Breaking Up with Berkeley

Dear Berkeley,

I'm sorry to have to do this to you, but after nearly three years, I think I owe it to you to be honest.  And in all honesty, it's about time I tell you that it's just not working out for me.

Your morning stench, the unsettlingly warm steam that rises from your street grates, the incessant shrieks of your bums calling me a nerd as I walk home from class -- these are all parts of you that have made it increasingly difficult for me to stay.  And there's one other thing.  I don't mean to to be too harsh, but I think it's fair to point out that you demand undeservedly high rent rates, but then are too broke to offer me any decent public services in return.  I mean, you never even bother to take out the trash that overflows from your decrepit frat houses onto your pot-holey streets every morning.  Holding my breath every three steps is only a viable option for so long.  Plus, morning trash fumes are just such a turn-off.

Please don't try to play the "But I'm only a 20 minute BART ride from the city!" card.  Frankly, your BART access does little to make up for your short-comings when the trains stop running before midnight.  And don't even get me started on your bus system.

Sure, we've had times together over the last three years that I will look back on and smile about.  Like the time when Lisa and Shahrzad danced with a strange man who had a toothbrush and toothpaste in his shirt pocket at one of your bars.  Or the time that my friends made me walk down your dirty wet streets in the dark while I clutched my pepper spray only to surprise me with a birthday party.  Or all the time I've spent sprawled on Leslie's carpet, eating her delicious dips.  Or the times I spent drinking wine with Brian on your hillside staircase, the sun setting behind the campanile and the dusk lighting hiding your gritty flaws.  But those memories don't have to do with you.  They have to do with the people who have been part of my life here over the last three years, and those people will be with me always, regardless of whether I stay here with you, or leave.

So what I'm trying to say is: it's not me, it's you.

It's over Berkeley; I'm leaving you for L.A.


Your ex,

Ashley