I Should Have Known

Last night's rehearsal was scheduled at 7:00 pm at a downtown theater, on Geary near Union Square. That area seems to be the closest thing SF has to a theater district. The American Conservatory's home is a beautiful Victorian theater that dominates the block between Taylor and Mason. Down the road is the The Shelton Theatre, Jean Shelton Acting Lab and The SF Playhouse, that all share the same building. On the outskirts of Union Square is The Exit, home to SF Fringe. And around the corner from A.C.T. is The Phoenix. This is where I was to be rehearsing.

The theater is on the 6th floor of an office building, while the Annex, a nicely sized studio, is on the 4th. I was to meet the theater director, a colleague of mine from a playwriting group, outside the Annex. She was to let us in and show us around.

She never showed up. We waiting in the 4th floor lobby for half an hour before we decided to make good use of the time by rehearsing right there. We set up our basic props, and began a run-through, much to the chagrin of the fashion-conscious women behind an orange door that led to some sort of impressively hip-looking design studio. They had to pass through the lobby to get to the restroom, dodging our dance moves on the way.

At 8:15 we decided to give up. After a "you'll never believe this" explanation to the husband when he asked why I was home so early, I emailed the theater director to let her know I'd been there and waited. She replied. Turns out she forgot. About my rehearsal. We'd confirmed earlier in the day. But somehow she forgot.

I was warned by a co-worker in New York before I moved here: "you know, San Francisco is a flaky place to live. The people are all flakes." At the time, I thought he was just being judgmental. Turns out he was right.

Places

I love California. I just took a lunch-time stroll under the Golden Gate, and my, if I wasn't blown away by the beauty of this place.

I often speak of wanting to move back to New York one day, but I honestly don't know if I can remove myself from this foliage, these blue waters, rolling hills, majestic sites. To be able to drive to Yosemite in just a moment's notice, or Big Sur, Sequoia, and, of course, Wine Country.

In moving to So Cal, I'll be giving up Wine Country, but I'll be gaining recreational beaches, Death Valley, Malibu, flea markets, and a plethora of swimming pools. All stuff I yearn for, truly.

I've been addicted to this blog: http://vanishingnewyork.blogspot.com/

It at once makes me extremely nostalgic for and hardened against my old stomping ground.

The Big Reason

This is the reason for the circles under my eyes, piles of dirty laundry in my bedroom, and absence from any kind of social situation. It'll be up and then over in less than a week now. I'll reward myself with three days of sleep interrupted only to binge on turkey stuffing and pumpkin pie.

Heavy Fog, Generous Sun.

On Friday morning, the city was shrouded in a thick layer of fog and everything - the buildings, the cars, the vistas, the people - looked as if caught in a weathered daguerrotype.

By Friday afternoon, however, we'd emerged into a bright new day with a gracious sun that saw us through the weekend.

Unfortunately, I spent most of my weekend inside. Black-box theater, car, home office, a friend's gorgeous apartment with panoramic views of San Francisco.

I did grab twenty minutes on my back patio on Saturday, doing paperwork under the shade of the palm tree.

Two indulgences: Truffle Tremor and Drunken Goat cheese.

Strangely Quiet

As predicted, I did no spooky celebrating last night.

Apparently, neither did the rest of our city. Driving back from rehearsal, I noticed that the streets looked no different than on a typical Wednesday night, save for a few more people in crazy costumes than usual, and a heavy presence of police officers and barricades. City Hall said we couldn't have Halloween this year, and we sure as heck didn't.

Compare: SF to NY.

The husband and I did, however, watch Something Wicked This Way Comes for the first time in over twenty years, and it was just as strange and creepy as I remembered.