Mullahs of the Mission

Ten days ago I was soaking up the cultural and culinary offerings of Mexico City.  Since returning, the reality of my unemployment has hit.  I awake every morning to a blank slate.  I can exercise, or not.  I can fill my day with chores, or not. I can network with colleagues and potential clients over breakfast, lunch or cocktails, or not.  Today, my focus has been on exceeding my running distance in Golden Gate Park (up and back without stopping!), delivering a donation of clothing to the thrift store, and finding a decent place to write.  

At the moment I am in the midst of a Goldilocks-like  quest to find a cafe in the Mission District where I can comfortably create.  This morning I checked out Ritual on Valencia and 22nd.  I liked the coffee and the instrumental loungey background music, but the space was a bit drafty and cold.  I returned to Lundys Lane and attempted to write in the studio, or as I am going to start calling it "Ridgeback Cavern."  Surrounded by three occasionally fussy but mostly dozing dogs was conducive to napping, but not to writing.  At the moment I am at Four Barrel at Valencia & 15th.  It's still a bit drafty and cold, even though the sun is shining.  The chairs are flat, wooden and uncomfortable and I am sharing a table with two chatty women who are alternating between their conversation and texting a recently pregnant friend.  The music is a bit loud and grungy and includes vocals.  The coffee seemed watery. This one is definitely not "Just Right."  My search will continue.

As I sit here, it is impossible not to notice that one, by one, there has been a steady stream of fully bearded men in their twenties and early thirties.  More than half of the men fit this profile. The same is true at Ritual.   Their haircuts are relatively trimmed-- they are not going for a hippy look -- but their beards are full, bushy and flowing.  No goatees or flavor savors.  A disturbing number of the beards have the unfortunate gnarly appearance of facial pubic hair.  Many of them are wearing stocking hats.  They look like members of the Taliban, only hipper.  

As I sit here with my relatively new full beard, I am faced with a crisis of personal aesthetics.  I have never been one to attempt coolness, but I wonder if my decision to grow a beard was a subconscious effort to appear younger and hipper?  Given the distinctly silvery nature of the beard, one could argue that I look older, but maybe my inner hipster wanted to fit into the cafe culture of the Mission.  With this realization, maybe my anti-hipster instincts are going to lead me to reduce the beard to a goatee.   Or maybe remove it completely and grow my remaining locks into a flowing Ben Franklin.  (Not going to happen.)  Or maybe, I'll continue to tour cafes and just sit back and enjoy the show.  A man just walked in with a heavily waxed handle bar moustache...