2010 Review Part II

Part One of the review looked at the moments of 2010 that brought me to where I am, now to examine the position I find myself in looking ahead to 2011.

I’m healthy - despite some dings over the past year, I feel quite good now - I’m well fed, rested, and in overall good condition.  I have a group of friends and family that support me with love and companionship.  I have a job that affords a rich lifestyle in San Francisco, that encourages my creativity and appreciates my thoughts, and continues to teach me.

I have an outlook of optimism that allows me to enjoy (most) every moment of my day.  

I live in San Francisco, the greatest city in the greatest state in the greatest country in the world, where I am surrounded by forward-thinking, educated, and heartfelt people.  

I am open to new experiences and ways of being, so I won’t be caught off guard by big changes; I’ll be ready to ride whatever waves come my way.  

I have a clear picture of where I’m headed, and things I can do every day to move me in that direction.

I have grand aspirations and a belief that anything is possible.

Where you at?

2010 Review Part I

The year is almost over, and it's time to have a look at what just happened.  I'm grateful for the moments that made up this year and for the place of power to which it has brought me.  To begin, some memories:

New Year’s Eve in Tahoe with Gab - snow, boots, a moonlight meditation at midnight.  A final bit of time with pops in the Carmichael home, a couple more paintings put together, then an interview with vFlyer in downtown San Francisco, and a rapid acceleration of my life.  A new apartment by the beach with three gentlemen who came together to create a little brotherhood.  Learning the city from the locals, group dinners and games of Scrabble.  Endless kitchen collaborations, redefining the salad with homemade dressing, learning to love mushrooms.  Meeting a new crew of bros, playing soccer.  Starting work, wearing a tie Monday through Thursday, showing up early for the first few weeks, my new colleagues.  Learning about the spam folder in my Gmail account, learning how to use vFyer.com, talking to my first user on the phone and giving them assistance.  Learning what a blog really was.  Following Chris Brogan, reading his posts for a week, then unfollowing him.  Working downtown, riding the N-Judah every morning and every night, getting up early, sprinting to catch the train, packing my lunch and my life revolving around food.  Living with Lucy for a month, cooking great meals and hanging out in the kitchen.  Spraining my ankle, recovering, hurting my knee playing mojo kickball, getting treated at Lucy’s clinic, recovering.  Riding William’s bike to work for the first time, finding my bike on Craigslist, missing the boat, but finding the same bike on Craigslist a few days later and getting it.  Riding my new bike, crashing on Market street, being rescued by Mom, x-rayed, fitted with a brace, returning with a sprained wrist, recovering.  Saturday morning support work on my computer at Java beach - ordering a blueberry muffin and a small coffee every time.  Hosting parties at our apartment, playing beer pong with the boys, getting TV, getting internet, ordering clothes from lands’ end.  Perfecting my Chinese accent.  Visiting Gabrielle and her visiting me.  Walks on the beach, watching dogs, sunsets on the beach with growlers from the chalet, walking the five blocks down to the water and the five blocks back up.  Doing laundry around the corner, buying tomatoes and oranges from arm and a leg.  Hosting people through Air B&B in our teeny tiny little room.  Making videos for vFlyer, learning to do my job well, getting excited about the internet and blogging more, becoming a “social media guru” and getting more than 500 followers.  Being commissioned to make paintings, dealing with matters of the heart.  Living near Lucy, visiting her in the Haight, watching the season finale of the Bachelor, watching the season finale of the Bachelorette.  Dancing at Maye’s on Polk Street, late night guitar-playing and freestyling in the living room, waking up early on Saturday mornings and walking the still crisp streets of the outer sunset.  World cup fever and games on ESPN 3, rooting for Spain and Holland, watching the Netherlands at 4:30am in a crowded bar, rocking my orange vest for Holland, watching the final with the soccer team and being the only one truly happy for Spain.  A roadtrip with my girl, arriving just in time to see Ross and Renee be wed, a taste of what friends’ weddings will be like, staying in a hotel and feeling like a big shot.  Moving offices, celebrating my birthday in the inner sunset with pizza and drinks and silliness.  Watching the playoffs and rooting against the Lakers.  Playing soccer again, spraining both of my ankles in one game, recovering, doing less.  Getting lost in the city.  Always finding parking, learning how to curb my wheels and get right up on the curb.  Discovering new neighborhoods, imagining moving out with Lucy and then making it happen.  An epic 2 person move - a massive Uhaul, perfect parking, getting honked at, sweating and aching from lifting and carrying, the first night in the new place with a mattress on the floor, getting set up and living in the Castro.  Jumping on the Giants bandwagon, going to a ballgame, watching them win it all at Civic center, seeing lifelong fans rejoice.  Jack Johnson's new album, Ray Lamontagne at the Greek, Jackie Greene at Hardly Strictly, slow-dancing to Norah Jones.  Living with Mom, reconnecting with my brother and planning big things, organizing my photos.  Cramming for the election, voting.  Getting sick and rediscovering movies.  Reading another Hemmingway book.  cooking and hosting my first Thanksgiving dinner.  Taking guitar lessons, signing up for night school, living life, seeing people all around me ready for a perfect world.

