I like to run outside. I want to utilize the infamous hills that make such great outdoor gyms. I need to sweat out the pain (and grease from all the delicious food). But have you tried to run outside and work up a sweat in 16 mph winds? No, you haven’t because it’s fucking impossible – instant cooling. Every drop of moisture I feel is just the fog reaching its dew point on my forehead. Nope, no sweat. Yup, same fatass Zahir.
Okay, working out aside. I still like to have a sweet refreshment of lemonade on a hot summer’s day. But in the hottest heat of the SF summer you can depend on a fierce howl that forces you to grab a jacket and drink some lukewarm juice or blue bottle coffee. Thanks Wind, for ruining the re-living of my childhood simplicity.
The Uniform
San Francisco is a city that almost required its citizens to embrace diversity or risk alienation. There is a singular identity and perspective growing from the masses that sounds ideal - and has no flaws. Everyone you meet is the same person with a different avatar. Our diversity has become somewhat of a farce.
I’m talking about the borderline hipster who denies it, the iPhone toting, Android hating (or the converse), MUNI-disgusted (but loyal a rider for economic obviousness),only-three-neighborhood partying, startup jizzing, SF “citizen”.
It feels liike everyone fits about 80% of that above description. Whatever happened to inquiring and learning about differences? Something inside me is set to to fire when people get elitist about their preferences.
“Oh, you live in north beach?”
“Ew, you like the marina/mission/haight/[YourHoodHere]?”
“What! Who doesn’t have an iPhone?” or “Oh, you use an iPhone - ugh, so unoriginal”
“My buddy is at this cool start up blah blah blah”
When did people begin to think that their version of The City was the proper and only way to do it? Why do people assume their or their associate’s startup is going to the be the supreme leader, the author of technology history and the peak interest of the conversation. If I hear one more conversation about how cool a startup is or about monetization or business models, I’m going to walk away*. People are quick to employ their heuristics about dress, gadgets, places to hang and party. Stop trying to make SF a one personality city. Appreciating Dolores Park became the mainstream and there’s some kind of tension between us and them. Each ego is fighting over right to call a space or an image their own and claim it for their own purpose, whether it’s to call themselves mainstream or hipsters. There’s constant conflict about which operating system and loyalties to different geniuses, corporations and brands that have not just shaped but created from wires and silicon the worlds we physically and virtually live in.
The city belongs to no group or style or brand. San Francisco isn’t exactly a melting pot. When I look over at the different buildings it reminds me of a quilt but we’re not some old grannies here. We’re kids who have found our playground. SF is a fucking 32 color pack of play-doh. We each take our chunk of whatever colors we want and build something that has never been made before. We share, we sip and maybe we’ll tear it down and start all over again.
But let the native sons and daughters of abroad come to our playground and engage in a dialogue. And when you have built a monument of your glory, go tell it on the hill - there’s plenty for everyone.
* And that’s not an empty threat. I’ve asked people to shut up or change the conversation before
1 comment:
Uniform is the worst...never been in a homogeneous city like SF. Too predictable
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