In Between the Lines 6

We were headed up north to the great uncharted territory made famous by Grunge and Grey’s Anatomy. The drive up I-5 was relatively uneventful, which started the idea that Seattle would follow suit. We did, however, manage to see one of the most amazing mountains around, at least in our minds, by the name of Mt. Shasta. Her snowcapped vistas offered us ample opportunities to snap some incredible pictures through the bug splattered windows. She was also, as we later found out, the source of our 35 pack of Crystal Geyser water that we purchased in Redding. Mt. Shasta, you sure do taste good. I was a bit disgruntled that I had to pay a deposit on the bottles, though, since I had no intention of returning them to that state to collect on said deposit.

Other than these events, the drive was mostly spent flipping between the myriad Christian Rock stations, taking pictures, and contemplating just what exactly we were going to do once we arrived in Seattle. Once we realized we wouldn’t actually reach Seattle until 4am, our frugalness kicked in and we decided to forego a hotel room for a stay in the not-so-scenic rest stop. We settled on a nicely lighted area of the parking and called it a night. Apparently, I was actually the only one that called it a night, as Jon was left awake to wonder what exactly the truckers were doing all night while clearing their –ahem- pressure valves. I was simply snoozing away, ready to start the day with the sunrise.

After a relatively silent breakfast at Denny’s in Tacoma, I learned of Jon’s inability to fall asleep due to the location of the steering wheel and the trucker antics. I thought I was the light sleeper…. Before leaving Tacoma we stopped in a hotel lobby and grabbed a Seattle brochure to plan a day of sightseeing. That’s when the worry really set in. When it’s possible to equate another city with Orlando for unique attractions, it’s a bad sign. We set on, though, in search of downtown Seattle. It was sort of a “hear we are now, entertain us” moment…

As we approached on the interstate in the early morning rush hour traffic, we were actually impressed with its beauty and size. The two stadiums were clearly defined in the downtown and the city was somewhat hilly with clear views of the water. Our worries were somewhat eased. A few laps through the main streets in search of a hotel brought us to a Best Western, which we thought would be in our price range. Unfortunately, the woman at the front desk said they were sold out, but also the rooms were $140/night. Definitely way too expensive for us, but I managed to find out that they had wireless internet. After emerging from the hotel lobby, I told Jon the bad news, but also told him that we should search the internet for a hotel in the area off their wireless signal. That’s exactly what we did and we managed to snag a hotel, albeit not downtown, for $60/night. Oh, and get this, that Best Western wasn’t actually sold out. Man, the satisfaction I got from stealing internet….

Now that the hotel was set, we had a few hours to burn before check-in. In our Seattle brochure we both thought the Underground tour sounded interesting, so that was agreed upon to be our next destination. After $12 and a little green sticker on our jackets, we were down underneath the sidewalks and streets of Seattle for a comedic tour about the early days of the city. Actually, it was virtually impossible to not make the history sound fun. It’s just way too unbelievable.

After learning all about Seattle in an hour period, we headed out toward SeaTac for a famous Ramada shower. I was actually pretty impressed with the showerhead. It had this little spiny thing in the center that sprayed the water in all different ways depending on the setting. Thanks Ramada, you managed to remove the tension in my shoulders.

Once we smelled of Ramada soap, it was time to head back in toward the city for the famous Space Needle. The brochure actually proved useful once again in saving us each $1 on the ridiculous admission price of $15. But, it was actually impressive with its telescopes and view finders offering unspeakable views across the city. Once we descended back down, it was a short walk over to the Pike Street Fish Market. All the while, Jon was managing to moon every pedestrian through his ripped jeans if they snuck a view of his derriere.

Upon walking through the Fish Market, we thought about the similarities between it and San Fran. Also, we noticed just how clean and safe the city felt, not at all unlike a Disney theme park. We walked on our way to the Mariners game, but had a few hours to kill. What better way to burn some time than to stop in an Irish pub called the Owl n’ Thistle. Sticking with the Irish theme we grabbed some Fish n’ Chips and some microbrew beer. Well, I got the beer, and Jon stuck with his staple – the rum n’ Coke. With a few drinks in, I was able to work up the courage to talk with the waitress. First, I went for the compliment. “I can’t believe you’re handling all these tables. We’re both servers and we know how it is.” She smiled and said, “This is nothing. You should have been here Friday.” After that, we would get a few words in as she walked between tables. Somehow we managed to get in a whole conversation over the course of the hour or so in which she learned where we were from and that we were interested in hanging out in Seattle. Once we worked up the sobriety to continue on to the Mariner’s game, she told us when she was getting off from work. So, I hurriedly scribbled down my phone number and an offer for a free drink on a shred of newspaper.

Then, it was back on the clean streets of Seattle for some drunk navigating to the Mariner’s game. After a few laps around the stadium in search of the box office, $7 for the cheapest seats, and a stop in the bathroom, we were in for 5 innings of complete fun. That was my first professional baseball game and I have to say, it was amazing. That’s definitely something I will repeat, but hopefully next time the Mariner’s will be able to beat the Angels.

Now, it was time to go back to the Owl n’ Thistle. After learning about our plans for continued drinking, Jon headed back to the hotel with the car. Remember, he had issues with the truckers the night before. I won’t say anything if you don’t….