From The Sunset to Downtown San Francisco - a Morning Ride

My ride used to look like this:

View Larger Map

It went like this:
My ride begins to the shuddering growl of the garage door opening and the cool air of the sunset.  I strap on the helmet, slide my sleek sunglasses over my face, hook my cinched down pannier onto the rack, swing my leg over the bike and press the button to close the door behind me.  It’s chilly to begin, and I climb slowly up Irving, the rising sun shining brightly in my face.

Going down 41st avenue into the park the air gets suddenly cooler - much cooler.  It’s sort of a lovely little dip, feeling the cool air and knowing that in a mile or so you’ll come out into the warm air again. I cut left towards the polo fields and in a low gear I climb the long hill, standing up in my pedals and feeling good to be using my legs and moving about early in the morning. Past the polo field, often home to a few joggers, and on to the lawn speedway where I'm almost always alone and moving fast while the ground is flat. Then there's the deceptively steep incline that just keeps going as you reach JFK and, finally, the waterfall on the left.  Here it gets much warmer, and now my body is totally awake and warm and pumping blood fast. I often stop to take off the jacket, and if I’m not wearing it, I’m usually grateful right about here.  

The road flattens and the cars and maybe other bikers join me as I pass the DeYoung museum and filter down to Fell street. There's a beautiful old 5-series BMW that's always parked on the side of the road next to the museum and it looks very well cared for and shiny. Upwards past the strange, coppery DeYoung tower the warmth really hits you - just as suddenly as it had left.  I cross Stanyan, then accelerate into my highest gear and the crazy busy panhandle, weaving through joggers and passing dog-walkers, eyeing the Masonic signal and pushing it to catch the light, then warily skate through - down, across, then up the other side.  Out of the panhandle, turning right I push it to catch the signal and make a left on Oak, or miss it, and pull up short in the right-hand side of the left lane, straddling my bike and pulling out the water for a quick sip, other bikers pulling up beside and around me.  Then jetting down Oak, preferably in a pack, alternately passing slowed cars on the right, or pumping to keep up behind traffic.  Easing left a bit, raising the left hand to signal, making a sharp right on Scott, careful to avoid the manhole cover.  Then left on Page, sometimes a scary turn in and of itself, and up the gradual slope towards downtown, passing long queues of cars on long down slopes, riding the brakes, barreling the wrong way down the usually empty left lane, glad not to be in a car or one of the slow creaking buses that makes a hair-raising, jerky right-hand turn onto Page.  Then up to Gough, slowing slightly and usually cutting across through the red light if traffic is light.  Past a lovely brick building for sale and POP (pilates on page), some bums on the wide right-hand sidewalk, and up to Market.  Wait for the peds to start crossing, work your way out into the funny tweener intersection, then finally straight across Market, sharply cutting the muni tracks and bending left to come up to Van Ness.  Usually stop here, things are really popping now.  The funny cut-off and isolated All-Star cafe is open to the left, the big ugly Bank of America / Muni Customer Service building is across the way, and the Market Street grind has begun in earnest.  From there it’s a series of hectic streets, waiting at stoplights and watching the bold on fixies lead the way into intersections.  

Through the Tenderloin you don’t want to stop and you ignore the shouts and yells of poor, crazy, drunken urchins, and you don’t envy the police officers starting their morning rounds and you smell the pungent savory greasy meat from the Donut World restaurant on the right.  Sometimes cabs will cut sharply in front of cyclists and in a pack, commuter cyclists put up a fight.  I’ve seen cab windows hit hard, obscenities exchanged, shouts of “door!” and even older cyclists admonishing younger cyclists for entering the intersection early.  In one such exchange the seasoned pro called out the young hotshot who had to take out one of his earbuds to hear the reprimand “wait for the light!  Most accidents occur from entering the intersection early, you know”, to which the young man nodded cynically and proceeded to take off early before the light turned green.  The older man waited for the signal then frantically pedaled to catch the young man and show him that he wasn’t getting ahead by jumping the signals.  People are so righteous in their indignation, especially if they’ve been at something for awhile.  

The Ferry Building clocktower beckons from the end of Market street, and as it clarifies and draws near the streets count down to fourth then third and the ride is over.  I cut left across Market at the Montgomery crosswalk and cheekily coast on my bike up onto the sidewalk and half-way to the next crosswalk before dismounting next to the short Mexican handing out Examiners.  Then I hurriedly walk my bike and expertly navigate foot traffic to the building entrance where I unstrap my helmet, setting it on the ground and dropping in my sunglasses, then gloves, then folding my neon vest and throwing it in followed by my red taillight.  Out comes the water bottle and the bike seat and after locking up, from the yellow pannier I pull my peruvian shoulder bag, draping it over my shoulder then stuffing the pannier to the brim with the upturned helmet, water bottle, and bike seat.  All then held at waist height like a big yellow tower that precedes me through the revolving doors and into the lobby, to work.

