Spent Saturday night at a going away party. Goodbye Stoltzy and Aunt Sophie. I'll miss you.

They were friends two and three to have moved away just this month. The first one to go was Beth D., aka Beth #2- off to Washington D.C. and Grad School. And now it looks like Mel might be heading off to LA due to her being laid off. That would be number four for the month. I would say would the last person who leaves SF please turn off the lights, but it's looking like that person is gonna be me.

I've lived in San Francisco for a long time. A very long time. See, one of the dirty little secrets of San Francisco, this wonderful, beautiful city by the bay, is that for all of it’s charms and all of it’s appeal, people often just pass through each others lives. People come and go in your life on an almost regular basis. Hell, I’ve lived in this city for so long that I’ve had friends move away and then move back. As a result, there are an awful lot of people who leave your life. Some move away, some weren’t really that good of friends to begin with, some disappear into coupledom and never come out, and then there’s whole groups of people who you just lost touch with. One day you’re best of friends, one of your favorite people to hang out with, and then, somehow, the next day, or the next month, or the next year, you find yourself becoming one of those people with whom you tell each other that "you’ll do lunch." And just like that, this person with whom you at one point consider one of favorite people is gone, out of your life, taking the whole world that you shared together with it.

Live here long enough and you have to say goodbye to a lot of people. A lot of people who you really liked and spent a considerable part of your time hanging out with, laughing with, living with. One by one, they go, heading off to somewhere else. Mikey got married and moved to LA. Darling KT went home to Atlanta and is now somewhere in Africa doing volunteer work. Pal 1's in San Diego and Pal 2 is back home in London. And Gigi Shag is in the South of France, somehow. Now Mike & Jen. All gone. All no longer around for me to play with.

Sometimes, in times like this, I feel like the ole lifer in an army unit (except, of course for the whole fighting war and possibly dying thing), the soul survivor after a long campaign, surrounded by new guys and constantly thinking of Rocko, Whitey, and Little Joe. Or I'm like the old crusty, slightly crazy old guy who becomes the town historian. I'm the old coot, sitting out on my front doorstep, pipe in hand, telling them that they shouldn't go to House of Naking but should go to Chef Gia instead because it's much better and you don't have to wait in line. Or telling them which bar is a real dive bar and which one is a poseur bar.

On my way home from the Going Away Party, I started talking to the cab driver. Turns out he's a writer and handed me his book about his experiences driving a cab in SF. As I flipped through the book and looked at the photos, I realized I recognized one of the crazy guy's he wrote a chapter about, the Streamer Guy. He's the one who always walks around with an Uncle Sam hat and streamers hanging off of his glasses. The thought hit me that I've lived here long enough that I knew all of the famous cooks in the city.

The cab driver had lived in this city since '89, a few years more than me. We talked about living here, in the city by the bay, and about how tough living here can be. People come here for three to five years, the cab driver told me, go through loves and jobs, then move away. It takes a tough person to stick around. Tough and a little sick and twisted too, he said.

That's me. And no matter what I may think, this crazy little place is my home.