The next four hours were spent in a whirlwind of drinking at the Lava Lounge in downtown Seattle. It’s a fun little bar with an attempted tiki and beach theme throughout. I followed through on my promise of a free drink and I continued drinking beer. Somehow, I managed to find myself taking shots with a Microsoft executive. Through all of this I kept up my end of the conversation with everyone, in between staring at the glowing image of the beach with the 3D water. Y’know what I’m talking about, you’ve seen them before at Spencer’s. Then, before I knew it, it was last call and I was thrust into a cab and on my way to the Ramada.

Once arriving back at the hotel around 3:15am, I checked my phone to see 5 missed calls.

Then, I got back to the hotel around 7:00am and fell asleep for a few hours.

The rest of the morning was spent in a daze around Seattle in search of food and pants to replace the torn ones. Needless to say, Jon took the first shift on our way to Bend, Oregon.

Day Once y doce

Context of previous “Connotate this, bitch!”: As Joe has previously mentioned, many who know him consider him to be...well Joe. So to kind of put in my two cents while he was riding me like a circus pony (no “connotate this, bitch” intended) as I drove around San Francisco, I said, “Why don’t you remove that anal-retentive dildo out of your ass?”

If you’re like us (which I hope to God you’re not, I wouldn’t wish that on even my worst enemies), you’d probably think there’s nothing at all to do in Seattle. You’d probably pick up a little guidebook in a hotel lobby just outside the city limits and conclude from reading it that you’re next 24 hours would be an excruciating waste of time. You’d probably begin to ponder to yourself why you ever even decided that traveling to Seattle was a good idea. That inevitably would lead you to start questioning all your life decisions and lead you to conclude that as a whole, you’ve really made a mess out of your life. Then you’d probably start crying and wishing you were never born and all that stuff. Of course, if you’re like us, you probably would have tried to get sleep in your car at a rest stop after driving for a good portion of the night so these thoughts and actions would be excusable considering the little sleep you got because the truckers were doing weird things outside your car with each other and their semis. I guess what I’m trying to say is, like us, you’d be wrong about Seattle… and you’re life being a total failure. Seattle truly takes it’s place as one of the great cities on the pacific coast and that is something we would realize over and over again as we walked it’s streets and met it’s people. We arrived in Seattle If it wasn’t for the trucker sex or whatever that was going on behind the car, I might have actually gotten some sleep. Joe apparently slept like a baby, lucky bugger. So our first order of business was to check out Doc Maynard’s Underground Tour. This is quite possibly the best thing we could have chosen to do first because it gave us an up close and personal lesson on Seattle’s history. Some things I learned: at around 10am and like I said above we had spent the night in the car at a rest area- prime accommodations.

-The name of the city was a bastardization of the name of an Indian chief one of the early leaders had befriended.

-The first mayor continually stole from the city. (i.e.- During the day when he was the owner of the saw mill he would sue the city and then in the afternoon when he did mayor stuff he would settle with himself for large sums of money.) P.S.- They re-elected him two more times.

-The initial city was built on mud flaps and had major flooding problems whenever it was high tide.

-They had no sewage system in the beginning so they had a really shitty problem in the streets and it was still a shitty problem even after they got the first Crappers because the sewage pipes led straight to the ocean and whenever the tide came in it would push the shit in the pipes back up them and sometimes launch them out of the toilets like some horrible feces geyser. It got to the point where they started publishing the times of the tide in the paper so people could plans their craps around them. In fact, there was a whole generation of kids who were potty-trained based on the movements of the moon.

-The term “skid row” came from Seattle. It referred to the downhill road the loggers used to slide the timber down to the saw mill. In Seattle, this neighborhood was horrible so the term came to be used to describe bad areas in cities.

-After a major fire destroyed most of the downtown area, the city wanted to take the opportunity to raise the streets to combat the tides. It would take 8 to 10 years and the businesses weren’t willing to wait that long to rebuild their building so they went ahead and got to work. The city still went ahead with their plans and so for a couple of years, the streets of Seattle were raised 10 feet above the first floor storefronts. They even put up ladders along the sides of the street so people could climb down them to get to the stores. Men used to wait at the bottom of these ladders so they could “help” women down them.

-UPS was started as a drug running company in Seattle.

-Before Bill Gates donated millions to the school system, the largest contribution for awhile came from Lou Graham. She was the leader of a brothel (or “seamstress circle” as it was known as because that’s the profession the girls checked for the census). There has yet to be a school named after her. Sadness.

