Is Central Lonsdale my San Francisco?

There's an argument that there is something about San Francisco, a certain vibe, that encourages the amount of creativity and originality of thought from that area. What is it? The beautiful city itself? The water? The wine (I'm always for the wine)? All I know is that I'm retiring in Carmel.
I cooked again tonight. Seriously. I have no idea what's going on. And the coup de grace? I've started writing again and I've even titled it. I NEVER title my stuff. It's called "Subaru Days". That's all I will tell you.
So I wonder, is Central Lonsdale my San Francisco? Why am I cooking and writing? I like it. I hope it's not a temporary thing. I love my frickin' apartment.
In other news, there were too many brownies left behind from last night's soiree. Didn't Bush have a "no brownie left behind policy"? Isn't this how the terrorists win?
There's a guy in the building across from me that was standing on his balcony in his bathrobe this morning. I fancy that he's my male counterpart. From this distance, with my horrible eyes, it appears that he has a bit of a swanky place as well, replete with green paint and what appears to be a very large t.v. Size matters. And as he was having a butt on his balcony in his robe I was splayed on my oversized couch in my pajamas. I fancy that, in our exhausted, late morning splendor we were both regarding each other warily. He was probably not even facing towards me. Need to get some contacts.
I wonder if he is writing a novel about compromises, infidelity, disappointment and one's failure to reconcile one's ideals from their twenties with the consumerism and quest for status of their thirties too.
I'm just curious.
The sand is silky smooth in Carmel.