Groveland Getaway

For the holidays I headed up to my parents' house in Groveland, as usual. At the end of the week and after some light snow and heavy rains, I got out for a beautiful hike along Big Creek. Here are some photos...

There was even a two-mile marker that lent itself to a little tableau ringing in the new year.

Reasons I Love SF: Solstice

 

Solstice doesn't really describe today's reason I love San Francisco. But, I couldn't come up with one word that describes this year's winter solstice. It was pouring rain most of the day on Friday, winter solstice and the day after the supposed end of the world. In fact, I believe it wasn't the end of the world so much as the end of something that may be unique to each of us or that will end up shifting how many of us live our lives. At any rate, it was rainy yesterday.

A friend who was visiting from Melbourne, Australia sent out an email blast earlier in the week about getting together to perform a winter solstice ritual. That morning another friend who was going to join me at Ocean Beach, the place we were all asked to meet, wasn't that excited about coming all the way from Oakland to cross the entire length of San Francisco and possibly sit in the freezing rain. By 2:00pm, when she needed to leave Oakland, she was calling to ask me to convince her to come. Which I did. Because I knew she and I both needed it.

So, she came, I picked her up at the Glen Park BART station and we gathered. We were two of fifteen crazy Bay Area folk who agreed to stick it out in the high-speed winds on Ocean Beach. It was so quintessentially San Francisco. Someone went to get wood at Safeway. There were people of all ilks who had something to leave behind and wanted to welcome the solstice and what lay ahead with open arms. Strangers introduced themselves and many of us spent the rest of the evening together. Our will was strong. We laughed. We howled. We (or maybe it was just I) teared up. We held hands and hugged and were giddy.

Something magical happened. Not only did the rain stay away but, the flames held out until after the night officially fell. The waves crashed nearby and the wind whistled through our clothes but, we weren't cold. Everyone had their own story to tell. There aren't many words to describe it but, it left me hopeful and feeling alive. I've had a few moments like this in San Francisco and I remember parts of each one vividly. This moment is no different and I'm thankful for having had it.

Reasons I Love SF: Generosity

As I spend time looking for jobs in philanthropy or the social sector in Los Angeles, and as the holidays continue, I regularly ponder over the fact that people in San Francisco are givers. At least in my circle. We give our time and money to causes that are designed to improve our communities or the world. We share cars and baby gear and books. In the interest of enhancing what we've learned through our own experiences or making sure our younger co-workers don't have to go through the same hells we've been through, we talk a lot about breaking down silos and we share our knowledge. All things that tend to make me think that people in San Francisco are innately generous.

This belief has been especially enhanced by people I've seen, heard or read lately that live here or at least nearby. For example, yesterday I rode the N Judah Muni to the Renegade Craft Fair and in the 25 minute ride downtown, I witnessed not less than five occurrences of people offering their seats to the elder patrons on-board. On my way back home, I witnessed a guy leaping after someone getting off the train to ensure that whatever the disembarker had dropped did not get left behind. Of course, people embracing the Christmas Spirit does not mean that they are innately generous, I know.

But, you may remember a recent mention of 2,500 people giving enough money to raise $11,600 for Make a Wish at a concert. Of course, I'm sure everyone didn't give but, I gave $3, my companion gave $3 and according to the Conductor, if everyone who was there gave $3 we would have raised $7,500. So, that means that the people who donated gave more than $3. Similarly, at a fundraiser that I participated in earlier this season, we only expected 30 attendees to an event that ended up being sold out and where we raised over $5,000 from women and men who believe in reproductive justice.

But, it's not all about donating money to good causes or giving up a seat on a bus. When I say San Francisco is generous, I'm  talking about the neighbor in SOMA who asked someone selling Street Sheet outside of Whole Foods how he was doing and if he had been warm enough as late, since it had been raining. I'm talking about friends and family who posted and rallied behind a woman who had been having a very rough month, getting mugged for her iPhone and denied twice by book publishers. "Keep on truckin'" one Facebooker posted in response. And, I'm talking about the time I lost my wallet in the Mission and someone went through the trouble to contact me using some serious detective powers.

San Francisco is not the only generous place on the planet. I've lived in Wisconsin, where people actually smile and say hi to strangers daily. But, for a city, it certainly feels like its more generous than others. And, for a city in a country that is becoming more generous to the planet it dwells on every day, teaching its kids more and more about giving back, and trying to get back to what made the country great in the first place, it seems that San Francisco may be a leader in all these regards.