I highly recommend this tour to anyone who travels to Seattle because not only was it informative, the tour guides were also freakin hilarious. After the tour we retired to our hotel rooms to drop off our stuff and then trekked out to the Space Needle. This offered an awesome view of the city and the ocean much like Coit Tower in San Fran. We decided that those who lived near the space needle were afforded no real privacy since there were telescopes at the top of it allowing you to peer into all the apartment windows below. I decided that if I ever lived in one of those apartments, I would put on one hell of a show and hopefully become famous for it. It would be a mix between burlesque and the Chippendales. After that we walked along the waterfront finding the fish market along there to be oddly similar to Fisherman’s Wharf in San Fran. We then cut into the city to find a place to pick up some grub and found ourselves inside a pleasant irish pub called “The Owl n’ Thistle.” By pleasant, I mean it was during happy hour that we were there so it was very pleasant indeed. We then walked down a little ways to Safeco Field, home to the Seattle Mariners to watch them play the Anaheim Angels of Los Angeles. I forgot how much fun it was to catch a baseball game every now and then like I did with the Cubs and White Sox in Chicago. The atmosphere, the announcers, the constant fear you are about to get beamed in the head with a baseball. It’s all amazing. It was also cool that the baseball field was such a short walk from the downtown area along the waterfront and right next to it was Qwest Field where the Seattle Seahawks play. Joe (the leading critic on suburban sprawl) thoroughly praised the layout and organization of this city. The next day we went back downtown in the morning to pick up some breakfast, some new jeans (I’ll explain later) and some Seattle’s Best Coffee then it was back on the road. Destination: Bend, OR. Here’s some other Seattle stuff:

You know how when you’re on a road trip and those wonderful green signs zip by on your right indicating how many miles you have to the next city? There’s always that major city on the sign and then all of a sudden all these smaller cities pop up before it on the next sign. I could never live in these “suddenly signed cities” as I’ve come to call them. If they don’t have the common decency to not butt in line on these signs, they’re not a city for me.

My new favorite mountain is Mount Shasta. This mountain is in northern California and the drive up on I-5 gives you awe-inspiring views of this majestic mound of dirt and rock and snow.

I ripped my jeans right down the ass crack while squatting down to take a picture of the space needle. Consequently when I reached the top, I managed to moon the whole city of Seattle. This prompted me to utter, “If only Reggie could see me now!”

The radio stations in Redding, CA are quite weird and somewhat frightening. It’s obvious the city has split personalities when the only radio stations you have to choose from are Christian Music and Metal.

The Mariners lost by the way.

Coversation excerpt:
Joe: I felt all MacGyver-ish in the bathroom. Because the door latch wouldn’t meet up with its slot so I used a pen to keep the door shut.
Me: Oh I thought you were going to say you used a toothpick as toilet paper.
Joe: What, did I just scrape the shit off?

Trivia: In Victorian times, toilet seats were always made of wood: the well to do sat on mahogany or walnut, while the poor put up with untreated white pine.

“Connotate this, bitch!”: “He was riding me like a circus pony.”

In Between the Lines 5

The next morning I was awoken by the sounds of cable cars and buses zipping past the hotel in downtown San Francisco. We headed out, past the Travelodge Bear Bites pastries, in search of a diner of some sort and tickets for the public transit. It was very exciting to me that we would not be using our car for the next 24 hours in this amazing city.

After Jon was berated by the cashier at the public transit office for talking too fast, I figured I would like this city. I was a bit worried that my flip flops weren’t going to hold up in the 50 degree temperature, though. Then, we were off to explore. First order of business was to find an independent little diner. However, hypoglycemia got the best of me and I was forced to go into a tourist trap called Lori’s. I should have known that I would not be impressed because Lori was ridiculously ugly in comparison to Ruby. On top of this, the menu outside displayed $11 omelets furthering the idea that it was going to be a bad experience. I should have known. After heeding the advice in the check presenter asking tourists to tip 15%, which is low in comparison to what we normally tip, we jumped on the trolley to Fisherman’s Wharf.

The next few hours were spent walking around taking excessive amounts of pictures of the views around the city. It’s as if every time you look the view is better than the one before. It’s amazingly easy to navigate around the city either through walking or on the transit, except that it’s virtually impossible to talk on the phone and walk up one of the streets. I tried talking with the idea that my time spent at the gym would prove beneficial, but then had to resort to texting. That didn’t work either. I blame the altitude.

After seeing the city one more time from a few hundred feet atop Coit Tower and walking up the supposed “crookedest street” we planned a trip on the transit out to the Golden Gate Park. While walking toward the cable cars, we headed through the Italian area of North Beach where we encountered Shana, the Greenpeace activist. As Jon entertained her conversation for the next few minutes, I stood there virtually silent, looking around the neighborhood. At one point in time she asked us a rhetorical question similar to “Now, doesn’t that make you want to do something about the problem?” I stood silent. After Jon responded, she turned to me and said, “What about you silent guy?” I’m just not much of a liberal. In all honesty, though, she was using Kimberly Clark as an example of one of the companies they were protesting. I have difficulty getting behind activism when they use a paper manufacture. Sorry. Talk to me about suburban sprawl.

Our trip on the transit took us through some shady areas, that weren’t really all that shady in reality. As Jon alluded to, our theory is that areas populated by lower income Asians feel much safer than the other ghettos that we’ve encountered. It’s just a much more passive aggressive culture….

We arrived at the park and proceeded to walk around, but realized that 3 miles is actually quite a long distance to walk and all we really wanted to see were the buffalo. So, it was back through the ghetto and on to the cable car for a 3 mile trip down to the buffalo paddock. I’m not sure if it was more amazing to me that I saw buffalo or that the first time I saw buffalo was in the middle of a city. At that point, I wondered if the barbed wire was to keep the buffalo in or to keep drunken teenagers out.

