Mitch's Marina Mindset

My Purell Instant Hand Sanitizer “kills 99.99% of germs” my hands come in contact with.

Purell

As a single guy on my own, there is no scarier place than Bed, Bath & Beyond. The place is frightening.

After receiving my 3,000^th 20%-off coupon from Bed, Bath & Beyond in the mail, I finally decided to drive across town to check it out. There were a few things I needed for my new apartment – a toaster, a wine rack, a bathroom floor mat and a shower caddy. I figured I’d be in and out faster than a San Franciscan could say “Obama.”

Boy, was I wrong.

The first thing you notice about Bed, Bath & Beyond is not even the store itself; it’s the parking lot, and it’s massive. Not only does the parking lot rival anything you’d find at a stadium, but every spot is full. Finding a spot within 50 yards of the door is akin to actually finding a parking spot somewhere on the streets of San Francisco.

Once you manage to park the car, you walk to the front of the store and you grab a shopping cart. The shopping carts outside Bed, Bath & Beyond aren’t like the ones you’d find outside Safeway. No. The BB&B carts are gigantic, and can haul more crap than those hippie vans you always see on the side of the road.

As you enter the store, you are simply overwhelmed by EVERYTHING – the size of the building; the people; the staff; the amount of items in your immediate view; the amount of items in you not-so-immediate view; and the toaster section (the DAMN toaster section). There are more “things” in Bed, Bath & Beyond then there are people on the earth. This is a fact.

If you come to Bed, Bath & Beyond with any sort of list of items you need – good luck. It’s pointless. You are so overwhelmed by the number of how many objects there are in the store, and how many things you could picture in your cramped apartment, that by the time you look down at your list, the once neatly-printed lettering is now a smeared, sweaty mess of ink and paper.

By sheer luck, I found the one elevator in this labyrinth and made it up to the second floor to pick up the items I needed for my bathroom. This included a bathroom mat and a shower caddy, and I somehow stumbled upon the “Shower Hardware” section. As I looked for a simple, metallic device to house my soap, shampoo and conditioner, I found 196 different models that served this purpose. There was the silver caddy that came with two levels; the bronze caddy that could store multiple longneck conditioners; the gold caddy that had its own soap pump; and the “modern” caddy that sold for $89.99. If golfers at The Masters ever ran out of caddies, Bed, Bath & Beyond could certainly supply the rest.

Once I decided on a shower caddy, I moved over to the bathroom floor mat section. There weren’t as many floor mats to decide on as there were caddies, but there were still more options than numbers in Pi. Rather than dwell on all these options as I did with my first selection, I chose the first mat I saw. It was white, fluffy and rectangular, and I put it in my cart without batting an eye at the off-white selections; the circle mats; the towel/floor mat combo; or the daring color versions. I chalked this up as a tiny victory in my fight for time and self-control at the BB&B.

After picking up a few other items I felt I needed, I soon discovered a hard truth about Bed, Bath & Beyond: the hard part about going there isn’t buying the stuff you need; its not buying the stuff you don’t need. This is the tricky part. By the time I made it back to the first floor, I had hundreds of dollars of items in my cart that I had no intention of buying – wine glasses, candles, picture frames, towels, eating utensils, plates, a Brita water purifier, Brita filters, Brita cleaners, a Brita “warn-me-when-the-filter-explodes” system, etc. I had so much unneeded, house ware stuff in my cart it looked like I was preparing for either a camping trip or Armageddon.

But I persisted, and finally made it to the one section I was actually excited about hitting up: the toaster section. Oh, man. The toaster section at Bed, Bath & Beyond runs nearly the entire length of the wall with toasters on three different shelving levels. There’s no rhyme or reason why one toaster is next to another; there’s no division by model, price or functionality. There’s just a mess of toasters occupying 180-degrees of human vision.

