A Miller-Boyett Production
Opening credits from Full House (1987-1995), a Miller-Boyett produced sitcom set in San Francisco.
In the last decades of the twentieth century, American television viewers were treated to the lyrical artistry of Jesse Frederick and Bennett Salvay on Friday evenings. Most of the time, it was Frederick himself belting out the memorable lines that would become permanently embedded within the brains of millions. He was the go-to composer for numerous Thomas L. Miller and Robert L. Boyett sitcoms. Even if one didn’t catch those shows during their original “TGIF” heydays, the programs would eventually be found all over the rerun circuits and streaming networks. These songs are so damn wonderful and iconic that no one with a conscience could ever dare tap “skip intro” on episodes of Family Matters, Step by Step, and Full House. Recently, while battling car sickness after no sleep and a cross-country flight, it was the last one’s theme that began lifting my spirits in the manner of a gospel hymn.
Closing credits of Full House.
If you’re anywhere near my age (34), you didn’t just live through the absolute golden era of Miller-Boyett Productions, you also bore witness to the rise and fall of several social media outlets. It may make you tremble with embarrassment to recall, but who among us never quoted a song in their AIM “away message,” or, on the profile pages of late MySpace and early Facebook? Hell, I once captioned my photographs with Red Hot Chili Peppers lyrics on an early version of this website, because I felt that I couldn’t find the right words at the time (and because I was 18). Looking back, it can feel cringey, and somewhat nostalgic, but the point is this: I like to think that I’m now above attempting to force fit a musician’s words into my work as a shortcut. At this point in life, I can clarify my own thoughts and arrange my own words. And when I feel I can’t quite do that? I can drink enough to find those words without having to use the lyrics of “Soul to Squeeze” or “Under the Bridge.” But then, in San Francisco, I acquiesced to my early internet notions as I scribbled in my notebook the name of (and key chorus lyric) to the Tanner Family’s quintessential theme: “Everywhere You Look.”
By the graces of uncles Jesse and Joey, it was true. Every...where...I...looked...the Bay Area was captivating. Yeah, yeah, yeah—I had Full House on the mind since that show was set in San Francisco, but also: that one line just worked. Not because I had grown up in an unconventional, yet comedic family situation wherein I was raised by Bob Saget and his buddies, but because I couldn’t stop making photographs and getting swept up in “The City by The Bay.”
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True, I was riding the high of being a visitor on vacation, but my friends and I also did our best to get around and embed ourselves within. Whether that was while eating In-N-Out burgers amongst the barking seals—and barking tourists—of Fisherman’s Wharf, or, while doing our best to blend into neighborhood bars. I’ve been fortunate in life to have traveled to numerous places, but The Bay Area was a megalopolis unlike any other I’ve experienced in the Lower 48. One that was a far cry from the supposed den of sin and damnation that Fox News-watching acquaintances felt the need to constantly warn me about (as if I’d listen). The place was dense, both physically and ethereally. It had its fair share of hokey bullshit, but also endless character throughout these entrancing layers that just reeled you in.
That’s not to say it’s a region without fault, or that I’m in any position to truly judge it based off a short time there, but the area can be one of haves and have-nots. A place where autonomous cars and tech bro hustle culture can make it feel like a post apocalyptic future hellscape wrapped in Disney-style decoration. Still, for a few days, San Francisco felt not like a stereotypical vacation escape, but an existence. One of contentment where I could drunkenly stumble away from conversations with locals at a welcoming bar and past houses I’ll never be able to afford, yet still find relief in the form of cheap snacks and soda from a vending machine in an always-open laundromat on the corner. Every...where...you...look.
Some written examples:
While taking in the views of the Twin Peaks overlook with the compositions of Angelo Badalamenti in my head—amongst a crowd of both differing languages and varying dialects of English—a kind stranger grabbed my arm and saved me from falling down the hillside.
While waiting for coffee one morning, I got caught up in staring at a drab, concrete floor and how it reminded me of so many other generic coffee shops in so many other places. But somehow, this specific one was both comforting and reassuring.
After walking away from a plaza where the crowd was tense, I sat with friends in the back of a restaurant as we waited for burritos beneath harsh, fluorescent lights. Spanish music rang out from tinny cell phone speakers as a nearby group toasted to their friend’s engagement atop the generic plastic seats of a crowded booth. The taste of that restaurant’s delicious hot sauce lingered for hours.
In the cavernous lobby of the architecturally significant Hyatt Regency, Beirut’s “No No No” echoed throughout as if the place was a Midwestern waterpark masquerading as a tropical destination in the throes of a humid summer.
On a weekday morning, leaning against newspaper boxes, I indulged in a bummed cigarette and just watched as an incredible city went about its day.
At a high-end restaurant, the food was impeccable and washed down with the area’s signature, original style of beer. Salad forks arrived at the table pre-chilled. The service was top notch, even towards someone like me who was masquerading as refined beneath a discount, button-down shirt on its last legs (or arms?).
In the backyard of an Air BNB, the lights of Sutro Tower blinked high above a table of half-empty High Life bottles as my half-drunk Midwestern friends and I listened to Tupac’s “California Love.” A musical activity that unmeasurable scores of other tourists have also no doubt undertaken, but an activity that was sublime nonetheless.
Every...where...you...look...
...or go...
...and experience...
...I guess?
Last thing: while eating dinner one night and celebrating our good friend Justin’s upcoming wedding, he looked over at me from above his cocktail glass and gave me one of the most meaningful compliments I’ve ever received: “Ron, that story you wrote about the ‘Ghost Town’ is the best thing I’ve ever read from you. It deeply affected me. I felt every emotion. It was like when I read R.L Stine’s ‘The Beast’ as a kid!”
Thank you, Justin, sincerely (I think you’re going to like an upcoming this story about the Golden Gate Bridge). And thanks also to Travis, Phil, and Rob for a wonderful journey throughout California before returning to the drudgery of everyday life.
Oh, and, thanks to Jesse Frederick and Bennett Salvay for writing the theme song to Full House.
“How rude!”
Some visual examples:
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Nate.
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Since 2007, the content of this website (and its former life as Queen City Discovery) has been a huge labor of love.
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