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Finito. Kapoot. Last call here at the Drunk. One, final hit-the-road shot of vile before moseying on down the road. C'mon, I'm buying.
Had really looked forward to it. Had been longing for San Francisco, wondering if moving away was the right thing. Economically it was. We could never afford a place out there. Or, within a 100 mile radius. And having the one kid -- with the future hope of more -- made the necessity of having a house undebateable. Plus, at some point, you just kind of feel dumb paying all that money for something that isn't yours. I digress. We longed. We wondered if we made a mistake. Our best friend lived there. My wife's only sibling lived there. We now live in Minnesota. Blah, blah, blah. So we went back. Not to check into moving back, just for vacation. And it was nice. And we were at ease seeing our friends. And the beach at Fort Funston was as stunning and magical as ever. And the Sunday afternoon game at Pac Bell Park was glorious and unforgettable (despite the $7 beers). And there wasn't a strip mall to be seen. And it made for a great vacation. Vacation. Not place to live. The city felt more used and sad than we remembered. Don't know if it was more used and sad. Just felt like it was. But we've been two years on our quiet street with back and front lawns. With empty sidewalks. And two squirrels to every tree. So it might have been the exact same for all we remember. But I can't help speculate the dotcom era wasn't good for San Francisco. That it rode in, plundered and pillaged, kicked the city in the ribs for good measure, then went somewhere else. Leaving the city to shake its head and say, yo! what just happened? Well at least in the Mission, which is where I spent most of my time (and where I lived when I was there). It just didn't feel like the same city that completely changed my way of thinking and solidified my hatred for Republicans during the 90's. Actually I suspect the thing that changed was me (go ahead, I'll wait why you grab a tissue). It's a top five city in the world when you're early twenty to early 30. After that, if you're married with kids and far from loaded, it's not as friendly. I mean, circling 20 minutes for a parking space while your infants wail in their car seats just simply isn't good for anyone's peace of mind. Point is, we both finally, for the first time in two years, felt ok about moving to Minneapolis. Felt that we made the right decision. Not necessarily that Minneapolis was the right decision. But rather that leaving San Francisco was. And for the first time in two years we thought, whew! now we can get on with it.
What about America's love affair with cheese? And pizzas with six different kinds? If we simply did away with all the fucking cheese we eat, we'd each be about 15 pounds lighter. What about soda manufacturers? What about paying school districts millions of needed dollars to pedal their nutritionally void narcotic to future generations of addicts? What about Rutger Hauer? Will he ever make a comeback? Or is he just really old now? What about menthol cigarettes? Menthol? Cigarettes? What about men like GW and Dick Cheney and John Ashcroft -- and America's complete lack of getting their very evil and wrong ulterior motives? What about breast implants? Don't women realize that any man worth his salt prefers small real boobs to big fake boobs? What about it all?
I'm going to respect what a good pair of sunglasses can do for you, and not be too manly to acknowledge that shoes make the ensemble. I'm going to appreciate people trying. That's all, just trying. Then thank people when they do. And I'm going to apologize when it's my fault, and continue to stay out of everyone's way as much as possible.
I enjoyed stopping by The Drunk every month or so. It was a comfortable place to lounge around. An inviting, don't-ask-too-many-questions stop on the 12 lane superhighway of life. Come in, hang out, pontificate over a drink, then listen to a good song or two on the jukebox before heading back out and fighting the world. It's sad to see the Drunk shutter down. It's reminiscent of what I just witnessed in San Francisco -- hey, there was a cool place here once, where'd it go? But sometimes it's just time to get on with it. Void P.S. Check out "The Morning Fix" at sfgate.com every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. You can subscribe to it and have it pushed to your email address if you like (go to sfgate.com, type in morning fix in the search cell). Mark Morford, the lone author of The Fix, is the second coming. A genius. And he puts my writing to serious shame. Read it, guffaw out loud, then pass him on. You'll feel like a Good Samaritan.
©2002 Void Where Prohibited
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