I don’t think there’s enough caffeine in the world that would enable me to handle my morning ride on the number 41 bus ride from the Marina district into the Financial district without ending up dazed and confused. I’m decidedly not a morning person, the fact that for the better part of my life I have had to wake up at unearthly hours ranging from 5.30 am (on occasions ranging from carpooling with lunatic when I was working in Woodland Hills to doing SAT classes with Mrs. Nannayakare) to 6.00 am during the greater part of my school career has always been a source of endless dismay to me. 

My current wakeup time of 7.00 am is actually on the latter end my wakeup spectrum but still nowhere near what would be my ideal time of oh…say around 1.00 in the afternoon. I did manage to keep this wonderful schedule through a significant portion of college but sadly until I become rich and retire I don’t think that will be possible again.

Digression about my ideal waking time aside let me get to the point as to why my bus ride is difficult at best. My morning commute is like being stuck in a living, breathing FHM or Maxim magazine. As Cricket Captain so succinctly put it I have the dubious honour of living in a part of San Francisco which is home to what has to be one of the highest concentrations of hotties I have ever seen in my life, even compared to London, Paris or Hong Kong (actually scratch that last one, didn’t see a single cute girl there). It was also pointed out that I work downtown, which is where most of the hot girls work, thus I travel on the artery of hotness that runs through the city. 

On my bus itself there are generally more hot girls than were there in the whole of Imperial College. I tend to spend my mornings plugged into my iPod with my eyes resolutely closed and concentrating on keeping my tongue in my mouth. What’s ironic is none of the girls (well 95% or so) aren’t my ‘dial’. They are attractive in a blonde, Teutonic manner…which I find nice to look at, but not nice to deal with. I’m much more drawn to petite brunettes or slim, brown skinned girls with more of an element of cuteness rather than being drop dead gorgeous (they generally tend to have less mental problems). These unfortunately seem to be in short manner out here.

The issues with my morning commute aside; I have to say living in the Marina district has other advantages. The ocean with views of Alcatraz and the Golden Gate Bridge is just a couple of blocks down and I think I’ve found a nice spot to relax on a Sunday afternoon with some good music, a good read and possibly a camera in hand. Below are some pictures I took while wondering around five minutes down from my flat, they are pretty shoddy quality, I wasn’t really trying and I didn’t have my tripod with me, but they should help give people some idea of the scenic advantages of my current abode.

 

The Golden Gate Bridge at Sunset, note the Pelican flocks 

 

 

Similar shot to the one above, obviously couldn’t hold the camera straight

 

 

Close up of the Pelicans