Reasons I Love SF: Community

When I moved to San Francisco in March 2002, it felt like 2,000 miles away from San Jose where I moved from and still went to work every day. My only friend was my roommate, a former classmate from photography class at the Academy of Art. And, my goal was to disappear and live my life as invisibly as possible. It was easy to succeed in the beginning.

After four years of living in the Upper Haight, just two blocks from Haight and Ashbury, I had finally gotten a job in San Francisco and was starting to make friends and getting to know neighborhoods other than my own. By befriending some colleagues who lived nearby and putting my past hermit behaviors aside, I soon became entrenched in the Upper Haight life. I spent evenings at a local watering hole and quickly got to know some of the Upper Haight characters, running into many of them even when I was trying to be inconspicuous. By this point, I had a desire for "community" but, also really enjoyed being able to fade out, holing up in my apartment and turning off my phone at regular intervals.

When I moved to the Sunset almost two years ago, it was not a coincidence that I picked a street-facing apartment with great big windows pulling in the sunlight and views of people outside. I had spent the previous year and a half in a tiny studio below Twin Peaks, where I left my friends at the door or the curb and sunk into solitude by simply closing my door to the world, which I couldn't see from my windows that faced a walkway between apartment buildings. Moving into a bustling neighborhood again excited me and moving into my fabulous one-bedroom made me eager to invite friends in and share my space more.

I tell this story because, one of the reasons I love San Francisco is for the communities that exist when one opens themselves up to them. My desire to build a community of diverse friends and chosen family has been strong for years, and after eleven years of building just such a community, I worry about leaving it behind. My most profound example of the community I'm a part of and truly love is the one that got together yesterday on a hill in Cesar Chavez Park, at the Berkeley Marina.

Almost a month ago, one of our colleagues and friends passed away from ovarian cancer. In the days that followed, I cried and mourned the loss of someone I wanted to know better than I did. She reached out to me before her diagnosis via a group email and I gasped and sobbed alone in my room. A group of us sent her a care package thinking she would be around for decades longer than her 34 years. It was a shock when I saw the Facebook post that she had passed two weeks after a mutual friend and I talked about the lesion they found in her liver. "Don't worry" our friend urged in a Facebook response to her partner's plea for prayers. "We're going after it more aggressively."

She was someone who lit up a room and made me want to be a better person. That afternoon on the hill, friends who hadn't seen one another in up to four years told stories of her. We held hands and hugged and were grateful that we were together even though the reason for it was unwanted and the loss of one of us was devastating. After a few hours of tears and laughter and a moving story of her last days told by her partner, we shared "epic food" in a bungalow in North Berkeley. I felt surrounded by giants.

That community makes it very hard to leave. But, I know that there will be visits and emails and phone calls. Because community is something that can be carried along, no matter where one goes.

Reasons I Love SF: Holidays Continued

In my last post, I had not yet gone to see this year's wonderful San Francisco Gay Men's Chorus Santa Concert at the Davies Symphony Hall. Therefore, I neglected to talk about one of my personal favorite holiday traditions that I have started in the past five years. This year's was the best, by far, for three reasons:

1) A friend who sings in the Chorus got me a ticket in the Orchestra section in row N. It was pretty much the perfect spot to watch the concert from. Not right on the stage and not too far back. Plus, I happened to sit next to the lyricist of one of the songs the Chorus sang called Christmas by the Bay. So, the friend I sat with and I were smiling most of the time.

2) The concert raised funds for Make a Wish. There were 2,500 people in the audience including many Make a Wish kids and their families (and a Make a Wish kid in the Chorus). While I may not select that charity for my personal giving, it was pretty amazing that the Chorus raised $11,600 in one night by making a simple ask. Before announcing the amount raised, the conductor said, "I love being here in San Francisco."

3) The theatricality of this particular show was great. To paraphrase another friend, the first half of the performance show-cased the talent of the magnificent Chorus, focusing on songs. But, the second half of the show highlighted their ability to entertain. There was a brilliant Broadway Medley with Christmas songs sung to the tune of many favorite show-tunes (from Wicked, Phantom, and Rent to name a few). It was so much fun!

So, as I ramp up my shopping and endure the end of year crunch at work, I think about how much I enjoy the annual SFGMC holiday concert and how I want to continue this tradition in year's to come no matter where I live.

