Earlier this evening (or technically last night), walking home after an impromptu dinner at Tommy’s — a delicious decision I’m glad I made — I was nearly hit by a man driving a silver Mercedes in excess of the speed limit through an intersection, narrowly avoiding two other cars with the right-of-way that were crossing the intersection, all while talking on his phone. Luckily he was able to stop his vehicle about a foot and a half away from me as I made my way across the street (having the right-of-way) before he rapidly careened around, swerving hurriedly toward his destination. The whole event likely lasted about 5 seconds, but my mind perceived the duration to be much longer.

I shook my head and went on my way. It was not the only traffic hazard I had encountered during that walk home.

I’ve spent the greater part of the last two weeks or so recovering data off of two external drives.

The first drive succumbed to some sort of hardware failure that I’m not entirely sure of quite yet. This particular drive had failed a few months ago, but I suppose I was obstinate in believing it was a mischance that wouldn’t repeat itself. I had relatively recent backups of that drive then, so I wasn’t too concerned about data being lost. I was also on a self-imposed spending freeze, anticipating upcoming trips to San Diego for Battle on the Bank III, Las Vegas for RollerCon 2010, and the not-yet-set-in-stone looming move from Unit #312 to what would end up being #104. Persistency in my hope that the drive wouldn’t fail again, however, didn’t pay off.

The second drive failed as a result of trying to recover data off of the first drive. Backups of the first drive were, at this point, far too old and I was finding that some files had become corrupted. This meant having to shuffle data around and purchasing a replacement drive. I decided to use this opportunity to repartition my functioning external drive. Hundreds of gigabytes of data were moved around, defragmented and repartitioned. One of the shifts would up failing, resulting in the loss of one partition. As chance would have it, I didn’t have a backup of that partition. Mozy had, for reasons I’m not fully aware of nor care to understand at this point, marked that particular backup for deletion resulting in me having to purchase Data Rescue in order to try to get a decent raw scan of the drive in the hopes of being able to pull files off of it. It’s been working well so far, albeit slowly, and I’ve since moved to Backblaze for my online backup solution.

It seems I should have replaced that first drive some time ago. Still, while it would have saved me this headache of a task, the learning experience will most likely prove to be beneficial in the long-run. At the very least, I discovered just how little I should have depended on Mozy.

Situations don’t always go according to plan as we would like them to. I’ve found that they rarely do. There’s a vast difference, however, between making plans and setting goals. The best anyone can do is attempt to anticipate every possibility and try to be as prepared for uncertainty as they can. There’s only so much that luck can provide.

In my years as a pedestrian, experience has taught me to be aware of my surroundings, to open up my peripheral vision, and to always pause a brief moment before crossing any street — even with the right-of-way. Chances are that silver Mercedes would have zoomed past me at a safe distance had I remembered to pause.

As luck would have it, I had good luck this time.

David Zulaica has spent the vast majority of today recovering data. Here’s to hoping this doesn’t end up with having to buy a new external drive….

Disk Utility ended up failing to create an image, citing an ambiguous “resource busy” error. What made that error particularly frustrating was having it happen just as it appeared that the process was about to complete successfully. Perhaps I should have booted from the install DVD before attempting to create the image with Disk Utility. I’m not entirely positive that would have made a difference, though, so I’ve since opted to try creating an image of the presumably faulty drive using Drive Genius. In retrospect, I imagine I should have used Drive Genius from the get-go.

I suppose I’ll find out in approximately 8 hours and 18 minutes.

I spoke briefly with Bruisey over IM a few days ago. The topic of time perception came up, how it changes with age the longer we’re alive. One day seemed like an eternity to 5-year-old me, given the few number of days I’d existed, whereas 32-year-old me finds one day to be a reasonably short amount of time.

32-year-old me now fully understands and appreciates why my parents would wait until the morning of to let me know we’d be going somewhere like Disneyland rather than telling me when they had first planned it.

It was during my conversation with Bruisey when I had an epiphany. This is what I said to her and, in many ways, to myself.

