This Place is Toast
Since that time, the grumbling about techies with too much money, the gentrification of every last neighborhood and the rent being too damn high has risen to, if not a roar, a very loud rumble.
Observations from the first 24 hours--
1. The busses. Extra tall all white or all black busses that ferry the tech workers to and from jobs beyond the city proper are a common sight, though the Yahoo busses are purple.
2. At any time of day, this city is filled with young women in black Lululemon capri leggings who are running or carry yoga mats or walking fast at least, and there are hundreds, perhaps thousands at all hours of the day begging the question- why aren't they at work?
3. As a city of young people with lots of money, no one eats at home. We popped into a little neighborhood sushi place, very Formica and loud, and were asked if we had a reservation. Huh?
4. As odd as this sounds, the traffic is no worse than I remember it and maybe even better, though that makes no sense.
Gentrification aside, the charm remains and it one OMG after another for anyone with a love of old buildings plus it's the original weird town and still has some of that. Sitting on the stoop of a closed restaurant across from Trader Joe's, an portly, elderly woman with a day-glo orange mohawk and matching orange dots on the shaved part, huge earrings and a tight T shirt that showcased her enormous, pendulent, braless bosom, yelled at Mark that he couldn't park at the meter because ...
Wonder what she would have said the man in the motorized wheelchair with a heck of a sound system blasting out "Can't Touch This" as he drove a serpentine path down the sidewalk.
We are staying at the Motel Capri, a delightful family run joint in the Marina with free parking (!!!) and free breakfast, which consisted of coffe, Fruit Loops and toast.
Toast. In San Fransisco, toast is a thing. And people go out for toast. I'm not making this up.
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