On the way back to central downtown we stopped in at Haight St. where supposedly Hendrix got his start. It looked pretty much unchanged with peace signs adorning the sides of buildings and eclectic bars and restaurants crowded with punk rockers. They were punk rockers at least by the way they dressed, but I really don’t know. They could actually like country music. Then, it was a trolley ride back to Fisherman’s Wharf for some seafood.

After devouring our clam chowder and sourdough rolls, we asked the waitress where a nice bar was for some inexpensive drinks. I felt a little odd asking her thinking that she would be a bit biased toward us spending $7 on a beer at her restaurant, but she told us about Vesuvio’s, which was also on our itinerary from Kasey. We thought this was a pretty decent sign that the bar was going to be good. We grabbed another trolley ride down to North Beach and searched for Vesuvio’s, not knowing what to expect.

Once stepping in to the place and sitting at the bar, I felt at home. Apparently the place was a bit of a tourist destination and the bartender responded in exactly that way. Most people just grab a drink in the spot that Kerouac frequented and then head on their way to another tourist area. I really just wanted a chill bar with good beer. In all honesty, I knew very little about him and would have gone there even if it was Bob Barker’s favorite spot. So when he annoyingly said there was a $10 minimum on credit cards, I responded with “Ha! Don’t worry about that, we’ll spend more than that.” After that, he warmed up a little and even stood there attempting to start a conversation with Jon, but was quickly shot down. It’s almost like when you wait too long to kiss a girl; you lose your chance.

After hitting a nice stride with intoxication, we walked toward the cable car heading back to the hotel. The trip home was filled with antics from Reggie, the passive aggressive Asian driver, a foreign Japanese visitor called Grasshopper, and a coked out kid. All great notes to end on in San Fran.

Upon waking to the sounds of the screeching cable cars again, I headed downstairs to check us out of the hotel. Immediately in front of me in line was a short Caucasian woman, obviously very frustrated with something. As soon as I stopped thinking about where to mail my postcards, I started listening to the conversation. In an angry tone she spoke with the hotel clerk about demanding a refund for the shuttle to the airport as it wasn’t going to be needed anymore. She kept going on about how she called Expedia, whom she booked the hotel through, and got them to relocate her. The man at the front desk tried to explain to her in a calm tone about the fact that there was no refund on the ticket, but he would call the company since he had no control over offering a refund. In all of her hotheadedness, she failed to grasp this and kept on with her verbal onslaught. Finally, the man opened the drawer, grabbed the measly $14 and handed it to the woman. Instantly she returned to normal and went on her way. Oh the joys of working in customer service.

Then, we braved the cold, windy day of San Fran and headed out to a café that offered wireless so we could upload some blog entries for our adoring fans. Actually, it was a really nice day and we needed to get something to eat anyway. Jon piled in his self-declared best Panini and we then headed off to Seattle. Yet, somehow, we managed to miss the turn for the iconic Golden Gate Bridge… A few U-turns later and we were heading north.

In Between the Lines 4

After heading out of Huntington Beach, we headed north on the famous Pacific Coast Highway toward San Francisco. This is a road that all road trippers have dreamt of traveling due to its beauty and adventure. The initial length of the trip was rather dull and just offered us glimpses of commercial buildings. However, after getting past Ventura, the road quickly turned into a windy, mountain highway offering unimaginable views of the ocean below. I would say it held up to its reputation.

Since we had no idea just how long the trip was going to take, Jon started out the trip, but unfortunately was only able to drive through the vast lands of industrialized beach towns. I, on the other hand, was left in charge of navigating up and down the road, around 90 degree turns, and past out-of-towners going 15 under the speed limit. This task really was not entirely difficult until the sun started to set. Those 90 degree turns became a guessing game as to where the road continued and our bloody, mangled bodies began on the rocks below. At one point, I turned to him and said, “I can’t guarantee that you will live past tonight if we stay on this road.” It was a joke, but it really put his navigational skills into high gear and he managed to divert us onto the well-lighted and straight 101 North.

While going in search of gas along the PCH, we stumbled across one of the most amazing little gems. The town of San Luis Obispo offers residents an actual downtown with local restaurants, a plethora of shops, and a laid back yet professional feel. The streets were dotted with doctor’s offices but it was as if the people are business 9-5 but fun after. With it being so close to the beach, it was just a short trip with the wet suit to a more laid back life in the water. I thoroughly enjoyed my 15 minutes in this little town, but never fear San Luis Obispo, I will be back.

The rest of the trip up to San Fran left us with an enlightening experience with Jesus at Panda Express, an unguided trip through the downtown streets of San Francisco, and a couple of slightly irritated calls to 411 in search of our hotel. After Jon managed to get in touch with the hotel, we got the most amazing directions from what seemed to be a somewhat short tempered Mexican gentleman. We gave him our cross street and he responded with “8^th… 9^th… 10^th… 11^th… Travelodge on your right.” With some jokes and some translation of the directions, we managed to find the hotel and get checked in by what was actually an Asian man. In all fairness to Jon, the Mexican could have been hiding in the back….

