I’m going to say it right here and now. I’m not good at blogging. My desire to write down brilliant thoguhts is easily over whelmed, not to mention overshadowed by sheer laziness. It’s like working out. You think to yourself “hey! I should do this! It will be good for me! I’ll make new friends, get healthy, feel good!” BUT. As soon as the word should even ENTERS into it… it’s all over and like HELL you are getting me on a treadmill, like, EVER.
But I digress…
I’m sitting in my studio, which is basically a cement bunker, with the most theft-inviting windows ever, in a part of the Mission district in San Francisco that hasn’t really been hit with that magic wand that turns a grungy hell-hole into a hipster paradise. It’s still pretty much a grungy hell-hole. The hipsters are working on it, though. Across the street from me is FOODS CO. You can tell they were really working hard on that name. Foods Co. is a sprawling, slothing behemoth of a box store, all cheery retail reds and yellows… which, if I remember my urban psychology correctly, are supposed to make you hungry. I can only assume the wall of soda 12-packs forming a SF Giants logo in the entry way are intended to counter-act that effect by making you ill…but what do I know.
Foods Co. caters to the many Mexican families that live in this neighborhood, and it shows. This is probably my favorite thing about Foods Co–they know their audience and they OWN that. Where else can you find cumin, onion powder and garlic BY THE POUND? Or4 different kinds of cactus paddles in the produce? Where else are the tomatoes, onions and avocados arranged to resemble the Mexican flag? Where else does a “family pack” of tortillas contain 120 of the things? It’s like a culinary theme park. NOT TO MENTION, you can find wine for $1.98. Beat THAT, two-buck-chuck!
Another wonderful thing about Foods Co. is the experience of the checkout line. The lines are always horrendous, but do move surprisingly fast, so one hardly has time to read all the trashy gossip rags about scandalous latin stars I’ve never heard of. The best part is spying on what everyone else is buying. 31 loaves of bread. 3 cases of Kraft mac ‘n’ cheese and 4 cases of fruit snacks. 6 packages of fried pork chitlins… and nothing else. I don’t know WHAT these people do with their mass amounts of processed fun, but I like to imagine the possibilities.
How could I ever leave this idyllic paradise? I don’t know, but we are. After 5 years of living in the beautiful, filthy, noisy, utopian, horrendous, gorgeous mess that is San Francisco, the boy and I are taking flight for the quieter shores of the East Bay. I’m nervous and excited in equal parts, plus just weighed down by all the “hafta’s”… hafta get a car, hafta change all the addresses, hafta register said car… plus I’m still completely consumed by trying to get my little fledgling business off the ground. I’m hoping the country life-style brings a bit more peace–it’s like Grand Central Station in my head most days–but I know, I know, most of that will be up to me, not the situation. Om, and all that. Sigh.
Right! Enough of this! I have bustles and hats to sew!