Living in the Fog

Being a board shorts dude in the Land of Hella

When I trade this town of smug and fog in July for the smog and sunshine of La La Land, I will be returning as a prodigal son to the silicone oasis that made me the scruffy-headed, sandal-wearing maniac that I am. I will be six years older, but infinitely wiser, both by way of the book and the street—yes amigos, that is what getting an education in a big city will do to you—and undoubtedly will appreciate the nuances that define both where I’m from and where I’ve grown.

No matter how anyone in particular feels about Los Angeles or San Francisco, Northern California or Southern California, I am proud to say that I know the ins, outs, and whole lotta random crap about both.

I can drive you to the best taquerias in both, any time of day, although you better bring your quarters for the meters in SF, and you better bring your cholo stare and switchblade for the best ones in LA. King Taco is no joke, and totally worth it.

I can take you to the best vistas in both. Pack your zoom lens and camera for the roof of the Griffith Observatory, which offers the best views of downtown LA, the miles of shining coastline and even Catalina Island on most days. Better bring your thickest fleece and your Philz liquid crack with you if we’re headed to Twin Peaks or Treasure Island, just because it looks sunny, doesn’t mean it’s warm. That’s one thing I’ve learned quickly living in a city that’s actually windier than Chicago.

I can take you on a grueling 5-mile run in both. Although if you don’t run hills all the time, your ass will be begging for mercy by the time we get warmed up in San Fran.

I can take you to the beach in both places, so bring your sunscreen in LA, but bring your hoodie in SF. It may take you an hour in notoriously painful SoCal traffic to get there, but rest assured, the bikinis are worth it. Bonfires are a great way to burn the cool nights away at both beaches, just don’t leave your car parked along Ocean Beach, or by midnight you’ll have a $60 ticket and a ton of sand on your windshield.

Some things have been firmly ingrained in my personality because I grew up down south, like wearing my Halos caps or Kobe jersey everywhere I go. The folks in San Fran do not care for my LA sports team garb, but honestly I could care less, they are my teams and they rarely get beat by any of the sports bums from the Bay Area. Based on the looks I get, I know I stand out at times when I wear my shorts and Oakley sandals when everyone else is bundled up, but it’s old habit, just like automatically throwing on some basketball shorts and my Red Hot Chili Peppers t-shirt when I get off work every day. I’m never really cold, so why not?

Living in the city (or The City, depending on who you ask) has made me into one hell of a fast walker. Living in the Tenderloin will do that. I pretty much walk everywhere now, if nothing else to avoid the headache of city parking and those damn metermaids. I’ve certainly saved a few bucks in gas since moving here. Walking a mile to Pearl’s Deluxe Burgers and back certainly justifies the pound of sloppy goodness (with a basket of sweet potato fries) that I down every time I’m there. Unfortunately, it takes forever to get to Pink’s if I’m craving a chili cheese dog that’s the size of my chancla.

I love BART, it gets me from my neighborhood to SFO in 30 minutes, all without parking or sitting on any congested freeways. It also shuttles me to that piece of shit Coliseum in Oakland when my Angels are in town playing the A’s, allowing me to enjoy as many $7.50 beers as I want.

I hate MUNI. On every line, every time, they just suck. Late buses and stalled subway cars are not cool, especially when you rely on it to get you to work or school or out of the frigid fog of the Sunset in the earliest hours of the morning. When I moved here back in 2003, it was just a square buck to ride MUNI, and you didn’t have to wait too long for it to arrive either, those days were really the good old days of not having to dig around in your lint-lined pockets for dirty nickels. I’ve learned that when you can, you must avoid MUNI at all costs, and if you absolutely can’t then start walking if you want to get there today.

One good idea that quickly caught on once I moved to town was carrying “emergency bridge fare” in my car at all times. Just having at least $6 stashed in your glove compartment or under your seat can be a real life-saver when you don’t realize you’re dead-broke until after you’ve already crossed one of the Bay’s numerous bridges. The only thing worse than getting completely and utterly lost in the winding roads of Marin (or the seedy avenues of Oakland) after dark is finally finding your way back to the Bridge, and then realizing you don’t even have enough loose change scattered in your cupholders to cross back into the city. Now that’s how you spell embarassing.

Driving in both Southern and Northern California can be stressul, although the traffic is at least predictable in SF, whereas I’ll never forget the time my dad and I sat in bumper-to-bumper traffic at midnight on the 105 coming back from the Great Western Forum after seeing the Lakers beat the Mavericks in overtime. Unreal.

