Tuesday, April 22, 2014
Blogging is one of the most self-indulgent practices known to the Internet. It's like journaling, only one has the audacity to think that anyone else out there cares to read it instead of keeping the entries where they belong: under lock and key under the bed.
Rather than write about lifestyle tips--trust me, you wouldn't want me to give you advice about anything, much less how to live your life--I just ramble on about whatever happens to pop in my head at any given moment. And some of you actually read it. Probably because you pity me and probably because my clustered thoughts and disorganized passions make you feel better about your own life. But hey, I'll take it. And I love you for reading whatever this blog is.
You know what? The past year was a pretty adventurous one for me, without ever even leaving the state (Nevada doesn't count, I've decided). I started this blog in love with a boy and a cat. The boy and I broke up, and the cat died (I love you, Sid!). We said goodbye to Wicca and welcomed Charlotte. I moved down the street. My sister moved across the county. I met some awesome people and shared more cocktails than I can remember with them. California legalized gay marriage. I added some great experiences on to my resume. I learned how to use emojis on my iPhone. All in all, a pretty solid year. It's like Blogger knew what I was in for and was like, "Hey, Leith, you might want to write this down."
Clearly I don't document everything, sometimes to protect the innocent and sometimes to spare you the details you don't want to hear, pretending there's some details you do, like getting my hair done...or more likely I'm just really tired and lazy typing up these posts takes time, you know. But I just want to say thank you for reading. And thank you, fate, for giving me quite honestly the most amazing family and friends (and readers I haven't yet met!) out there. I know how sentimental that all is but it's true.
I feel like, however slowly, I've grown and learned quite a bit this year. And I'm happy. Really, truly happy...and I'm almost scared to type that because I feel like I'm jinxing it and because no one who's anyone actually admits to being happy anymore, do they? But there you have it, and thank you for being a part of it. You deserve a cupcake too.
Saturday, April 5, 2014
If you're looking for front row seats to opera that costs less than a bottle of PBR at your local hipster pub, I have the in: Maiden Lane. Stop by on any given sunny afternoon and you'll find a husband and wife tag team that can croon Italian lyrics worthy of whatever award they give out to really good opera singers.
At the best of times and at the worst of times, I think of moving away from this city we call San Francisco. I wonder what I'm missing out on by not calling the streets of New York or Buenos Aires home. I feel like my long list of neurosis would do well in New York, for instance.
But then again if I moved away, where would I go for an hours-long opera performance that only costs a couple of dollars in a wicker basket for the privilege? I've lived many places but, for better or worse, I feel at home here.
I might know how to dress for any occasion, but considering my friends joke that they should start a Twitter called "Sh!t Leith Says" (thanks guys, I take that as a major compliment), it's safe to say I don't necessarily know how to act in any given situation. But that's ok, San Francisco loves me anyway. The rule here is, as long as you're weird and have at least $1,000 a month to spend on rent, you're welcome to stay. And if you're boring then just move to the Marina, already.
Groaning under the weight of an influx of tech-hungry entrepreneurs, San Francisco is undergoing a change that I'm, for the most part, happy to be part of. I knew this city in the '80s and I know it now, and I'm glad to see that it's continuing to be an outlier. It will never be the same as it once was, and it will never again look like it does now, but that's ok. I look forward to the days when I can tell my children about walking uphill both ways to the Muni to grab a milkshake at Super Duper and they'll be all, like, "What the hell is Super Duper?" and I can be all like, "Watch your damn mouths, kids!"
Anyway, San Francisco, I kinda love you. Don't let it get to your head, but you're great. Thank you for the cheap opera. And everything.