Blogetary (Weblog + Commentary = Blogetary)

Today the California State Supreme Court upheld the right for millions of people to discriminate against a minority because they happen to love someone of the same sex. I will never understand why some people think they have the right to tell others how to live. I have ceased interacting with people when they tried to tell me how to live. I can’t cease interacting with the State of California because I live here, but I will not cut anyone any slack if I find out they voted for Proposition 8.

Fifty-five years ago, judges understood the need and the justice in upholding the rights of the minority until the majority figured out for themselves it was the right thing to do. It has been an uphill fight ever since as African-Americans and other visible minorities fought for their right to have a place at the national table. Today, on the same day that a woman and the first Latina was nominated for a seat on the Supreme Court, the State of California has taken a huge gigantic step back.

To anyone out there, whether I know you or not, whether you’re friends or family, if you voted for Proposition 8 or supported the passage of Proposition 8, then shame on you! We aren’t talking about someone going into your home and taking it over and telling you you can’t have your own belief system, but that is exactly what you’re doing to those who only want to marry the people they love. If you want to go to a church that only allows people to marry others of the opposite sex, fine! But don’t tell the rest of the world that we have to be like you! Don’t tell other churches and synagogues and temples that they have to be like yours! Because we don’t! They don’t! This is the UNITED STATES OF AMERICA! Supposedly we stand for truth, justice, and freedom to pursue life, liberty and HAPPINESS!

Not many people know this, but I am a card-carrying minister with Universal Life Church. I became one so I could marry people. I wanted to help others find their happiness. I would LOVE to be able to be the person who officiated at my friends’ weddings. However, many of my friends are gay or lesbian and I am not allowed to marry them. I can only offer “commitment ceremonies,” which are not recognized by the state. Those who love people of the same sex are not allowed to have access to the same happiness (or misery) as my straight friends because there are people out there who still have the medieval belief that what goes on in someone else’s private life and bedroom is subject to approval by their religious belief systems. Even though we live in a nation that supposedly believes in the separation of Church and State.

If you supported Proposition 8, and next year some proposition comes through that limits your ability to pursue your happiness or conduct your life the best way you see fit, don’t come banging on my door asking for money or my vote. If you’re a business that supported Proposition 8, don’t expect me to spend money at your business. I may be nothing but a cranky, middle-aged spinster (straight by the way), but I will NOT put up with this crap!

This won’t be a long post, just long enough to direct you here for the new Putt Putt Productions PSA (click on the picture to get to the vlog):

Karen, our fair Karen, has won a copy of Beyond Centauri as part of this month’s blog contest!  Yay, Karen!  I’ll get out in the mail to you as soon as I can. Hope you enjoy it!

Anytime I try to sort of try to think of the train trip home and maybe kind of describe it to someone, the one song that keeps popping into my head is Grateful Dead’s Truckin’: “What a long strange trip it’s been…” That’s the closest I get to describing how it felt, but I’ll try here to be more specific. See if I can catch some of surrealness of it all. If you don’t get it and want to skip it, that’s fine. In the end, I get home okay.

One of the reasons I like taking the train, and I’ve said this before, is it’s more relaxing. People are friendlier. Sure it takes longer, but you feel better at the end of it all in a lot of ways. Me, I hoped to get in some sleeping, reading and writing on the way up and on the way back. Now, I hadn’t really gotten any writing done on the way up because of the friend I made on the bus. And I had been so busy during my trip, I hadn’t been able to do any journaling even. So, I was hoping, since I would only be transferring once, and that in Oakland, that I would have a long 12 hour soothing train trip to do nothing but read, write, and sleep, and possibly cogitate on my life.

Back when I made these reservations, I had no idea that May 9 would be National Train Day.  Also, in some segments, especially in the LA area, unless you specifically ask for a sleeping berth, you aren’t assigned seats. You just sit wherever and make sure to take your seat tag with you. That’s the way it was on the trip north. Sometimes, though, they do assign seats. They don’t expect you stay in them, but they expect that when you need a place to land for a while that that is where you will be and not somewhere else. Sometimes people get put out about it. You just have to understand that sometimes you get an assigned seat and sometimes you don’t.  This will be an important point to remember later on.

So, it has been suggested that since my train leaves at 7:55 that I get there by 7 a.m. to check my baggage, this means leaving at around 6:30 or earlier and getting up around 5:30. Dad’s already an early riser. But I set my phone’s alarm for 5:15. Then, when I’m just convincing myself to snooze a little longer, the phone rings and it’s my stepmom to make sure we’re up. We get out the door and Dad’s thinking a little coffee. We hadn’t been to his favorite place. He’s been too busy. He’s talked to me about it for years and I eventually wrote a short story based on Dad’s visits to Ma’s Cafe and his making friends with the fish there (it’s being published in an upcoming edition of Aoife’s Kiss).  I’ve wanted to see it ever since he’s talked to me about it. So, Saturday morning, while we didn’t have time for breakfast there or to stay long enough to see his friends, we did stop in for coffee.

See how overcast that is there? That’s how it normally it is (this pic is from the Yelp site). The morning I was there, the sun was shining. Still!

I’m glad I got a chance to visit. It’s a lot like I imagined for my story, but even more surreal. There’s a little Buddhist altar in back, by the fish tank. Not the same fish, though. Dad said his friend died when some new guy was told to change the water and used regular tap water instead of distilled. Some people just don’t realize how much chlorine is in regular tap water until their fish dies.

The Amtrak bus building is right behind where my sister works and next door to the Ferry Building. Everything centered around the Ferry Building this trip. The guy behind the counter laughed at me checking in so early. He said since they’re an Amtrak bus station, I only needed 20 minutes before boarding to check in. But, oh well. Dad had found a parking spot at Sinbads. No one was around that time of the morning except people going to the Farmers Market at the Ferry Building, and we saw many people who looked at us in shock as they parked their cars at Sinbads and went over to the Farmers Market. They thought they were the only ones to know about the “secret” parking spot. Heh. So we watched people and drank coffee. Felt a little like we were in a 70′s cop movie and on a stake out. Finally, a couple of buses showed up and Dad said, “You should check on those.” So, I did and the guy behind the counter told me to get on the first one. I said goodbye to Dad and began the surreal trip back home to LA.

