The Jade Hotel Room

Every time I come to San Francisco, I do get a little trapped in the thought that this is where I should have been. But the thing is, the thing that attracts me to SF is “this would have been the place to be in the 90s.” Now, it’s a combination of somewhat hollowed out in the centre and the only thing filling that hole is money. Admittedly, a metric ton of money, but from the minute you step off the plane, you’re bombarded with adverts from companies that thought, for example, that calling themselves “Turing” was acceptable and not trading off stolen glory.

Still, I see bits of things that I recognize from Sneakers and there is that pull. But it’s not the city of Netscape and other scrappy web properties anymore, nor phreakers abusing Bell telephones. And so I diminish, and go back to the East, where I belong.

As usual, I stayed at two different hotels; Parc55 for work, but I took a chance on a newer hotel for the Sunday night. Parts of it were essentially an Ian Trap (exposed concrete ceiling, anybody?), but also, weird 1990s-William Friedkin-erotic-thriller vibes with the floor-to-ceiling-wrapping-around-corner-looking-out-at-the-Tenderloin windows and the exposed deep bath. I did the decent thing; I went to Elixir, had a couple of drinks, and then came back, poured a very hot bath and watched Gimme Shelter via the room’s Apple TV (“we know you just want to screencast”).

Having not been murdered as I got out of the bath, it was an enjoyable night. Also, the room had a QR code for tipping the cleaning staff, which I did appreciate. Coffee was imported from Shoreditch, which I guess just amped up the hipster vibes emanating from the exposed concrete.

(Parc55 was fine, but just a normal hotel room you could have anywhere. They did have cable, though, so the first thing I did was…turn it to the Disney Channel where they were showing a Bluey marathon. Sorry, I have become one of Those Parents and now you must all sit through my conversations about “where is Rusty’s father stationed? What war are the dogs fighting?” and other esoterica…)

A subdued trip, I think — the friend I normally visit couldn’t make it down into the city due to illness; the co-worker that I team up with in the evenings decided to stay on the other side of the Atlantic this time, and most nights after work, I just felt like heading to bed rather than doing anything slightly more exciting. Delightfully, though, the last dinner of the trip was at Foreign Cinema in the Mission. Which was good, but the highlight was being surrounded by board-formed concrete, explaining the construction process to my coworkers, before segueing into detailing the horrors of Mr. Blobby and Mr. Spanky to a frankly disbelieving audience. And then I sent them pictures. It’s important to provide visuals, even if nobody thanks you afterwards.

Back home now, Maeryn wearing a tiara and a pair of glasses. Nowhere else I’d rather be.