Reasons I love SF: Holidays

It's nearing my time to leave San Francisco although I don't know when exactly or for how long. I do know I want to head south and try my hand at living in L.A. where the sun shines more and where I know I can feed my soul regularly with "hardcore Israeli wellness" as one of my friend's calls it. This impending transition makes me nostalgic for the City I haven't left yet so, I thought I'd start logging some blogging hours focusing on all the reasons I love San Francisco.

The first reason goes along with the season; namely, San Francisco knows how to do the Holidays. This is kind of funny coming from me, a self-proclaimed end of year hater. But, I must admit, maybe it's the move or just that I'm growing up, this city loves a celebration and decorations and its people (and even those that drive across a bridge or up a Peninsula to get here). And, that's making me love the holidays, this year. I've lived in the Bay Area almost my whole life and in San Francisco for going on eleven years and so, have had the joy of watching the San Francisco Ballet's Nutcracker both when I was younger and with my nieces more recently when they were around the same age that I was when I first saw it. The War Memorial Opera House is amazing and the show itself transported me into that make believe story every time.

This year, my parents came to visit the first weekend in December, which was a treat. Although the inhospitable conditions (i.e. rain) were...wet, we soaked in the holiday sights visiting the tree in Union Square, the windows at Macy's with the kittens and puppies that I always want to take home, and just looking in store windows downtown and at decorated cable cars. For the first time, we saw A Christmas Carol at the ACT, one of my dad's favorite Christmas stories of all time. This rendition was fabulous and tradition-worthy for sure with its large cast of ACT favorites and children from all over the Bay Area. After a busy rain-soaked day and catching a great non-holiday movie, we went to Fish & Farm, a delicious restaurant that serves local, seasonal organic food, and piled my plate high with scrumptious meat. Thankfully, it was warm and dry and along with the great food, they served up festive holiday music, great service, and a beautiful tree in the hotel lobby next door.

And, now neighbors up and down my street are beginning to put up their holiday decorations. Another of my favorite San Francisco holiday pastimes is window-gawking at the decor being hung in the neighborhoods. Dwellers make their spaces festive and the business districts of each neighborhood put up white or colored lights in the trees. Last weekend I even decorated a little tree that my brother's girlfriend made last year. It all makes me want to turn on Ella Fitzgerald singing the Christmas hits and snuggle up by my fireplace (although I'll have to make do with candles instead of actual log flames).

Ferry Building Rain Day?

My rain boots have New York City subway line letters and numbers on them; bright circles all colors of the rainbow dotting black rubber shields from the downpour that started off the day. As I walked from the parking garage on Howard and Beale Streets toward the Ferry Building, I spotted a wonderful former co-worker whose life has been re-circling mine for a few months as I've segued into my new job. He and his partner were making fun of a woman traipsing between rain drops in black stiletto rocker heels. "Are you making fun of that poor woman's terrible shoe choice?" I called out and laughed. After briefly getting caught up and hearing the bell tower chiming noon, I turned back toward the Ferry Building where old friends from the same former employer were waiting for me to brunch, one from far out of town, the other from across the bridge.

It had been six years since I'd seen the friend from Germany but, we slipped back into laughter as easily as we'd gotten out of the habit of emailing every so often. It was just what I needed. We reminisced about the big conference we helped make happen back in 2005 including tales of a certain dingy blond from Appalachia who accused one friend of stealing her purse and charging $2 on her credit card; a certain Swede who made the same friend's heart beat faster; and drunken comments about our crazy boss and her "knock-off Prada boots". We talked about the summer that we spent together, driving back and forth from Sonoma County and the Bay Area, drinking wine and staring at a vineyard from a hot tub surrounded by oak trees. Guffaws filled our corner of Market Bar as we slid "quality eggs" from Petaluma and delicious bacon and fries down our gullets.

Eventually, the sun burst from behind puffy gray clouds, after we talked about online dating, kids, husbands, and children's "fight club" in Oakland. The time slipped away faster than I was ready for. And, eventually the mom of the bunch felt obligated to return to her sick husband and relieve him from child-care duty. It's amazing how some people appear in our lives and stay there, steady, for years. Even when we can't visit or don't talk regularly. One of my favorite things to do lately has been spending time visiting and talking with friends, old and new. I'm finding that I actually enjoy spending time with the people I know which hasn't always been the case. It feels really good...