First, the bus driver said my ticket was wrong, (right number, wrong destination – he was going to Emeryville and I was supposed to go to Oakland) but let me get on. Then he came on the bus and told me to get off the bus and get on the OTHER bus parked behind him. Yes, I made sure my baggage got on the same bus I did. I was with a chatty crowd on the bus. The sun was shining. There’d been a game the day before.  It was train day. And I just wanted to veg out and be cranky in a corner. So, when we got Oakland to transfer to a regular train there I checked to make sure I had time for a restroom stop. One thing you can be sure of in restrooms is that you have one whole cubicle to yourself. No one can touch you, look at you, and unless they’re good friends, they don’t talk to you. And after seven days of loving family, I was ready to be a loner again for a while. But, that wasn’t to be.

When the train heading south pulled into the station (final destination San Diego), they herded us to the back part to get on and this is where they assigned me a seat. This train had upper and lower levels and most of the time they make everyone go up top, unless you’re a senior or disabled. Luckily, I got assigned a window seat on the upper level. The seats are nice and big and have lots of leg space so you can keep your things with you. You can put them above if you like, but you can keep them with. In fact, unless I had a seat mate, I was revving up to keep all my stuff in the aisle seat and just camp out in my spot for the entire trip.

As I find my seat and settle in to my spot, I vaguely notice the people in the seats around me. As far as I’m concerned, they’re just going to be background noise. As soon as the train gets underway and I feel the rhythm of the rails, I’m going to pull out my iPod shuffle and my notebook and set to. Except, that doesn’t happen. Almost as soon as I get settled, the guy across the way asks how I’m doing. Calls me “sis”. Graying hair sticking out below his baseball cap and his beard and mustache, bleary eyes (and it’s 8:30 in the morning) make him seem old to me.  Apparently he’d been on the train since Eugene, maybe even further north. He’d been on it all night, anyway. He kept calling the woman behind me “sis”, too. And seemed to know the woman’s three year old daughter. I thought they were brother and sister until I realized, no, they’d just been on the same train for a while, long enough for them to be comfortable traveling together. The daughter is a friendly little sweetie pie. She’s adorable. She wants to make friends with everyone.

Anyway, so Steve starts talking. And he goes on and on. “Ya know what I’m sayin’? Gimme a knucklebump on that one. Just gotta keep on keepin’ on, if ya know what I mean, right sis? Hey, great tats! Oh, I know. Yes, don’t I.” Nod, nod, wink. It’s not all cliches and BS coming out of his mouth. Enough real stuff comes out for me to realize he’s a lonely guy who keeps himself occupied and away from his own inner thoughts by making conversation with other people. I figured in a while he’d get distracted with someone else and leave me be. But that wasn’t to be.

I made the mistake of saying I liked Bloody Marys sometimes, I think we were talking about New Orleans.  So, he pulls a can out of his camouflage duffel bag and I hear a pop and hiss as I see the PBR label through his fingers. It’s 9 a.m. now and I recognize the smell is not from some spill last night, but from him, bleary eyes not from a bad nights sleep, but from never stopping drinking. But maybe I’m wrong. But maybe not. He’s mentioned his age, and it’s two years younger than I am. But he seems so OLD.

So, “Steve” invites me down to the cafe car cuz he says he’s figured out how to make a Bloody Mary from what they have there. I say, no, no, I don’t need one. He tries to invite the woman behind me. She says no, she has to watch her toddler. I think that’s it, but in a few minutes he’s trying again, so I’m still in vacation mode and I want to check the train out, so why not.  I tuck my things away and follow him down to the cafe car where the cafe guy seems to know Steve really well. So, with a combination of that little vodka bottle, tomato juice, and ketchup packets, Steve ends up making me a fairly decent bastardization of the Bloody Mary. He also gets a couple of beers. It’s 10 a.m. and I have a Bloody Mary and beer in front of me and I’m thinking, I could be in big trouble if he’s going all the way down to LA, too (which his ticket said he was).  So, I’m politely sipping on my Bloody Mary thinking I might end up telling him to finish the beer for me and wondering if I can get away with buying myself coffee when I get the next round. He’s telling me a little bit about his woes (see, this is what happens when I’m in “open” mode and want to take in new experiences – the world decides I’m a good shoulder to cry on). I’m listening and giving some input. Then other people in the train come down and Steve seems to know all of them from the night before. And apparently the night before was a huge drunk-fest.

Apparently, I’m on the party train.  Who knew?

So, one guy stops, “Buddy”, and he has a coffee in hand, but he’s eyeing the beer in Steve’s hand. And I begin to realize that Steve uses his ability to pay for rounds as his way of making friends and not being lonely. Soon, Buddy has given up trying to have his coffee and has a beer instead. Then, there’s a crowd of people who all were together the night before, talking and chatting over beer on a Saturday morning, because why not. Not like they’re driving anywhere anytime soon. Even some of the people I would label “responsible adults” were having drinks.  It’s a regular pub. The mom that was sitting behind me comes through with her daughter and another woman with some great tats comes through with her daughter. And while they don’t stop – they’re in Mommy mode after all – you can see they want to. They’ve been on the train for hours with toddlers in tow. They NEED their Mommy medicine.

As time goes on I can tell that Buddy and I have become Steve’s “keepers”. He’s making sure we stick around by buying drinks (took Buddy’s coffee and skipped the next couple of rounds of beer though), and we’re making sure that he’s not dropping bills on the floor or getting himself into trouble as time goes on. Cuz, he is a bit of an ass, but he’s okay. Plus, and I learn this later. Buddy is a writer and an actor. I’m a writer. Steve is GREAT material. Or rather, everything that happens around Steve is great material. So, in some bizarre part of our creative brains, we’re filing everything that happens here under “research”. It’s what happens when you’re a creative. It’s why June got so mad at Henry Miller and Anais Nin. Even when you’re going through the most intense experiences you’re thinking, “wow, this is great material.”

There are a couple of stops long enough for the cafe to close and people to get off the train to smoke, but I just sit when Steve and Buddy go out to smoke. At least the cafe car is empty then and I have time to myself. I can’t quite pull myself away though and back to my seat. Not yet.

