NOPA? are you kidding me?

I actually ran to catch a bus last night. Ran. Into traffic and everything. Well, not really into traffic (wasn't that drunk) but I certainly jay-ran, and I swore I'd never run to catch a bus. But these are the things one does in NOPA.

I met a friend for coffee and we ended up meeting another one of his friends for dinner. We started in the embarcadero, wandered up through the financial district to catch the 1, then transferred at Divisadero to the 24, and ended up somewhere. I was totally lost, but I was enjoying the ride. We had dinner at the blue jay cafe, which is a San Franciscan stab at southern cooking. It was certainly a good effort, and they even had very tasty okra, but it wasn't exactly what I'd call great southern food. At dinner the friend of a friend informed me we were in NOPA. Which is the Western Addition, but not the Western Addition because the Western Addition is where you get shot, so it is NOPA. Not really quite the Panhandle, not really USF, not really anything, so they call it NOPA. Some think the name is lame, others hilarious, and still others deny its existence and call it the Western Addition, but it is or is not NOPA. A sort of void in geographical assignment.

From the restaurant we walked down Divisadero to some bar, whose name I don't remember and whose cross street I don't remember. I wasn't paying attention, and I should pay attention probably when going places, but I often don't. I knew I was still on Divisadero and I knew I could catch the 24 home, any more detail than that and I'd be worrying about things, and I refuse to worry about things when I am out with the guys. The bar was pretty cool. There was a cover, not cool, but the inside was not unaccommodating. Not really enough seats (I'm sure bars do this for a reason, but I'm not a bar person, I'm more of a pub person, so I do not understand the stand there with your drink thing, maybe it was so you looked at the art, maybe it was so you had to rub up against everyone on your way to the WC) but we were early enough to snag a couple of chairs and I settled in for some vodka and boy talk (you know, video games) and watched the evening unfold around me.

The people in the bar were an interesting mix. Not marina yuppie types and not mission hipster types, but a sort of middle ground. Like the fully formed adult children of an illicit marina/mission love affair. Yeah, there were lots of the well groomed (and by well groomed I do not mean unscruffy, I just mean put-together) and then there were a few skanks (though not many, only 2 by my count, and I think I might have been one of their birthday's or maybe just cinco de mayo, but really they needed to wear a tank under that shrug) there but enough of them weren't so well groomed that it made me feel like I needed to change my clothes or leave through the bathroom window. It was an ok scene. A bit too bar for me, but I was with good people so it wasn't overwhelming.

The drinks were fine, but I was way more interested in the neighborhood. Walking down Divisadero, we passed a lot of seemingly cool restaurants and cafes and whatnot, and the mix of types was fantastic-- from a mom and pop bbq place to a chi-chi hookah bar to schmancy sushi. It was eclectic without being pretentious. The neighborhood had a very interesting vibe- old and settled combined with young and in transit. Not the same kinda young you find in the mission (which is young and in anguish for their art), but a sort of post-college (but not too close to right at post college) kinda vibe. That mix of people who are all young and struggling and haven't segregated themselves into their little enclaves yet, where everything and everyone still mixes while they try to figure out what they are doing and where they are going. Before they have that fight and never talk again, or that kid and are never seen from again. Of course, that might be the vodka talking, but I liked NOPA. It was sort of a comfortable place.