Once again I returned from a trip to New York, dripping with that familiar malaise, that is, the muttering and the grousing: "I love New York. What am I doing in San Francisco? New York is alive. New Yorkers are friendly. San Franciscans are snooty and vapid. What happened to my
adopted hometown by the Bay? Where did the soul of San Francisco go? Do I really belong here?"
I am determined, though, not to go through this mind-gnawing, purposeless self-torture again. I am learning how to seek help when I'm drowning in a roiling sea of self-pity. This time, I'm going to confront my growing feelings of dissatisfaction with San Francisco. I'm going to take action.
So, I have decided to take my troubles to the great American arbiter of psychic distress, Dr. Phil.
By the way, "Dr. Phil" is locally broadcast on KRON Channel 4 twice a day, at 3 p.m. and 8 p.m. I only mention this because I have an intense need to be loved by Channel 4. Even if I don't break through the seemingly impenetrable guest barrier to Dr. Phil, I can imagine pretty much how it would go if I appeared on his show. Something like this:
Dr. Phil: "Today we have a man who -- believe it or not -- no longer loves that beautiful City by the Bay, San Francisco. He feels lost and he's at loose ends. Maybe he's a little ungrateful and has no idea how lucky he is. His name is Bruce. I thought you might like to see what a
truly clueless person looks like."
Bruce: "Thanks, Dr. Phil. A pleasure to be here. After all, this is L.A. and I'm away from San Francisco and that's all right with me.
Dr. Phil: "What is with you? Are you suffering from beauty fatigue or
something? You have all that pretty landscape and water around you up
there, and all those great restaurants. What's up with that?"
Bruce: "Well, Dr. Phil, maybe there's more to life than pretty
landscapes, cable cars, and great restaurants. Is it so awful to ask for more?
Dr. Phil: "More? Like what? You sound like a man who's tired of being married to his wife? Even tired of his life. Maybe that's the deal."
Bruce: "Let's face it. It's not the same city since Herb Caen died and Ambrose Bierce disappeared somewhere in Mexico."
Dr. Phil: "I hate to tell you this, Bruce, but we all lose friends. That's life."
Bruce: "After 35 years, maybe I am tired of my wife, if you can call The City my wife. Frankly, living in San Francisco is like being stuck in a bad marriage without the sex. She's indifferent, disloyal and she's gotten pretty damned expensive. And I detest the 1-California bus."
Dr. Phil: "You're quick to blame everything on your wife here. When we come back, we'll ask Bruce the inevitable question, 'Can This Marriage Be Saved?' We'll be right back." During the commercial break I began to think how my brief trips to New York really constitute a Big Apple honeymoon that I may have every year or so. No wonder people get married and divorced so much. They want to recapture the mood of the honeymoon. Like a junkie constantly seeks to
recapture his first high. He never does. You have to get clean or die. If I really come clean, I must say that I haven't really been seeking out the things that San Francisco has to offer. New York is so electrifying, everything snaps and crackles and beckons to me. After years of commitment, it takes a little, no, a lot, of work to keep the spark alive. It all comes from keeping a sense of curiosity.
Last month, I saw some wonderful things here in San Francisco. David Amram's 75th birthday party at the Purple Onion, for example. "Evening's like this can only happen in New York or San Francisco," the irrepressible composer observed. Backed by Omar Clay on drums and Michael Zisman on bass, Amram dashed breathlessly from the piano to tearing off jazz riffs on his French horn to the penny whistle -- no, two penny whistles at the same time -- to the shehnai, an Indian oboe, to the Persian Boumbek, a goblet-shaped drum. All the while, Amram told
zany stories about his best friend, Jack Kerouac and how Amram wrote scores for Arthur Miller, and "Splendor In the Grass" and "The Manchurian Candidate." Dennis Banks and Floyd Red Crow Westerman sang Native-American songs and read from Kerouac's legendary "On The Road."
The four-hour show was a trip down the road of history but had no trace of that treacly trap known as nostalgia. At the end of the night, I loved San Francisco again. Now, let's get back to "Dr. Phil." Dr. Phil: "We're talking to Bruce, who says his love affair with San Francisco is long over and he'd like to find a more exciting place to live. Bruce, have you ever heard of the adage that wherever you go, you take yourself with you?"
Bruce: "Yes, I think that's the difference between baggage and luggage."
Dr. Phil: "Sure, you're glib but perhaps you're hiding behind your wit
a bit. How about this one? 'The fault lies not in the stars but within
ourselves.'"
Bruce: "Say, that's quite good. But, Dr. Phil, I have to tell you, I've changed my mind. You see, Suzanne Ramsey -- that's Kitten on the Keys -- recently put on a wonderful burlesque show at the Balboa Theater, a movie house that still plays real movies; a group of high school students put on a George S. Kaufman play for A.C.T. at the Zeum; Myles O'Reilly opened The Holy Grail, a dinner house that might help Polk Gulch become a civilized neighborhood again. That's a big risk but Myles is willing to take it. If he's betting on San Francisco, then why can't I?"
Dr. Phil: "Gee, Bruce, you're throwing my show off track. I'm the one who's supposed to lead the guest on to good mental health. You're not supposed to cure yourself, dammit. You're not even giving me a chance to introduce the outside counselors. They came all this way to help.
Maybe there's a free 28-day program in it for you."
Bruce: "Gee, I'm sorry, Dr. Phil. Maybe the counselors can help the people who run Muni. I'm not being ungrateful. You are absolutely right. The fault lies in myself. There's a wonderful world inside San Francisco. I just haven't been working hard enough to discover it lately. Because, after 35 years, San Francisco has become too much like me and I have become too much like her. Jaded and aloof. It's not all my fault, though, Dr. Phil. It wasn't my idea to make San Francisco a crass, predatory real estate market, a Disneyland for millionaires that's choked with automobiles. I still walk and live without a car. Let's bring back the fleet of ferries. Perhaps now it's time to start all over again. Maybe this small town should be smaller. And Lawrence
Ferlinghetti is right. Coit Tower should be made to lean a little, like Pisa. I'll try to bend a bit, too."
Dr. Phil: "Well, that's our show for today. Tomorrow we hope to introduce you to someone with real problems. At least I hope so."
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Bruce Bellingham is the author of "Bellingham by the Bay." He says he's working out his bi-coastal schizophrenia by pitching a job as a flight attendant on JetBlue. His e-mail is bruce@brucebellingham.com
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