About mid-day, I think, we hit San Luis Obispo. It’s going to be a long stop and I’m tired of sitting, and I know Buddy and Steve want to smoke. So, we get off and I pace from sitting so long. I’m restless. The day is bright and warm and I’m in a long sleeved top. I’ve taken my jacket off but I’m all sweaty and grimy and the beer wearing off isn’t helping me any. But I know it would be better if I had some water and wandered around. Steve thinks he hears about a cafe open in the train station. As long as the train is stopped, the cafe on the train is closed. And as long as the cafe is closed, Steve does not have access to alcohol. I had never really seen this in action before. Not really. But as we’re standing in the train station, Steve decides he’s going to that cafe in the station. But it’s just vending machines and treats brought in with displays for National Train Day. Not good enough. He wants a drink. Someone says there’s a bar around the corner. Buddy and I are pulled along in Steve’s wake as he sniffs out the nearest watering hole. I’m only beginning to understand how bad it is. A couple of men pass us in the other direction sharing a latte between them. Steve looks back over his shoulder and nodding at us says in a not so quiet voice, “Odds are those two are homo-sexual!” Buddy and I exchange a look. I sigh. We get to the bar, which is a nice restaurant. The doors are open, the alcohol is not flowing, however.  At this point I have said several times, “Listen, the train is going to start back up anytime now, you can get alcohol there if you need it.”  When Steve starts asking for the manager to see if he can buy something to go, maybe with a screw top, I tell them I’ll meet them back on the train.

I wandered back to the station proper and through the displays. There was a model train running through tunnels and things I almost took a picture of. There was a band playing some great music, too.

There were pins, crowns for the kids, paper fans that said, “I’m a train fan!” (Clever train people.) So, it was nice.

I should have gone back to my seat then, while the boys were occupied with procuring more booze. But I didn’t. I landed back in the cafe car with them and their two bottles of wine. Our crowd grew and we moved to the back part of the car where there was more room for a bunch of people to sit (thanks to Sean who pointed it out and was a much needed practical voice on the party train).  Eventually the mommies with the toddlers joined us. The cafe car was the one car where their girls could run back and forth without annoying too many people. That’s the bad part of train travel. If you’re a kid and need to get out and move, there’s no where to go and all these adults yell at you when you just act like yourself. So, the girls made friends and played with each other while the mommies had a little soothing cocktail and we all watched out for the kids. And while the guys didn’t feel uncomfortable having Steve buy drinks for them, we women did, I think. I made sure to buy stuff to eat – peanuts, M&M’s and crackers.  People always forget to eat when they drink and they’re always sorry afterward. That’s my mommy moment. And when one mommy sent me with money to get her a drink, I just got her a drink and stuck her money back in her wallet.  It was one of those “it takes a village” moments. Sean, the down to earth guy, was really good about distracting the toddlers, “Look at the ocean, look out the window.” I asked him if he had any kids of his own. He looks young, around 26, but he’s actually closer to my age. He said he’s got a passel of nieces and nephews he’s used to looking after. Buddy was trying some of his routines on us. Steve was trying to bring the conversation back around to something he’d be interested in (he tried guns for a while), but by now it was all over the place. There were too many people, plus a couple of kids. It was a free for all. We were talking about where we’d been, where we were going, and why. How long we’d all been on the train. “Holly” and “Jamie,” the two moms, had their own stories of why they were on the train with their little girls. They both had great tattoos, too.

It was the day before Mother’s Day and I kept thinking, it doesn’t matter if the Mom has a lip piercing and a tattoo, or if she limits the piercing to her ears and only wears Keds on her feet, and not boots, Moms rock. Both these young women had stamina and patience like you wouldn’t believe. There were a couple of spills on Holly’s table and one time when her daughter took a dive under the table, and I never heard her raise her voice. She’d breathe. Get frustrated. But man, she was so patient. Jamie was the same way.

By this time, Steve and Buddy and Sean and another guy were planning their stop in Santa Barbara. The cafe was out of hard alcohol and the beer was low, too (wow – but we’d all been working on it. I might be slow, but I’m sure. ). So, Buddy was calling a friend to see about getting a beer run or something while the train was stopped in Santa Barbara. Steve kept saying he knew people in Santa Barbara and he just might get off there and stay a few days. I don’t know if he did because about then, the moms decided to clear out. One was getting off in Santa Barbara and the other wanted to see if her daughter would nap. I just thought them leaving was a good excuse for me to leave and head back to my seat. The seat I had barely sat in all day.

It was about 3 p.m. and I hadn’t been in it since about 9 a.m. or so.  So, I shouldn’t have been surprised to see another person planted there. I had been assigned a seat mate and he’d taken over both seats since I wasn’t there. Which is normally fine (remember the disclaimer above). I ignored him cuz I perched somewhere else and talked with Jamie (the woman who was behind me, but also down in the cafe car), but only after I tried to chase Holly down to give her daughter her pink baseball cap back. Found out Jamie and I have both lived in WENATCHEE! How is that for six degrees of separation! WENATCHEE! Her daughter had been born there, I think. So, we were talking about this and that. She was going to see her mom in San Diego.  Eventually, she needs to try to put her daughter down for a nap and I need a real seat to sit in. I think about sitting somewhere else and just moving my tag, I mean, the car is empty. But, it’s my seat.

So, I say something. And the dear young boy who got on in San Lui Obispo mutters something about, “it doesn’t really matter you know” and I volunteer to sit somewhere else, but he must have been raised well and maybe I was matronly enough, but he eventually moved his stuff. I thought he was going to sit in the aisle seat (his assigned seat) but he moved to another car altogether. I guess that would be the SECOND teenager I’d pissed off in about a week.

So, Jamie got her daughter settled and then she and I talked for a while. She sat in Steve’s chair so her daughter could sleep because he never did show up in his seat again. He was supposed to get off in LA, but when we got off, his duffel bag was still in his seat and he was nowhere to be seen.

Lights got low and everyone spoke more softly and finally we were in LA’s Union Station at 8:30 p.m., a half hour ahead of schedule. I helped Jamie by holding her daughter’s hand while she lugged all her luggage (think duffel, backpack, car seat and purse) through the terminal to a stopping place in the waiting area. I would have tried to hold more but I was lugging stuff, too and wasn’t sure what else I could hold. Poor kid. Then I guarded the stuff so she could take her daughter to the restroom. Then it was goodbye to the last of the party train.

I had kind of been on a beer and social high while on the train, but I could feel it draining, ebbing out slowly as I made my way to baggage claim and then around to where the taxis line up. By the time I was loading my luggage into the taxi, I was barely speaking. By the time I got home, I was moving very slowly. I think it took me 10 minutes just to get up two flights of stairs. When I opened the door and came in Pye would not leave my side. (In fact, he’s been following me like a puppy all week long.) I was in a trance. I got home by 9:25 p.m., and should have gone to bed then. But I made phone calls. Said I was home. Played with Pye, took a shower. And eventually fell into bed. But I was sleep walking.

The next morning I looked at the kitchen and realized that somehow I had managed to walk through a pile of Pye’s barf (he barfs when he eats too much too fast and he does that when he’s nervous and he’s nervous when I am gone too long) and tramp it all around the kitchen, but I had never seen it. Or felt it. But now I needed to clean it. My vacation was officially over.

