The Soviet Socialist Republic of San Francisco: A Tourist's Harrowing Story

Sorry its taken a while guys- I've been sick.

Anyways, here's my story about the time I visited the SSRSF. And why that city is representative of everything wrong with the world.

So a while ago the family decides to visit San Francisco on spring break to see my aunt on my dad's side and uncle on my mom's. And I'm like, "aight", because you guys know I'm chill like that.
So we get off the flight in the San Francisco airport. And as soon as I get off the plane, I see a male in his early twenties, sitting in an ergonomic, local-artist-designed chair, wearing a leopard-print scarf (this was March in California) and typing on his giant Apple Laptop. I immediately was like, "yeah, this is going to be a problem". I mean, he didn't even have the decency to buy a HP computer. Those are made in California, too, you regionally-oriented hipster tool.

It's a Mac, but I actually run Linux on it, because selling out to software corporations is too mainstream.

But, like all evil things, the SSRSF attempted to trick me into liking it. After I expressed my disdain for the renewable energy sources powering the airport and passing their costs down to me in the form of Hudson News price hikes, we rode the monorail to the rental car place. I calmed down, because everyone loves monorails. At the rental car place, in an event that I'm almost inclined to call a miracle, we avoided receiving a Prius. That night, we checked into our room at a big, three-towered Mariott (in a very bad area, but I was feeling pretty good and didn't notice at first), and took a trip to my aunt's place on a big hill. We took a walk a few blocks to the ocean, passing by some awesome houses (including Robin Williams' Summer home) and the South Korean consulate. We went to an ocean view park (it might or might not have been the "presidio") that overlooked the sea and the Golden Gate Bridge. It was wonderful, and we had a great dinner of steamed crabs (my mother and sister were bothered by their death claws at the side of the pot), steamed artichoke ('leaves", I think?) and sourdough bread. Then we checked out my Uncle's (aunt's husband) art studio. He paints ducks for duck-stamp competitions. He's really talented. And an ex-hippy conservative, which makes me incredibly proud. It was wonderful, and I so enjoyed spending time with the family.

The next day we met up with my uncle and aunt. We played with their dog and drove around the city a bunch. First we drove through Castro Street and saw men in pink thongs (one was also in blackface) smoking marijuana on a street corner. It's a matter of debate whether or not the Ninth Amendment may give you the right to do things like that, but what is not debatable is that I was thoroughly appalled by mankind's propensity to do stupid things in public. I don't care whether or not you possess controlled substances, how scantily clad you are or how racially insensitive your body paint is as long as you stay in your house where I can't see it. Also, I will soon write a post about why "medical marijuana" is about as effective as "medical tobacco".

But I digress. After that my aunt (uncle's wife), a very smart woman who leads the anatomy and physiology department at the University of San Francisco, showed me around the medical school there (as I'm weighing my options on that front). The facilities were very nice, and they even have a fully-equiped fake mini-ER with dummies and everything. We also got to check out the cadaver lab. There were a lot of dead people there.

Anyway, we drove around for a while, had a nice dinner, and heard some great police stories from my uncle. Day 2 was pretty nice.

Then came the dawn of the third day.

We spent most of the day at Fisherman's Wharf, which is more touristy than Las Vegas during Japan's peak vacation season. It was kinda cool, I guess. I got free Ghirardelli samples and saw an oxygen bar. Anyway, that night the concierge directs us to a Chinese place for dinner. We get there, and it looks pretty "spartan", as my dad said. Then a very nice, flamboyant gentleman walking a pug tells us that the food is great, and to not let the looks deceive us. He really was quite nice. And fashionable. I liked his dog.

No caption can improve this picture.

We talked with this guy about the weather for a while, thanked him for the tip, bid goodbye and went into the restaurant. It was called "Kim Thanh". Don't ever go there.

That night, I began to feel a very mild pain in my stomach. AND I SPENT THE ENTIRE NIGHT VOMITING! Which wouldn't have been so bad, had I not been forced to clean out the trashcan where my first projectile had hit, which made me vomit more in the toilet.

The next day I was really dehydrated, and my mom refused to take me to the hospital. Until at 3, she finally relented as I threw up the gatorade she had given me, putting my fluid intake for the day at 0. She decided we'd take a cab to one of the state-subsidized public hospitals. I was quite adamant that a private hospital would be better able to handle me, given, you know, free markets and all, but my mother insisted. Now that I think about it, I wonder if any private hospitals exist in the SSRSF. Anyway, after about 5 hours in the waiting room listening to a mother-daughter pair of Asians in which the mother spoke without an accent and the daughter spoke with a heavy one and nagged her mother to eat, I was finally triaged.

During triaging, a 400-pound, 7 foot transvestite wearing a blond wig barged in and demanded he be seen. After the nurse politely calmed him, he finished triaging me. And I waited for another hour and a half. Then I was brought to a room, passing moaning people lying on gurneys in the hallway. There was blood on the equipment tray in my room, that they cleaned off with the antiseptic equivalent of a Wet One in my room in a nonchalant manner that implied it happened all the time. After getting enough  Zofran to stop a horse's esophageal convulsions and some fluids, I was discharged. We waited about 45 minutes for a cab.

I eventually recovered and left with my Aunt and Uncle for Lake Tahoe. It was beautiful. The cabin we were in was spacious (and had a hot tub), the skiing was great, and I got to see my cousin, who was finishing up law school at UC Davis at the time (he just recently passed the bar- Go Mark!). I realized that Tahoe was so great because of all of the influence from the Libertarian, Gun-Owning, Prostitution-decriminalizing Nevadans nearby. No, I don't approve of their laws regarding prostitution. I'm just saying, they're doing SOMETHING right.

CONCLUSION:

San Francisco can still be saved. In my short time there, I saw more human kindness from my family members, passers-by, and my ER doctor than I see in a month here in the midwest. I didn't even ever grow up or live there- perhaps even more stories of human worth can come from these people. Economic activity is growing due to the presence of IT and biomedical companies (despite the attempts of local regulators to destroy the bourgeoisie counter-revolutionaries), and the city sits in an absolutely stunning location. San Francisco can still be saved from Marx's relentless advance. I urge you, take a second and think about the freedom you have, and how to spread it to others. One day I hope to liberate that fine city of Giants and Gold Miners. Join me in doing so.

ADDENDUM: San Francisco is apparently ruled by this guy: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ed_Lee_(politician)

He's somewhat new. Let us hope he institutes glasnost  and perestroika.