Once depositing our luggage in the room and gasping in amazement at the nice bathroom for $47/night, we headed across the street to a little bar called Martuni’s. I don’t normally frequent dark, damp, martini/piano bars, so I figured this would be a new experience. Keep in mind, my experience was completely ruined for awhile after being thanked by the estranged gay man that Jon described. After a few long awkward moments of feeling like an outsider, we then started a conversation with the bartender about our travels thus far. He seemed impressed and grabbed the other bartender to give us some directions to the ticket station for the public transit.

After talking some more with him, he gave us some very valuable information about Oregon, the next state we would be traveling through. I, being the skeptic, thought he was completely bullshitting us because this information seemed so disproportionately different to the image I had of Oregon. The first valuable piece of information was the historical lesson that Oregon was the birthplace of Meth and the usage of it is still very rampant throughout the state. Rrrrright. Then, he told us that we would not be able to pump our own gas. Yeaaah right. Who isn’t able to pump their own gas? We joked with him a bit about the reasons as to why people are not able to pump their gas. “It’s probably because of the Meth addicts.” Imagine if you will a doped up man in his late 20s, driving up to a gas station, and proceeding to spray gas all over himself and his car. It was a good laugh, at least. However, I was not aware that in all of this joke riddled conversation, I managed to grab the attention of a man. He managed to sneak in next to me, go up to the bar and order a drink. No big deal, right? However, all the while, he was looking me up and down waiting for me to turn and make eye contact. In my naivety, I turned and smiled, but then realized what was going on. From that point on, it was all peripheral vision, looking to make sure his tye-dye pink shirt was gone.

The bartender started up a conversation with us again and asked us what we had planned for San Fran. In all honesty, we had not really thought it through and were mostly going to do it on an in-the-moment basis. That, by the way, is a marked difference in my mentality. Some might describe me as the slightly anal-retentive, OCD, planned type… Anyway, he grabbed a girl standing at the bar and told her that we were visiting the city and we were from the east. She immediately got excited and walked toward us, thinking we were from her home state of New York. After the immediate let down with the news that were are actually from Florida, she still managed to keep her level of excitement about the city.

For the next ten minutes, Kasey never stopped speaking about all the amazing sights and sounds in this city by the bay. As she spoke, I just sat back, listened and took in all the awesomeness that was Kasey. She had this classy aura about her. She was incredibly fashionable with a trend-setting image of hippiness. She wore this unique hat that could simply be described as something seen on top of Fidel Castro’s head, but actually it was the most lasting image I had of her. It was military green, form fitting around the head, slightly square, but rounded at the top, with a small bill. She had it slightly turned to the right in a way that said she does not follow the norms. After absorbing her in, I started listening to all the destinations that she spoke about. She even grabbed some paper and gave us a whole day’s itinerary, including stops for lunch, dinner, and cocktails. After completely captivating us with her presence and enthusiasm, she shook our hands and told us to enjoy the city. That we would, Kasey, that we would…

Day Nueve y Diez

Sadly no previous, “Connotate this, bitch!”