May 8, Friday morning, I woke up to sunshine. As I had on Thursday as well. Very surprising to me as on the peninsula you don’t get sunshine. My mom used to call it TB City when I was a kid because it was so gray and dank and cold. It had been sprinkling and misting when I was staying with my sister in the city proper. And now, here where it was supposedly always cold and dank, it was sunshiny ALL DAY LONG. See? I have proof:

Above, the houses across the street. Below, our “ANCESTRAL HOME…” (heh. See that wood-paneled station wagon? Yup, that’s my dad’s.) But see what I mean? SUN!

Anyway, despite Dad being on call, we made this a play day. He needed to go into the city maybe and run errands and call in, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t ride around with him and maybe hang out in the city with him. So, we started with brunch at IHOP.

Yes, I said IHOP. Quit your cackling.

Anyway, we started with brunch at IHOP, having our father – daughter time.  For some reason the waitress decided to bond with me and let me know her story about being laid off from being a nursing assistant four months ago and now she’s waiting tables at an IHOP. She was very excitable and flighty and a little forgettable. It was kinda funny and sweet. It was really funny when she wished me a happy early Mother’s Day. I just nodded and smiled and thought, “I’m not old enough to be a mother! Oh, wait a minute, I guess I am!” Anyway, after brunch we dropped some extra Swedish pancakes off where my stepmom works so she’d have a little something waiting for her when she got there (we found out later it was a good thing because she was busy that day – she’s a barber – and didn’t have time to go out and get lunch).

After Dad ran some other errands, we decided to hop in the car and take off ourselves. It was lunch time now, so Dad decided to take me to Lucky Chances in Colma. I didn’t realize it, but Colma is considered the Graveyard of the Bay Area. There are more dead people in Colma than there are live ones. And right near all those cemeteries, there’s a casino. We ate in the little diner in front, soup and tea, then walked through. There are two sides at Lucky Chances. One side has all these card games going like poker and stuff. The other side is the Chinese side and has all sorts of Asian card games going. There’s a little Buddhist altar in the back of the Chinese side. I guess it doesn’t hurt to call on the Buddha for help. And in the very back was a Baccarat room. So, I guess James Bond could have gambled here in someone’s imagination.

Eventually, we took off from there. I needed to drop something off to my sister, which would put us downtown, and after that we ended up, inevitably, at Fisherman’s Wharf and Pier 39.

It was a beautiful day. We didn’t do much and I used the excuse, “I need to get something for people at the office” as a reason to go through all the little crap shops that lined Jefferson. We found parking right in front and on the wharf. It was great. Now, a few days before I had picked up some Scharffenberger chocolate bars as gifts, but I wanted something that said “San Francisco,” ya know? Everyone suggested shot glasses. And if I knew my co-workers a little better, I might have gotten some. But I’m not sure if some of them might get offended, so Dad and I talked as I considered keychains, magnets, and pencils as additions to the chocolate bars. In the end, I opted for a variety of pencils (we go through’em so fast at the office) to add to the bars, but not before going through all the shops at the front. We even stopped in a shop called Pick a Pearl (part of Maui Divers) where you can pick out oysters and find your own pearls for $14.95 (supposedly the uglier the oyster, the prettier the pearl). But then you have to buy a setting for them. And there goes the farm. It’s a cool idea though and I think I might want to try it some time (and yes I know it’s a gimmick, but I think it’s a cool gimmick – so there).

Dad and I also wandered through Rainforest Cafe and hung out talking to the fishes in this wild fish ladder thing that is like part of the arch leading into the restaurant. It was great, but kinda made me dizzy. The fishes seemed to like it okay though.  Then, we stopped by McD’s for coffee, because Dad wanted to try one of McDonald’s iced lattes (you know, the McCafe). But it was such a nice day we didn’t want to stay inside so we wandered across to where there was a pier of sorts. Some of it was under construction, but most of it was still a place to look out at the bay and see Alcatraz in the distance. (If you ever have a chance to tour Alcatraz you should – everyone should do it once. It’s very spook and creepy and it’s a good tour.)

The island, Alcatraz, kind of looks like a ship, don’t you think?

And with the distortion in distance, it almost looks the same size as a ship. But wait a minute – all those little boxes are freight cars…

I never get tired of watching trains and ships. Don’t know why.

Anyway, after that, Dad and I were making desultory conversation when a woman pulling some luggage walked up to the bar there (see pics above) and turned to us to ask us if we could take her picture. She had a very thick English accent mixed with something else so my dad joked, “not with that accent you don’t!” So of course I took her picture and then her picture with Dad and then they compared leaving England stories. She’d moved to New Zealand and was waiting for the market to get better before she sold her house in Birmingham. She was going to Boston and was on a long layover in San Francisco and wanted to see it while she was there. We never got her name. She never got ours. I used her camera to take pics, so I don’t have any pics to show you of her. She could be a complete figment. She could have been telling a complete story. But there you have it, like “Mike” in front of the Gold Cane – a completely San Franciscan experience.

It was getting to be later afternoon. Dad had been checking in, but we wanted to get home to freshen up before we met my stepmom for dinner. So, off we went back to the “ancestral home.” And as we drove up to it I noticed something I had never paid attention to before (possibly because it had never been so sunny before). Look at the side of the building.

You can barely read it, but it says “Record.” And I thought, “Damn, do you think?” And asked Dad and apparently, yes, this building used to be, among other things, the home of the Daly City Record. Dad remembers the holes where the printing machines had been being filled in with sand. Mom also told me (earlier this evening) that that building has been a bookie joint, a brothel, and flop house, as well as what it is now, which is a place where pinball machines and jukeboxes are repaired and stuff. Now if you look at it here:

That long bit on the right is where all the offices were. I remember walking through there to go to the basement to bring Dad his coffee when I was like three. Dad lives in the tall part (see my stepmom and Dad there in the doorway?). And there’s still a business in the basement. It’s kind of decrepit, now, but it seems like some historical society should see about doing something with it some day. A lot of stuff has gone down in that building and it’s right on the San Andreas fault.

Anyway, I decided to take the above pics and while I was at it, my stepmom decided it would be a good time for a family pic. Dad called it American Gothic. I think it’s more well, Daly City Gothic. Ex-pat Gothic? Oh, who knows. Here are my stepmom, Missy, and Dad.

Above is a good pic of Dad and below is a good pic of my stepmom. If I were Jim, I’d put them together, but I don’t know how to do that. So you get them both. (And notice how Missy is trying to hide in both.) (And my stepmom’s hair is normally a little more blond and a little less strawberry. I think she’s been experimenting.)

That night for dinner we went to Patio Espanol where they have olive salad!  Yum! We all three had the lamb chops (what can I say, it was a lamb kind of week). Dad and my stepmom are regulars there and kid the waiters a lot. Dad made a joke about it being a Mexican restaurant and got a dirty look because it’s SPANISH. So, it’s similar, kind of, but different, mostly. And good. We had a good evening, though.

Then it was time to head home. I needed to pack for the long train trip back to LA the next day. When I called Amtrak to see whether the fires in Santa Barbara had slowed down service through Santa Barbara they said no. And that I should get there 45 minutes early to check my baggage. So, it was going to be an EARLY morning. My stepmom packed me a lunch/dinner bag for the train with the leftovers from dinner. She thought of everything: crackers, nuts, cookies, lamb chops, latex gloves so I wouldn’t have to wash my hands, and even water. Then Dad remembered an apple and popped that in. And then I needed to try to take one more picture of Missy to see if I could get her to look up at the camera.

Well, almost.

She came in and chatted with me while I packed, but didn’t stay long. I guess she knew Saturday would begin early.

And tomorrow … the train ride.

Usually, Dad being on call means he calls in once every hour or so, but mostly has the day free. But the week I was there, he was actually busy running around making phone calls, fixing stuff, making sure pool tables had enough balls…

You know how it is.

So, Thursday morning I spent working a little more on the computer and checking stuff on the internet and generally slouching around and hanging around with Missy (see pictures below) and making plans to meet my friend Diana for tea!

Missy is ready for her ballet lesson. Her toes have always had that delicate turn.

Tea, it was decided, would be taken at the Samovar Tea Lounge at Yerba Buena Gardens.  I had never really hung out at Moscone Center or Yerba Buena Gardens and it’s really been built up since I moved, so when I got there a little early, I took advantage of the time to take pictures. Not sure what all the buildings are, but I liked’em, so I snapped’em.

Above three, I really liked this building. There was a carousel in it that wasn’t open and running at the time. I thought this was a really cool building though, and they way it lines up with everything else around there (obviously).

Not sure what the above or below buildings are, but I took them facing away from the carousel round building.

I liked the above and below pictures because, while it’s a pretty church, if you look at it and let your mind wander and your eyes blur a little, it looks a little like a sitting Buddha and I thought that was cool, considering it was a church.

And then, I was at Samovar Tea Lounge and Diana showed up. I should have taken a picture of her or had the waiter take a picture of us but we had such a good conversation (and good tea – they have Russian Caravan on TAP!) and good food (quiche and fruit and scones). The conversation wandered all over the place about getting older, creative work, mutual friends, food, the way we see the world.

I totally forgot about any picture taking.

Then we wandered around because the weather was so good and my feet were doing well and her feet were doing well. So she showed me the Bloomingdales that’s been built in the Emporium building since I’ve left and that whole shopping area. It was beautimous!  And we talked crystal and silk and all that cool house ware stuff. And went to H&M and the Gap and she showed me what had happened to the Compass Rose at the St. Francis (so sad).

And suddenly it was after six and time for her to go home and me to go home. I called Dad and he happened to be around (I think he just liked being able to pick me up so he would say he was in my area) so he picked us up in Union Square and drove Diana to her car and so a friend of mine got meet my Dad and I always like that. It was love at first sight for them both. Dad’s going to grow up one day and marry that woman, well, if she weren’t already taken.

That night Dad and I had a homemade smorgasbord with leftovers from the fridge and stuff he’d picked up from a British store (Marmite and stuff). We also watched and bonded over some of our favorite shows and watched Missy go back and forth between sitting on his lap and sitting in her cave.

Above, Dad and Missy.

The days spent with Dad were quieter, but there was just as much going on. Sometimes, all we did was sit and talk. It was good, especially seeing some of that paperwork on his dining room table that we all look at eventually but hate to – paper work about durable power of attorney and stuff like that.

That night, Missy came in and yelled at me until I went to bed and nuzzled up and slept with me a good part of the night. It was a good sleep and I appreciated her company.

Wednesday morning we got up early and were all ambitious for getting out the door and down the street on time to take the bus and save money and get my sister to work on time. But, we ended up taking a cab. I just had too much stuff to haul on a bus. So, we got to my sister’s place of employ where I was able to check my email for the first time in a few days (she doesn’t have internet at home). It was nice to not be connected for a while, but it was nice to check on stuff, too. Then my sister’s coworker arrived and I left my luggage at the office while I went off to explore the Ferry Building and call Dad to see about meeting him for the rest of my trip.

Some background. We are a family of loner cats. The fact that my sister and Dad and I lived in the same geographical vicinity for a few years is unusual for my family. Like most large cats, once we reach adulthood, we seem to find our own city to make our territory away from other adult members of our family.  And in case it seems like my sister and Dad break that rule, they don’t. She lives within the city limits of San Francisco, and he lives in a bedroom community outside of those city limits.  And they do not speak.  In fact, even my stepmom lives in another city away from where my sister and dad live.

I know. It’s weird. That’s just the way it is.

So, anyway, my dad was on call and on a job when I called, but it was going to be bringing him into the city, so he said he’s swing by when he was done in about half hour or hour and save me the BART trip. So, I decided to explore some of the business stalls in the Ferry Building. It was quite entertaining.

For one thing, I discovered Boccalone. They are purveyors of “tasty salted pig parts” or as I call it, “BACON!” Okay, it’s not all bacon. It’s prosciutto, salami, stuff. But you know what I mean. It’s where you can find tasty, savory cured meat! They even sell cold cuts in a cone. So like instead of getting a paper cone of nuts or popcorn or a sno-cone, you can get a cone of mixed salami, bologna, and prosciutto. Yummy!

I shoulda taken more pics!

There were also several chocolate and confectioner shops that specialized in Bay Area chocolates (Scharffenberger, Joseph Schmidt, etc).

I also went into the Imperial Tea Court.  I didn’t take pics, but decided I needed to come back some day and just hang out there.

Then I saw a shop that specialized in nothing but mushrooms. Mushrooms, mushrooms, and more mushrooms!  Oh, and some fiddleheaded ferns. Far West Fungi! I have an aunt who got her Masters in micology. I should send her the pics!

Above is the shop proper. Below is to the side. Those blocks under glass, you can buy and take home and grow your own crop of mushrooms!

Finally, they have this wonderful Italian shop that I forgot to take pictures of because I was so busy salivating over the different types of panforte they had. It’s called I Preferiti di Boriana or Boriana’s Favorites. They specialize in Tuscan food. And now that I have them bookmarked, no one is safe!  Muwahahahahahahahaha!

Dad finally called and my sister helped me trundle my bags down the stairs and out to the street, but didn’t stay out there too long and then I saw Dad’s wood-paneled station wagon and the second half of my trip had begun.

My dad lives south of San Francisco, where the “ticky tacky houses” sit all in a row. It’s normally foggy there as it’s the hilly part of the peninsula and in line for the marine layer as it’s going out and coming in. That’s why Dad likes it. It’s like England, but a few degrees warmer.

When I get to Dad’s house, he and I aren’t sure what to talk about at first, but then he sits down to check his email and something about his computer is bothering him and he has to go out on another job, so I set down to fix up his computer. Or do what I can anyway. Here’s my dad giving me the eye:

Yes, it’s an old PC. Vintage 90s! I’m not a computer afficianado, but I know how to defrag and run disk repair and check for unneeded programs. And while Dad is all about the inside of a car or pinball machine or jukebox or video game or clock, even (for him being on call means calling in and being ready to go to whatever bar or restaurant has called in to say their video game or pinball machine isn’t working), he doesn’t play on the computer every day like many do. In fact, he wonders sometimes whether check his email once a week is excessive. He’d much rather read a book, listen to his classical station or watch one of his PBS or tv shows.

His computer is in the den, or the front living room where I remember us having the Christmas tree and where he taught me how to play chess when I was little. He calls it the library. It has the spare bed, a lot of his books, and his computer.

Above are pictures on the mantel in the library. Below is the dining room and the square grand piano Dad found years ago and fixed up. Don’t blame the flocked wall paper on him, that was his third wife, the one after Mom.

In a lot of ways, Dad’s home, like many peoples’, is an archeological dig into the history of their lives. He’s got a photo album with pictures of his first wife, the English wife. And photos of me and my sister, the products of his second wife, the American. I remember the tile in the bathroom being laid down when I was a kid, too. And the cabinets in the kitchen being put up. But the wall paper, the dark red and black colors of some of the paint jobs, that’s his third wife, the German. And the common sense, homey touches that are most recent, are the product of my stepmom, the Swede, who never married Dad, but has taken care of him since I was oh, 17-18? And then the other things. The books, albums, the places where the window’s been fixed using plywood, the things that work, but don’t look “nice” is all Dad.

Then there are the other part of the family, the cats. Sadly, most are gone now. Only Missy is left.

Above are Misty, Susie, Krista and Ivan. Susie was Misty’s mom and lived with my stepmom. Misty was with Dad. Krista was with my stepmom and Ivan was Dad’s buddy. Below is Missy.

She’s 18-19 years old now. Likes to sleep near the heater or in her cave.

She’s frail and weighs nothing. Talked to Dad tonight and she’s not able to come up the stairs on her own anymore. So, she may be joining the others soon. I hope not. But she’s had a good, long life.

Anyway, that night we, Dad, my stepmom and I, all went to dinner and had a good chat, good food at Val’s. Heard gossip from the waitress that the large party at the restaurant were people from the San Francisco Chronicle and that it was probably going to go down in about a month. On the news the next night they said they laid off another 20. And then we came home, talked to Missy, who talked back, and told us in unmistakable terms that we had stayed up way past her bedtime.

When Kitty awoke us Tuesday morning, my sister and I both swore we were never going to drink like that ever again, or at least, not today.

Since we had done so much on Monday, our goals were less ambitious, if more focussed. If you know me, you know I have some issues with my health. My sister wanted to see if she could help with some of those issues by directing me towards a decent pair of shoes. There were two stores she wanted to go to, both in the Inner Sunset. One was On the Run, and the other was the Z-Coil store. Since the Inner Sunset is a fun place to be with cool coffeeshops and bookstores we thought it would be fun to start there, and then work our way back towards Cole Valley, Haight, Golden Gate Park, etc. And perhaps check out the German restaurant in Lower Hayes Valley that the bartender at Mad Dog in the Fog had mentioned. We also were going to be walking and taking buses through other neighborhoods as part of our tour.

With all the walking we’d done the day before, even in my walking shoes, I was developing one of my limps. Standing is the worst as when I stand I tend to lean on my left side and that’s the ankle that’s never quite healed. So Morgan spent some of our trip to the Inner Sunset reminding me to lean on my right side and sit down when I had a chance. She had been to On the Run before and gotten some decent walking shoes there, but we wanted to try the Z-Coil shoes first as they were new to us and intriguing. She had called ahead when we were planning this escapade and had found out that if we did stop in and decide on a trying on shoes to allow for about an hour since these are shoes that are custom adjusted for each wearer.

So, after we stopped in at a coffee shop to have our caffeine fix, we wandered to the Z-Coil store to explore our options.  For anyone who hasn’t heard about these shoes, they’re shoes that come with a metal coil in the heel and a firm orthotic in the shoe itself. The orthotic in each shoe can be adjusted in the store to the wearer’s foot (like more flat for flat-feeted people, for example). The coils are also adjusted. The sales person watches how you walk in your regular shoes to determine your gait (do you pronate, lean in, or suppinate, lean out, your feet, for instance). He then gets your size in the shoe styles you want to try on, finds the closest to your size and then has you walk in them again. If it’s something you think you want to buy, he custom fits everything to your feet. It’s a spendy shoe (most styles are over $200), but they last.

When we walked in, we saw a couple of people ahead of us who were waiting to replace the heels on their shoes. That’s the thing. There is a lifetime warranty for fixing and adjusting the shoe itself. And the heels can be replaced (about every year and a half) for $35 each. That’s doable. The people ahead of us were their own walking testimonial. The man had had these shoes for a couple of years and his back problems had disappeared and he’d lost weight because he could walk more. He swore by them. They are supposed to help improve your gait and posture (you take them into the store for periodic adjustments as you get better walking, etc.), and also offer a 50% energy return in the heel, so you get tired less quickly.

So, I decided to go ahead and at least try them, see what I thought. This is the style I picked out:

There were other styles I tried, too, but my instep is high, and I have a weird foot so the best thing is a sturdy lace-up shoe.

They look funny – like funky, high-heel Fluevogs without the class.  But they felt great on. A little wobbly. You have to get used to the fact that there’s always a little movement while you’re in these shoes, kind of like being on a ship. There’s a ramp and steps in the store so you can practice going up and down ramps and steps, which were a little bit of an adventure for me at first. I needed a sturdy coil and to have the orthotic adjusted for me, but these shoes felt so good on, it was incredible! During the course of the day (because of course I got a pair and wore them out the door), I was not only able to keep up with my sister, but the pain in my ankle and my limp disappeared. And since our plan was to tramp all over (and I had secret plans for walking all over the panhandle of Golden Gate Park), having these shoes on was a godsend. I have since decided to even wear them while doing the dishes since standing there washing dishes is one of those standing still times when my ankle goes out.

