(Not Quite) Out to Pasture: My City by the Bay

BY: CURTIS COMER

    I’ve recently begun to wonder who that old guy is staring back at me from the mirror. He looks vaguely familiar…same eyes, nose and mouth…but the rest of the face is someone I don’t know. And every time one of my friends (usually Kris) posts a photo of me on Facebook, I find myself wondering who the old man is staring into the camera.

    Then it dawns on me; the aging man in the photo is me and looks a hell of a lot like my father.

    Gross.

    I don’t mind being older. In fact, I’m a lot wiser than when I was a petulant twenty year old, sure that I was out to conquer the world. Hell, I don’t even really mind the gray that has been sneaking into the hair on my temples. I figure it will just make me look a little more distinguished, not a bad attribute to have for a writer.

    Or professor or mad scientist, depending on how you look at it.

    But the lines on my face, no doubt caused by years of sun exposure and late nights, among other things, are another matter altogether. Gray hair, fine, wrinkles…well that just makes me old. When did all of the lines suddenly appear?
Frustrated, I went out the other day and actually bought a jar of day cream that promises to “eliminate fine lines and wrinkles.” You have no idea how difficult that was for me, the guy who never thought that such products were necessary. And this is where that attitude has gotten me.

    Watching my dad get older isn’t so much of a shock. He’s old and old people look old. It’s my younger brothers that really shock me. I mean, if I look at my little brother, Doug (who I can’t help but still refer to as “Dougie”), and think “Good lord, when did he get to look so much older,” then what the hell must I look like to him?

    I suppose the real issue here isn’t vanity, although I now avoid roving groups of younger gay men for fear that they will eat older gay men alive; I think that my real problem is that I don’t feel older. Okay, so Tim and I no longer stay out as late as we once did, but we still have our moments. Just the other night, for my friend, Kris’, birthday, we apparently surprised all of our friends by staying out until one in the morning.

    “You two are sure staying out late tonight,” was a comment I heard more than once.

    Give me a break, I wanted to say. We’re turning forty-five this year, not one hundred. Still, as I looked in the mirror the next morning I had to wonder two things: what were we thinking staying out that late when we both had to go to work the next morning, and is this damned cream working yet?

    Lately I’ve been mesmerized by Google Maps. It all started because of a new book I’m working on, which is set in Berlin. For the sake of accuracy, I’ve been carefully noting street names in relationship to monuments and buildings, and “strolling” the streets to get an idea of my surroundings by using the “street view” option. It’s a horrible waste of time, but still fun. Just the other afternoon I walked around the Arc de Triomphe in Paris and walked across the Ponte Vecchio in Florence.

    This morning, after one of my morning rituals in front of the mirror (another gray hair???), I went online and returned to Google Maps.  Instead of returning to Berlin, however, I decided to visit my old hometown, San Francisco. San Francisco always makes me feel better when I’m stressed out about anything. I mean, I practically grew up there, have tons of friends there and, most importantly, it’s where I met Tim. As if my fondness for the City by the Bay isn’t evident enough to any hapless soul willing to listen to me reminisce, I set two of my novels there, just to prove my love.

    My first stop during my online tour was Baker Beach, just next door to the Golden Gate Bridge. I click on “Street view” and smile at the imagery. For once, the fog isn’t swallowing the bridge, the sun is shining and I can almost hear the cry of seagulls and feel the rush of the wind in my hair and on my face. My next stop is North Beach, where Tim and I had our last apartment before we moved to St. Louis. I want to knock on the door to see if our old neighbor, Adelle, is home. I’m surprised she wasn’t photographed sitting on the stoop, smoking a cigarette. Across the street is Club Fugazzi, home of the perennial favorite, “Beach Blanket Babylon,” and down the street is our old hangout, O’Reilly’s Irish Pub. I imagine sitting down for a beer with Tim at one of the sidewalk tables, and then cross Columbus Avenue and head to Grant Avenue, home of our other hangout, the Savoy-Tivoli. Seeing all of our old places is bittersweet, I mean, I’d rather really be there, but it still makes me feel better. I cursor all over town: Coit Tower, the Castro, Golden Gate Park. I go to Nob Hill and peek at the building where Tim and I shared our first apartment. It’s funny. They’ve painted it and I barely recognized it. Apparently, I’m not the only unrecognizable thing from the past. Just down Mason Street, I make a right onto Bush Street, a good thing I’m doing this online, because Bush Street is one way. There I see the building where Tim had an apartment when we first met. I “stand” there (virtually, of course) for a very long time, filled with funny emotions, remembering when we met eighteen years ago. I turn and continue down Bush Street, headed toward the Financial District. On my way I pass Café de la Presse, the entrance to Chinatown, Belden Alley and countless other businesses and landmarks that I recognize. Older, sure, but all still recognizable. As I end up at the Ferry Building at the Embarcadero I have to laugh at myself. When we lived in San Francisco, Tim and I walked everywhere. Then it hit me: maybe I don’t miss San Francisco as much as I really miss my younger self that lived there. I mean, sure, it’s a great city with lots of stuff to do, but it’s not perfect, believe me.

    No, I’m happy right where I am, with Tim beside me and a cute little house near the park. Even the lines on my face I can get used to, eventually. As I’ve said before, getting older is better than the alternative.

    In the meantime, I think I’ll just go and apply another coating of face cream. Just in case.