When you are my age, and you have a decent amount of friends, it's not that unusual to look around the room and realize there are at least two people that you have slept with. And maybe another one or two that you want to sleep with. I'm not going to lie. It happens. And it feels fine. It feels connected.
How about this connection: Last night my former boyfriend's employee J. (in her thirties) and I realized that she slept with my former girlfriend's girlfriend's daughter (in her thirties). "So we're related, right?" J. asked. Yes. It did feel familial.
Last night Joe and I went out with my above-mentioned former boyfriend K. and his two gorgeous employees J. and C. all visiting from NYC. We walked from bar to swanky restaurant/bar in the unswanky-but-getting-there-mid-Market/SOMA (my neighborhood). It was fun because a year ago this same friend had told me about my plan to move to this block from "downtown" Bolinas: "You cannot live there. It's too dangerous." He was adamant. I gave him shit about it. "Have you gone soft?"
But now we were walking around looking at buildings and stopping into places like A.Q. on Mission and 7th, then Terroir on Folsom and 7th. We left them at Bar Agricole and walked home. My neighborhood will never gentrify completely, and I'm glad of that. Our friend Jeff points out that the zoning laws that protect the SROs on both sides of Market, and the proximity to all the social services in the Tenderloin make 6th Street the pedestrian corridor linking them all to the Police Headquarters on Bryant. Explains why 6th often feels like the Walking Dead.
But Dottie's True Blue Cafe just moved to 6th and Stevenson. It's an amazing breakfast/brunch place, with a line on weekends that stretches around the corner right through ground zero of zombie/junkie/speedfreak land. I love it. Dottie's patrons know it's worth the wait so everybody coexists peacefully.
I love the architecture in this neighborhood. Old brick buildings with courtyards. Big warehouses. I was really loving it all last night.
At Terroir we had charcuterie and cheese plates that were really impressive. Drinking with us was a wine writer friend of K's. I grilled him about the first time he realized he got paid to drink wine. "It must be tough, being a wine critic," I said with a big smile as we sniffed and swirled and sipped our fabulous wine. Subtext: You bastard! How did you get that job? He smiled back. "I'm not going to complain about my job..." He told us the story of going to Paris with his parents when he was 14, what a revelation the food and wine culture was.
We laughed and drank and drank and laughed. After we left I learned it was Eric Asimov, who writes for the NY Times. He posted a beautiful column about wine today, which I just read. He says it so well that I have to stop now.
How about this connection: Last night my former boyfriend's employee J. (in her thirties) and I realized that she slept with my former girlfriend's girlfriend's daughter (in her thirties). "So we're related, right?" J. asked. Yes. It did feel familial.
Last night Joe and I went out with my above-mentioned former boyfriend K. and his two gorgeous employees J. and C. all visiting from NYC. We walked from bar to swanky restaurant/bar in the unswanky-but-getting-there-mid-Market/SOMA (my neighborhood). It was fun because a year ago this same friend had told me about my plan to move to this block from "downtown" Bolinas: "You cannot live there. It's too dangerous." He was adamant. I gave him shit about it. "Have you gone soft?"
But now we were walking around looking at buildings and stopping into places like A.Q. on Mission and 7th, then Terroir on Folsom and 7th. We left them at Bar Agricole and walked home. My neighborhood will never gentrify completely, and I'm glad of that. Our friend Jeff points out that the zoning laws that protect the SROs on both sides of Market, and the proximity to all the social services in the Tenderloin make 6th Street the pedestrian corridor linking them all to the Police Headquarters on Bryant. Explains why 6th often feels like the Walking Dead.
But Dottie's True Blue Cafe just moved to 6th and Stevenson. It's an amazing breakfast/brunch place, with a line on weekends that stretches around the corner right through ground zero of zombie/junkie/speedfreak land. I love it. Dottie's patrons know it's worth the wait so everybody coexists peacefully.
I love the architecture in this neighborhood. Old brick buildings with courtyards. Big warehouses. I was really loving it all last night.
At Terroir we had charcuterie and cheese plates that were really impressive. Drinking with us was a wine writer friend of K's. I grilled him about the first time he realized he got paid to drink wine. "It must be tough, being a wine critic," I said with a big smile as we sniffed and swirled and sipped our fabulous wine. Subtext: You bastard! How did you get that job? He smiled back. "I'm not going to complain about my job..." He told us the story of going to Paris with his parents when he was 14, what a revelation the food and wine culture was.
We laughed and drank and drank and laughed. After we left I learned it was Eric Asimov, who writes for the NY Times. He posted a beautiful column about wine today, which I just read. He says it so well that I have to stop now.
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