Home Work Out

Every time I see my Grinberg method practitioner, she suggests that I start doing martial arts to keep my cortisol-producing stress at bay. She asks if I'm still doing yoga and acupuncture to ensure that my adrenal glands get a rest every so often. And, every time I go to my endocrinologist, she tells me to make sure that I'm doing plenty of physical activity to keep my bones and hormones healthy. One of the great things about my apartment is that I have a good sized, wood-floored living room. And, with Netflix streaming video and Hulu, I have found a great way to supplement the periodic walks I talk with physical activity in the comfort and safety of my own home.

Last weekend I woke up and wanted to calm my body down so, I tuned into an hour long Yoga Zone session. Not having to stretch into and hold contortions that my body can't do in front of a room full of sweating strangers is lovely. My glutes and hamstrings are incredibly tight and I can hardly do a forward bend beyond a right angle. With yoga in my living room, I can unabashedly suck at bending over. The instructors on Yoga Zone also tell me exactly how to correctly position myself which, in classes at a studio, I either don't hear because I'm so wrapped up in embarrassment or doesn't happen because everyone else in the class is a total yogi. The instructor pushes my hips forward or torso into a twist but, often won't explicitly tell me to ensure that my pinky toe is pushed into the floor when I'm in warrior pose. And of course, the cost of going to a yoga studio and requirement to go at specific times both make me cranky. Yoga in my living room can happen anytime I feel like it and I don't have to pay a dime.

Tonight, after a day of heady discussion and planning, I needed an outlet that would tire me out and help me let off steam. I tuned into 10 minute kickboxing with my favorite Aussie trainer. I punched and kicked and worked out for a good solid 20 minutes. It's 9:08pm and my eyes can hardly stay open. And by tomorrow I'll have that lovely muscle ache in my legs and arms and may not be able to comfortably crouch. But, it will hurt so good. The first time I kickboxed in my living room was thirty minutes of continuous hilarity. My feet couldn't seem to pivot at the same time that my arm was jabbing left or right and I certainly couldn't jab with both arms, pivot on the left, swing right and end with a quick left upper cut. But it didn't matter. Because I was alone.

Strawberry Hill

Today I set off for Stow Lake from the 19th Avenue entrance to Golden Gate Park listening to Start Something That Matters on my iPod. My goal was to walk for at least forty minutes, break a mild sweat, and enjoy the sun (which quickly slid behind a shield of cloud-cover). Since I've moved closer to Stow Lake, I've spent many a morning or afternoon meandering through the island trails or up and down the stairs near the waterfall but, I'm always surprised by something new that I've never seen before. This walk was no different. Unfortunately, I left my camera at home as well as my cell-phone so, there aren't any visuals to enjoy. But, as I made a loop around the back end of the park nearing the boat house, a man knelt near the shore of the lake. About two feet away from the lake-edge, on a rocky outcropping, there were three turtles sunning and just beyond, a duck. They seemed to be oblivious to the growing crowd on the nearby bank.

Shortly after, I climbed the rough wooden stairs just above one of the two bridges that lead onto the island in the middle of the lake. I streaked past some bicyclists and other visitors enjoying a relaxing stroll. Instead of reaching the top of the falls and turning around, I decided to follow the other path around the hill-top reservoir and ended up at Strawberry Hill. How is it possible that I never walked up there before? I wondered. Apparently, "hill-topping" is a common butterfly behavior, when they "head for the hills" and flit from pollen-producer to pollen-producer while somehow sensing other butterfly pheromones, if I'm remembering the signage correctly. There weren't any butterflies as the clouds continued to gather but the views of the Sunset, the Richmond, and the Golden Gate Bridge from behind the great green trees were lovely.

As I wandered back down the dirt path, a tourist was viewing a rock nestled in the hill with the words Huntington Falls carved into it. How have I never seen that? I balked, trying to remember how many times I've walked above the falls that I did not know had a name. Me and Stow Lake go way back. We may have become acquainted for the first time as I slogged through at a medium paced, sweaty jog at age 16 or so, as I "ran" a long-distance race through Golden Gate Park. More than likely, I wasn't paying attention to anything but my self-conscious body, the boy I had a crush on, and how out of breath I was. After I moved to San Francisco, I started walking and running again, eventually, and in the process re-introduced myself to Stow Lake. Like an old and evolving friend, it continues to show me new sides every visit.

Beast and the Hare

At the start of the evening, as I sat captivated by the Menlo Park Venture Capitalist scene wending its way through the "living room" of Madera and onto its massive and crowded patio, I could not have guessed that by the end of the night I would be sharing beignets and dreams with strangers. In Menlo Park, I slammed my wine as quickly as I could as I stared at a woman looking as uncomfortable as I felt and tried, unsuccessfully, to carry on a conversation unrelated to work with some co-worker friends.

