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Inside: Cultural Sausage. ~ Ludic Lists. ~ Skullbucket. Outside: Thanks for checking in during my absence, and special thanks to Rob, Brent, Matt and Tim for filling in while I was away. Regular content starts back up tomorrow. "resume of public aid" "everything you wanted to know about Chinese cooking" "defecating lose weight" "ta ra ra boom de yay" "Mila Kunis lied about her age" "vending machines moving" "Starfire's boobs" "African prostitutes location" |
08.10.2004
Hello! I am back from San Francisco. Regular, that is to say interesting and funny, entries will resume tomorrow. For now, a precis of my trip, with a special tally given of the most important aspects of this beautiful city by the bay: Chinese people, homosexuals and hippies. Friday, August 6th. After having breakfast with my pal and roommate Cori, I headed out to the airport. Having secured a flight on ATA, I left well in advance of my flight, in hopes of being roughly handled by the transportation security goons, but I was eased through the pre-boarding process with nary a blink. I was wearing camoflage pants, sporting a black Venom t-shirt reading "WELCOME TO HELL" and portraying a devil's head in a pentagram, reading a book called I, Lucifer, and toting a military shoulderbag festooned with anarchist slogans and containing a straight razor. And, for Allah's sake, I'm half-Arab! What does a guy have to do to get searched in this day and age, shove a road flare in each ear? I'm not getting the racial profiling to which I'm halfway entitled. Anyway, the plane took off after a very lengthly delay due to the catering truck breaking down and requiring a tow (well worth it, though, because I don't know how I would have survived without that greasy, pallid, indescribably awful "chicken Caesar" salad), and immediately one of the engines on the right wing began making a horrible and distressing noise. Sensing that death was imminent, I donned my iPod and drowned out the sound of my approaching demise with some Hovercraft, because I've always wanted to die while listening to an alterno-prog instrumental jam band. Oddly, the plane landed safely, and I eventually found my hotel despite the tendency of San Francsico city planners to not provide street signs for the benefit of out-of-towners. Having just toted 300 pounds of luggage at least 12 city blocks, I was in a foul mood when I arrived at the Triton, but it was immediately lifted when I got to my room and saw a naked chick in the room directly across the courtyard from mine. After she derailed my enjoyment by putting clothes on, I went out with pals Jane, Brian, and Cindy for dinner (a delicious steak and some confusing French fries), then back to the hotel to watch the much-better-than-its-reputation The Ladykillers. WAS I DRUNK?: Not very. I had a Chimay at the restaurant, and Cindy bought me an early birthday present of a bottle of excellent Barenjagr honey liqueur from which I had a few belts, but that was it. CHINESE PEOPLE: My hotel was by the Chinatown Gate, and the naked chick was Chinese. HOMOSEXUALS: Many spotted, but my involvement was limited. HIPPIES: My entire hotel was designed by, staffed by, and geared towards hippies. Rich hippies. With a "whimsical" design sense. More on this when I post pictures this Friday, but take my word for it -- there were lots of times I wanted to punch my hotel. Saturday, August 7th. As it happens, this day was my birthday. Arising early with the intention of taking lots of pictures, I wandered into the heart of San Francisco only to discover I had forgotten to put any batteries in my camera. I went to Chinatown and ate some sort of lunch special consisting of muskmelon balls and rice in a very thin, delicate sauce, and then a teenager spat on my shoes. I considered renting an electric car (one of the myriad hippie services offered by my hippie hotel), but decided that was just a little too lame even for me, and got the free massage instead. It was nice, despite not culminating in a handjob. I attempted to get a haircut, but was rebuffed by a large number of salon employees who clearly wanted to have nothing to do with me. I then headed for a park I forget the name of to look at girls. When this proved entirely too prone to reminding me of my pathetic loserhood, I went to another park (pausing briefly to be mobbed by a gigantic throng of conventioneering American Express employees) and played chess with a five thousand year old Chinese man who beat me down like a recalcitrant Sea Monkey, partly because I suck at chess and partly because he probably has done nothing but sit in the park and play chess 18 hours a day since the intercontinental railroad was completed. After this humiliation at the hands