Bright lights, big city

I love Oakland. I do. But even on this cold, rainy day in my drafty cube, I have to say—I’ve been feeling San Francisco lately.

I’m a charmed wanderer in Telegraph Hill (see below): RJ’s, Coit Tower, Levi Plaza, the busy piers, long lunchtime walks up the slopes and down through North Beach, and my very first city office a few blocks away on Lombard, in case I get nostalgic for ’99.

I’m a shutterbug downtown: the pricey cornucopia at the Ferry Building, the lean and elegant architecture, the curving cable-car tracks, the eye of MOMA, the half-buried ship at Yerba Buena, tea at Samovar, cocktails at B.

I’m a happy weekender in Noe: coffee at Martha’s, brunch at Fattoush, fruit and honey at the farmers market, foofs on Clipper.

I’m a greedy consumer in the Haight and the Richmond: everything used at Amoeba, shelves of Canteens at Booksmith and Green Apple, costumes at Buffalo Exchange, kitchen gear at Kamei, happy hours at Club Deluxe, the palate cleanser of windy jogging paths through Golden Gate Park and the Presidio.

I’m at home in the Mission: burritos at Papalote and Cancun, readings at the Make-Out Room, music at the Elbo Room, drinks at the Latin American, tango and run-ins at Revolution, party shirts at Weston Wear, books at Dog Eared, friends everywhere.

To be fair, the list is even longer for the East Bay—about 12 years’ worth, give or take college and France—but something tells me if there were ever a time to cross the bridge, it’s getting to be right about now.

We’ll see.

polefaces, telegraph hill