There’s every type of toaster you can think of: silver toasters with two slots for bread; black toasters specifically designed for bagels; toaster ovens with single racks; toaster ovens with double racks; toaster ovens with double racks and electronic timers; toaster ovens with double racks, electronic timers, and non-burn contraptions; toaster ovens that aren’t toasters or ovens, but do something that heats bread. It’s insane!

After much self-deliberation for nearly an hour, I finally pulled the trigger and selected a basic, silver Krups toaster unit that cost around $50 ($40 after my 20% discount blue thing). Exhausted – both mentally and physically – I made my way to the checkout, paid and exited Bed, Bath & Beyond. Two and a half hours later, and $552 poorer, I limped out of BB&B possessing less life than could be found at a Van Morrison concert… but I survived.

Should I be fortunate one day to have a family of my own that includes at least one son, I will give my boy the following advice about going to Bed, Bath & Beyond:

“Get only what you need, focus on the task at hand, and be confident in your decision-making ability… Oh, and bring a woman.”

Either that, or “Just buy it online.”

Here in the Marina, everyone has a cell phone, and they’re always on it. It doesn’t matter if those people are walking down the street, having brunch with friends, driving a car or running in a marathon – these people are clinging to their phones as if they were newborn babies.

Everywhere you go people are texting one another, checking e-mail, playing games on their cell phones… just staring at the little LCD screen in dumb amazement. People just can’t look away!

The great irony here is that while everyone has a cell phone and is constantly in possession of it, no one actually picks up the damn thing when a call comes in. It’s sort of the like the phone’s owner is thinking, “How dare this person call me… on my cell phone… during the weekend… when it’s sunny out…? Jerk.”

Or maybe this is just when they see “Mitch Schneider” appear on their Caller ID...

I miss my pager.

Having moved to the Marina, I no longer walk to work downtown. This is kind of a bummer, as I really enjoyed my 20-minute trot to the office each day.

Instead, I now do what millions of Americans do each day to get to work - I hop on the bus. Specifically, I ride the "30X" - an express bus that takes Marina residents directly downtown to San Francisco's Financial District.

But the 30X is no ordinary bus… Not at all. The 30X is more of a sociological experiment that attempts to answer the question, "What would happen if we crammed hundreds of young, well-dressed, well-groomed, testosterone-fueled, eager professionals onto a crowded bus for 20 minutes twice a day?"

The second you walk on the bus you notice everyone’s checking everyone else out. Guys are trying to make eye contact with girls; girls are trying to position themselves directly in the sight of guys; and the married folks are wondering why they’re on this bus in the first place.

To make it seem less obvious you’re looking to meet someone, everyone on the bus comes equipped with one of two things: an iPhone/iPod, or the latest gossip magazine. In fact, they won't let you on the bus unless you have one of these items with you. And to those people who have the iPod going while simultaneously reading US Weekly… you’re not fooling anybody.

The bus drivers – who, for the most part, appear as enthused for their jobs as the circus clean-up guy following the elephant performance – play their roles perfectly in cramming every inch of the 30X with Banana Republic-clad 20-somethings.

And they’ll cram everyone in the entire Marina onto the bus until they get to your stop. Then they’ll pass you due to a full load. And as the bus passes you while you stand there pathetically on the sidewalk, hundreds of starry-eyed passengers look you up and down just as you’re about to voice the first syllable of your favorite curse word.

The ride home to the Marina in the late afternoon isn’t quite as entertaining as the ride to the work. I’m guessing this is because the three grande non-fat, vanilla soy lattes that each 30X-er consumed that day have rendered the rider spent and dysfunctional on the way back. Either that or your iPod battery gave out…

But the 30(se)X isn’t all that bad – it’s a great way to get downtown quickly, its pretty cheap, and most importantly… it’s a feast for the eyes. Just be sure to bring you messenger bag, iPhone, and your pick-up lines...

It’s been several months since I’ve contributed to my blog. Why the disappearing act? Well, the short answer is, I’ve simply felt uninspired to write.

I could go into the myriad of reasons causing this lack of inspiration, but I’m saving this juicy info for when they turn my blog into a blockbuster film (a future Scorsese/Spielberg/Spike Lee joint).