I know. It’s weird. Just deal with it.

There was a trainer in the store at the same time who wanted to try out the shoes to see if it was something he could recommend to his clients since some had physical problems.

There are some problems with them. Because of the coils, you need to be careful about putting heels on barstools and walking around cords and climbing ladders and stuff. You also shouldn’t used them for lateral sports like basketball or tennis. And since they make you a half-inch taller, you need to remember and adjust the seat or change your shoes before you drive. And they are a sturdy shoe. So, as comfortable as they are at the beginning of the day, by the end of the day, like any sturdy shoe, you’re ready to take them off. But, on the whole, I am very happy with these.

So, that took up most of the morning.

Then, because I had a new lease on my feet and felt all energized and stuff, we started walking. I still needed to take a picture of Trax (since I had missed that the night before), and my sister thought I might enjoy visiting the Sword and Rose (hard to find tucked away special maegickal type place) since I hadn’t been there in a long time, and I wanted to reacquaint myself with a couple of places in Golden Gate Park since I used them in some scenes I’m writing. (Yes, less ambitious than Monday, but still ambitious.) Then we got talking about my favorite date of all time and my sister thought she might know where that was (I never could remember since at the time I was more enamored of the boy in question and didn’t pay too much attention to where the store was, just that it was a cool store that the cool boy had taken me to).

So, we began walking and taking the bus in the direction of Golden Gate Park and the panhandle and such. I wanted a good pic of Uncle John’s Tree, which NO ONE seems to know anything about.

There’s a tiny bit about it on the web, but even the cranky volunteer in the MacLaren Building didn’t seem to know what we were talking about. We had to call it the Christmas tree for him to realize what we meant.

Above is the MacLaren Building and below is the door to the MacLaren Building.

At least I have a pic of the tree and the building and a sense of the space for the scenes I’m writing.

I also took other pics for the same reason. Nostalgia and to nail down the space and setting.

Above, heading into the park. Below, warning of cars ahead as you go from panhandle to park proper.

Above, a house I always liked on Oak. Below, a little grove in the panhandle I liked.

Above, you see those spires? That’s USF. I used to live right near USF and walk down to the panhandle and across to the Haight.  I took a whole lot more pics of the park, but you probably don’t need to see all those and they’re mostly for me to nail stuff down in my head about the scenes. But it was good to reconnect with the park again.

Then, we headed back up to the Haight to catch a bus somewhere else and my sister pointed out that the bookstore I remembered probably wasn’t too far away, if we just got on a different bus near the same corner, we might be able to find it after all. Since I was all bouncy in my new shoes and not out of breath, I decided, “Sure, why not?”

To fill you in, one of the best dates I ever had, in fact THE best date I ever had, began in this hole in the wall bookstore that sold nothing but scifi/fantasy/horror books (used and new) where the person behind the counter took cash only or checks if you pressed him. The date continued after we browsed and bought books as we stopped at a flea market, then went to a deli to get nibbles and nosh and beer and then back to my place where we sat quietly sharing the couch and space, reading our books and nibbling on our snacks. Like I said, it was the best date EVER!

Well, my sister thought she knew where it was, but couldn’t quite find it, so we stopped and asked some people and said, “Sure, if it’s open, it’ll be just around the corner.” I thought they meant, silly me, that it had closed down. Little did I know that they meant that it was only open three days a week:

You’ll notice it used to be four…

And yes, we had gone somewhere else, as it was ELSEWHERE BOOKS!

They have “VISA/MC” signs on the front door now. When I went to the store it was 1998 and looked like what it looks like in the City Search pic. According to an article in the Sunset Beacon in 2004, the murals above the door are recent. But, it is the same bookstore.  It was nice to see it again, even if I couldn’t go inside and browse.

By then we were HUNGRY and ready to high tail it out of the Sunset and down to the Lower Hayes Valley to check out Suppenkuche, the German place we had talked about the day before. Below is a cool dome building in the Lower Hayes Valley.

My sister had been to Suppenkuche before and knew what to expect. It’s got kind of the communal table thing going for it that Le Pain Quotidien has, but a little more German and less French. We began with a shared butternut squash soup and a mixed German salad with pickled cabbage, carrots, beets, potato salad and butter leaf lettuce. My sister had the stuffed portabello mushroom with feta cheese and spinach, and I had something that included really good stuffed chicken and potato pancakes. It was good food. And of course we had beer:

The little bottles next to the beer are bitters. They were in the aperitif section so we thought we were supposed to have some some before we ate and it made everything taste WONDERFUL. Then we had some after to help us digest all the hobbit and dwarf food we’d just consumed.

And then we went home to make a fairly early night of it as my sister had to go to work the next day and I needed to pack up all my stuff and get ready to spend some time with Dad.

I’ve been remiss in posting this, but I think you’ll like this new issue of Chocolate Zoom. In it are articles on how to grow chocolate, make chocolate treats and give chocolatey gifts.

Monday dawned a little gloomier with some overcast skies and expected drizzle. After our requisite visit with Kitty, we also got a visit from one of my sister’s other friends, Rocco!

Rocco is a little tornado of mayhem, but he does know how to pose for a picture.

After pulling Rocco out of the garbage and giving him a tummy rub, we set out to begin our day with a visit to Benefit on Fillmore (for a little shopping on my sister’s part and a little brow waxing on my part).  After our girl time, we made our way over to Union Street, otherwise known as Cow Hollow.

Our official purpose was to shop for a Mother’s Day present and also for me to find gifts for my coworkers. It’s always nice to have a good excuse to go shopping. We stopped in several places like an antique store that had old printing blocks of several sizes. I was going to try to get a set for everyone at work, but couldn’t find the right complete set of initials in either size, but I did find my own initials:

There’s also a tea cup in that store I had to leave behind because I was sure it would get broken trying to get it home. But it was pretty. We also went shopping all over. There are lots of bridal stores and spas on that little street. I have an idea that when one gets married in San Francisco, the bridal party spends the day there when they get the dresses and have their girl day. We eventually found mom’s present in a little store called The Enchanted Crystal. Oh, I fell in love. It was a wondrous place. I almost got a wizard ring (if it had been a sorceress instead of a wizard, it woulda been gone!). Instead I got a dragon ring (at this point, I should probably include a picture, but the dragon is currently taking a nap in the jewelry box and I don’t want to wake him). My sister also found a fabulous pair of sunglasses which you may see later…

After all this shopping it was time for a little lunch, especially since breakfast had been lattes, but nothing more. We wandered up and down the street to figure out where to go and finally settled on Perry’s as it was just noon and we wanted to be assured we could have some fortifying beer with our lunch. As the waiter brought our soup (tortilla for my sister, Morgan, and clam chowder for me) and beer (Blue Chimay for Morgan and Franziskaner Hefeweisen for me) and wished us a “Happy Quatro de Mayo” we were inspired to begin the second part of our day and go try out the Haight.

