Don't look away for a s-e-c-o-n-d

Does anyone really want to hear me ranting about the crackheads in San Francisco? No? Too bad, 'cause here goes...

I rode my bike down to Kezar Sports bar to join Rich watching the Bucs game. I pulled my bike up to a nice sturdy-looking parking meter. I knelt down to lock my bike and dropped my bag behind me, like I normally do. The funny thing is, I even remember thinking to myself for a brief second -- how funny it would be if someone stole my bag while I am sitting right next to it. We are, afterall, near the GGP (aka crackhead central). That would be really horrible, I thought, because it contains every vital item I own -- wallet, phone, house keys -- all those silly things.

Locking up a bike is a very ardudous process in SF because, you see, you have to use like 3 different locks because if you so much as leave a reflector unlocked, it will be stolen. I know this because my bike was stolen last year from the parking garage at the Caltrain Safeway. Well, I wouldn't say "it" was stolen, just EVERY SINGLE THING ON IT. Wheels, seat, handlebars, everything. I was left with only a frame - a skeleton of a once-proud bicycle. Very sad.

So, you have to manage 3 different locks, keys, helmet, bag containing valuable, sunglasses -- all of these things need to be juggled all while trying to keep your bike from toppling over in the process. If you are an octopus or a professional juggler, you are in good shape. If you are a humanoid, however, you're screwed.

I finish the lock down, which took about 30 seconds, turn around and my bag is GONE. In a flash, I think OH MY GOD -- how could this happen? I frantically look down both sides of the street and I see a crackhead about 30 yards away walking away with my bag. He's not running, just walking -- he's practically dragging the bag behind him on the ground. I immediately begin to sprint toward him. Meanwhile, I've captured the attention of passersby who notice my angst. I thought I should call out to him "Hey fucker, that's mine!", but then that would give him time to run and you KNOW I ain't runnin' down no crackhead (they are so motivated!). Should I tackle him from behind? Run around the front and kick him in the nuts? What if he starts running? What if he has a knife? Oh, I knew I should have taken kung-fu as an elective in college. (Keep in mind: "level-headed" is probably not a word people would use to describe me).

Luckily, he must have seen or heard me coming and just threw the bag behind him on the ground and kept walking. No words were exchanged. I simply pick up my bag and stand there like an idiot. The people who were watching nod congratulations.

Lesson learned: do not ever leave anything unattended for a second in this city -- it will be stolen -- faster than you can even imagine it happening.

Number Five is Alive

So I've had my Roomba now for about a year now, and my how our relationship has grown. I call him Zach and Rich says I spend more time watching him vacuum the floors than I would if I just vacuumed the floors myself, the old-fashioned way. While this may be technically true, I can't say that he fully understands the complex relationship between me and my robot.

I watch his work like one would admire an artiste painting a portrait. Me: "You're really 'on' today, Zach. I'm loving you're work" OR "Oh Zach, you missed a spot, silly robot" OR "Zach -- I told you, don't go in the closet - how many times do I have to tell you!!". Sometimes I lose my temper with him, but I know deep down that he understands. After all, I care for him when his bins need to be emptied. When his batteries are low, I re-charge him. And even when his left wheel was failing, I gave him a new one.

Sometimes -- in the middle of the night -- I imagine that he's standing at the bedroom door with his lights flashing, watching us sleep (ok, not really -- that would be really creepy, right? Heh).

On a completely unrelated note, big ups to two books that made me laugh out loud this year, that's Bright Lights, Big Ass by Jen Lancaster and When you are Engulfed in Flames by David Sedaris. I guarantee you much laughter with these books. Enjoy.

life, post-Arterra

My first blog post. Should be interesting.....

It has been over 3 months since I left my job at Intracorp, where I was the project manager of a high-rise condo in downtown San Francisco (Arterra). These are some of the things you only realize in retrospect...

I now have time to answer the phone, reply to emails, and return phone calls (novel!). I don't get bitter about household duties (well, almost). I understand what my dog must feel like every day (being stuck in the house with no one to walk me). I notice how many crackheads there actually are in our neighborhood. I realize that a lot of my neighbors have AIDS. I confess that Cafe Flore's coffee maybe isn't so good (compared to homebrew). I watch the guy across the street from my dining room window and wonder if he watches back.

I could go on, but I won't.

I am now entering the entirely new and unknown field of internet retail -- a plan originally hatched by Rich and Steve. We are creating the ultimate online shopping site (I use the term "we" very loosely). I am very excited, but a little intimidated at the same time (it may also have something to do with the fact that our country is entering an economic dark age, but that's another story altogether). Anyhoo -- this is the new me. Internet Meg. Nay, internet e-tailer Meg. Site to be lanched next month. Stay tuned.