Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Apartments and Anchovies

originally posted Sunday, April 13, 2008

It's time to move. There are 2 1/2 weeks left before we and all our shit gotta be outta here, with pug in tow, and we haven't found a place to move into yet, much less saved up a secure number of dineros for anything even modestly considered to be decent. Ah hell, nothing like the impending deadline to light a fire under your ass, no?

What we DON'T want:
  • to live in the Outer Sunset, Outer Mission or the Tenderloin, or any of the other subdistricts within the relative vicinities, unsafe and/or too far out.
  • to live in a shared rental, because my girlfriend has certain needs that go beyond my own.
Add to those criteria our need to find something affordable and which will accept Romeo, our beloved troll-of-a-pug-dog, and you may see what I see, an increasingly stressful scenario, problems identified, needs isolated, but solutions... to be discovered. It is one of those times when I have to tell myself, don't worry, there is a door opening somewhere, we just can't see it yet. There is also a skeptical voice in my head, however, that keeps reminding me that I do not have much faith, other than that in the sincerity of my own motivations. Just thinking and saying that there is a solution, a door, a plan, whatev, does not mean that there is actually one of the above available to us in anything resembling a timely resolution.

When we first moved to the City a few years ago, I was immediately made aware of the potential consequences of failure: the homeless peeps all around us. We were trying to live among a new peer group, single professionals sharing a warehouse-turned-apartment complex in SoMa (none of whom we still know today), who were all surfing on the relatively easy money of the newly-deceased dot-com era and other highly technology-business-ended endeavors, while we were trying to actualize our earned-degree-implied careers for essentially the first time, on money we had only just recently accumulated by selling our shit and, sadly, our Jeep CJ5 - all hard steel, all primer-gray, soft-top-roof, removable doors, one-size-too-big brand new tires; the Jeep that could tell Jeep Wrangler owners who may have incidentally pulled up beside us at the red light, "You are just never going to get it." Wrangler owners are not in the know, but it's not there fault. The Jeep Company it to blame. They ceased production of the CJ series after the CJ7, I believe.

It was noted by many, including my KC, that I seemed to be driven to find success and make money more than was precedented, but I can't help but feel like, especially these days, that that drive is merely the reality of life burning a hole in my eye and then lighting up my ass, so to speak. My urgency is more appropriately described as a fear than a drive. There is a fine line between great success and the most dramatic of failures, especially in places like SF, Manhattan, etc.

This blog is food oriented, so, in order to comply with the original theme, let me reference food here. Anchovie, mushroom and garlic pizza with red wine. You could make it yourself, like I sometimes do, or order it, like I also do, living like next door to Giorgio's. The pungent flavors and alcohol will be enough to pull your concentration into the moment, and separate you for that moment from the many things you need to be doing in order to leapfrog your life to the next positive stage, and to remove, for a moment, the fear of failure, and jumping straight into a pile of shit.

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