Music to my ears

If San Francisco had a soundtrack, it would be the most eclectic disk of music ever. Walking to the gym I listened to a Blue Grass band (The Be Good Tanyas) and the whole street seemed ready for a hoedown. Walking home Red Hot Chili Peppers’ latest album was blaring through my iPod and everyone on Polk seemed to be walking to the beat of Californication. Each area in the city could have its own soundtrack – Bjork for the Tenderloin, Garden State for Presidio, and DMB for Pac Heights.

The smells of the city are almost as varied as the sounds that would make it a perfect musical. In the 3-blocks it takes to get to Crunch, my senses become overwhelmed by Chinese, Thai, Californian, and Italian cuisines. Walking up through my building offers the same sensory overload. Floor one is Vietnamese, floor two Filipino, floor three just smells like dog, and then there’s ours – take out. We’ve now gotten into the Polk St. rhythm – takeout from Aux Delices on Thursdays (when just Matt or I go in, they ask where the other is).

Wine buys from William Cross – Honig almost every time. In a fast paced city, we’ve quickly become “usuals” – usuals to our favorite eateries, usuals to the market, and usuals just ambling along the street. It’s funny, we don’t know many people who live on Polk, but when we walk down the street we recognize more than half. Topping the familiarity, when a non-Russian-hiller ambles to our street, they’re instantly recognizable. You can almost pick the neighborhood they rolled in from. And when non-North Bayers and non-Californites are around it’s as if they’re wearing a bright orange hats saying “I’m from out of town!”

I wonder if when we move we’ll have some invisible sign that says “San Francisco snob” illuminating our foreignness.