It slaps me particularly hard when I peruse the local foodie blogs, reading about the latest and greatest San Francisco bars and cafes, boutique coffee joints and tasty underground lairs, gourmet pig butchering classes and DIY absinthe workshops, any of a thousand funky foodie trucks stopping by innumerable hipster brewpubs to serve up dim sum, crab cakes and pho from a tiny shiny kitchen tucked inside a large shiny Ford.
But that's not the only time I suffer. The damnable itch arises all sorts of places; it happened recently up at the swoony Wanderlust yoga/music fest in Tahoe, with its ridiculous surfeit of amazing teachers, friends, events, parties and cute hippie twirling sexy hula-hoop chant-riffic love-in group-hug Lycra spectacles. There were so many choices it became, well, impossible to choose.
It happens texting friends about their weekend plans. It happens skimming various tech blogs, tattoo magazines, Facebook event invites, architecture websites and travel blogs. It happens at any given summer festival, picnic, concert in the park. It happens when people show me pictures of my book visiting exotic locales. Hell, it happens walking down the street on my way to teach yoga as I pass by clubs and bars and sundry shops, saying "Oh my God look at that and that and that and I haven't even seen that before and when did that place get here?"
It is, in short, a form of insanity, a niggling madness, a never-ending, glorious hellbitch of a race that you can never, ever win. The only real question is, what are you going to do about it? ...
(Full URL:
http://sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/g/a/2010/08/04/notes080410.DTL&nl=fix)