But I’m happy to say my inspiration has returned; I’ve re-captured my mo-jo. And I owe this resurgence to the simple fact that a few weeks ago I moved 1.3 miles from the Nob Hill neighborhood of San Francisco to the Marina district. Having moved 7,000 footsteps north, I now have a different perspective on life and I feel the writing bug has returned.

That being said, the theme of my blog will take a new direction. No longer will I be concentrating primarily on “Books, Life & Marketing,” but more along the lines of “Life in San Francisco's Marina District”. I plan to chronicle my thoughts, experiences and anecdotes about living in one of the more young and hip neighborhoods in the U.S., and I’ll use this blog as a window into my mind.

With this new shift in thought and concentration, I felt a name change was in order, too. “Mitch’s Blog” will now be known as “Mitch’s Marina Mindset” (alliteration, anyone?).

Thanks for reading!

-Mitch

In cleaning up the desktop of my computer, I found this random passage I wrote shortly after New Year's Day. It doesn't really refer to anything, but since my blog has been a bit bare, I figured I'd post it... why not?

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It was Saturday morning, 11:39 a.m., in San Francisco. The sun was out, but it was cold. Very cold. The kind of cold that reminded you of winters spent in the Colorado mountains.

I sat in a trendy café on the corner of Hyde and Pacific, just a few blocks from my one-bedroom apartment in Nob Hill. In front of me lay my laptop computer, my iPhone and my large coffee in a paper cup. My messenger bag was at my side, and other patrons lined my view.

Some, like me, were solo. Others were joined by friends, wives, lovers, perhaps. A small dog was chained to an outside post as her owner purchased a drink in the café. The dog barked, and barked. Stupid dog.

I just sat there, absorbing the life that fluttered about, listening to the Indie Rock that blared from the corner speakers. What the hell band is this?

I was 28 years old, exactly two weeks away from turning 29. My mind was awash with everything, and nothing. I sat there confused, trying to find meaning in my existence, my surroundings. But all I really wanted at that moment was a bit of clarity, and a refill on my French blend.

Just got the Deluxe Version of Pearl Jam's Ten Reissue in the mail, via the Ten Club. Can't wait to hear Brendan O'Brien's remix of one of my favorites albums of all time. (Full disclosure -- I don't really know all that much about O'Brien, but apparently he's pretty good with a soundboard).

Pearl Jam -- Ten

I was 11 years old when Ten was first released in 1991, and after hearing Alive on the radio, I urged my mom to buy the CD for me (which was one of the first compact discs I ever owned). I remember listening to Alive and Even Flow over and over again, and not really listening to anything else on the disc, at least in the beginning.

From the opening guitar riff, Alive just hooked me. It was unlike anything I had ever heard, and it's still one of the only songs (to this day) I can sit and listen to the entire five-plus minute version without any desire to change the song or leave the room.

Update [4/19]: My girlfriend did not win our office pool, which is alright, I guess since she's no longer my girlfriend. So it goes...

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On paper, I should be the hands-down favorite to win my company office pool for the 2009 NCAA Basketball Tournament. I’ve logged hundreds of hours watching games and highlights; read every newspaper article, Internet story, and blog post on the sport; and have spoken to numerous journalist buddies who cover college hoops to get their insider opinions.

I was more prepared for this year’s NCAA tourney than I was for my high school SAT exam.

So, imagine my surprise when I logged-in to ESPN.com this morning to find out who’s leading our office pool… My British girlfriend.

My British girlfriend, who’s never watched a single minute of college basketball, is leading our office pool.

My British girlfriend, who’s never heard of any of the players, coaches or schools in the tournament, is leading our office pool.

My British girlfriend, who’s never even heard of an office pool, is leading our office pool.

How on Earth could a non-sports fan, non-gambler, non-American­ be leading our entire office pool when all other participants are so well-versed in the sport?

