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I don't know which way to go. Any advice?

Archive for the ‘San Francisco’ Category

A Love Story

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I’m ready to start writing again, but where to start…

How about here: Last night I saw Dark Passage at the Noir City Film Festival at the Castro Theatre. The theater is always beautiful and the film was delightful. Humphrey Bogart, Lauren Bacall, mystery, murder and the streets of S.F. a la 1947. I’m certain that everyone else who has declared their love for San Francisco also finds it enchanting to see the city on the big screen. All those white buildings, impossibly steep hills and sweeping shots of the Golden Gate Bridge. It’s like hearing a song written just for you.

On the way to the movie, we were caught in traffic amid a downpour. We parked sideways-style on a steep hill, and I nearly slid all the way down when my worn boots hit the wet sidewalk. Pile of leaves clumped at the crosswalks; trash was littered and ground into the pavement. We were drenched by the time we made it to the theater. I had begun to regret coming out on a Friday night in the rain. I couldn’t help thinking how easy it would be to go to a movie in the rain in a different place, where there are parking lots and less people everywhere.

Then the organist started to play. I could see the pipes sparkling through the massive grates on either side of the stage as the keys woke them, one bold sound after another. By the time the projector rattled to a start and the lights dimmed, I had already fallen back under the city’s spell.

A place that you love is a lot like a person you love. For every moment that you feel absolutely crazed, there’s another time when you know — absolutely, unequivocally know — you’ll never leave. Not yet.

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Written by ditheringmiss

January 21, 2012 at 12:12 pm

Posted in San Francisco

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Pinkie’s Out

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I’d be lying if I said that living in the marina came without judgment. It has the stigma of being yuppieville, or douchebag central, if you will. Okay, fine, there is a lot of that. Some of the bars are like glorified frat houses, only sadder, because everyone’s nearing thirty. But we’re not ALL like that.

I like living here because it’s sunny when everywhere else in the city is foggy, I don’t feel scared walking to and from my car at night, and it’s dang pretty. One of my favorite things: checking out the super rich houses along the water while I run.

These houses are worth millions upon millions of dollars, and I find myself fascinated by their going-ons. But it’s not just fascinating; it’s all sorts of enlightening. So I give you, the things I’ve learned from rich people recently:

you should always be having work done to your home. always. regardless of how noisy or inconvenient it may be for those in need of the sidewalk, it is imperative that there is a white truck or large van blocking your driveway.

don’t stop there. even if you don’t have any necessary home repairs on the horizon (and really that’s impossible), you’re 3×4 ft lawn and two gardenia bushes must be maintained daily. on that note, do cut down the beautiful and shade providing branches of the one tree lining your street. it was blocking the view of your mailbox.

people will come to your house to detail your car. i know, but it’s true. i’ve seen it.

you must head to an overpriced avante-garde gallery stat. pick the first life size sculpture you can find and place it in the entryway window of your home. the uglier, the better.

no entryway window? then, opt for the more demure tabletop sculpture to be displayed in your front second story window. sure, it blocks your view. but it’s a small price to pay to for privilege.

finally, under no circumstances ever be seen entering, exiting, or enjoying your home. it’s just gauche.

extra credit: use the word gauche everytime you’re on your blue tooth

I kidd. Just the ramblings of a bitter person with a hankering for fortune. Yes, I know: material wealth be damned. Real riches come from within . Or is that beauty? How do I get to this “within” place anyways?

Written by ditheringmiss

September 2, 2009 at 4:30 pm

How I’m No Good at Traveling

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This is beautiful. But no matter how blue and green it may be, I’ll take my cold, turbulent bay and windy beaches any day.

It’s so good to be back. I can’t tell you how happy I am. I’ve been walking around the apartment telling inanimate objects how grateful I am to have them in my life. Thank you for being you, computer. What can I say, I love you, bed. Heck, I’ve been writing a love poem about the 65 degree weather for the past hour. Before that, I drank water from the shower just because I could.

The trip confirmed all my previous suspicions: I am a homebody. I like being firmly planted on the ground; I like feeling that I’m right where I belong.