San Francisco, the city by the bay. It’s also a relaxed city full of some pretty steep streets and a colorful homeless population. We arrived at around midnight having already reserved our accommodations downtown at a Travelodge. That’s right the hotel chain with the famed Bear Bites Breakfast- that sucky sorry excuse for sustenance. Honestly all they put out is a box of disgusting pre-wrapped cheese danishes with mold being the secret ingredient. But that’s quite alright, because we got an amazing deal ($47 a night) for a prime location right in central downtown San Fran. Our first order of business was to walk across the street to Martuni’s, a martini/piano bar to take the edge off from driving for 10 hours. We sat down next to a slightly overweight, a little more than slightly intoxicated gay gentleman who proceeded to eye us as we ordered our drinks. We received our beverages and started to make small talk to distract from this awkward eye fuck when he stood up and said in a deep, whiskey-soaked voice, “Thank you!” It was as if he meant to say, “Of all the bars, in all the cities, in all the world, you had to stumble into this one, thank you.” Just, he forgot that whole beginning part. He then awkwardly pirouetted around and walked to the piano side of the bar. This was our introduction to the amazing citizens of San Francisco. Little did we know, that this high standard of kitsch and flamboyant openness would be met again and again by everyone we would meet in San Fran. So the next day we started out walking down Market St. to purchase day passes to utilize their amazing transit system. When I stepped up to the lady at the counter and ordered the day pass I followed that up with an immediate query as to whether a show was playing but was immediately cut off. “Slow down there, where are you from?” “I’m sorry, Chicago.” “Well that’s why. We take things a little slower here on the west coast so calm down, take a deep breath and relax.” Thus my introduction to the west coast pace. And she was right. Everyone casually strolled along the streets, even people in business suits that you just knew were late for a meeting. They, too, were strolling along the sidewalk seemingly taking in the fresh air and the sights and sounds of the big city. This was far-removed from the fast-paced, hectic city life I was used to from Chicago but still oddly felt right. After we got our tickets we hopped on the nearest trolley and rode it all the way to Fisherman’s Wharf traversing the piers and the docks while we were there. I snapped some pictures of Alcatraz from across the bay knowing that they would turn out shitty but taking them anyway and of the seals that had crowded onto buoys in the bay no more than 20 feet into the water. And let me tell you they are loud. Even on the trolley while we were two blocks away we could still here them. I wonder if they ever shut up at anytime or whether that just becomes a part of the sonic landscape of the big city; a sound locals know and would miss if ever it did disappear. We continued along the waterfront and then cut inland to head towards Coit tower, a tall building nestled on a hill that gives spectacular views of the waterfront and the city. In the lobby of this building, there were frescoes of everyday San Fran life painted on every inch of wall. A service apparently commissioned by the person who built Coit Tower as a sort of showcase for local artists in the 1930’s. I was struck by one particular scene of a city street in which a man is being held up in broad daylight but no one else knows. A guy has a gun pointed at his side with one hand and with the other hand is reaching into his pocket. I kind of laughed at it and pointed it out to Joe and then wouldn’t you know it as we were leaving Coit Tower I realized my day pass was stolen. God, karma’s a bitch. So afterward we went to the North Beach neighborhood a heavily Italian neighborhood to check it out. It was pretty cool. A weird mix of fresh off the boat Italians and new wave hippie youngsters spieling the passers by on greenpeace and save the whales. I in fact entertained one such spiel from a pleasant young lady who oddly enough used to live in Winter Park, FL; a neighborhood literally 10 minutes from where I live and literally 0 minutes from where joe used to live. Sadly I still declined a donation. You see, I overdraw on my account often and everywhere and I don’t want that adding to the pain right now. I promise all you Greenpeacers out there that I will donate when I have the money to, but not right now. But I swear I will. As the colorful homeless population of San Francisco is my witness, I will, I really will. So anyway, after North Beach we did some walking, and some more walking, and then rode some subways and basically got all tuckered out and decided to go to a restaurant at Fisherman’s Wharf for dinner. We asked the waitress where she likes to drink around these parts and she gave us the same answer everyone else did that we asked: Vesuvio’s. Vesuvio’s is a place with a lot of history nestled right in North Beach on a little street corner next to an alleyway. That bar, and the bookstore across the alley were the backdrop for the genesis of the beat movement. Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsburg and even Bob Dylan frequented these old haunts. Well actually, they more than frequented them. At one point they spent quite some time in these two buildings composing poetry, exchanging ideas and just living the alcohol-soaked, drug-addled, free-love hobo lives that would be emulated across the country for years to come. Vesuvio’s actually makes a cameo in Jack Kerouac’s book, “On the Road.” Don’t ask me where, just believe me… I read it in a newspaper clipping that adorned the bathroom at Vesuvio’s. It was just as cool as everyone made it out to be. Casual, chill and still a place where free-minded thinkers go to exchange ideas and spit. So that was pretty much our San Fran experience, but here’s the other high points:

As I said above, San Francisco has the best bums around. When we were down by fisherman’s wharf, there was a bum holding up a sign that said, “Why Lie? I just need a drink.” That kind of honesty I think should be rewarded. There was another one right near our hotel who just kind of moaned while he extended his cup to us for change. Then there was Reggie. Oh, reggie. We met Reggie on the bus that night talking all crazy to the bus driver at first. Always inarticulate, Reggie would give his opinion on everything whether it be that I should start my own restaurant (?) or calling the old, non English-speaking asian man sitting next to us, “grasshopper,” or mumbling all sorts of whimsical nothings to the bus driver. He would sometimes stop in mid-sentence to defend himself from the trashbag hanging from the ceiling which apparently was attacking him. He was truly my favorite thing about San Francisco and spawned a new saying of mine. “If only Reggie could see me now!”

We’ve noticed that the west coast is really big on the honor system. When we were in L.A., hiking up Runyon Canyon, there was a cooler at the base with Gatorades and waters in it as well as some bananas around the side. The sign displayed said, “Take what you want just put 50 cents in the box. Up at the top of Runyon canyon, they had a doggie bowl which everyone (even if they didn’t have a dog) poured some water into. And then in San Francisco, much of the public transit didn’t require you to show your ticket or slide it into some machine they just told you to have proof of payment ready if somebody asks but nobody asks. There’s something truly amazing inherent in a whole part of the country taking on that kind of philosophy. I thought it was really cool.

There’s a state park right in San Francisco that’s about 3 miles by a half a mile that’s seemingly untouched wilderness. It was not at all like Central park in that sense because there were towering trees everywhere and thick underbrush. There were roads and building put here and there but for the most part very natural. They even had buffalo in one part of it. Buffalo in the middle of the city. Now if that isn’t a prime idea for a sitcom I don’t know what is.

We decided that we felt really safe in San Francisco and we were confused by this. We then realized it’s because many of the poorer neighborhoods are made up of Asians and the idea of walking through an Asian ghetto just wasn’t that frightening.

Conversation Excerpt:

Me: So how long do I stay on this road?

Joe: You, uhhh, stay on it until it goes off the map…

It is incredibly difficult to walk up some of the steeper San Fran streets while on the cellphone either talking or texting. It’s just an altogether unnatural experience especially if you’re as out of shape as I am. Many a time I considered falling down and resting for a little while and I would of if I wasn’t so sure in the fact that I would just roll 4 blocks downhill and have to start all over again.

If you are a member of Greenpeace and you want Joe to join, just mention something about trying to take down Wal-Mart and he will sign right on no questions. Apparently the kid has an abnormally high hatred for Wal-Mart. Appropriately so too of course. Lord knows I hate Wal-Mart as much as the next guy but Joe just seems to take it to a new level. And don’t even get him started on urban sprawl.