To quote the great British rock band, The Who: “I can’t explain…”

You’re probably wondering how she did it. Well, I’ll tell you.

The night before the start of the tournament, I told Lorraine she would be entering our office pool. I did this not because I thought she would win or do well… I did this to clear the path of allowing me to watch college hoops for the next three weeks in the comfort of my own apartment with her (willingly) alongside me. This was great “man” strategy on my part, and even Lorraine was excited to watch the games now that she was invested in the tournament… Mission accomplished.

That same night, I explained to her how the tournament and pool would work, and then I took her game-by-game through the brackets with her picking a winner in each game. Did I give her any insight, or share with her my opinion…? Not at all. I simply named the two teams that were playing in a particular game, and also told her the seed for each team.

Our conversation sort of went like this:

Mitch: Who do you think will win -- No. 1 Connecticut or No. 16 Tennessee-Chattanooga?

Lorraine: Well, I have a friend from Connecticut, so I pick Connecticut.

Mitch: Do you like No. 7 California, or No. 10 Maryland?

Lorraine: That's easy. Since you’re from California… I’ll take Maryland.

Mitch: How ‘bout No. 4 Xavier against No. 13 Portland State?

Lorraine: Ooh – I like the name Xavier… Maybe for a little boy, or a dog. I want Xavier! And can we get a dog…?

And on we went through each game, just like this…

But a funny thing happened on the way to the Sweet Sixteen… Lorraine was winning, and by a wide margin at that. Lorraine had correctly predicted 40 winners in 48 games (83%). By comparison, I’ve called only 38 of 48 games (79%), and my friend and office mate, Tim – who’s probably the biggest college basketball fan in the whole company – was getting trounced by my girlfriend.

If the University of Connecticut makes it to the tournament final on April 6^th and wins the game, my British girlfriend will have won our entire office pool. Call it “unbelievable”, call it a “miracle”… call it whatever you like. But whatever you call it, or even Lorraine, you’ll need to call her “office pool champion” if UConn cuts down the nets in two weeks.

It just goes to show that it doesn’t take brains or insight to win your office pool, but just dumb luck. It also goes to show, unfortunately, that women are always right… always.

My friend, Sandy, e-mailed me to ask if I had any skiing or snowboarding tips for a beginner. Just in case any of you, my loyal readers, are planning to hit the snow for the first time, here was my reply:

1. Don’t engage in both skiing and snowboarding. Just choose one mode of getting down the mountain and stick with it. Assuming you ski or board more than one day, you’ll get the hang of whatever you’re doing and it should become much easier. If you mix and match, you’re, potentially, setting yourself up for “a fall”. [Get it…? Thought that was funny…]

2. Snowboarding is much easier to pick up than skiing, but once you get comfortable on skis, there isn’t one inch of the mountain you’ll have trouble accessing. On a snowboard, there are several rough areas (mainly those areas that are flat).

3. Whatever you do – ski or snowboard – lean forward! This goes against what your body will want to do once on the mountain, but by leaning forward, you’ll be much more in control than if you stay back on your heels (which most newbies will do). You will fall at first… this is a definite. But once you get the hang of leaning forward and going down the mountain, you’ll pick things up much quicker.

4. Don’t freak out if your friends or companion zoom down the hill while you’re still attempting your first turn. Screw ‘em. Go at your own pace and enjoy the ride.

5. The most important piece of clothing – gloves! Make sure they’re warm and water proof. Otherwise you’ll be miserable.

6. While the first chair lifts typically lead to the easiest terrain, skip the first chair and go farther up the mountain. There’s less skier traffic, more open space, and more groomed trails. Practice on these runs rather than those near the bottom of the mountain.

7. Make sure your first drink off the mountain is a cold beer… there is nothing better after a long, satisfying day of skiing (and I’m a vodka guy).

8. Have “911” pre-dialed on your cell phone, just in case…

Here were my New Year's Resolutions for 2008, along with a quick note in BOLD if I achieved my resolution, or not: