Aug. 4th, 2008 07:10 am
Blog me with a spoon
Sweet connectivity, how I've missed you! Well, not really; there's been distraction enough in the real world of late that I've had little use for the virtual. The family trip is a subject for another post. Suffice it to say that it would've been a different experience indeed of fewer of us had been feeling indisposed much of the time. (In other words, a good visit, but not one that necessarily had to take place in Tahoe.)
Right now, I'm propped up on Blondie's sofa straining to make a connexion between typing in my lap and seeing letters appear on a huge-ass screen across the room. To my left is a more-or-less panoramic view of what I presume is Dolores Heights beneath a gray foggy sky. Blondie is still asleep in the next room, a state I aspire to myself.
The last couple days have flown by. I had a completely uneventful flight into Oakland Saturday and, finding myself unable to nap once reaching Blondie's place in the Castro, made my calls and lucked into lunch with
gregorsf at the local Mediterranean joint. In many ways, a quintessential CA experience: Bright sunshine, mellow vibes, laidback waitstaff, and a scuzzy ranter "selling crazy" (in Greg's words) at full volume out on the street with us. As if that weren't enough, we followed it up with a visit to Bombay Ice Creamery where I pigged out on a double cone of saffron pista and chiku (sapodilla), which an accommodating breeze spattered all over my shirt as we made our way up into Dolores Park.
That evening,
sfopanda (who I ran into passing the Bearbucks five minutes before I was going to give him a call) used his super powers to locate a Szechuan place on Geary called Panda Country Kitchen [characters to come] and his mundane ones to pick up me,
darkphuque, and
quirkypandacub and ferry us there and back. I'm not exaggerating when I say every dish was fantastic, but I'll hold off on commmenting further until
sfopanda posts the pictures he took (hint, hint!).
Despite being close enough to Castro and Market to smell the poppers, I spent a quiet night in, which paid off the next day: My back, which I threw out in Tahoe, was approximately 314% better which came in useful wandering Chinatown the next morning in search of a fruit which, as it turns out, was out of season. ("You should've asked me."--
foodpoisoningsf. Now I know!) After a half-dozen homing calls, I ended up at the sweet North Beach home of
owenthomas and
gregorsf for a very filling Sunday brunch. (Quick query for my other Sea Sodomite peeps: Does "eleven thirty" really equate to 12:15 GST here or is that just my hosts?)
What better way to leave an event like that than by being picked up by a sexy Italian in dark sunglasses and a sporty little car every bit as black and shiny? It could only have been better if
foodpoisoningsf had gotten the convertible he talked about (or was that tongue-in-cheek? Hard to tell when your host's humour is drier than year-old beans) and--not to stereotype too much--a silk shirt open halfway to his navel.
Um...where was I? Oh, right! The organic garden display in front of City Hall, looking at the pretty little beds of manicured produce that left my cicerone moderately disappointed. From there it was off to Zuni (a.k.a. the Son of Chez Panisse) and it was my own chance to be moderately disappointed (though I suspect this was my own fault for not ordering one of the truly fantastic little salads).
Blondie blew back into town right about dinnertime with his platonic manfriend in tow and, on the strength of memories of my previous visit, I enforced the decision to eat at Cafe Luna. Turns out that the staff and menu have changed completely, but we were actually served acceptable crabcakes so I can hardly complain. My host's attempts to trawl 440 for drunken bearflesh coming to nought, I was allowed to return home with him myself and we stayed up watching the dark drag comedy Girls Will Be Girls.
And today? Will I finally make my rendezvous with
sliv_1?
chipuni? (Sorry no call; expect one presently.) The incredibly elusive
nashobabear? But before any of thawt, more sleep.
Right now, I'm propped up on Blondie's sofa straining to make a connexion between typing in my lap and seeing letters appear on a huge-ass screen across the room. To my left is a more-or-less panoramic view of what I presume is Dolores Heights beneath a gray foggy sky. Blondie is still asleep in the next room, a state I aspire to myself.
The last couple days have flown by. I had a completely uneventful flight into Oakland Saturday and, finding myself unable to nap once reaching Blondie's place in the Castro, made my calls and lucked into lunch with
That evening,
Despite being close enough to Castro and Market to smell the poppers, I spent a quiet night in, which paid off the next day: My back, which I threw out in Tahoe, was approximately 314% better which came in useful wandering Chinatown the next morning in search of a fruit which, as it turns out, was out of season. ("You should've asked me."--
What better way to leave an event like that than by being picked up by a sexy Italian in dark sunglasses and a sporty little car every bit as black and shiny? It could only have been better if
Um...where was I? Oh, right! The organic garden display in front of City Hall, looking at the pretty little beds of manicured produce that left my cicerone moderately disappointed. From there it was off to Zuni (a.k.a. the Son of Chez Panisse) and it was my own chance to be moderately disappointed (though I suspect this was my own fault for not ordering one of the truly fantastic little salads).
Blondie blew back into town right about dinnertime with his platonic manfriend in tow and, on the strength of memories of my previous visit, I enforced the decision to eat at Cafe Luna. Turns out that the staff and menu have changed completely, but we were actually served acceptable crabcakes so I can hardly complain. My host's attempts to trawl 440 for drunken bearflesh coming to nought, I was allowed to return home with him myself and we stayed up watching the dark drag comedy Girls Will Be Girls.
And today? Will I finally make my rendezvous with
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I got your phone call last night. Unfortunately, I couldn't make out your phone number to call you back.
If you want to give me your phone number, either say it clearly (the recorder we have is crap), or email me at my username at hypersurf. (Then add a com to it.)
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And do post the pics! I want to see those mounds of chili flakes floating on a sea of red oil!
(P.S.: How'd everything work out with your friend Monday night?)
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http://flickr.com/photos/sfopanda