it's just a city and I am just a girl

The broseph hands out tips for singletons feeling a little vengeful this Valentine's Day: "Call a bunch of high-end restaurants a month or two beforehand and reserve as many tables for two as you can. Cancel at the last possible minute." He should know, since he suffered many failed attempts at making reservations when he embarked on V-Day planning three weeks ago. Let me repeat: three weeks ago. This is a BFD for the hermano. He is second only to me in procrastination, and first only to me as far as lack of consideration for others goes. I think he might be in (gasp) lurve!

I am not feeling vengeful. I do not really feel anything. I wanted to swoon all day, but work threw up the necessary obstacles to thwart all tendencies towards fainting fits.

However, Saheli tagged me to do something that is simplicity itself on Valentine's Day- talking about my neighborhood. Anyone may know my regard for my place of residence. And it is, in fact, more specific than just San Francisco. A 10-minute walk home from BART last night made me heady, hallucinating more stars than there really were in the sky. The moon was so bright that the rooftops glowed. Dogwoods (or what I thought were dogwoods) bloomed like punctuated explosions, and their scent lined my path. Even in that light, the color of my neighborhood was not lost- terracotta adjacent to cornflower blue, mint green behind lavender. And yet, it is not a pretty neighborhood, and that is why I like it even more. It has the appearance of a well-worn book, familiar and welcoming, not intimidating.

But demystifying it down to its data, as Saheli decrees, reveals five interesting factoids as well:

• 69.7% of my fellow neighbors rent, as compared to the national average of 33.8%. Unfortunately, this is a sad commentary on the unreasonably expensive cost of housing in the Bay Area (the median value of a single-family occupied home was ~362K as compared to a national average of ~120K, although please show me the home that is 360K in my zip code, and I will buy it today). This is further evidenced by the 3.1% vacancy rate in housing versus the 9% rate on average in the US. And now you know why I will not be moving out of my crackhouse any time soon. At least it seems I am in good company.
  
• About 57% of my neighborhood speaks a language other than English at home, while about 18% of people nationwide have the same tendency. As Ben Stiller would say, "Como estan, b*tches!?!"
  
• 23.3% of people in my neighborhood are defined as some other race, compared to the national average of 5.5%. It is unclear to me as to whether the census simply lumped all the others into the category some other race, or whether that was the actual choice. If it was latter, that simply tickles me even more, because it is so individualistic: "I'm not Asian-American. No, I'm not African-American. You can't define me!"
  
• While nationally, foreign-born residents make up 11.1% of the population, here they comprise 41.6%. That is pretty dramatic. Interestingly, it doesn't seem dramatic in my day-to-day life. There does not seem to be a huge us vs. them vibe. Well, unless you are talking about our feelings about the Marina, that is.
  
• Finally, just especially for Valentine's Day, only 35.7% of men and 34.8% of women are married, compared to 56.7% and 52.1%, respectively, on national average. So, you may have left your heart in San Francisco, but it turns out that if you stuck around, it's unlikely you closed the deal.

I will not harangue any of you to do this, but if you lurve your neighborhood as much as I do mine, you'll want to do it. Gauntlet, thrown down.

Even though my neighborhood is my official Valentine, I am also sharing it tonight, with oodles, maisnon, ads, Roopali and anyone else who cares to be in my locale this evening.