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?”