Todd’s Blog

Ok, the shit people latch onto in this city is hilarious sometimes.

Yesterday, not unlike many other nights, we all band together here at the office and go do some fun activity. This might be having beers, seeing a movie, or even visiting a local strip joint. Hey I’m young and frankly doesn’t matter what your age is, we all like to see some breasts and get freaky from time to time. Don’t judge me for it, I’m just saying nothing wrong with it until you find your friends broke into your house and they’re all in a circle with frowns on their faces and saying “Todd, we need to talk about addictions”. That hasn’t happened yet, so back off and let me get some skins in my face for a few bucks. Geez.

Anyway, last night like a bunch of geeks on pilgrimage we hoofed it to the IMAX to see the new Star Trek movie. Again, don’t go judging me. It was a good movie and you don’t have to be some acne riddled pocket protecting jockey to qualify for tickets. If you like a lot of action and a plot line you could explain in three sentences to hot girl in a bar who can’t deduce the reason gravity exists then its an immediate cult classic. But if you’re trying to explain how teleporting physics works at warp speeds to a bunch of geeks that believe not only is it possible, but their friend who they can’t seem to get a hold of right at that moment has done it with their mice while feeding the alien reptile they have in their back yard then you might reconsider and head to a local Blockbuster for a comfy night on the couch.</endrant>

When we got to the bottom floor and made it a block away from the office, I couldn’t help but notice (and this isn’t the first time) that several police cars were parked and the cops that drove them were all shooting the shit with each other. A faint low and repetitive drum wasn’t too far off. Upon rounding the corner we were greeted by an exponentially louder and competing crowd who’s only separation was the 45 mph cars breezing between them hoping they weren’t going to get a flag pole shoved through the front windshield. On one side were people of any color you could think of holding up the flags of Palestine, while on the other the flags of Israel. I forget which side was chanting “How many babies did you kill today” but in either case I had to pass by one of them with little skirmishing. Of course we got by safely but I’d really like to know what these groups think they’re accomplishing by complaining about things happening in the middle east the way they did. I’m sure their corresponding pen pals over there were pleased to hear they spent the whole night making a lot of noise around a bunch of cops in riot gear and creating a scene for multiple car accidents to occur. Good work guys.

No babies were harmed in the writing of this post. However, I might of hurt A. J. Abram’s feelings.

My mom flew out for the week and I’ve not kept my 3 posts a week promise. Sorry. I think you’ll be ok with it.

We spent this weekend going out to Alcatraz and Sausalito, two tourist traps well worth coming for if you find you can’t do anything else. The 10 minute ferry ride to the rock as well as the 20 minutes to Sausalito provide an excellent chance to get some views from the bay while taking in some of the city’s amazing history. See the photo section for some examples of what I’m talking about.

The 50 year span of events at Alcatraz, from starting out as a failed military prision all the way through occupation by native americans was amazing to learn about.

Sausalito is filled with great restaruants and art galleries galore. I’m still thinking about picking up a piece I saw there that meant something very personal to me. Anyway, take a look at the photos.

If you plan on ever taking the prision tour, I’d suggest getting your tickets online. You’ll be able to blow past fifty or more people and get right onto the line for the boat. If you get there early or just feel like killing time, take a short walk to Pier 39 and get some of the world’s freshest seafood at the warf.

Also the ferry tickets are good for transferring onto Muni, which means once you get back you literally can be anywhere in the city via bus in a short amount of walking.

Folks from our east coast office were in town for a week. We took our guests on a tour of some watering holes in the Marina. As we rounded the corner a bum comes up and says “Man I just need a quarter and I can get a beer”. They always need just one more quarter. That’s just how it’s worked, this dance between the working stiffs and just the stiffs. Beer is a passion of mine, and seeing the count of change he presented in his hand I had to question his experiences with drinking beer that actually had some flavor. So I popped the question,

“If I give you a quarter, what kind of beer are you gonna get?”

He responds proudly, “The king of beers, a Budweiser”. “Bro that shit’s for people who like to piss but don’t want to get drunk.”

This exchange went on for a few minutes, and he proceeded to tell me how he is a rap star in the city on his way to a gig. Generally the more you talk to homeless people the more you learn they have more holes in their story than O’Farrell Theater has private rooms. So I thought, what have I latched onto here? He’s pretty harmless, lets see if he’s man or mouse. Clearly a lady’s man, a black man no less, and quick on his tongue but not fast enough for my wit.

