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I take a seat by the window at the Sightglass on divisadero, with a small rosemary mocha (seasonal) that cost me $7. across the natural-wood table sits an ambiguously pretty girl, green-eyed, tall, skinny, with a Stanford crewneck sweatshirt peeking conspicuously out of her puffer jacket. she talks at her dateâher generically handsome boyfriend, coiffed blonde hair, equally generic beige sweaterâof her New Years resolutions with great earnesty. 'reaching out to old friends,' 'financial planning', 'tofu soup'.
the vibe is pleasant and upbeat. airy, high-ceiling'ed; hazy, inoffensive indie comfortably dated to a 2011, 2012. perhaps an interior style that might be referred to as 'New American,' not as cold as an 'industrial chic.' patrons of the local San Francisco chain sit against black leather booths, not glossy but not matte, more of a washed quality, with a sheen, surrounded by a handful of non-native plants and tasteful light fixtures comprised of several mid-size orbs.
on a winter morning, the first sunday of the year, beige sweaters, puffer jackets, and white sneakers abound. the beige sweaters come in many types: fleece, crewneck, tan. the puffers, too: Patagonia, hooded, black. the white sneakers traverse a wide range: vejas here, converse there. it seems that most people got the memo that black leggings were a must todayâeveryone side-eyes the one girl in distressed blue mom jeans, and I wonder if the bullying will make her leave.
everyone is either ambiguously or generically attractive, and rich. a boy with an exaggerated anime haircut dons noise-cancelling AirPods and works on his computer. a girl enters to pick up her mobile order with a black fannypack worn across her bodyâfor style. a couple of middle-aged men wait for their drinks in matching hoodies, asics, and black technical-fabric sweatpants. a yellow puffer walks in with a New Yorker tote. every so often, someone will assert their individuality with a sneaker in a bold color, like tan, or gray.
I look across a girl wearing thin-frame tortoiseshell eyeglasses. I reflexively wonder if she notices that I am also wearing thin-frame tortoiseshell eyeglasses. internally, I recoil in shame.
surprisingly, there are many couples, and many people with dogs. it's as if they did not read the 2022 trend forecast that monogamy, marriage, and pets were out. I wonder if the dogs realize they are but a cheat, a temporary cure for human loneliness, and as such are performing a disservice to humankind. a dad walks in, stocky in his army green puffer and brown sweatpants. behind him trails a pathetic tiny dog that he could have easily crushed with a single Adidas.
as I idle, allowing my dissatisfying mocha to cool further, eyes to the floor, I see a pair of retro purple sneakers that look like they could be a child's. up a couple inches, dark green socks. up a couple inches more, navy pinstriped dress pants, creased. then, a structured purple corduroy jacket with green embroidery, a maroon beanie with a blue and white tribal print, wireless headphones around his neck. he's carrying a gray crossbody with blue stars on it, a curious white rope wrapped haphazardly around the strap, function unclear. he is vaguely wasian-looking, with short cropped hair just past the ears. i can't tell what (if any) subculture he is referencing. he carries in a black shiny plastic bag filled withâwhat? postmodern fiction? anime on dvd? what could be in the bag...
I gave him a break from being surveilled and landed my desultory gaze on another young man's white sneakers, half-trying to figure out if they were golden goose ($). the red leather star matched his jumbo red hydroflask, which sat politely next to his MacBook Air on the table in front of him. he was wearing wired earphones that didn't gel with his puffer, which would have warranted at least AirPods, if not some expensive headphones. maybe he works at a nonprofit... meanwhile, a flurry on my right periphery: a broad-shouldered young man hurried in and made his way straight to the bathroom, beige tote bouncing urgently on his arm. he was wearing a huge tan fur coat cropped to the waist and bright blue chubbies, crew socks and white sneakers, guess he really had to pee.
finally my mystery man opened his mysterious black bag, removed his mask (to reveal a tasteful thin mustache). he flipped through the pages of the Mystical Qabalah as I pondered whether he would consider western mysticism religion (in) or spirituality (out). I realized I was experiencing a delayed reaction to exposure to so many tech workers, and booked it out of there, the hipsters and goths traversing the lower haight a welcome respite from the monoculture, however amusing.
things I read today of varying worth:
Joe Bidenâs niece Caroline gets no jail time after DUI guilty plea
SFâs 116-Year-Old Mochi Spot Set to Close Forever
THE DOWNWARD SPIRAL: PERSONA (PART I)
FKA twigs Sues Shia LaBeouf, Citing âRelentlessâ Abusive Relationship
Karen Bass paints herself as an activist. Is she really?
HARK! a new dayâa new year!
in many ways, it feels like nothing has happened in the past year, that a 2022 isn't warranted, at least not yet. but when I look at the pictures, my worms from January 2021 I feel that things could not be more different. around that time we were covid'ed up, the walls of my room were not yet white, I had a half-painted SUV. I asked myself questions likeâ"what kind of people do i like? what does it take for me to be interested in someone? how does dating even work?" things I gleefully feel I have some semblance of answers to now. people? I said to a guy the other day, some sort of countercultural desire, some yearning to break free of the mundane, to question life itself, an intellectual curiosity. I am not interested in someone if I am not having fun, if I am not having a new experience, if I'm not learning. I think I am more in touch with my feelings now, but still getting there. dating works in no specific one way, and that's the fun of it all...
I said I wanted everything around me to feel rich, and I didn't feel that about my iPhone, my credit card. I embrace those things now, it matters not that they aren't scarlet, or silk, or royal, I feel attachment to them because they are mine, because they are of my world, and I put my own stickers on my new iPhone and a phone ring I bought from Etsy, and in this way I get to claim these objects, and make them mine. things do not need to be old to be specialâthey only need to be intentional and mineâno time wasted desiring a different life, to be of a different time. anyway that distance is what makes us contemporary, what fuels our lives, and it wouldn't make sense to pick and choose, I was born in 1998 and I am along for the ride.
from a fragile 22 to a sexxxxxxy 24, that's the goal for this year. no time or youth to waste hating myself, depression is in but self-hatred is passĂŠ. politics is out, indulgence in, and figurative painting. gratitude is the name of the game to-day, listening to shades of blue in the shower while the generous sun warms our cold city, trying to muster up the energy to hopscotch this hangover. I cry all the time now, way more than last year, but I think its good for me, a constant catharsis. Stephen doesn't cryâI marveled. to sever the connection between the pain and the tears...incomprehensible to me!
the bleakness, desolation, and wickedness of life I wrote about then has only become clearer to me, but in that realization there is some solace, I don't fear it anymore and instead am at peace. any happiness I felt over the past year was only a momentary delusion, but an honest one, and that is OK with me.
last year i...