We noticed that no matter how good Joe tips, I always tip better. He thinks it’s a minority complex….maybe….maybe…

We also drove through wine country on the way out of San Fran but unfortunately didn’t stop at any wineries mostly because we didn’t recognize almost the whole lot of them. It was enough to just drive through wine country though. I even raced a red minivan in one of the more hilly, winding patches of wine country so that was fun too. One weird thing we noticed was that we had to pee about every 10 minutes we were driving through there. We think it was something in the air but we definitely checked out the bathrooms of many a napa valley gas station.

Trivia: Whale songs rhyme.

“Connotate this, bitch!”: “Why don’t you remove that anal-retentive dildo out of your ass?”

Day Ocho

Context of previous “Connotate this, bitch!”: On the first fire pit night, we were running out of wood. So Joe, being the prepared, forward looking individual he is inquired, “Do you think they have this at the grocery store?” To which my friend replied, “Why, do you want to get some wood?”

PCH stands for the Pacific Coast Highway which snakes along the coastlines of California, Oregon and Washington. I think it should also stand for peerless, crazy-cool, and ho-tastic. Okay, maybe not the last one but it’s hard to come up with a word of praise that starts with an H. When you drive on this road, it’s as if you’re coming face to face with god and he is smiling back at you saying, “you are my most prized creation.” Seriously, it makes you feel special in some way to be treated to this natural masterpiece. With stiff cliffs plunging down to the rough pacific ocean on one side and the branches of brush and trees reaching out to you from state parks on the other and the sun squeezing behind the horizon right in front of you, it becomes clear that this is one of nature’s biggest and most profound stages. It takes a little while to reach this part of the PCH, though, when you’re driving from L.A. You have to escape a couple of small cities and industrial towns before you reach this hotbed for natural beauty but it is well worth the drive. Sometimes, while you drive along it, a restaurant pops out of nowhere offering unfathomable views of the rocky pacific ocean. I like this ocean a whole lot better than the Atlantic. Driving up the PCH, you realize that almost every square inch of coastline is overstuffed with danger and wonderment and at the risk of sounding like a douchebag, magic. It’s a really winding road so when you’re met with a sudden 90 degree turn you don’t know whether you’re about to encounter another immediate turn, a runaway truck ramp or the high beams of another car heading in the opposite direction which momentarily blocks the road from view so that you don’t know whether you’re still on it or heading for an up close and personal view of the depths of the Pacific ocean. This was one of the reasons we didn’t take the PCH up all the way to San Francisco but instead cut inland to a safer highway. We didn’t depart though without having gained a new peace of mind that only the beauty and power of nature can offer. It’s hard to be funny about something as inspiring as that, but here are some of my futile attempts at funny observations:

It seemed like every couple of miles on the PCH we would encounter a rock slide area that had just recently had a rock slide. Joe and I were quite thankful that the rocks decided to slide before we traversed this road but all the road damage repairs did offer a sense of ominous adventure for the rock slide areas that didn’t have a fresh rock slide. Needless to say, Senorita Escape would not have enjoyed getting her rocks off at that juncture of time.

We also encountered a lot of historical bridges along the PCH which made us wonder whether the standard for becoming a historical landmark in America had been lowered. It’s just impossible that bridge after bridge after bridge along our route is historical. I mean, what is so historical about them? The only thing I can think of is Mel Gibson drunk driving along them but maybe there’s something else too.

We also drove along part of the El Camino Real which neither of us had any idea about. Joe thought it had something to do with a car. I thought it had something to do with the path Mexicans took when they tried to take over the U.S.A. in the mid 1900’s but apparently the Mexicans never tried to take over the U.S.A. in the mid 1900’s. The real scoop is that when missionaries arrived in San Luis Obispo, they set up these poles with large iron bells on them along a path used to link the early missions they had founded. Yah, not as cool as you thought, eh? Me neither.

Speaking of San Luis Obispo, Joe decided he could live there. With the great small town atmosphere, as well as the three Verizon stores within 3 blocks of each other in the downtown area, and the proximity to the beaches, Joe gave it an a-plus as well as two thumbs up. He’s also thinking about writing into AOL Cityguide to get them to add it to the 10 best cities in the country list.

Speaking of Verizon, Joe and I have gotten into a war of network providers and banks. So far on the west coast, I have to say my peeps are ass-raping his peeps. Like I said in San Luis Obispo, there were three stores right near each other while there wasn’t a Sprint store to be seen. Joe said this was because Verizon phones break all the time. I think it’s because the demand for the best network in the country was so large, it called for three stores. There have been many moments where my extended network (you know, that large mass of people in hard hats and business suits as well as the pleasant guy in the Buddy Holly glasses that follow me around) has kicked in while Joe’s cell phone has been left without a signal. When it comes to banks, my WaMu’s have been everywhere. In the smallest towns, as well as en masse in the biggest cities. Meanwhile, the last Wachovia we saw was way back in L.A. Not too shabby.