Take it from me, [impatience] does little outside of generating unnecessary frustration.

Rather than stare at a slowly moving progress bar, I spent the day doing what little work I could do and then moved on with more unpacking and cleaning. The unfortunate circumstance of drive corruption did disrupt my day, but there was no need to see it as an impasse and remain stagnant. Besides, I’ll have to continue to deal with this tomorrow morning as Drive Genius still needs more time to complete its task. What’s more, there are now even fewer boxes cluttering up #104. Stoicism is little without perseverance.

As I like to say, shit happens and then you wipe.

Home is… (according to Google suggestions at 9:18pm PDT on August 26th, 2010.)

When I first moved to USF in the fall of ’96, I held fast to the notion that San Francisco wasn’t home. While I did live there, I didn’t feel that qualified the city to be considered home. I would correct people, much in the same way I correct people who call me “Dave”.

I’m not a “Dave”, I’m a “David”.

I was excited to visit home, Los Angeles, that winter. I was excited to see my family, my friends, all the loved ones I had left behind.

It was incredible seeing how much changed in the short time I had been away, myself included. My family’s house, the place I called home, felt foreign and unfamiliar. It wasn’t unwelcoming, but I didn’t quite feel relaxed. Perhaps it was because I knew my time there was short, that I would be leaving again. Perhaps it was because my familiarities were altogether different, my routines changed.

That’s not to say the visit itself was unenjoyable. There was a realization, however, that Los Angeles wasn’t quite home anymore. Los Angeles became “where I am from”. Likewise, San Francisco went from “where I live” to “home”.

Slowly my possessions make their way out of the boxes they were packed in. The cats continue to relax further each day as these familiar items settle. More and more I recognize neighborhood people with each visit to the store or La Oficina. I’m finding myself falling into routines.

I was finally able to set up my internet connection at #104 tonight. Each check off of my to-do list feels like a milestone and brings me one step closer to calling this place home.

I have two cats. Their names are Sgt Pepper and Billy Shears.

While there was a decided improvement in their demeanor from the day I left them until the day I picked them up, Sgt Pepper and Billy Shears never did fully relax during their stay. Their uneasiness, growing with each day of packing at Unit #312, built up steadily during the car ride to The Zu Haus. Once they arrived they then found themselves confined to the piano room, wholly unfamiliar and with two vocal chihuahuas named Coco and Paloma within earshot.

It was no surprise they found every possible hiding place.

I stayed there the first night, sitting with them while trying to work. They were relatively fine with me in the room, slowly exploring, but would dash out of sight the moment I’d leave the room. My dad was worried they might make themselves sick by not eating their food or drinking their water, but I didn’t think that would be the case. Nervous or not, I figured these cats would eat at least a little. It’s in their nature and their personality.

It made more sense for me to stay with Roger and Gia than to stay at The Zu Haus. Everything I had planned for that week — securing Pueblo Pleasar, heading to The Doll Factory for practice, fArt Dept. meeting at Villa Vulvie, getting to The Rad Pad to record show number 39 of The Rad Dudes — either involved the de los Assaultreys or was closer to their place.

Most of Homeless Week™ was spent working and thinking. I feel like that’s all I’ve been doing lately, especially since returning from the whirlwind that was RollerCon. I’m hoping things will finally start to settle after I get everything moved into Pueblo Pleasar on Thursday, but I doubt that’ll be the case.

It’d be nice to take a short vacation, but nothing comes into mind as a destination. I suppose if there were no cost consideration I’d find my way to Japan for a short while, but that’s in a world of “what ifs”, a world not worth spending too much speculation over. Besides, there’s still much to be done before I can begin to relax enough to relax.

I made my way back to The Zu Haus on Sunday, the 15th. Once again I sat with the cats while trying to work. This proved to be rather difficult; they meowed incessantly and kept rubbing into my hands and arms making work a challenge. Moving to a different room didn’t help much. Their meows seemed to come more frequently the further I got from them.

