State of the Union.

People of Earth,


I know, I know. It's been a while. But once again I've summoned the literary courage to put fingertip to keyboard and bring forth another episode in my life as a grown-up. By now you probably realized I moved to California. What with the going away party, lack of phone calls, and, of course, the sovereign caretaker of personal data and embarrassing photos, Facebook.

I will get into my reasons for packing my life into the hull of an airplane and flying three thousand miles away from just about everyone I know to move into an apartment with one of my best friends and a strange South African in the lower Haight neighborhood of San Francisco without a job.

But that'll come later.

For now you should know I'm alive and fairly well. (One is granted a few welcome-to-town hangovers, right?) I touched down in California around five p.m. and had to meet with my soon-to-be landlord two hours later. From what I remember through the jet-laggy haze, I told a few jokes and apparently did enough to convince her I'd make rent.

And on the second consecutive morning that I awoke on the hardwood floor with the borrowed air mattress pancaked beneath me, I purchased a full sized bed, which was delivered by a man an hour later in an unmarked white truck. A bamboo desk from a neighbor, a gratis wardrobe that probably dates back to the 1800s, and a lightly used Ikea bed frame would soon follow. Craigslist, it turns out, isn't just for anonymous sexual encounters.

Also during my first week in town, I landed a job at a restaurant down by the Bay Bridge. This changed my status as "Unemployed" to "Host," which, as people tell me, is a vague improvement.

If asked to produce a resume of my hosting tenure, the key responsibilities include, but are not limited to:

-Escorting patrons to seats
-Handing patrons menus
-Performing personalized menu "spiel"
-Smiling
-Replacing mints in mint bowl
-Replacing toilet paper in toilet paper dispenser
-Operating Computer Seating Thing
-Directing customers to the bathroom
-Clarifying simple concepts to patrons of foreign nationality
-Windexing hand prints off glass door
-Acting "cheerful" at all times
-Standing

So along with living in a vibrant, cultural neighborhood in a vibrant, cultural city and being legally certified to serve cobb salad and all other types of food in the state of California, life isn't all that bad. The Omnipresent Cloud of Anxiety that is my bank account isn't empty just yet, and will hopefully grow in the coming months. Similar to the day I graduated college, I'm still looking for that thing people call a Full-Time Job. Specifically one with health insurance and a salary that will catapult me somewhere slightly above Abject Poverty.

The difference is I'm looking in a place that's sunnier, surrounded by people that take life at a different speed; people that, as someone said, take a moment to gather their thoughts before speaking. It should be noted that there is no snow here.

None.
And that makes me very happy.


Now, more than ever, I'm playing it by ear. I'm exploring what California has to offer, and eating a shitload of avocado in the process. Some stories are brewing, and a more flushed out explanation of my hurried uprooting will be next. I promise.

But until then, it's time to explore the Haight and try not to spend too much money in the process. Also, I plan on figuring out what that funny odor in the air is, and why so many people own glass objects in which to smoke, I can only assume, tobacco.


Unfaithfully yours,



Alex--