While we had dinner in the parking lot of a Panda Express, an employee by the most holy moniker of Jesus regaled us with stories of his failed attempts at becoming an assistant manager after working there for quite some time while a newly hired asian gentleman was immediately promoted to said position. He notified us that he didn’t want to be racist because, “[he] ain’t like that but it seems like all you have to be is asian to get a fucking raise around here.” Without Jesus, I wouldn’t know what true Northern California hospitality is.

Trivia: In Tallin, Estonia, couples are not allowed to play chess in bed while making love.

“Connotate this, bitch!”: Ummm, I’m kinda embarrassed about this, but it appears we did not have our high school sexual humor going today because we don’t have a “connotate this, bitch.” Stay tuned for the next entry where hopefully we will be immature again.

In Between the Lines 3

Southern California is, as I’m told, the land of smog, traffic, and exaggerated wealth. As soon as we drove within the borders of the City of Angels, I noticed a heightened tension that seemingly drifted through the air. It is what it is, though, but it’s definitely not a city for me.

We headed off the interstate to Studio City. It’s a little city outside of LA that is exactly as the moniker describes; a town with many major studios. I have to say, it was pretty amazing to be staying right across the street from Universal Studios. After driving around the town in search of a restroom, we went into a neighborhood, parked the car and proceeded to steal wireless internet from some wealthy individual. That’s a good way to get a little adrenaline going and steal from the rich. Also, just on the outskirts of this neighborhood were the massive drainage canals made famous by The Terminator. I was impressed.

Other than that, we spent the next day and a half doing the general tour of this massive city. As Jon alluded to, we definitely got the locals perspective because we barely left the confines of the car. You may think I’m kidding, but I’ll give you an example to the contrary. We decided to eat at a now famous diner called Mel’s Drive-In. Once driving in to the little tiny parking lot, we were promptly greeted by a valet attendant and a sign reading “Complimentary Valet Parking.” This, by the way, caused Jon to quickly pull a U-turn for fear that complimentary was, as he thought, not free. After convincing him otherwise, we proceeded to pull up to the attendant where he then parked our car in a spot that was literally 10 feet from where we were standing. As you can imagine, this made an interesting moment after exiting the restaurant. The attendant had to run 10 feet, grab our ticket, run another 10 feet, then drive the car a few feet to where we were standing for 3 minutes waiting for this whole process. The ridiculousness of the city was astounding. Definitely a city for car fanatics, though. I have honestly never seen so many amazing cars in any other area.

After this and a really nice hike up Runyon Canyon, we headed south to Huntington Beach. Now, this city is much more my style. However, I was a bit disappointed with the scenic views of oil rigs and tankers off the coast. The water had a nice greenish brown hue to it, but I figured if the dolphins could play in it, so could I. So, I strapped on my wet suit and headed in to the cold water with a surfboard under my arm. This was truly the crowning moment of the trip. I had an insane amount of fun out there by myself catching little waves and riding them into the sand. It reminded me of times back in FL where I would drive to the coast at 6am to catch a few hours of surf before heading to work. These were truly blissful moments where I could focus all physical energy on the act at hand and all mental energy to figuring out my life between sets. “You can’t stop the waves but you can learn to surf.” It’s true.

The rest of the time was mostly spent in front of a fire pit, exploring Main Street, and drinking. The Main Street area was truly a surfer’s paradise. I have to say, it was a bit glamorized with its surf shops focusing more on fashion than the sport, but the true believers were still around and just as anxious to shed their Billabong shirt to get in the water and actually surf. So far, this is number 1 on my list. We’ll see if it holds up.

As you may know by now, I like to highlight people in all the places I write about. However, there weren’t really any people that stood out in my mind. There were of course the amazing people I met through Jon, but I’d like to avoid talking about them for fear that I wouldn’t describe them or the experiences I had with them accurately. They’re actors; they don’t want any publicity…. I wish I could personify Ruby, the mascot for the diner at the end of the Huntington Beach pier, though.

Here is a little addendum to the entry. I actually managed to think of someone that was sort of memorable for my visit. It was annoying me that throughout my three days in LA and Huntington Beach, I wasn’t able to highlight a single person.

On the first night in LA, we went to a restaurant called Salt Creek Grille. We were serenaded by jazz music as we dined on our high price, yet cheapest on the menu, salads and burgers. As we were unable to get seated in the dining area, we made our way over to the bar and were promptly greeted by our waitress. With a cheery spirit, she took our drink orders and offered us some menus. Once we had ample time to peruse the menu, she came over to grab our order. As she stood there, she couldn’t help but recommend and suggest in a non-pushy way. It is something all the good servers do and I was thoroughly captivated.

However, here is the thing that made her stand out. Just as soon as she was about to recommend something, she would bend her right leg at the knee and tuck it up toward her back. It was like seeing something out of a Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks movie, whereby Meg Ryan would lift her leg just as soon as the kissing became interesting. We later found out her nickname was Tennessee, from her slight southern accent, but in actuality she was mostly raised in New Jersey. Apparently, she had some remnants from her childhood. She was transplanted from Jersey to LA in order to help open the restaurant. Already she was a bit jaded with the flighty personality of the LA actors and said during a two week period they managed to go through 3 sets of wait staff. I guess auditions are more important. Little did they know, they could have gotten experience on the kiss-leg-lift….