Ghost town

Where have all the artists gone? The groups and circles that sipped coffee in the mission, traipsed the lower haight, prowled the likes of nightbreak on sushi sundays, meander the south of market, Oakland, and Berkeley.

1992 Flashback: It was saturday in the month of may high noon. The sidewalks crowded with people trying to get into Spaghetti Western. There I was next door at the Horseshoe cafe in cut off shorts, knee high motorcycle boots, soccer socks, wife beater midriff cut sitting in a circle in the warm sun jabbering from left to right Periot (trendsetter and poet), Mike (musician and motorcycle messenger) "hot" cup Joe (painter and hardfloor worker), Mischka (bicycle messenger and welder), Gabrielle (trust fund baby and writer), David (musician and pizzaboy).

It was nauseating when everyone including their pet rat introduced themselves by their medium such as, "Hey, I'm mike and I weld." The arrogance was pungent. In fact, if I'm not mistaken, I came to San Francisco at seventeen to become a musician or writer. I came, I saw and I was. Look where that got me a tiny smudge as a blogger. Punch me in the gut and call me blasé. We infested San Francisco like fleas on a rat. That was the San Francisco that I loved.

Where have the free thinkers gone? This town is screaming out for a voice. A fire. A spark? Sure, we have those clicks of "no fashion sense snot nosed kids" who call themselves artists. Not even close. The lazy generation of Dr. Phil, reality shows, video games, internet, Paris Hilton, and celebrity gossip are a bunch of whiners. The greasy generation that has an opinion on Brad and Jennifer's marriage while stuffing their faces with french fries and double all beef patty melts. A country that is forcefed media of the paranoid kind. My question to you is, how did we get here?

On the other hand, New York is and always will be the nucleus of all existence. It is full of life. It is full of rage. It is full of no nonsense push and shove. New York is gentle and abrasive. Most of all, it is alive. It is safe to say that my heart will always be in San Francisco, but my soul yearns for New York.

Lesson: Grasshopper learn to jump high that way you see farther beyond the wheat fields.