Roman Vishniac, “Récalcitrante” (Berlin, 1929)

Back to reality. For me, it’s San Francisco.

First off, everything you read about the foggy mornings, the cold summers, the invasion of the hippies (we call them ‘hipsters’ now) … all still true. This city will never give up on its incessant waves of cool things.

The last time I went out to meet men in Real Life was in Las Vegas. It is warm in that town. Bartenders smile, guys at the end of the bar smile. The worst 80s pop music thumps all around you reminding you to ‘celebrate’ and ‘relax’.

But I live here. And that means if I’m going to meet someone, I’m going to have to try a hell of a lot harder. Because it’s San Francisco. And I am not the partying type. Or young. Or rich.

So here we go.

First up, and I admit this is a stretch: I choose to attend a museum. One of my kids is a budding film photographer and some of his work reminds me of this exhibit at the Contemporary Jewish Museum. So I go.

Attending art museums is a homework item of dating coach Annie Gleason: Sidle up to a man who is lingering at a particular piece. Ask him what he likes about the piece. Add what you like. Move along.

Chatting about the Holocaust

Photographer Roman Vishniac documented the decline of Jewish life in Berlin, and a few other places, between the two World Wars and then the Holocaust. He also spent a short time in the U.S. taking portraits of New York City entertainers and then worked in microphotography.

Why did I choose something so hard?

Gotta admit, though, his work was worth the trip. I absorbed the entire exhibit before I realized that I had not, in fact, noticed any men also there. Time to look at the people here with me.

Okay, it’s an older crowd. That’s to be expected. Lots of couples. After viewing the photos, I have come up with my opening lines .. so far I have ‘Stunning work!’ (meh), ‘I love how how photo-journalistic some of these pieces are (a little too much to share with a complete stranger)?

A couple is walking behind me. They are discussing where to have dinner later. From the sound of it, these two have known each other quite some time, and none of the restaurant options being suggested by each is getting a thumbs up from the other.

I am suddenly very, very sad that I am not in a relationship. I actually miss light bickering.

Anyway, back to my hunt.

But my confidence is gone. I can feel that old panic set in, like anything I say or do right now will be met with weird looks and one-word answers.

There is this one guy though. For a while now I’ve been alerted to his presence at the exhibit by his lunch bag. He has on a nice brown fedora, a large overcoat, comfortable shoes. He is holding a small brown paper lunch bag behind him with both hands. As he moves from one piece to another, the bag crinkles just a bit.

He looks amused as we stare up at the microphotography — a real departure from the other stuff because the photos are in bright colors, and are extremely up-close of things like mold spores and central core root tissue (yeah, I don’t know what that is either, but it looks cool.)

He stands there, staring up at the huge wall of photos in pinks and blues and oranges. Bag crinkles.

C’mon Addie! Say something! Instead I decide to investigate mold spores with an interest I’ve never experienced before now.

Lunch bag guy, in his adorable fedora and oversized overcoat, turns and leaves.

From the other room, an official sounding voice. “Museum is closing in ten minutes!”

Hail Mary pass

Ah, perfect! Just like writing your term paper the night before it’s due. Addie, go for it. Run across the hall to the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass exhibit. You LOVE bluegrass! You’ve been to every HSBG!

Nobody there. I find myself harmonizing along with the folks on a video screen playing Foggy Mountain Breakdown. I’m now lost in a memory of a guy whom I dragged to this free concert many times.

Disappointed in myself, I exit the museum through the gift store to discover the fog had come in with a vengeance. I am sadly underdressed, and a long way from home.