of the yellow peril, I went to dinner at a swell restaurant called Kuleto's with Jane, Brian, Cindy, Yuri, and Nick. I ate some very good food, had some very good drinks, and then followed the gang to a very not good martini bar where a very bad waitress brought some very bad booze to us while a very bad band played some very bad Latin jazz. I probably fell asleep at some point after this. WAS I DRUNK?: Yeah, pretty solidly. I had several belts of the Barenjagr before we met at Kuleto's; I had two gimlets there, two more at the martini bar, two beers, and three Scotch and waters. There was a time when this wouldn't have gotten me drunk, but that was before I became an old man. CHINESE PEOPLE: Almost everyone in Chinatown was Chinese. HOMOSEXUALS: Yuri and Nick are homosexual. The salon employees who refused my custom were all homosexual. The electric car you could rent at my hotel was not homosexual, but it was kinda gay. HIPPIES: Early in the day, I went to see Collateral, and a couple of hippie girls sat next to me. They seemed to like the movie more than I did. Sunday, August 8th. After arising from a not-as-bad-as-it-could-have-been but nonetheless pretty bad hangover, I took the Muni over to Brian & Jane's apartment, where I met Yuri & Nick and we all had strawberry waffles and fresh fruit. Then I headed back to my hotel, pausing briefly to not get a haircut, and got dressed for Christian and Christina's wedding. I also watched Hellboy, which wasn't that great, although I will surely be called a traitor and a heretic for saying so. I took some time to lovingly admire myself in the mirror, because let's face it, I looked totally fucking hot in my suit and hat. Off to the wedding went I with Cindy, listening to the banter of an amusing cab dispatcher on the way, and we arrived at the gorgeous Palace of Fine Arts for the wedding. The bride was lovely and radiant, the band was swell and swinging, the families were charming, and the groom is just about my favorite person in the world, even though, let's face it, I looked totally fucking hot in my suit and hat. During the toasts, a demented homeless man began bellowing a wordless tune at the top of his lungs, providing a fun counterpoint to the depressing lucid, modulated and comprehensible words being spoken by the wedding guests. After the wedding wrapped up, I headed back to the hotel and, in light of my early flight the next day, rudely cast out my guests Cindy and Leigh by parading around in my undergarments, the sight of which would cause anyone to flee the area. Stopping only briefly to enjoy more naked chicks in the rooms across the courtyard, I crashed like my plane probably would the next day. WAS I DRUNK?: Hardly at all. My drinking consisted of one beer at the wedding and a few more belts of Barenjagr in the hotel. An unwise move in retrospect, as if there's one good time and place to be hung over, it's on a plane. CHINESE PEOPLE: A number of perplexed but happy-looking Chinese tourists wandered through the wedding area. HOMOSEXUALS: Yuri and Nick continued to be homosexual. Christian proved that not only is he smarter than me, funnier than me and more interesting than me, but also, by virtue of having married an actual woman, he is even more heterosexual than me. HIPPIES: The wedding photographer was kind of a hippie. Monday, August 9th. It was a lovely sojourn in the delightful city of San Francisco, but finally, a would-be-funny wakeup call from my hippie hotel's robot told me it was time to head back to the Big Town of Chicago. I packed by bags, took a final belt of Barenjagr, and lit off for SFO. Boarding was again a breeze, even though "security" was "tight" -- not tight enough to again miss the much-more-deadly-than-a-box-cutter straightedge that was in my carry-on bag. One very uneventful plane trip later (during which I failed to attract the attentions of an air marshal despite reading Andre Gorz's Farewell to the Working Class -- what, you want me to carry a SIGN?) and I was home -- older, wiser, and having seen a couple of hot naked chicks. WAS I DRUNK?: I sure do like that Barenjagr, I tell you what. CHINESE PEOPLE: Only in passing, although a tiny old Chinese man brought me some shaving cream at the hotel and then scuttled off before I was able to resolve the question of whether to tip him. HOMOSEXUALS: I just assume that all airline pilots are gay, don't you? It seems like kind of a gay profession. HIPPIES: Walking around downtown San Francisco at 4AM on the way to the BART station, I had to step over the prone slumbering bodies of a number of pungent ex-hippies. |
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| TODAY'S DRIFTWOOD: "The knowledge that makes us cherish innocence makes innocence unattainable." (Irving Howe) |