So, as you’re probably already very well aware, I am a native New Yorker. I was born there, I was raised there, and I have a very biased opinion that it’s the best city in the world (though many non-natives also agree with this sentiment!) and I’m not afraid to tell you about it.
However, now I live in San Francisco—a great city in it’s own right, but certainly not the same and not very easily comparable to the place I still consider “home.” So much is different or “missing” here—buildings aren’t tall enough to blot out the sky, there aren’t enough people, the streets are too wide what a waste of space—and while that leaves me a tad homesick every day it’s not enough to make me say “Well, I hate it here, I hate San Francisco.” Truth be told, I quite like San Francisco. Though cliché, it does remind me of my trips to Europe—winding streets, steep hills, buildings that are not-so-tall. It doesn’t carry with it the quaint, beautiful oldness that European cities have, of course, but it’s still enough to be reminiscent of Paris or Florence. But is it better…?
No, it isn’t. I still think New York is better, sorry! No amount of convincing will make me think otherwise, I can promise you that. I have a superiority complex about it. 😉
I just find it funny that whenever I introduce myself to people, like the teacher of my letterpress class at the San Francisco Center for the Book, they always ask me how I compare SF to NY. Well, actually, my teacher asked me and then quickly said “oh, wait, please don’t go on about how NY is better!” It’s a good thing, too, because otherwise I would have.
So, if I encounter you on the streets of San Francisco you should probably avoid asking me that question unless you genuinely want to hear my sentiments. I think, though, that if Louie is present with me it’s best you don’t. He’s sick of hearing about it, I’m told.