And I’ll never take a place to leave my car for granted after driving around this crazy town for six years, seemingly spending four of those six years looking for a parking spot. Meters, meters everywhere, with a mobile force of angry, incompetent pricks enforcing confusing hourly restrictions dictated by signs that usually contradict themselves or are too covered in stickers to be easily read. Most folks from Southern California loath driving around San Francisco, because of the parking headache and “confusing” city streets. Maybe I’ve lived here long enough to figure them all out, but I’ve never really had a problem finding my way around SF in my car, and I can get from anywhere in town to anywhere else in town in 15 minutes. Now if only I could park my car in front of my own house, and not have to pay a monthly parking garage to keep it from getting broken into for the third time.

Having said that, parking is plentiful in SoCal, but good luck taking the bus.

I’ve never once spoken “the H word” unless you count the numerous times I’ve made fun of the NorCal locals for using a ridiculous term that appears in exactly one urban dictionary and zero real dictionaries. No one uses that crap south of Santa Cruz, which is a good thing. Instead the City of Angels prefers my personal favorite esse which is thrown around by La Raza a lot like “the N word” is used in the black community. If you say hella in LA, you will get laughed out of town. If you say esse in San Francisco, people will fear you, vato.

Everyone in both regions will spar over who’s smarter or who’s more down-to-earth, the truth of the matter being that I’ve met some seriously intelligent/dumbass and lots of aloof/approachable people from both sides of the state, so throw all that nonsense out the window. Each part of the state is a grab-bag of human beings.

Everyone in both regions will swear that they’ve got the better-looking girls. You know where I’m from, you know where I stand. However, it is California, where all the women are so hot, there’s even a song about ‘em. You may have heard it before.

Women in Los Angeles are derided by their Northern Californian couterparts for all having more blonde hair than brains, showing off their fake tits, and you know, all like, talking like, they’re like totally from the Valley. OMG!

Meanwhile, if you ask SoCal girls about their counterparts in SF, you’re likely to hear some description of a bicycle-riding lesbian, hippie monster with more armpit hair than makeup or fashion sense.

I’ve dated all sorts of girls from both Northern and Southern, and frankly, the half they call home has less to do with anything about them than their upbringing.

As far as the kids go, you ask an urban SF youngster about LA and chances are, they’ve already written a hyphy rap album full of disses about LA. You ask an LA city kid about SF and they’ll probably snicker as they call it the capital of the “Gay Area.”

You are more likely to see “NorCal” stickers on the cars up north, than you are to find “SoCal” on anything down south. You are more likely to hear Northern Californians go on about Angelenos being superficial, full of silicone, botox and bullshit than you are to hear Angelenos go on about Northern Californians being a bunch of faggy, rich wine snobs that subsist on nothing but organic tofu and pot. You are more likely to hear San Franciscans call LA dirty and congested (meanwhile constantly heaping praise on New York City) than you are to hear folks from Southern California call SF cold, damp and confusing. I have found many Bay Area residents to have a bit of a Napoleon Complex when it comes to LA, finding a town with cuter girls, warmer weather and 3 million more people to be an easy target. This likely has to do with the fact that historically LA has been the media darling that SF has not, LA’s sports teams have a long-running history of success against the Bay Area (even the Clippers can steal Baron Davis from the Warriors) and that for every movie or show made in SF, there are about 50 times as many about LA. Instead of just appreciating each city for being so different from the other, there continues to be a huge social rivalry that is tied up in local pride and family roots.

Two common individuals you see all over San Francisco that are frankly more scattered and hidden in Southern California are gay folks and homeless folks. Sure there’s West Hollywood and Skid Row for the two respectively, but this is San Francisco for Pete’s sake: the national epicenter of gays and homeless. Meanwhile, every species I’ve seen in Southern California can be found in San Francisco, including the occasional dreaded Dodger fan. But if you think it sucks to be a fan of Los Doyers in SF, it probably sucks worse for a Giants fan in LA, where your fanhood may actually get you knifed. Did I mention that I’m glad I was raised an Angels fan?

Getting a good cup of coffee is tough in LA. Getting a good bowl of menudo is tough in SF.

It’s been an interesting life of contrasts between the two urban regions of our great state, and I’ve gained some unique perspectives between citizens of the two places. There are certain things that you see in one part of the state that you don’t even think twice about after living in the other for more than a week. Depending on what you do and where you do it, you’ll either have someone call the cops or TMZ on you.

The sharp contrasts of the two great cities are what make the Golden State the greatest state of mind.

Even six years later, there’s nothing quite like that feeling of climbing to the top of a steep San Francisco hill and watching the fog roll in on one of the world’s quirkiest, most amazing cities.

Except for not having to wear a jacket to the beach in July.