Dear Neighbor in #2

Dear Neighbor in #2,

We've never met. In fact, I've never seen you. I did catch your hand reaching through the blinds of your window once. Until we finally cross paths in the stairwell, I'll just have to match your voice to a hand instead of a face.

I know your voice well.

You are one Chatty Cathy, #2. I hear you on the phone with your friends constantly. You must have dozens of them. You never seem to leave the apartment to see them but I'm sure that's only because you want to be home in case they call. You still have a landline phone which is kind of retro in its own special way. Your conversations are hilariously long. Who knew there was so much to say about how good your spaghetti is? I'd sure love to try it. Me, I just boil the stuff in hot water. Perhaps your technique is more advanced than mine and thus worth a lengthy discussion.

I imagine you to be a positive person based on how much and how loudly you laugh. It's like you're trying to share your joy with the world, or at least me since our bedroom windows are practically adjacent. Most nights, I want silence so I can read or sleep in peace. But if you're happy, I'm happy. Even if that means I have to fall asleep to my own TV just to drown out the chortles coming from your apartment. My rubber earplugs aren't enough to contend with such irrepressible happiness.

You love your sitcoms, probably because you like to laugh. I often hear the opening theme to Two and a Half Men. I can't say that I see the humor in it but I'm glad someone does. Your enjoyment gives its several seasons and Emmy nominations some meaning. Maybe you're supporting that troubled Charlie Sheen in your own indirect way. That's noble, #2. I can't fault you one bit for cracking up at Barney Miller, though. That show is classic. And it's on that odd WGN channel all the time! Lucky you.

When I moved to Noe Valley, I expected it to be a quiet neighborhood. For the most part, it is. We rarely get any street noise on 28th, other than the 24-Divisadero bus stopping every so often on Noe. Even 24th all but shuts down after 7pm. Your personality, however, seems to be on 24/7.

Again, I'm happy that you're happy. Even though the sound of your old school landline ringtone makes me cringe and the bass-heavy opening theme to Barney Miller no longer excites me, it's great that you're so comfortable and pleased with your life that you almost never leave the house!

I have to ask you, #2: what is the secret to your happiness? I also must ask you to please, shut the fuck up. At least after 10pm on weeknights.

Cheers,

Marissa in #1

Muni Tunes: Should I Stay Or Should I Go?

When I was a newbie to MUNI, I’d take either the 1-California or 41-Union back to my old home in Russian Hill after work. It was a peak hour for public transit but since my office is close to where these buses turn around at the end of their inbound routes in the Financial District, they were usually pretty empty at the time I hopped on. I would take the closest seat up front and almost always wound up giving my seat up to an elderly or disabled passenger. It’s what the bright blue signs (you can see them in the picture up top), robotic voice recording and common decency tell us to do.
Still, sometimes I just wanted to sit. That’s why I learned to move to the back of the bus. If you snag one of those seats, there is less of a chance that someone who needs it more than you will even make it back there. That is some selfish logic for the lazy.
How about this dilemma: you find yourself sitting up front and someone gets on the bus who looks old, but not that old. You don’t want to be a jerk and stay put if they might have trouble standing. But what if they’re perfectly energized and able, expecting the same treatment given to the rest of us young, lazy bums? You can either pretend to be distracted by your iPhone and not move, hoping they’re fine or will give you some sort of sign that they need to sit. Or, you can offer them your seat and hope they gratefully take it or at least politely decline without being offended that you might have classified them as a senior. As in that robotic voice recording’s plea to”please reserve the front seats for seniors.”
Such are the things I obsess over as a MUNI rider.

Fog Warning (An Introduction)

I was made in San Francisco.

My parents had a tiny apartment in Twin Peaks where the bathroom doorframe wasn't quite wide enough to accomodate mom's pregnant belly. They defected to a larger space in Marin County during my second trimester in the womb but since mom kept her old doctor in the city, I got to be born here. I like to imagine my dad nervously driving her to the hospital to give birth, counting the time between contractions between the towers of the Golden Gate Bridge and being congratulated by the toll taker.

I spent a lot of time in the city growing up, especially whenever dad was running late to a videography job and needed a willing passenger to tag along for access to the carpool lane. I always happily accepted the responsibility. I enjoyed the views from the bridge to downtown: sailboats in the bay, older Chinese men and women doing Tai Chi in Washington Square, and the tall buildings in the Financial District. At three or four years old, I wasn't sure what made the city so special; I just knew it was special. I still kind of feel that way, actually. I could list a thousand reasons why this is a great town but I feel San Francisco is somehow greater than just the sum of its parts.

As I got older, I was able to take the ferry into town with friends or on my own. I'd go shopping or window shopping or do not much at all. I just wanted to be there, and I wanted to stay. The ferry rides back were consistently depressing. I hated how the city skyline got smaller and smaller by the time the boat pulled into Larkspur. The prisoners at nearby San Quentin never did anything to soften the blow.

I ventured down south for college and took a brief exodus after graduation to toil for the wine industry in Napa where the hills are covered in vines, not Victorians. It was beautiful but it wasn't San Francisco. The city had been in the back of my head my entire life. Once I decided I could trade wineries for wine bars, I moved. I found a new job and a room in a house on Russian Hill with strangers who became friends. I have my favorite cafes, parks, even streets (the first few blocks of Noe in the Duboce Triangle are just beautiful). I've never felt so happy to call someplace "home." I love San Francisco unconditionally. I know this because I can't stay mad at Muni for very long.

I still take the ferry up to Larkspur now and then to visit family, but these days I get to ride it back. Instead of getting smaller, the skyline becomes grand as we pull into the port and I get to head home.

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This was just a little something I wrote for a wonderful project, i live here: SF which is the artistic brainchild of local photographer Julie Michelle. I've got my photo shoot tomorrow so a picture and the story should come up eventually. I'll post a link when that happens, but in the meantime: run, don't walk. Or since we're online, click really, really fast and check out all the stories Julie has collected so far.
Writing this made me happy so I'm going to do it more often.