Comments on Continuing Culture Shock

I moved to California nine months ago from Nashville, where I lived (well, in and around) from birth until the age of 30. I moved to take a job in San Francisco, arguably one of the most liberal cities in the country, if not the world. Despite working in the Financial District, I moved into a city that just might win the afore mentioned argument: Berkeley, the city that manages to take San Francisco’s liberalism and ratchet it up a notch. Or two. Life here for me is faster and foreign but beautiful. The past three-quarters of a year has been one immense blur. I can barely keep up.

I am often stopped where I walk. I am struck still by a brand new experience almost every day, some as tiny as a speck of glitter. But, oh my, do they shine. They are made up of elements I’ve seen before, but each behaves in a way that I am completely unfamiliar with. It’s kind of been like being on vacation for a long time (and just as expensive!), save for all the working and chores and washing your own towels stuff.

It feels cliche, I have to say, to write about my fish-out-of-water experiences in this transient city, where surely every one else sings the same song. But I should get them down for me, for later, because this has been an exhilarating ride so different from just about everything I have ever known. I’m also afraid it lends itself to stereotype, which I want to try desperately to avoid. Kind of. Hyperbole is funny, and I’m a cheap whore for laughs, so we’ll see what happens.  Also: These are not judgments, these are merely personal observations. (Okay, there might be a little judgment, but I’m gonna try to dish it out to both sides of the coast.)

It’s going to be a series of posts, as this shit is way too long to be trying to write at 11:30 on a Tuesaday night:

Ways in Which This Place Is Not Like the Other, Part One:

• When people told me they were the outdoorsy type in Nashville, which were relatively few, I always presumed they meant hunting, fishing, boating or hiking. I never really knew many campers, especially the type of camping where you had to shit in a hole you dug yourself in the woods, then bury the pile. People around here? They love to shit in a hole in the woods. They’ve got their North Face (Social Climbing)* gear all ready to go, complete with Nalgene water bottle and compression packs and headlamps. The number of people who own kayaks skews very high. It’s insane. When people in Nashville talk about their gear they are talking about their guitar and their amp. Around here when people talk about gear they are talking about their rock climbing gear. Because they are going to scale some cliffs this weekend, brah. It will be really extreme. Also, if you don’t ride a bike around these parts you ain’t shit. And there better not be any brakes on that motherfucker.
• The panhandlers, they are experts in their field. One of my favorites is a guy who sits at Battery and California. He’s always on time for his shift. He doesn’t sleep on the street, at least not there, because if I’m there beyond 10 p.m. he’s gone. I’ve never seen him so much as nod off. I don’t think this guy drinks or does drugs. His cheeks are full, and his demeanor is friendly and relaxed. He has a little boombox that he listens to, but I can never hear it. The other day a couple were walking along, a to-go box inside a bag in hand. The bag must have read Tadich Grill because Mr. Battery & California yelled out, “I love Tadich Grill!” It took all I had to not laugh when the man got his wish: tasty high-quality restaurant food that cost probably $20 or more per plate. It’s a whole different scene than panhandlers in Nashville, who I always found to be a slightly scary. They were persistent, would follow me, then call me names if I declined. Here, there is “no,” and that is the end of the conversation.
• Sorry, Nashville, but it’s true: Y’all did not condition me for same sex kissing in public. Still surprises the shit out of me. Then I love it. I wanna be all, “Kiss some more!” But that would be seen as pervy, and not an outburst brought on by the awesomeness that in the Bay Area lovers of all kinds get to express affection without risk of violence or scorn. Still, when an adoption agency rents out all the ad space on BART with large posters of gay couples with their young kids, everyone all smiles, and there isn’t a single letter to the editor I have to wonder, “What the fuck kind of place is this? Some kind of magical tolerant Disneyland where gay love is not only accepted, but downright celebrated?” I’ll take it.

Stay tuned for upcoming installments that include such unique and astute observations as People Here are Really into the Environment and Summer in San Francisco is Cold.

*Stolen joke.