He proved his sexual predat–er prowess when he was distracted by a group of art student hippy chicks across the street from the bar where I hustled everyone into for safety from him. The openness of the bar’s front area provided no cover, and he quickly realized just as I had already decided he had less than 10 seconds to get to the bar before losing his chance at a cold one. So he keeps saying he’s on his way to the gig, but I was too impatient. We found ourselves in this cuban-something bar with a little stage where the house band’s drummer was prepping his kit. So I told our new friend if he’s a great rapper get that drummer to kick him down a beat. He’s must earn his beer, only friends get them for free. Dee-lite rap star and said drummer negotiate for a few and I can immediately tell this isn’t going to end up in my favor. By that point my eyes floated over to the three cuties sitting fifteen feet from the stage. When my new friend came back to let me know the bad news, we all urged an A Capella session. He resisted at first blaming his upcoming gig and all his energy is saved for that, but when the sweet throw back of A Flock of Seagulls’ “I Ran” flowed from his vocal cords it was all I could do to keep my bearings.

Look, I’m no racist or prejudice person but I have to admit that’s the first black guy I’ve ever met who performed 80’s pop songs. Poorly is no surprise of course, but it was certainly better than my white ass trying to be a beat box for the second verse. Maybe it was the damn good beer I got us.

Tonight I walked over to the corner store to pick up a six pack. As I head south the hill slopes downward and I see two blocks down from my place. A couple of cop cars descended on a location I commonly assume drug activity is going down all day long. Good to see the cops are all over it. The bums are all nestled in bed, some with empty beer bottles barely held in hand. As I enter the convenience store a lady complains about the price of something, claiming in another neighborhood six blocks away the $10 item is sold for $1. The store owner laughs and says “cool, I’ll call them and ask how they stay in business!”. This is why I choose this place, the owner is no bull shit. Also he’s not charging much for beer. A six pack of Firestone DBA is $7, which for a craft beer is pretty average. What this lady was bitching about is pure silliness. Regardless of her or the prices, the owner has a bigger issue. The bums come in and mix the beers around in the six packs, and often times I see four beers in a pack. Poor guy. But guess this is just one sign that you know you’re in the ghetto.

Today I watched the most amazing thing. So did millions of others. So please, enjoy this concoction of connectivity.

What is fascinating above all is witnessing this and thinking how YouTube not only is a platform for anyone to publish video, they’re also using it to publish their own content. Anyone could have pulled this off using YouTube.com, but it came from them directly. I see this and can’t stop thinking that it is no surprise ABC, NBC, and their brethren are worried about this. Such is technology, we build these great companies but time forces changes and they all have their life spans. Someday YouTube will be replaced by something better, but right now no one is really pouncing all over social media like them.

The Internet has provided mankind with a cave made out of whiteboard material. We can draw on it, sing inside it, argue with each other on it, do all the same things our ancestors did drawing in their caves. Only difference is this new cave is malleable, it craves diversity like a hole that can’t be filled. It mixes all this soup together to become a completely new culture, and in some crazy way we see music resonate from all points of the globe delivering the first orchestra where few of its members shared the same room. Our greatest composers even fifty years before now couldn’t even conceptualize such a notion.

This is the lunch spot downtown. For $10 you can get the best mac & cheese this side of Sansome Street, garlic mashed potatoes, and a pick of Tri-tip, herb rotisserie chicken, lemon-butter sea bass, or something special they dreamed up. They featured a fully stocked salad and sandwich bar, and next door a grill cooks up burgers. Plus there is a plethora of babes walking in there. I try not to stare but its just impossible to not notice.  I wonder if it is a California girl thing or just a girl thing, but they just love salad bars. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out the connection to salad and good looking women. Sure the same could be true for guys, but I’ll stick to mac-n-cheese for now.

Saturday, 10 a.m. I am wakened to the sound and feeling of a growling stomach. Good morning, San Francisco!
I laid there staring at my iPhone for a minute trying to identify the device like a cave man scratching himself. As the blood continued to power up the brain, I opened up Yelp to search for the spot. There are several good breakfast places close to me and none had poor reviews. A few people complained about long lines. That’s a good sign I think.
I walk over to Dottie’s and the line is about 15 people deep. It’s clear the dining area doesn’t take priority in size. This is the style of many places in San Fran, very small rooms used for everything you could think of in the past 100 years. The people in the line are talking about parties from last night and parties being lined up. One guy is saying the same person’s name over and over, louder each time. Occasionally a homeless person walks by, none have asked me anything…yet. However, one lady across the street warned us of Jesus coming on Sunday and we were sinners for gouging ourselves at breakfast. It will be hard to eat a full meal with Jesus watching me. I might need to get him a cup of coffee and ask him what his preference is. I’m guessing he’s a big fish fan. Regardless, if the world does come to an end on Sunday, at least I’ll have a good breakfast.
10:50 a.m. I am third in line when a bus boy blesses me with a single spot open at the bar. Coffee came right out and the cream they have is velvety. I order the True Blue, which has a basic grand slam-esque list of items. The grill is right behind the bar, and a mountain of home fries landscapes the French toast valley and the pancake rising hills. I’m clearly ready to dive right over, but humbly I watch them cook my order meticulously. The staff is careful to put orders in the same order customers sit down. Ten minutes later breakfast is served and with the first bite I was hooked. Well worth the wait. Best part, total bill for this once-daily meal: $15.

