You Know You Live in San Francisco When…

Yelp contributors say, "You Know You live in San Francisco When":

When you go on vacation to Mexico, and still carry your sweater.  Everywhere. Cause, you know.  It could get cold."

I knew I had officially landed in SF when driving through the city after driving 2,000 miles from Wisconsin, one of the *very* first people I saw was a very beautiful woman.  I mean a man.  I mean a woman… crossing the street.

I knew I was in SF the first weekend I moved here…it was Bay to Breakers.  I was at the park, I had my blanket, we were bbq’ing.  I had laid down to catch some sun, and felt someone literally tripping over my body.  I looked up to see a pair of skinny legs and striped tube socks.  My eyes followed the length of these legs to find a set of shriveled franks and beans staring back at me.  A man (definitely pushing 75) looked down at me to apologize.  His rainbow head band matched his rainbow tube socks.  Naked, running in the park, and color coordinated.  Welcome to San Francisco.  From that moment on, I knew I’d never leave.

Your neighbors in your complex are a senior citizen, a tranny, a twink, a D.J. frat boy, a hippie couple, and Guatemalan family living above, below and next to you.

It’s been weeks and weeks since you met a Republican.

Jeans, t-shirt, and Converse are considered "business casual"

The number of hybrids out number the amount of SUV’s

When you know what the next great revolution is in human consciousness is and it’s something like push technology or info security or social networking.

You’re walking down Market and pass a man dressed as Flash Gordon, a transvestite with a boa around her neck, and a guy clucking like a chicken…and you don’t even look twice.

You comment to yourself on how much everyone has gotten into the spirit of Halloween this year, then realize that it is July.

When you start a new company that sells useless software services to people who don’t want it and when people ask you what you want to achieve in life you say, simply, world domination.

(Hat tip: my friend Tyler Willis)

On Auren Hoffman’s post on San Francisco vs. New York, one commenter says:

In New York, "Hi, I’m Larry." will get you into most conversations pretty well, but here it seems you need to say, "Hi, I’m Larry and I’m Gay Vegan Tibetan Unitaririan Member of the Green Party who has been to Burning Man every year since 1651."

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve tried to get into conversations at bars, over games of pool, only to be shut out because I’m not a bike messenger, or I’ve never been to India, or I like a good burger. Sorry, folks, I’m just Joe. That seems to be good enough for most people, just not you San Franciscans.

4 comments on “You Know You Live in San Francisco When…
  • I like the comment about the ordinary joe not getting connected in social life because he is, well, ordinary.

    It shows how ‘simplex’ certain cultural groups can be. I experienced this treat myself living here in Amsterdam. As I study cultural psychology at the university I can understand how these things develop, we all feel the need to belong to something and have an identity in our more and more mainstream globalist society.

    But sometimes I feel helpless to know how blurred people’s visions can be, when they finally have obtained their identity, and than feel the need to defend it.

    We are all humans, I suppose.

  • Haha!  I’m from San Francisco and this just cracked me up.  I know exactly what those people meant (especially the poor girl who experienced her first Bay to Breakers encounter).  I have a Yelp! too!

    On your last post, about the card trick, that’s kinda wierd yeah?  How does it stay stuck up there on your ceiling?  Strange.. maybe it had to do with the day your brother did the trick.

    You have a great blog.  I can’t wait to read more of it.  Especially from a fellow San Franciscan!

    Oh yeah.. I hear you graduated from UHS recently?  I don’t go there but my friend does (it’s a real good school, yeah?).  She was way ecstatic when she found out you went to her school and was the editor of the newspaper.  The Devil’s Advocate, I think it’s called?

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