South of Sunnyside

…where [nobody] knows your name.

Kim is finishing up one last class, and then she is officially done with school. It’s taken a great deal of sacrifice, and to show how proud I am of her, I surprised her with an overnight trip to San Francisco on Friday to see Phantom of the Opera.

To be clear, I’m not a fan of opera or live theater, so the thought of combining them was less than exciting; that said, Phantom is one of Kim’s favorite things, and sometimes in marriage we have to make sacrifices…

The performance was surprisingly enjoyable, as was our stay in the newly-renovated Hotel Abri. But the best part of the trip was getting lost (as in, submerged) in the city. We love San Francisco: the food, the culture(s), the history and architecture.

We love that it’s not hard to find a hole-in-the-wall for dinner, and that during a short walk it’s possible to lose count of the languages overheard.

We love that everything is accessible on foot.

We love that anything goes—fashion is subjective (though the tighter, it seems, the better), and relationships have no boundaries.

Above all, we love having an evening away.

Please stop it. You’re being ridiculous.

Two years ago a car was stolen from our neighbors across the street; the theft occurred early in the morning. Soon after, these same neighbors hosted a neighborhood watch meeting. That went nowhere.

Last year, another neighbor was robbed of all their Christmas presents, their plasma TV, fine china and jewelry; they had been spending a few nights away from home, as the woman of the house was having a baby, and wanted to be closer to her mother; because their house backs up to a vacant lot (slated for development before the housing market crashed), they seem especially vulnerable.

The night before last, another theft occurred: the same family whose car was stolen, had one broken into. Broken glass lay in the street just feet from our house. Kim was the one who first noticed the broken window, and had to wake the family up to alert them.

Sigh.

A memo, from my wife: