Looking out over the city, I see that Sylvia’s Bakery didn’t make it. It was just open for business the other day. No surprise, I suppose. There’s only so long you can cover the rent in San Francisco with $5 scones. I hope Sylvia had a plan B.
My buddy’s dad also passed. He was just playing golf a few months ago. I never had a chance to meet him, but from what I hear he was old and wise so I suspect we would’ve gotten along. I hope the friends and family have a chance to celebrate his legacy.
This world twists and turns—so many things come and go each day—but ultimately one has to remember to appreciate the fact that we’re even here at all.
I know. A bit cheesy. But I’ll give it a try if you do. While you’re at it, maybe send a Christmas card or two? You’ll like the way it feels to sign, seal and deliver a thank you message to the people who put up with you all year. Take my word for it.
Speaking of doing the right thing, it’s Friday again. You’d better make it a good one.
The prime real estate formerly known as Sylvia’s.
Friends, I’m at the crossroads of adulthood and San Francisco. The apartment is far too small, but the neighborhood is conveniently located near all my bad habits and the office. I blend in nicely with all the other half-bearded twerps that came to this city for tech—telling myself all the while that somehow I’m different. I constantly reassure myself that I’m a nice guy while having reoccurring, mildly mean thoughts. I don’t deserve half of what I have, but you can be damn sure I’ll keep shopping for more.
This personal lament isn’t meant to come across as some jerk feeling sorry for himself. Instead, it’s just a short dissertation on feeling a million different things at once as I watch frenzied “Black Friday” shoppers momentarily glance at a homeless guy sleeping in the doorway across the street.
It’s not meant to be sad. It’s simply a reality check.
I’ve always liked having a plan B—but some days life feels like nothing more than a series of accidents and spur-of-the-moment antics. Think it over this weekend and let me know what you come up with. In the meantime, happy Friday.
Sometimes waking up and walking the filthy city streets of our North Beach neighborhood early in the morning gives me a thrill similar to the one I used to get after staying up all night and wandering home.
But at 1:45 AM I was comfortably situated on a mattress rather than a bar stool.
I’ve got a dog leash in my hand instead of a cigarette.
Best of all, I know exactly where all my stuff is.
Specifically (in no particular order):
Another day spent wondering what’s next and reading bad news about the government.
The billboard tells me there’s a Lexus sales event I can’t miss, but I have a feeling I’m not gonna make it. Damn, maybe next time, Lexus.
Moving on and off. Hoping my haircut doesn’t make me look like a douche. Hoping my personality doesn’t allow me to act like one.
Everyone preaches love and peace, but few show much interest in either when a parking spot is at stake.
That’s life and so is this.
So on and so forth. I’ll quietly plead the fifth if anyone asks me for answers.