That Song by Tony Bennett, Or, Home Game

Look, dear reader, at this long line of footprints in the sand.  It stretches all the way back to April 15th of this year, nine months ago in a week, long enough to give birth to another life.  If I would have known it was going to end up like this I can't say that I would have ever hunted for a job, but then, I would have missed out on getting glimpses into so many different lines of work in interviews.

Regret is a poison of any measure but particularly toxic on me; I tend to soak it up too quickly and steep in it before someone finds the antidote.  Regret was not what I was feeling last week, strangely enough, when I knew that my time in San Francisco was going to have to end in some way.  I didn't sit there and think, Gee, I should have never quit Grainger.  That wasn't the regret.  The regret was not spending more time with my writing.

I'm getting over that regret this week.

I had nine beautiful months with the love of my life, my City (as Carrie Bradshaw would tell you), mostly uninterrupted, and now my City and I have to part ways for a while.  I have to tell you that last week at this time I was torn between two choices, and you do not want to know what the other choice was.  So I am moving in with my brother to Southern California.  There maybe I can get in shape, write, and work on a telecommuting opportunity that will restore my hope in the world of education.

The responses from friends who have been told has been the following, paraphrased to protect us all:

• Look at this as an opportunity to start over;
• I'm so excited for you;
• I like Carlsbad better than San Francisco anyway;
• We'll be able to spot you right away in Petco because you'll be the one in Orange and Black;
• I'm not going to say goodbye, I'm going to say see you later.

That last one is from my writing group founder, whom I've worked with for four years, and it's my favorite of the collection.

To address the others:

• "Look at this as an opportunity to start over."  I did.  That logic kept me from choosing the other option last week.  When I come back here (and I will come back here) it will be strong, self-sufficient, and living independently;
• "I'm so excited for you."  I'm excited, too.  Trying to work it over to excited in a good way, but excited;
• "I like Carlsbad better than San Francisco anyway."  Umm...yeah.  I'll have to come back to this one in a minute;
• "We'll be able to spot you right away at Petco."  Not true but wonderful to imagine.  The last game that the Giants played at Petco there were more Giants fans than Padres fans.  The bonus is this:  if the Padres aren't playing the Giants, I have a Petco jersey to wear.  If the Padres ARE playing the Giants, then I will get to see my boyz play for about one quarter the price they would charge me at AT&T, and the seats would be warmer.

Now, back to that bit about Carlsbad being better than San Francisco.

I've lived in four places in my life:  Bryan, Ohio; Springfield, Missouri; San Francisco Bay Area, CA; and now Carlsbad, CA.  I don't take offense when people compare them, as people are wont to do.  But I can't compare them.  For me, that would be like asking which child you love best, or which songwriter in your iPod you would take on a deserted island with you.  Uh-uh.  No dice.  You are not going to sucker me into doing it.  Here are my kids, and my love for them:

• Bryan, Ohio:  The sensible eldest who went to medical school and married well, but who watches television every night;
• Springfield, Missouri:  The savvy middle kid who married well but changed careers a couple of times, with security, and coaches his kids and watches sports in a stadium he can drive to;
• San Francisco Bay Area, CA:  The artistic one that I have to worry about, but who doesn't know what tv is, and has season tickets at AT&T Park;
• Carlsbad, CA:  The youngest and most articulate of the crew.  He wants to be an artist, but the sun's out, and he's so damn conservative, and the barbecue is calling his name.

I hate the fact that in Bryan I could never be a writer.  I hate the fact that in Springfield I got booed for voting Democrat.  I hate the fact that you can't swing a cat in San Francisco with getting a crazed beggar in your face, or shitting on your stoop.  And I hate the fact that in Carlsbad everything is driving distance apart.

I love the fact that in Bryan my fear of the unknown is understood.  I love the fact that Springfield is rife with bluegrass, arts festivals, parks, the Mudhouse coffee shop, and my alma mater.  I love the fact that I can go anywhere and everywhere on foot in San Francisco.  And I love the fact that in Carlsbad, the young folks don't pepper their speech with "like" "like" "like."

(And all that said, if I ever have the wherewithal, I'd like to add another kid--New York City.)

At the end of the day, though, the kid that gets along best with me is San Francisco.  When I hate San Francisco I detest it (see homeless note, above), and when I love San Francisco I weep with joy (see Orange and Black note, above).  San Francisco should see me out of this world.

And it will.  But not today.

*****

There's a song that I'll always play getting off the plane at SFO to go back in the City, a song by Train.  For this Carlsbad bender, I played with the words a little.  If you know it, feel free to hum along.  If you don't, no worries.

I used to love the Tenderloin
Till I lost some tender coin
Then I met some fog from Marin
I took the highway to the 1
Down the coast to find the sun
It left me with these blisters on my skin


Don't know just what I had, but it took me down to Carlsbad
So I kept on going, going, going gone right there
I drove into the Grapevine range, stood up again and wrote my pain
Workin' to get right back home to you


I've been high, I've been low
I've been yes, and I've been Oh Hell No
I've been rock and roll and disco
Won't you save me San Francisco


Every day's so Prop 8-ed
I wish they were Golden Gated
Fillmore couldn't feel more miles away
So wrap me up return to sender
Let's forget this five year bender
Take me to my City by the Bay


I always knew just what I had
Now Alcatraz don't sound so bad
At least they'd have a hell of fine merlot
If I could wish upon a star
I would hitch a cable car 
TO THE PLACE THAT I COULD ALWAYS CALL MY OWN


To tell you the truth
I miss everything...everything
It's a wide, wide beautiful world
But there are wide-eyed boyz back there
And they mean everything, everything...


(The Prop 8 reference is an homage to the fact that I'm wandering back into the Red part of the state.  *Sigh*)


*****


One final note I should mention, since there were people I introduced on the pages of this blog in 2011 that I haven't talked about in a while.

The Airman and the Healer.

I've worn out my welcome with both of them, with a combination of being excited about connection and trying to keep them in the loop with this change.  The most ironic part of this story is this:  these two people were my biggest cheerleaders for leaving my job in April.  Don't misunderstand--they didn't make me do it.  But they thought this was a great idea, when everyone else thought it was nuts.

They were right, even though it's still nuts.

The twist to this story is that I sent a lot of people this news early so that they could be aware and not ask me about the City and/or understand what was happening.  Of the list that I sent it to, two people never responded.

Yes, you guessed it.

And so things change, and they stay the same.

Onward, dear reader.  And if you're going to jump, please don't.  I'm on your side.

P.S. - This song is the inspiration of tonight's edition of Life For Rent.  While I'm away I'll write home every day and send all my loving to you.  See you later, City.