dear francisco palóu: if you did indeed “found” san francisco atop a hill overlooking a rainbow, bedecked in an organic tweed poncho and birkenstocks, surrounded by psycadelic flowers and with a youthful naked guy clinging to your waist, you should be assured that your influence has prevailed.
dear little red riding hood: i don’t recall the part where you get lost in the forest of marble columns outside emporio armani, but if you continue to head south for about four blocks, you will encounter lots of big bad wolves.
dear sf graffiti artists: i am trying to imagine your thought process when presented with a nice clean spread of wet cement on california street. what tempted you to use that opportunity to scrape, not your initials or shocking obscenities, but a recycling psa?
dear presidio of san francisco pet cemetery: I am so glad the people fought to save this place, it’s such a gem. one of my faves: “fang d’iguana, h. 1993, d. 2000. big and scary. mighty lizard. dear friend.”
dear zog dogs’ hotdog stand: mad props for “the prop 8 dog.” two zog dogs on one bun. the more love the better - the more hot dogs the better.
dear hoochified mrs. claus pirate wench: frederick’s of hollywood was never intended for day wear.
dear neighbors: i wonder what my new terrier is going to think of your over-manicured grass tufts when i walk him across your lawn.
dear “no sloppy seconds” guy: you got someone to write your scripture in chinese, and then you waited by the bus stop that takes people home to chinatown. a new low.
dear cardboard collecting men: i see you all over the city, stuffing flattened cardboard boxes into every inch of your pickup trucks. do you get money for these boxes? or are you just really into recycling?
dear spooky dolls: you fill a shop window in my new neighborhood. in typical san francisco fashion, the purpose of the store is undecipherable—on the right side of the storefront, i stare at the congestion that is your army of creepiness. on the left, a large statue of a purple sphinx stares out at me.
dear starbucks barista: you were so quick to yell at my co-worker (who can be seen paying for his fresh brewed coffee behind your fashionista silhouettes) when he asked about your new product, “via” instant coffee. “IT’S NOT INSTANT GOD DAMN IT!!!!” you shouted for all to hear. and yet, your employer released this press release, did they not?
dear kids in the park during school hours: i have two theories about what is going on with you. 1) you are honors students from the midwest on a field trip, and found it entirely appropriate to dress like what you think hippies and surfers are in california; or, 2) you are home-schooled jesus freak born agains from somewhere near death valley doing so-called “missionary work” in this city of derelicts. either way, you kept me entertained while i ate lunch today.
dear 4-h club: i don’t really know what four h’s you stand for, but i find it fascinating that among your members are this gal hayley and her rooster, sniddles. (and i thought my tween years were awkward.)
dear crazy bat man: i thought your hand made bat houses shop was quite charming until i noticed you, in your rocking chair, glaring at us from the corner.
dear pretentious neighbors: do you really think your french “no parking in our drive” sign (or whatever it says, as i don’t speak the language of my ancestors, like 99.9% of the population here) is necessary, or are you just showing off?
