French Music Nights

August 24- August 30

If I want excitement on a beginning of a week night, I’ll turn a Criminal Minds episode on, like clockwork every Monday and Tuesday on channel 16. Sometimes there’s a hot shower and fresh blackberries or ice cream and if I paced myself from the weekend, a full stocked bottle of cab sauv to accompany it. But this week, I’ve found excitement by just popping on some Francoise Hardy tunes and sinking into my couch with a new pair of beautiful strappy stilettos on.


I’ll be going to Paris in three months and just knowing this is true, I feel suddenly sick of San Francisco. Ready to move on. Well, I can’t be so hateful, and not to this city! But I resent the fact that SF is all I’ve ever really known in regards to a glamorous, worldly lifestyle– if you’d count the squalor of a shared ground floor studio Victorian and a humanities degree with that bottle of wine in the fridge as worldly. I’ve also resented the idea of travel. It was a crazy, privileged thing only money could get you to do. And in those past four years as a broke English major, any whim to travel was accomplished by after-hours scrolling through my now defunct Tumblr.

But my, how things have changed. I’ve got money, yes, but I’ve also acquired a better understanding of self that would have fallen weak at the knees if I did find myself abroad. To travel is not without embarking on an adventure being anything but a frail, timid creature. To dive into great lengths, you have to be a fearless, determined fool– foolish enough to face this abyss of culture shock and think you’re invincible. If you’re none of these things when you step off a plane, good luck keeping the wind beneath your wings if you won’t even be able to keep yourself together. Before the real thing, there must be the simulation course. And that’s what San Francisco’s been.

Being in San Francisco for the time being is also yet another way to test your romanticism. My generation is, in my opinion, not only overtly sexualized but it comes so naturally and frequently that the context behind this intimacy that makes it worth while is lost. Sure, I’m old fashioned, and I’ve had my experiences to know that casual isn’t my cup of tea. You don’t feel indulging and estatic as you do if you found love on some level– yes you feel daring and perhaps naughty in a good way but in all truth the casual scene is just one big breath you’re holding, and to hold back on the side effects of real dating: disappointment and heartache. A natural occurrence. Try as you may resist this, but even in the end, there is a slight chance of falling for her or him and the absolute chance of being hung up on them.

This is the way that San Fran’s go-getting millennials live now. Twenty-year-olds with 65% in tech and putting all their eggs in separate baskets and forgetting purposely on where they place them. San Francisco is supposed to be a city of love and romantic settings. It’s been referred to the Paris of the West. So when did this Paris suddenly turn into Neverland?

As I live here among Peter Pans, I endure by finding ways to keep this city sentimental and meaningful. Starting with French music. Just perfect to fill in for nights wandering through FiDi and SoMa skyscrapers back to your apartment, or when your sister steals your headphones. Let Tann Tiersen accordions get carried away in your head to make up, no, perfectly accentuate the street sounds around you. And the streets before the sun rises? Had I not start going to Soul Cycle 7 AM classes I would have never known such a beautiful sight. Old French tunes and scenery, you get drunk off of it like you might with wine and a good brie. But in this case of a city early morning and the street lights and tall trees lining California Street while looking down the hill into the dark downtown skyline so distant and illuminated by the still present moon– that will all do you in more than a wedge of cheese ever will.

For now, we’ve come to a Sunday evening. And voila the wine, with the bittersweet promise to find ways to keep falling in love with this city, even if without the boys.


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