Written by ditheringmiss

August 25, 2009 at 10:17 am

City Mouse

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Do you remember the children’s book The City Mouse and The Country Mouse? Neither did I, until this morning. Who could have guessed these life lessons from childhood would keep sneaking up on us?

This morning I met my next door neighbor for the first time. By next door, I mean the apartment that’s butted right up against ours, and by first time, I mean we’ve both lived in the building for almost a year and a half, and we’ve never encountered each other.

I know people have their own schedules and to be unaware of your neighbors is considered blissful city living, but I still find it incredibly strange you can share the same building with a person for months and months and never see them.

As it turns out, our neighbor is the nicest person in the building. Of course, I’m basing this solely on the two-minute completely superficial conversations I’ve shared with everyone. But she stood out. And I’ll probably never see her again.

*sigh*

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It kind of makes me sad in a really cheesy way. See, I have this fantasy about living in a community where neighbors are friends. There’s pool parties and carpools and neighborly poker nights.  They have you for dinner, you bring them bundt cake, etc… A lot like how I picture the seventies, minus all the weirdness.

As it is, I can’t even ask my neighbors for the damn sugar to make the bundt cake.

Maybe I’m just a country mouse?

And by country I mean somewhere near civilization (read:Target), the ocean, and some decent restaurants.

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Written by ditheringmiss

August 11, 2009 at 10:12 am

Small Acts of Kindness

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Sometimes this whole blogging thing is tricky. To put it simply: I have a hard time being myself. I worry I’ll offend someone if I’m too brassy or I’ll bore them if I’m too wistful. I worry I’m not funny enough. And I know I’m not cutesy.

But despite the worries, I’m trying very hard to be more genuine, which leads me to a confession: Today an old woman fell, and I was glad.

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This morning I headed out for my usual run that takes me through a stretch of the neighborhood. Though many people are off, you know, working, there are plenty of others around: construction workers, moms and kids, tourists, people who I can only assume either don’t have jobs or work from home, and the retired elderly.

I love older people (unless I’m stuck behind their car, in which case, I don’t like them at all). I even think the grumpy ones are pretty amusing. Actually, the old people in the city are the very best, especially in my neighborhood where we have quite a few of the old school Italians. While the city has grown up around them, they’ve stuck to their old ways; the same deli, the same barbershop, the same church.

And they are always very kind.

On my run today, I encountered a couple that I guessed to be in their eighties heading out of the house. The woman was in stockings, sensible shoes, a dress, and a warm coat. The man had on a wool jacket, slacks, and stiff hat. They were dapper, off to breakfast, perhaps, or some weekly social occasion.

Like something out of a movie {cue slow motion}, the moment I ran by I saw the woman step back and lose her footing thanks to a split portion of the sidewalk. Realizing that she was probably going to fall, I turned back only to watch her land with a thud, backside down.

As I ran back, her husband rushed to her. He was trying to pull her up as I approached, but between the two of them they couldn’t quite manage. Of course, I lifted her up and placed her squarely on her feet; she was as light as a child, but thankfully, uninjured. Then I, and a young guy who had stopped to lend a hand,  set about helping her with the things she dropped.

She was very embarrassed and flustered; I would be, too, no doubt. I reminded her that everyone takes a stumble now and then, including myself. Then, I wished her a good day and continued along my run.And that was it.

Here’s why I was glad: It was so satisfying to help a person in such a small way, to talk to an actual neighbor in the middle of this big city, to see a young man jump off his bike to help an old man care for his wife, to see a genuinely loving couple in their eighties, to know that pity hasn’t replaced good old fashioned kindness completely.

So there you have it.

I’m the kind of person who gets her jollies from the misfortunes of sweet little old ladies.

Written by ditheringmiss

August 6, 2009 at 4:33 pm

I Live Here

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Yesterday I decided to walk to book club. By chance I stumbled across the most beautiful street on my way.

San Francisco is filled with quaint streets, and on a beautiful day they make it really easy to fall in love with this city (or stay in love, as the case may be.)

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Worth the trek up the hill? I think so.

Written by ditheringmiss

July 20, 2009 at 6:00 am