Independence Weekend in SF

The longest, shortest weekend ever.

Tuesday was the 4th of July. We got Monday off work so I had a four-day weekend.


After work, we decided to have intern night, with plans of making it to Gillian’s housewarming party. The night started at a taco restaurant and eventually ended at Gillian’s apartment. We went to the roof and watched the moon peak through the fog as it rolled toward the bridge.

I made it to the BART station and got home at a relatively reasonable time. Saturday was spent recovering and contemplating whether or not I should ever consume alcohol again. I’m heavily leaning toward “no.”


Anand, Fayethe and I met up at Dolores Park in the Mission. Someone told Anand that there are “ragers” in Dolores Park and he was gravely misled. We expected a party scene and it was not. Instead, it was mostly people sitting or laying on picnic blankets. And smoking weed. A lot of smoking weed. There was a guy pulling a wagon behind him — and I remember my dad pulling me in a similar wagon, so, childhood ruined — advertising the edibles he was selling. There was a lot of weed smoking. I can’t overstate it. We drank a couple beers before heading to a pizzeria for a late lunch.

I have a short rant. I’m a guy who has to have meat on his pizza. I want pepperoni. Lots of it. And I want sausage. I am NOT impressed that your Margherita pizza has tomatoes on it. It’s a pizza. It’s SUPPOSED to have tomatoes on it, you liberals.


I crawled out of bed and made my way to a coffee shop about a block away from my apartment. I needed espresso (again, leaning toward a permanent “no” on alcohol) and I needed to work on building an anthropology deck that I could show Neil, a senior strategist who had asked me about it Friday.

I worked on the deck for a while and talked to my mom (shoutout to mom, I love you, you loyal and I appreciate you) before heading back to my apartment to take a nap. I never took the nap because Anand, Fayethe and I had agreed to meet at 8PM at Pier 39 in Embarcadero to watch the fireworks. I got off BART and didn’t realize I had a 30 minute walk ahead of me until I typed in the address. To make matters worse, it was getting colder and windier by the hour. I finally got there and Anand and Fayethe were nowhere to be found.

This one’s for you, mom.

I bought a hotdog from a street vendor and paid by swiping my credit card. He also accepted Venmo. What a time to be alive. Shoutout to that guy because that’s brilliant. The only time I ever have cash on me is when I go to the ATM before a haircut. (Also, shoutout to my SF barber, Aaron, for having his appointments set up to pay online when you book).

Anand never came and Fayethe’s Lyft arrived at her apartment just as I had made up my mind to go home. I stayed and we watched a very underwhelming fireworks show.

I really don’t understand why so many people — and there were a lot of people there — came to watch it. I really don’t. All you see is the fireworks go up and disappear into a dense wall of fog. Then you see a hazy, colored cloud. I really wish I could get that time back. 100% NOT worth the trip.

As usual, the trip back was a nightmare. There was a line to get into the station and only one turnstile was working at the entrance I was at. There was a mass of people at the bottom platform, so I witnessed (and was part of) an escalator wreck. The people on the escalator had nowhere to go and we smashed into the people blocking the only place we had to step off of it.

Then everyone packed onto the train as usual.

Thanks for reading.

Until next,


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