Welcome to Berkeley

Wow. I’m here — is it like living in Wallingford? Not exactly. There’s a slightly chemically-induced relaxedness to Berkeley. I’m normally a somewhat relaxed person, but here I’m a positively-stressed-out type A. What’s really mind-boggling to me is that the new apartment I live in is the same geographic distance from San Francisco as Seattle is to Seatac.

Immediate observations:

  • Pedestrians are generally surprised and happy when I stop at an intersection to let them walk past. Drivers behind me are surprised and unhappy, but then they see my Washington license plates.
  • People are busier here. Everyone seems to be in a hurry to go somewhere, but maybe I’m just imagining that since I’m sort of in limbo until Saturday when the rest of everything I own gets here
  • The second time around has been a lot better mentally for me. Last summer, I moved here without really knowing anyone except Diana, and now I know dozens of people, and feel a bit part of
  • I’ve found karaoke in Berkeley.
  • Gas, rent, utilities are about 1/3 higher here.
  • BART rocks. Seattle’s monorail should be even nicer, when and if it gets built.
  • Would it kill the Bay Area to have a decent bowling alley? A man’s gotta bowl, you know.

All in all, it’s just the waiting to get set up here that’s the most stressful thing. I do miss Seattle and my friends and family, and the gang at Molly’s and the Twilight Exit. That, and Mom would have been 62 today. By this time next week, I should be laughing maniacally about the whole thing, if they haven’t come to take me away by then.

In other news, it seems that KB Toys is selling a George Dubya action figure with flight jacket, and people in India are boycotting and smashing containers of Coca-Cola and Pepsi because the drinks are contaminated with pesticides.

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