Until last night I didn’t have the metal railings for my bedframe. I had a couple roommates over the tenure at my last place, and one had left a nice queen sized bedframe. When my last roommate left, he didn’t take this furniture with him. John asked if he could take it for his son, and it was no loss to me so I gave it to him. When we were at John’s house we unloaded the bed frame, and in the suffle the metal pieces I needed mistakenly went with it. So this weekend I went out and got them, and also got to do a little city driving. Driving over the Bay and Golden Gate Bridges are amazing events when one experiences them for the first time. Although I’ve driven over them several times now, it still is an amazing feat of the human race to have such a structure. In this city, this q-tip shaped peninsula called San Francisco, we find endless glass, concrete and stone. As the 80 freeway takes you away, past Oakland’s metropolis, and into the rolling green hills that find themselves coming into spring bloom, there is a place all should remember. The reflection of the sun on a long winding road, up to the night’s bloom, I’d like to take you to Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein.

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we’ll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we’ll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes I know, cheese ball Star Wars reference, but very valid in context. Turns out the drop off laundry place couldn’t get a hold of me, and at 7p I started thinking about what I would use to dry off after a shower. So I walked being the foot soldier I am. As promised, the laundry was done. There it was, 60 pounds of folded, ironed, matched socks, everything completed and neatly placed into my suitcase and a trash bag. Awesome.

I tossed the trash bag on that spot were the handle for the suitcase comes up from the top and started my trek uphill two blocks. The excitement of clean clothes and strategizing my next round of box unpacking lead me to turn before I needed too. About three hundred feet into it I realized this error and stopped. When I turned around I was greeted, rudely, by a woman with two black eyes and skin that an aligator would blush at. She screams “You can’t just stop in the sidewalk and turn around like that. You better be careful or you’ll end up in a fight”. Without thinking I reply “Is that why you have two black eyes?”

…

She was coming from the cleaners too. Tough crowd. As I made my way up the street I thought about what kind of drugs could cause her problems. I’m thankful that I had avoided a further scuffle by being a smart ass with a crack addict.

I’m just gonna admit it right now. I’m a lazy bastard. There I said it. Now lets talk laundry in San Francisco.

In my old home laundry was a matter of sorting it in my bedroom and walking ten feet to shove it into the machine. In San Fran, I don’t have this luxury and I dearly miss it. My options are:

• In building coin-op machines
• Drop it off at one of several locations
• Hire a maid who will drop it off and pick it up when he/she comes to clean
• Buy new clothes and burn the old ones

Coin-op machines I’ve calculated are more about stealing your change than performing any efficient usage of time or cleaning. Generally people are using these when they’ve had group cuddle parties on Dubai’s beaches and they need to get rid of the sand. I equate coin-op machines are the equivalent to giving my change to a peddler as the results are just the same. Think about it, the machine forces payment before the job is complete and there is no refund if it fails. Additionally the threat of theft is high, forcing one to spend a grudgingly long time in a place known for excitement on par with watching water dry.

Drop-off spots seem to be the way its done, and the amount of businesses operating under this method reflect its popularity. Most of them will deliver the stuff, but ultimately getting it there is the customer’s job. I’m finding that Yelp is the best resource a transplant could ask for. I use it to weed out the majority of the rif-raf places right away. Thankfully I found a place not even a block and a half away from me, and it was all downhill to get there too.

The downhill part was the deciding factor in getting this done. Sad I know,  but like I said above Yelp users gave the place a 4 out of 5 rating so it can’t be that bad. I spent two months couch surfing with a friend, living out of a limited set of clothes from a suitcase, and picked up one or two new outfits in between. The rest of the dirty laundry came in the U-Haul, pretty much leaving me to a stranglehold of dirty smelly man laundry. I filled my suitcase as much as possible with dirty clothes. The rest I put in a linen sack that had three partitions and tied it to the handle of the suitcase. I have to thank the inventor of the wheel here, because without it I’d have lumbered down the hill like a soldier trying to carry two injured men from the front lines. Come to think about it, thats exactly what it looked like, only wheeled on a stretcher. The smell was about the same as well.

The lady at the counter was all over it. She laughed and said “How long you been in the city?”. Is it that obvious?