So yeah, I'm back in San Francisco. Could tell I was home instantly by the smell of urine as I stepped out of the BART station on 16th Street and by the local bagel place being jam packed at 9:30 in the morning.

And how does it feel to be back? After visiting New York, Baltimore, Harrisburg and Washington D.C. I know as much as ever that this beatuful, fucked up, dysfunctional city- with it's slackers and dot-commers, it's hipstsers and poseurs, it's flakes and it's freaks, it's homeless problem and it's nutty politics- is as much of a home to me as any place I've ever lived or been too. I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together.

It's just such a shame that this city keeps on breaking my heart.

Which is why being back makes me feel like my darling Buffy- torn out of my cozy, warm, heavenly vacation and thrown back into a hellish reality. Back to my bad back and insomnia, the temping and penny pinching, the sending out twenty resumes a week and never getting a response.

Give me something to sing about
I need something to sing about