The first one, which is part of her Meanwhile series over at The Rumpus, is a heartfelt tribute to the main branch of the San Francisco public library that we absolutely adore and make good use of as much as we can. If you love it as much as we do, it will make you all soft inside and hopefully you’ll run to return those long-overdue books you’ve been forgetting to return for a while now.
The second one, on today’s The Bold Italic, is a companion to a piece by Broke-Ass Stuart titled “Living in SF means…”. Although there’s no specific mention of the Tenderloin, I’m sure you’ll see yourselves in many of the descriptions, maybe substituting one word here or there. We particularly enjoyed this part:
It means having places you love close up forever. It means having friends get married and move to Oakland. Friends who leave to join the Peace Corps. Friends who go to rehab. Friends who lose their minds. Friends who move back to wherever the fuck they’re from. Friends who OD and never move again. It means dreading the inevitable earthquake that will ultimately wash this city into the sea.
Living in San Francisco means never leaving the house without wearing layers. Having just one wardrobe. Owning lots of hoodies. Owning lots of scarves. Owning lots of hoodies and scarves for your dog. It means having pale legs that get sunburned every time it’s warm out. Calling in sick to work because, for once, it’s 80 degrees and you want to drink a 40 in the park. Enduring the cold summer months and savoring the warmth and festivities of Indian Summer. It means being worried that the term “Indian Summer” may not be politically correct.