Even without all of my things, it felt good to begin to get settled into Pueblo Pleasar. Sgt Pepper and Billy Shears have been easing into their new surroundings pretty well. I’m sure it helps having me there along with some possessions they’re accustomed to. They’re probably also liking that I don’t go into a separate bedroom to sleep now. The increased neighborhood noise still startles them, but that will go away with time.

I think I’ll finally start to feel settled once my internet is set up in 8 days. While it’s nice being a short walk from La Oficina, it’s not exactly what I’d call convenient. There are far too many distractions there to be as productive as I could be.

Pueblo Pleasar, being sans-internet, is also without streaming Netflix for the time being. My DVD player is in storage until Thursday. Shoddy over-the-air television has been increasingly frustrating. I’ve found myself living in my headphones at home for the time being.

Notwithstanding the increased neighborhood noise, nights at #104 feel strangely quiet. That, too, will go away with time.

All that’s left now is to find the time to find the time.

I’ll be making the move to #104, Pueblo Pleasar, on Monday. I’m surprisingly looking forward to moving into Hollywood. I had originally hoped to stay in the Downtown area, notably Little Tokyo, but the gentrification of that area limited my options dramatically.

Pueblo Pleasar puts me within a short walking distance to a Metro station and a Ralphs, both very welcome changes bringing increased mobility and accessible groceries. There are also quite a few other landmarks I intend to frequent on a semi-regular basis. This also puts me into close proximity to The Rad Pad, the place where The Rad Dudes record our podcast.

Acquisition of the apartment went over quite smoothly, but that’s not to say I didn’t have worries or doubts.

During my senior year of high school, while selecting potential universities to attend, I blindly made up my mind to move to San Francisco. A native to The Greater Los Angeles Area, I applied to local universities with the exception being the University of San Francisco.

I had never been to San Francisco, let alone The Bay Area, before making this decision.

After receiving my acceptance letter, I figured I should at least visit the city I’d be moving to. Luckily my sister Claudine had a friend who lived close to USF and was willing to let me sleep on her couch during my spring break while visiting San Francisco for the first time. This would afford me an opportunity to actually tour the campus and explore the city at my leisure.

It would have made sense to do both of those things prior to applying, but there’d always been a part of me that hadn’t liked Los Angeles. I don’t do well with the heat nor the vast majority of people in this city. San Francisco offered a better climate along with brand new opportunities. At face value, it was an enticing choice.

While driving up to the city during rush hour traffic, Jamiroquai’s “Space Cowboy” playing on my radio, I fell in love. The week spent there left me confident in my decision and I returned that Fall to attend USF.

Attempting to look for housing while in the middle of packing proved itself to be incredibly stressful. A strict budget, a firm timeline, and two cats limited my options. My search results on craigslist were, more often than not, disheartening. There was, however, one exception.

#104 was the only apartment I looked at in-person during my search.

I made my appointment with Justin on the 5th and my dad and I took a break from packing on the 7th to check it out. I was shown two apartments in the complex. The first was recently renovated, complete with new appliances and fixtures. The second, while without the luxury of new appliances and fixtures, provided ample storage space and a smaller price point.

I fell in love.

I made up my mind.

There’s a lot to be said for having a solid back-up, a plan B. Just as much can be said, however, about determination and not settling. Risks are a part of life. Some may be calculated while others are the byproduct of chance. In the end, they need to be dealt with accordingly. Whether met by desperate times or by adventure for its own sake, uncertainty will deal its hand and we’re all left to make our decisions.

My decision regarding #104 was immediate and solid. Through intent and perseverance, I was fortunate enough to see it come to fruition. I eagerly anticipate what both Pueblo Pleasar and Hollywood have in store.

Beginning tomorrow, for all intents and purposes, I will be homeless.

I have the support of family and friends, so I won’t be without shelter. At the same time there have been a series of events, some of which were very recent happenings, that have paved the way for grey hair.

