meganhannay.com

There is San Francisco.

And there is Los Angeles.

I live in SF, but I’ve taken a few trips to LA in the past months. I’ve met the locals. Flirted with the natives. I’ve consumed their wine. I feel almost qualified to talk about it. So here goes.

San Francisco is energy. It’s liberating. It’s fresh air, and crisp air and foggy air and air that’s never warm enough, which is perfect if you run. I wore my winter coat all through August and pulled it back out in November. San Francisco demanded it. San Francisco is hills surrounded by water, covered with seven mile stretches of overpriced homes. She’s a proud city. She will strain your legs and your heart walking up a hill, in the cold and dark and mist just to go to the Whole Foods, but then you’ll turn around at the crest, and her beauty will make you forget all else.

Los Angeles is energy too. He’s internal energy. He’s go. He’s motivation. He’s telling you that you will be crushed if you don’t devote your life to him, and even if you do, you’ll probably be crushed anyway. Los Angeles wants all of you. He’ll encompass you and suck you in and you’ll no longer understand “normal.” Los Angeles is smog and cars, and he’s wedged between hills that he’ll never let you climb. He’s an aspiring city. He’s this today, but he’ll be that tomorrow. Bending and shifting and essaying to mirror an existence that isn’t real.

San Francisco doesn’t care who’s behind her in line and whether or not she’s wearing pajama pants out and about on a Tuesday.

Los Angeles cares. And he will look at you. And he will spend a few seconds wondering if you’re important. And then he will see your pajama pants.

San Francisco says hi I work for this startup you’ve never heard of doing something you thought another startup already did, but it’s okay because I got investors because I’m kinda different because of this tiny insignificant detail and the fact that the UI is much more user friendly. You can read all about it on TechCrunch.

Los Angeles says hi I work for Starbucks making shit money, and I am using all of my creative energy to write this script that you’ve never heard of and you never will hear of because no one will make it, and no one will make my next creation either, or the next one, or the next one, but that’s the biz for you and have you seen the trailer for …?

San Francisco smokes.

Los Angeles snorts.

San Francisco says relax – the world is a beautiful place.

Los Angeles says the world is fucked and you’d better change it.

Where do you want to live?

And I’m so glad I have a blog on which to address it.

Our tale begins last Saturday. For most of the rest of the world it was December 10. For those of us lucky enough to live in San Francisco, it was SantaCon.

Oh yeah.

It is what it sounds like.

SantaCon is the one day a year, when grown ups (ie – 20-something hipsters) get to dress up in funky outfits, get drunk during the day, get to run around the city feeling like they’re really part of something and participate in countless other shenanigans. Besides Halloween, of course. And Bay to Breakers. And the Pride Parade. And the Day of the Dead. And unusually warm days at Dolores Park. And Tuesdays.

SantaCon is special.

I started off at a my friend Jenni’s house (she blogs here!). She made this Uh-MAZing hot cocoa which also included a tad of marshmallow-flavored vodka. Oh, it was scrumptious.

Her roommates piled in; her other friends came over; it was even someone’s birthday! We were hittin’ it for SantaCon! We took the J (it’s a public transit thing) down to the Castro, and were delighted to find that we were among the very first Santa’s at the bar. (Okay, it turns out that all the other Santa’s were still at the official SantaCon event down at Civic Center, which my group apparently missed, but I’d like to think of us as the holiday heralds of the SantaCon afterparty.)

A Blue Moon and a half later, the bar was filled (FILLED!) with Santa’s and Mrs. Claus’s and elves and more Santa’s and the occasional lame person who thought they could get away with just wearing a red t-shirt. We were so glad we’d gotten there early enough to grab our own table. Because some people just had to stand and drink, and that would especially suck.

And I was definitely into the whole “community Santa spirit” too, until I was trying to get up and take a pee (1.5 Blue Moons will do that to a girl), but I had to pause and wait because the gaggle of Christmas elves in front of our table had to pose for a pic.

I go to the bathroom and come back – have to wait again because pictures are still being taken.

My interest is piqued. What are these girls doing besides taking pictures of themselves in their adorable SantaCon outfits? And then it hits me like a falling chimney – nothing. They are doing nothing besides taking pictures of themselves. I can vouch for this. I was there. I watched.

Facing the bar – take a group pic.

Facing the door – take a group pic.

Hey another Santa just walked in! He’s cute! – take a group pic.

The elf with the mismatched stockings is going to lift her leg in the air!! – take a group pic.

It may have been the beers, or it may have been the fact that I couldn’t get around them to pee, or it may have been the fact that I wish I had thought of mismatched red-and-green stockings, but suddenly Megan was in rant mode.

What the eff is wrong with these people? It’s a holiday in San Francisco – I get it. These only happen about once every two weeks. But don’t you realize that you’re not actually enjoying yourself if all you’re doing is taking pictures? In fact, you’re the opposite of enjoying yourself. You’re creating a picture of yourself enjoying yourself that you will later load onto the internet for the rest of your friends to see!

And you know they’ll feel jealous, because their city doesn’t have a SantaCon. Or even if they were in this city, they probably weren’t with people as fun as the people you were with.

It just irks me sometimes. In some ways we’ve gone from a culture of consumerism to a culture of exhibitionism. Capturing every moment, not just for some book we’ll look at when we’re wrinkly and gray, but more for the kids we were jealous of in high school.

Look where I am now! All having fun and you’re not. I’m in a cute outfit and everything. Doing crazy things with my crazy friends.

Ugh. We’re so generic it makes me nauseous. Or maybe that’s the wine.