San Francisco: I love you, I love you not

Let me begin by professing my love for the City by the Bay. Restaurants? The best anywhere outside New York. Live music everywhere. SF, you are colorful, hip, young, fast-paced and laid-back at the same time. You are cultural, literary, interesting and fun. (If I were describing a man here, I'd gladly introduce him to Mischa.) SFMOMA is as amazing the 3rd time as it is the first. The 5th Floor Restaurant served up gastronomic perfection. City bustling, views spectacular, company, THE BEST.

You're waiting for the "but", I can feel it. (Pun intended. keep reading....)
San Francisco, you made me love you, but I can't marry you. (Neither can Mischa.) You have dark secrets. Let's begin with our cab ride from the airport into the city.
Cabbie #1: Hispanic. (I don't think race is all that important to the story, it just seems funny as the weekend unfolds.) He told us, unprompted, about a wonderful cultural event in the city this wekend not to be missed! His excitement grew with each tawdry, nearly-pornographic description of the goings-on of the Folsom Street Fair. Among the less blush-inducing events: You can get a spanking for a dollar. Lots of leashes. (Uh, no dogs.) Piercings. (Icky ones. TEE. EM. EYE!)
I suggested that his time would be better spent at church on Sunday. Yes, I did.

Cabbie #2: Middle Eastern. We asked him about the claims of Cabbie #1 regarding the Street Fair. "That thing is for FREAKS!" Ok, I was gonna say that, but I didn't want to be judgey.

Cabbie #3: Indian. Suggestion for the weekend? Folsom Street Fair. Again, unprintable (or fathomable) descriptions followed. Dress code for the Fair? Naked, he claims. Advised us to stay at least 12 inches or more from the proximity of the "naked people". (Please hear this in your head in a thick, Indian accent. It was like a SNL sketch.) Thanks for the awesome advice, Padmaj.

Cabbie #3: Asian, probably South Pacific. Normal. Cultured, educated. Whew!

Cabbie #4: Jamaican. By this point, I was doing my own sociological study of city life through the eyes of the cabbies. (I wonder if I could get a grant for that?) This time, his taxi tactic was don't ask, don't tell. I asked him if there was anything happening in the city this weekend. (There was the above-mentioned event, attracting 20,000 people, a huge Octoberfest, another huge concert and art in the park. The city was humming!) "I don't know", he says. I asked him, jokingly, sort of, how many people get run over every weekend. "Oh, none. This city is full of good drivers." (That is a lie. It is full of freaking insane drivers, and thousands and thousands of oblivious tourist-cattle everywhere! Throw in the deadly, clanging cable cars and I'll bet a good weekend has only and hundred or so fatalities!) Jamaican cabbie was like he was on the San Francisco Image Comittee or something. (Also, awesome accent.)

San Francisco, it's not you, it's me. We can still be friends. I'll always love you. Thanks for a wonderful weekend with amazing friends, but I need a little space. Preferably, 12 inches or more.

just Dawn