Upon stepping off the bus on the Lower Haight we found ourselves almost right in front of — wait for it — that’s right — MAD DOG IN THE FOG!

The bar was empty except for the chatty bartender.  We weren’t sure what we wanted or why we were there, we just felt compelled to go in (you know how it is) and it was then that the bartender advised us that a strengthening pint of 250th anniversary Guinness would be just right to help us decide.

It was then that we realized we were going to spend the rest of the day on a pub crawl. Indeed, we were merely continuing what we had already begun at Perry’s.  The bartender (in San Francisco by way of England, Australia, and Los Angeles) had some good stories about walking home drunk in the countryside of England and talked me out of the tshirts (“they look like shit”).

Then people started filtering in, we were finished with our beers and decided to go on up the street. There was another bar, an Irish bar, I remembered that the bartender didn’t know about, An Bodhran. And the reason he didn’t know about it is that it closed and reopened as Danny Coyles!

At this point, my sister realized she’s seen the beginning of the camera monster that will soon inhabit our every move. But at this point, she was only mildly amused and slightly annoyed. Here I had a Smithwick’s ale (can’t remember what she had) and we split a shot of Blanton’s whisky. Nice stuff. You should try it sometime. Did not get an action shot of the drink, but the bartender there told us about a whiskey she likes to drink at New Years, Midleton’s. She said it’s way overpriced here, but she calls home to Ireland on New Years and it’s what they’re all drinkin’ there and they laugh at how much she has to pay for it here. (You know, the bartenders in Los Angeles would never have chatted with us like these people did. It was so nice!)

After Danny Coyle’s we walked a little until a bus was coming and then hopped on it go the rest of the way up the Haight. But before that, we passed by a restaurant that always made me laugh whenever I went by it on the bus. Never ate there. It still makes me laugh. I’m such a juvenile.

So, eventually, we end up at Masonic and Haight and decide it’s time for a little gnosh (or is that nosh? or knosh?). Anyway, we stop at the Magnolia Pub and Brewery where we split a glass of red wine and an order of fish and chips (best fries ever!) and of course drink water.

At Magnolia, our waitress learns we’re on a pub crawl and tells us about The Alembic up the street.

It’s owned by the same people who own Magnolia, but it specializes in signature cocktails.  Of course, we didn’t go straight up there as we were several drinks in, needed to get cash and really enjoyed shopping in vintage stores since we had a good buzz going (and there are some NICE vintage stores on the Haight). And since I lived near there once upon a time I got to get all nostalgic about The Red Vic and the Red Victorian Hotel and Peace Center (if you ever want to stay some place fun and on the Haight, stay there!). Now, The Alembic is the type of place I could spend all night in trying different drinks. It’s more expensive than the average drink in San Francisco, and I’d end up sick as hell by the end of the night, but it would be lots of fun before then. It is also where the drunk dialing began. But first the drinks (which I forgot to take a picture of). One of us had something called The Boutonierre (which isn’t on the menu online but I swear it was there that night) and the other had The Vow of Silence. They tasted similar. We’re gin-girls and we like the citrus/bitters stuff. It was good.

The drunk dialing began because I was telling my sister the legend of a Gal Named Soo, an infamous story in my crowd. I couldn’t remember the exact facts so I called some mutual friends who had also lived nearby back in the day and who knew the story. And then that led us, inevitably, to The Gold Cane (because back in the day, that’s where we ALWAYS ended up).

Ah, The Gold Cane! My sister surprised me with Knob Creek on the rocks. That was nice. We sat and chatted and were on our way out. I was taking the picture above and also had in mind this picture of my sister with her cool new sunglasses:

In my drunken state I was sure all those white dots were ghosts floating around my sister. The next morning I realized it was water on the lens from the mist…. ;-P

Then we had one of those many San Francisco moments where you’re drunk or high and make friends with a stranger on the street. Meet “Mike”:

Above is them acting out the LA-moment “too cool for school” music scene, below is them just being San Francisco fun.

After we said our goodbye’s to Mike we traipsed on down to Trax Bar, THE gay bar on the Haight.

(If you’re paying attention, you can notice this picture was taken on “Cinco de Mayo” in the daytime and not “Quatro de Mayo” at night and that’s because I was a bit soused and forgot to take a picture the night before and had to come back so I could take the picture. My sister was very indulgent of me.)

My sister and I once again made friends with the bartender who told us a couple of dirty jokes as we each sipped on our gin martinis (mine being dirty of course). We then ordered another one to split and were pleasantly surprised when the bartender made us each a shot on the house. Can’t remember what it was called, but it had cranberry juice, pineapple juice and vodka in it. Tasty. Might make you sick if you had too many of them, but it was nice, and it was tasty. Here we also continued our drunk dialing by texting a friend of ours in Canada (who called us back that night), texting another one in Seattle (who called back a couple of days later – “who’s this?”), and then, of course, calling our MOM! (She called back the next morning and was very glad to hear from us and that we were having such a good time!)

From Trax, my sister decided we really needed to go down to Noc Noc. I think, THINK we may have taken a bus down there, but we could very well have walked. It’s all downhill.

Above, Noc Noc from the outside and below, Noc Noc on the inside. (There was also a picture I took of some canister tubing thing on the ceiling that I just KNEW was Cthulu in disguise or Robot Cthulu or SOME-THING and the next morning realized was just a canister with tubing hanging from the ceiling so I deleted it.)

At this point we were back to pints of beer, and here’s the action shot to prove it. I had the Boddington’s and my sister had the Chimay.

I think the bartender knew we were a bit soused (and so were a few other people) because he was shoving pretzels under everyone’s noses like nurses pushing pills in a nursing home and we inhaled them. It was at that point that we realized it was time to pour ourselves into a cab and go home, where we promptly devoured some hearty pasta and tomatoes, drank some water and juice, and fell asleep to another James Bond flick.