San Francisco day four and a bit…

So the day before yesterday didn’t go quite as I’d planned. I didn’t go and see Dinah or her kittens, but I did get to give Flakes to Heather and then go with her to Taco Bell where we consumed about $16 worth of faux Mexican cuisine between us. Then there was the car wash, and the drive back into the city to go say hi to Derek, two chihuahuas and a cat named Spoo before wandering off to kid robot (dumb toys purchased: 2) and then Giant Robot in Haight Ashbury. Then there was a nice “Blue Meanie” smoothie in a wifi-enabled café which was pretty bloody pleasant, all things considered. The next planned excusion was the epic walk over to the Tonga rooms, which would actually have been pretty bloody epic if I hadn’t walked in completely the opposite direction for the first twenty minutes or so. So I got a cab with a driver who listened to light country and suffered manfully the hell of Tim McGraw’s My Next Thirty Years (and I quote):

My next thirty years I’m gonna settle all the scores
Cry a little less, laugh a little more
Find a world of happiness without the hate and fear
Figure out just what I’m doing here
In my next thirty years

Oh my next thirty years, I’m gonna watch my weight
Eat a few more salads and not stay up so late
Drink a little lemonade and not so many beers
Maybe I’ll remember my next thirty years

You see what I’m talking about? Anyway – so I got to the Fairmont a bit early and so decided to loiter around a bit in the foyer and read my new book while all the smartly dressed people looked at me strangely and tried to remember my face just in case they’d need to identify me in a Guantanamo tribunal later in the year. And then the event began and I got to talk to a couple of dozen neat cool web people that I just don’t get to see enough. I danced (badly) with Mena and Dinah and Heather and chatted a lot to David about what it was like to be an Englishman living in the States at the moment which was extremely interesting. I felt a bit sorry for my poor ex-flatmate Mella who had just got off the plane in San Francisco and come straight to the bar because she didn’t know anyone, but I think she enjoyed herself. And of course the bar’s fake thunder, lightning, rain and floating boat/island/band were as awesome as ever…

Yesterday started a little more sedately with an enormous cooked breakfast over at the Pork Store with Leslie, Lance (also here) and Mella. Mella and I then wandered up into town, up Valencia and past a few second hand stores up to the Civic Center and then up Market for a bit of an explore. (This feels a bit like a ‘what I did on my holiday’ tract, so apologies for that.) And then after a few confusing disorganisational miscarriages, we ended up with a friend of Mella’s called Emily driving through Chinatown, then walking up to Coit Tower and then down to Pier 39 for Oysters and general seafood. Then Mella wandered off to meet Emily’s parents, while I returned back to Leslie’s (past the San Francisco Bear Fair), met up with Ben Cerveny and Webb, drove around the city in a convertible car before wandering up to Molly’s place and drinking a few glasses of wine and basically passing out. Nice evening!

And what’s next over the next couple of days?

  • Visit Six Apart
  • Meet up with Kevin Marks for lunch
  • See Ben Cerveny and Jim Speth and talk about geeky shit
  • Try and do some gay stuff of some kind

5 replies on “San Francisco day four and a bit…”

Tom always sweeps me off my feet with the literary references. People who properly identify the source of my name rise tremendously in my estimation.
(Do recall, Tom, that I live 3 blocks from the rainbow flag. Should you be passing through en route to the “gay stuff”, say hello. If you like I’ll take you to dinner at Jasmine and you can dazzle my favorite waiters – very cute guys as is required by Castro laws – with your accent and roguish good looks. Unless you’ve shaved, in which case, fall back on the accent and see how that works).

Yeah! I am glad to hear that your visit to SF is going well.
On cabs and music thereof: Friday Sandra, Tink and I took a cab from the Ferry Terminal back to the hotel. The driver was a lovely Sikh gentleman who was playing Bolly-Trip-Hop and kept asking us why we weren’t taking the Muni?
“Well, we are tuckered out and couldn’t figure out which bus take,” I said.
He hrumphed, turned up the music, and promptly kicked us out at 7th street. We later laughed at the idea of a cab driver who thought we ought to take the bus rather than pad his pockets.

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