One of our group of three had a date so, we shoved delicious pesto-slathered sliders in our gobs and exited to the sun-drenched, hill-surrounded parking lot filled with BMW's, Mercedes, Jaguars and a Maserati. Not wanting to just go home, the evening progressed to a two-single-lady affair and we agreed to meet for dinner back in San Francisco, our native land.

We, being somewhat fashion-minded and hip to the foodie scene, opted for a communal table at Beast and the Hare in the Mission. My friend is an outgoing sort so we made fast friends with a Ryan Reynolds look-alike and his tattooed comrade. Soon, I was dipping my feta cheese covered fork into his corn pancake and we were scooping our whiskey chicken liver pate onto sliced toast for he and his friend to taste (it was delicious).

After their departure, we shared stories of our day jobs with a new middle-aged Irish friend and her Scottish SFPD husband. The mother of at least two told us of her love of gay men and her dreams of becoming a nanny caring for disadvantaged families with children in the hospital. As she shared the last of her beignets with us, we laughed, the tinkle of silverware on plates crowded around us, and the cars sped by outside on Guerrero. As my friend and I parted ways shortly thereafter, she aptly called out, "Good Friday night!"

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.

Go 49ers

One thing I will say about San Francisco is that it is a great place to be a fan. Especially during the past few years with the Giants going to the World Series and now, with the 49ers playing in the NFL play offs! I'm not a sports watcher and still find it exciting to walk or drive down the empty streets of San Francisco during a big game and see signs outside fancy olive oil stores cheering on the Giants and the entire fleet of MUNI and Samtrans buses with "Go 49ers!" on their location screens. The bus stops downtown even show the current score... It is a citywide phenomenon.

When Obama won the Presidential Election in 2008, I could hear the neighbors of the friends' in whose home I was watching the results cheering as the entire city collectively learned the outcome. And, when I went out to stand at the corner of 18th Street and Church to wait for the bus, all 800,000 plus residents appeared to be driving, walking or riding their bicycles past me squealing with happiness and carrying on. It was infectious.

And so, I would just say that one of the great parts of living in San Francisco is feeling like a member of a community. Of sports fans (or not), of like-minded progressive individuals, of people who compost their garbage.

Ready Set... Go?

It is time to start again....

This morning, as I walked home from Stow Lake, after a multi-month long hiatus from walking through Golden Gate Park, I happily reflected on how much change this new year has already brought my way. Usually, I make an annual plan with a dear friend, create a collage based on the plan, write out all of my successes from the past year, and make a bunch of promises to myself that I break within weeks. This year it all seemed unnecessary.  Instead my October trip to India brought to light what I needed to change and my new job at a huge, prestigious foundation starkly highlighted my successes. However, there is an unanswered question...

Upon returning from the Taj Mahal and the foothills of the Himalayas, I knew I needed to change jobs and in the process, I hoped to move away from San Francisco. It is something I've threatened to do since 2009. The sun that soaked my skin daily in Delhi was what I wanted more of, that was clear. The fog of last summer was something I wanted to leave behind. And yet, despite two weeks enjoying the unseasonably warm January days in the Bay Area and commuting 40 minutes to an hour to my magnificent job (in my cute new bright blue Mini Cooper), I am still undecided on my living arrangement.

Before I started spending time in the Stanford area, I vowed to move to Palo Alto or Menlo Park in Spring. I imagined walking along tree-lined University Avenue and meeting lots of male suitors at Barnes & Noble... My parents were over-joyed and promised themselves to visit me more frequently in the towns that offer more or easier parking than San Francisco. But, after several conversations with co-workers that live in both the family-friendly Peninsula and quirky San Francisco, an evening perusing the shelves in a calm Trader Joe's where the only people of color were those who worked there, and a lunch-hour being stared at by a young Sephora employee at Stanford Shopping Centre because I admitted that my purse was a knock-off of the Berkin bag, I am conflicted.

Of course, my circumstances are different. My week days are spent in the sun-belt of the Peninsula. My lease is up in April when I have the opportunity to move to Potrero Hill or Bernal Heights, two neighborhoods notoriously known for the sun that shines there (and close to the 101 and 280 freeways). And so, there is opportunity. Let's see what happens...