I’ve always wanted grey hair. I remember feeling that way in the 8th grade. I attempted to dye it grey at some point during high school, but that failed into a sort of orange cream. Three bleachings and some “grey dye” didn’t do the trick for my dark hair. Now I keep finding natural grey hairs popping up on a somewhat regular basis. I have to say, the designer in me likes the pattern they’re forming.

At the end of October 2008, I learned that my parents could no longer afford the condo I’m currently renting from them. A failing economy, a dissolving housing market, and bleak employment opportunities finally caught up with the country and my family were not one of the lucky ones to escape it. But, hey, these things happen and I was hardly the only one.

In February of 2010, my employer of approximately 10 years decided they no longer needed my services. I didn’t mind so much, actually, as I’d thought about leaving for some time but wasn’t sure which route to take. Luckily I was able to cash out my remaining vacation hours, which surprisingly ended up being more than I had thought considering I spent 10 days in New Zealand over the New Year holiday. Still, the sting of being let go with little more than a “good luck” struck hard. But, hey, these things happen and I was hardly the only one.

On July 10th of this year, I received a call from my dad that Unit #312 was looking like it finally sold and to wait for further word on whether or not the deal was solid. A few days later I learned that the deal was and is quite solid. But, hey, these things happen and I’m hardly the only one.

As my dad and the new owner worked on negotiating and coordinating the move-out date, I made attempts at normalcy. That’s not to say I was ignoring the situation. Far from it, there were deadlines to meet and there was money to be made. Plans had been in the works: lending a hand at the Jr. Derby Camp, recording an episode of The Rad Dudes and compiling our first exclusive mixtapes, and — the biggest plan of them all, the one that had been planned for the longest — RollerCon 2010.

Some time over the weekend of the 24th, I got both good news and not-quite-so-good news. The good news? I would be receiving a large sum of money for moving out in a timely manner. The not-quite-so-good-news? The move-out date was set for Friday, August 6th — the week after RollerCon, the day after my birthday.

I’m now 32 years old. Birthdays don’t hold the same weight they once did and, let’s be fair, 32 is no milestone. My bigger concern was that I’d be home late Monday evening, exhausted from both the travel and the trip itself. That would leave precious time to get everything packed and to hopefully find a new place to live.

As it turns out, there was even less time than anticipated. I lost Tuesday to a meeting with a new client, a job worth a large sum, a sum large enough to justify the loss of time. But that’s a story for another time.

I also decided to spend as much time as was reasonably possible with Bruisey, a skater whom I was reacquainted with at RollerCon who would be spending a few days in Los Angeles. That, too, is a story for another time.

My sinuses also have a dislike for packing. Trying to box items and look for prospective apartments while either sneezing or in a antihistamine haze proved to be difficult and disabled me much earlier in the evening than I would have liked. If it wasn’t for my dad’s help, as well as the help of my uncle Paul and my brother-in-law Gilbert, I would have missed my move-out deadline. Thankfully the move-out deadline was extended. The new owner left town on Friday giving us until Monday, the 9th, to be out. This allowed for a little less stress and an opportunity to pack and label boxes properly before my dad would truck them off to storage. Again, I owe my dad an absolute debt of gratitude. He did the majority of the heavy lifting as I’m nursing a shoulder that was slightly dislocated (is that like “kinda pregnant”?) during a challenge bout at RollerCon. Once again, that is a story for another time.

I wrote the following as my status on Facebook on Friday, August 6th, at 10:14am.
(http://www.facebook.com/zulaica?v=wall&story_fbid=140319682669074)

David Zulaica‎, as furniture makes its way out of Unit #312, is beginning to feel nostalgic and remembering all of the good and the bad and the in-between, both old and new. Pages turn, chapters end.™

Walking “home” to an increasingly emptying condo this evening proved more difficult than I had expected, but my outlook is surprisingly bright. “Things have a way of working out.” I say that to my friends who find themselves in difficult situations and I’ve caught myself saying it in my head. I suppose that would qualify me as a glass-half-full kind of person, but I think it’s the dreamer in me, the one who hopes upon hope. Luckily Gia popped up online to remind me of that when I got in. I also owe her a debt of gratitude.