The Worst Moment of my Adult Life

Tuesday night. We decided we needed another couch in the living room. Mom found one online for $40, but I didn’t feel like driving up to Russian Hill, picking it up, driving back, bringing it up, etc. There happened to be a love seat without owner sitting on 18th street, less than a block away. 'Why not just check it out?' we thought. So we walked down to the couch, examined it, and were pleased to find it not only clean but wide and sturdy. Too sturdy, and much too wide, as it turned out. I lay down to give it a test and was very comfortable. A couple walking their dog stopped to share a laugh, telling us they thought at first that I was homeless and that Mom was trying to wake me up. “Let’s just see how heavy it is” we thought. And it wasn’t too heavy.

Off we went up 18th street to our apartment. We struggled a bit to keep the front gate open, eventually sacrificing my keys’ lanyard for the job, and finally upwards, me first, backwards, pulling, mom behind pushing. It was a tight fit, but we managed to make it up the first flight of stairs, and with some pushing and pulling and tugging an turning, around the landing and up the next flight. Around the last landing we went, this one open to the street, and up the few steps to our apartment door, we sort of jammed it in. It got stuck - half-way through the doorway, the legs would go no further. We lifted and turned and shimmied but we couldn’t get it inwards, and upon careful examination we realized the couch was really much too big. Reluctantly, we accepted the fact that it just wouldn’t fit. The neighbor, Todd, came up the stairs behind, smiling and remarking that he’d had a similar couch, but that his just did fit into the apartment.

“I guess this means it just isn’t our couch” I said.

So out we went, struggling mightily to extricate the piece from the doorway, then down the stairs to the first landing, where, making the turn, we very nearly lost the couch over the edge, where a couple of passers-by may have been squashed. It teetered on the balcony until we managed to muscle it back inside and began the downward spiral of the next stairway. Reaching the bottom, we couldn’t make the turn, and found ourselves struggling with the couch again, this time nearly breaking the glass doorway of our downstairs neighbor. We were an uncoordinated duo - alternately struggling with all of our strength, grunting and tugging in no particular direction, alternately pausing and saying “Stop stop stop”, standing back, examining the couch, seeing no plausible way forward, then grabbing hold anew and wrenching away. Despite our efforts, the couch gradually settled into the stairway, coming to rest with its two feet wedged in the railing, and refusing to budge in any direction whatsoever. We were defeated. We could not lift it up nor budge it sideways. We stood back, exhausted.

“It’s not going anywhere” I said, “we have to just break the fucking thing”.

Mom agreed: “go get a hammer Gabe”.

I left her trapped below the couch and went upstairs into the depths of our apartment for a hammer, came back with the toolkit, opened it, realized the hammer wasn’t inside, muttered “oh my god the fucking hammer isn’t even in here”, called “where’s the hammer?” down to Mom as I walked away, knowing where it was and hearing her call out “in the blue toolkit...” as I went back into the apartment and came back out with the hammer. But I didn’t really know what we would do with the hammer, because the couch was a sturdy piece of work, and the correct tool for the job was a handheld circular saw that could lop off the legs. That or a stick of dynamite. We took turns whacking ineffectually at the rock-solid couch legs. I took a screwdriver and stabbed vehemently at the meaty underbelly of the couch, hoping to tear away the upholstery and attack the skeletal framework of the couch, but I was defeated here as well by the strength of the fabric. I put down the tools, stood up, and we stared again. Here an angel intervened, I believe, because we both, seemingly on some unspoken queue, bent down and lifted the couch in some magically perfect manner so as to ease it out of it’s confines and upwards to freedom. Down was no longer an option, so we went up, preparing to toss the couch to earth from the second landing. We balanced it on the edge, agreed this really wasn’t such a good idea, thought about the possible repercussions - smashed sidewalk, some strange rebound that would send the couch careening into the parked car out front...

“we need some rope” said Mom, “so we could just lower it down slowly”.

“I don’t have any rope, do you have rope?”

“I do have some rope in my car”

I knew the car was parked a steep four blocks uphill. “hm”

Mom went down to look in the garage for something helpful - maybe some rope, and I clung to the couch hoping the neighbors stayed inside and that somehow, this whole thing could just be over and forgotten.

Mom got downstairs and called up “there’s nobody down here right now Gabriel - just dump it”

“are you sure?”

“yes just do it there’s nobody coming”

I began to maneuver the couch into position “are you clear?”

“Yes I’m clear just dump it!”

There was a slender tree branch reaching our way and offering perhaps a softened fall.

“I’m going to try to throw it through the tree - are you ready?”

“yes go now!”

“one... two.... three!” I pushed it out and away and watched it fall quickly and suddenly down, thud, and stop.  It felt so good. I ran downstairs and out front and together Mom and I righted the fallen couch, and seeing it unscathed and intact I felt sorry for having stabbed it and torn its apholstery - what a beautiful piece of furniture.  Mom seemed similarly impressed:

“It really is a nice couch - look it didn’t even get hurt.”

“shall we set it over here?”

“yes. Maybe the church will want it”

A pair of bums enjoyed a few subsequent evenings on the couch, and I watched from my window the next night as they laughed, smoked, and reclined comfortably. By Friday, the couch was gone.