Terminal

At first look, SFO's Terminal 2 seems pretty. Especially for an airport terminal. Not even the Indira Gandhi airport in Delhi is this gorgeous. But, I'm not totally sold on its greatness... yet. 

The plusses are: the Plant Cafe Organic at the Virgin America gates; the super comfy chairs in bright colors; the pre-gate Starbucks; and the nice use of wood and other natural resources in the decor.

The minuses: the security area's kind of claustrophobic, low lighting and weird mustard color pillars (the down-tempo music is not helpful); the fact that one of at least three women's restrooms appear to be closed in the early morning hour.

The Kiehl's and other chi chi stores that are open early could also be considered a plus but, it's way too early for shopping, today. And, I was somewhat appalled when I spotted a TSA agent groping a Sikh man's turban for fifteen minutes but, that probably isn't the fault of this particular airport.

Why Would I Ever Move?

Before I started spending time in Menlo Park and Palo Alto, I thought I might move there. The commute must be 45 minutes or less, I thought. And, as I've been able to make it to work in 40 minutes at times, my thinking may have shifted...

This morning, as I walked back from the Masters of Venice and Ralph Edward Meatyard exhibits at the deYoung, past the Botanical Garden, I wondered why I ever thought I would leave this City. My love affair with San Francisco spent the past three years waning and when I was looking for jobs, I pored over postings outside of the City mostly. Seattle, New York, Washington, D.C. and Los Angeles all made the search. There was no doubt in my mind that I would be re-locating in the next year.

With thoughts of an intimate Renaissance painting of Jesus, Giacommeti-like clay sculptures by Stephen de Staebler, and three beautiful black and white photos of men with bowed heads all dancing in my head, I walked through the Tai Chi practitioners in Golden Gate Park's Band Shell Park. I giggled to myself that I would ever want to give up these mornings by myself exploring art and culture.

San Francisco isn't the only city in the U.S. affording these pleasures, of course. But, I can't imagine moving down the Peninsula and foregoing easy access to the excellent Korean food I partook in last night, the friends (and people I don't know) that I can count on to share my views, the excellent theatre that made me laugh 'til I cried last weekend, and coffee that wasn't mass produced by a chain that has taken over the world.

And, while I doubt I'll be able to move anywhere else in San Francisco in the near term due to the out of control rents, I'm happy to have my apartment from the turn of the century in my diverse and mellow neighborhood walking distance to the Park, one of my favorite places to spend a weekend morning.

Too Much Time to Think

As I sit behind inconsistent drivers, creep along 19th Avenue or wait in the long lines of cars slowly exiting or entering 280, I think about the Commute. Sitting behind what I'm calling "inconsistent" drivers (a.k.a. slow or sometimes slow drivers) probably takes up a good 50% of the time I'm commuting, even if I'm on the road early. So, I think about driving or what is going on while I'm driving a LOT.

When I used to ride the 43 Masonic, I could read magazines or books, listen to podcasts or music on my iPod, tweet or check email. Of course, I can still listen to podcasts or music or books on tape on my iPod or the radio. I can listen to live NPR, which I never could before the car (b.c.). Often, on the bus, I had to contend with co-workers it was too early to interact with or homeless people that smelled like poo, unwashed body, and cheap beer. But my thoughts were often about things other than the Commute. Or so I remember, now.

Shifting between first, second, third, fourth, fifth... and sixth gear, I have the freedom to stop at Target on my way home or at lunch or any time I want. I get to drive to Mill Valley for a hike, this weekend; drive to my parents' house whenever I want without renting a car; and visit my friends in the East Bay or South Bay or Outer Richmond during the week, if I decide to.

And, I get to say I have a Mini Cooper S and get an exhuberant and covetous reaction on a weekend night at a wine bar, in my neighborhood.