Palm Trees and the Like

Last night, I had my ritual after-close Sunday night meeting with my boss and new mom, Zahra. She asked me a seemingly simple and yet loaded question.

"Are you staying in San Francisco?"

Now isn't that the question I've been asking myself lately?

Friday night I ended up at a party in my neighborhood and could barely turn a corner without hearing someone call my name or yell out "Hey! You're the Cafe International girl! Nice tat dude, how long did that take?"
It was around three in the morning when I found myself on a strangers sofa, chain smoking Camel lights and swigging from a bottle of Makers with Shaun that I realized I am part of a community; even beyond that, I have a crew. Pete and Daniel were in the corner hitting on a sixteen year old girl, Sam was in the kitchen putting back a forty, and a gaggle of beautiful boys from the 'hood were trailing me around, left in the wake of my burgeoning popularity.
And? Yeah, I know. Insignificant when one is deciding on a place to live, right? Not to me.

Davey sent me a poem the other day. An excerpt:

I'm thin from my attempts
to recruit and retain sidekicks

And it's true. Not only do we all need sidekicks, but aquiring them is imensly harder in new surroundings; unless like me you're planted in the middle of an adult version of Sesame Street and handed a well paying and high profile job securing you immediate status as both hot and cool in your new neighborhood.
Sam and I used to describe ourselves as the angels of the Duck Island Alehouse, and here I am, the new angel of Lower Haight, pretty boys and girls in droves vying for a wink from me at the bar down the street, each one hoping I remember making thier coffee earlier (which of course, I do).

And on most days I get a glimpse of the palm trees in the Mission and wonder why I'm content to wear a scarf, and some days like yesterday I come home from work and my roomates are playing Cat Stevens and I burst into tears and have to call Samantha immediately, and some days I can't stand this place and some days I stroll home from work with one of my drug dealing body gaurds whistling the Sesame Street theme song. But it's far from everyday that some one I care about asks me not just if I'm going to stay, but asks me to please stay. Please.

And? And then what? You wanna know what happened?

"Yeah Mom, I'm staying here."


~PhoenixRising said...

Damn it Miranda, this is really going to fuck up my scheme to recruit you as a DJ groupie... Being all settled and ish, Jesus!
Well, I suppose a congrats is in order for, lacking a better phrase, finding your place. This June ain't looking good for me coming into town, but I'll find an excuse to be in SF soon enough. :)

charles.bukowski.costanza said...

Top 5 All-Time Things Miranda Could Do To Demonstrate To Herself That She Is Not "Blocked" So Much As She Is Spending Her Energies Inventing New & Dramatic Aspects Of Said Blocking:

1) read Freakonomics - it's full of deft supposition, which miranda's mind takes to
2) write a Sex Scene - just a scene, a snapshot. challenge yourself to not stop in the middle and masturbate
3) contribute to an intimate-perspective essay series (to be developed by mark) loosely titled "Tits and/or Ass"
4) contemplate the notion that personification gets oversold. make a list of people you are acquainted with who are distinct characters, either in temperament or physicality. for each, write a short profile that either a)animalifies or b) objectifies the subject
5) write mark naughty limericks.

P2thaSmitty said...

Po-po... good to hear that things are coming together down there. In the midst of your small complaints about SF I can hear the joy and relaxation from agreeing to call SF home. It's good to hear you say it (in so many words). Anyway, I'm at the end of my quarter and I have projects all over the place... getting a little bit stressfull, but I'm dealin'. Also, I decided to join the blogosphere... captainpeanut.blogspot.com Not much to read right now, but now you know it exists. Gimme a call bitch! ;Þ ttyl...

charles.bukowski.costanza said...

i'm glad you liked it -- when i read the list after i wrote it i was like, Oh that's funny, both cos a) it's fun, to phrase the question that way -- makes me want to invent personal essays by different characters addressing the matter and b) my heard heard it being read in miranda-voice as "Tits And-Slash-Or Ass."

charles.bukowski.costanza said...

the limerick-writing may not be a bad place to start, but that's in part due to the fact that it would be reciprocal --- poem for poem. naughty bit for naughty bit.

the slash thing you don't say all too much, but we did debate the merits of your saying it aloud versus my mashing the words together (eg, "i haven't been able to stop thinking about miranda's tits andor ass.")

danielsummit said...

Next time will you PLEASE let me know when i'm hitting on a 16 year old...sometimes I just can't tell the difference...

Sam said...

I have two things to say on this:
1. I saw it coming months ago.
2. Next time you broadcast to the world that some music makes you have to call me, can it please not be Cat Stevens? That was ONE SONG that I listened to in the dark all the time in my tiny room under the stairs, ok? ONE SONG.

I love you.