So just when I’m starting to get excited about living alone in the Planet SOMA factory, I find out that for the next three to six months I will be living in a construction zone.
Between the freeway retrofit, which should be noisy as hell and will eliminate an unbelievable amount of parking, and the ugly loftominium going up across the street, life should really suck for a while. Earning the rent should be pretty easy, though, considering I’ll never be able to sleep past 7AM, or to leave the house in my car (assuming I plan to park it when I get home).
The freeway is a necesary evil, I understand. The loft isn’t. Here’s a thought: if my new neighbors have a right to shut down (or curtail) bars and clubs because of the noise, don’t I have the right to stop construction of a new yuppie slum for the same reason?
Probably not…
Interesting story on SF gay nightlfe in today’s paper. Seems our “community” has “grown up” enough to be fascinated by sterile bars with more upscale patrons. Much of the Castro is jumping on this bandwagon. Shouldn’t be a very long jump…
Fortunately, the South of Market dives are still dark, dirty, and smoker-friendly (for now), and I’ve neer seen anyone reading the Wall Street Journal in My Place. Down here, it is still possible to engage in a semi-public dalliance (as I did last night) with a boy who looked like a cuter version of Beck and his dreadlocked friend. I’m not sure if they were a couple.
Speaking of dives, there’s a new diner on the site, should you care…
