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Gosh. Who's around here these days who I remember?

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Last night I dreamt of a king who had journeyed far and wide, whose army had been decimated in battle, who was sick and weary of the world. Just when he thought all hope was lost, he came across the court of a foreign kingdom. They were suspicious of him—and for added flavour, the dream was very specific that they spoke French—but they invited him to refresh himself with dancing and music and a rest in a feather bed. Later that night, of course, two women of the court visited him and proceeded to ramrod him to death.

At this point, it was time to offer feedback. I told the writer I thought the plot was solid, but there were a number of anatomical inaccuracies that made it unbelievable—chief among them that the two ladies would not have been able to extract the king's pus if he was floating upside down in a swimming pool. With a little more research to tidy up these trouble spots, I suggested, the story would be just fine.

So next time you want to complain about the deviantART community, or think, even in passing, that critique is onerous and unnecessary, just remember: it could always be worse.

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Talk to me about America. The green rind of the hills, the desert of the mind. The bubbles blown across Haight and Masonic by a hippy in her prime. Talk to me about the coffee shops, the flowers pushing themselves out of the earth in spring, the heart of things, the moles. Talk to me about dogs in the street and hobos in the park, the breathless rest, the soul. Tell me what it's like to land in San Francisco, the folk drumming of the engine coming to a stop and the tiny crumb you call yourself pushed out into the world. Tell me and I'll tell you how it feels to find a home in these tiny houses, to piece together a neighbourhood out of scraps and seesaws and stop signs, to push the border of what is unknown a block or two further away. Tell me about the beat, the street fairs and the hot air and the swearing and the blaring horns and running like a hare in the sun. Tell me and I'll tell you about me, about the life a continent apart. Let's talk about America. Let's start.

I've been living in San Francisco for a month and a half now, and it's a love affair that gets a little more maudlin each day. This is a town where bookshops run erotic fanfiction nights and knitting circles discuss Reddit threads over their Guinness. It's a town where a white girl can belt out a Wang Lee Hom tune to half of Chinatown and be cheered, where a man can walk down the street in nothing but a man purse and a gold-sequinned cock sock. It's the land of Emperor Norton. Yesterday was my birthday; I could have done a lot of things, but instead I sat in the sun with a pound of strawberries and a honey latte and just watched the world go by. The night before, we went out for southern food and craft beers before heading to a speakeasy-style bar where old typewriters line the walls and you can wear a flapper dress without feeling daft. There are downsides to getting older, of course, but I can't think of anywhere I'd rather have those downsides than here. 

Crushes on cities aside, of course, things are more or less the same. I'm editing a book for the Central Conversatory of Music; I'm auditioning for a sensational choir on Sunday; I'm slowly making friends. Recently, I  had the dubious pleasure of informing a client that the entire text they had sent me to translate was plagiarized. My health stops me from doing a lot of things I want to do, but it will probably also get me a medical marijuana card, so swings and roundabouts. In any case, it hasn't beaten me yet. I told myself at the beginning of this year that I would be happy with my life if I found something to surprise me every day. My New Year's Resolution was for novelty. And now I'm looking for it, I find it everywhere I go—in books, in the words of strangers, in bubbles and cock socks and beauty. And I miss you guys, I do. So let's talk about you. Let's try. I want to know what's been going on and what hasn't been going on and why this damn place seems to change every time I shut my eyes. 

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