My Five Day Weekend

Four days down, one to go till the end of a great five day weekend. The way it happened was I had my usual Friday and Saturday off, then Mike worked for me Sunday in exchange for my working this next Saturday, then today is Memorial Day and the store was closed, and finally Tomorrow is another one of my scheduled days off. Cool, eh?

So, just for the record (as opposed to for your entertainment) here's what I've done over the last four days.

Friday:
Watched the Giro d' Italia live on the net. Jens Voigt broke away with a Spanish climber at the end of a very difficult mountain stage. Amazingly, Voigt hung with him all the way to the finish, but did not race for the win. He patted the Spaniard on the back, shook his hand, and allowed him to cross the line for the victory. This "gift" was given because Voigt's teammate Basso was winning the entire race, and Voigt had not worked with the Spaniard for most of the climb. In case you needed to know.
After viewing the Giro, I cleaned the apartment a bit, and headed off to meet Fern for lunch. I brought her an Italian sub from Blimpies, juice, chips, and cookies (I am an excellent provider). We ate in the hospital cafeteria since the weather had turned fairly cold outside.
Next, I went to the Flying M and read. Fern met me there when she got off work. We both were thinking sushi for dinner, so we ended up at Zutto's and had an absolutely amazing meal. Then we cleaned up at Fern's and hit the dance floor at The Balcony. It was a fun and interesting experience. (See Fern's blog)

Saturday:
After watching the second-to-last Giro stage live on the net (Basso won over Simoni), I met Fern at the Flying M. Elizabeth (Fern's good friend) and Edvin met us there for a chat (they were visiting from Portland). We all left and went to Fern's apartment. Elizabeth and Edvin took a walk. Fern and I ended up going downtown, stopping in at the Record Exchange and the Lux. Next, we had lunch at Cafe Ole. We split a chicken enchilada, yum. Then we browsed around at Shoes and Funktion before catching a matinee at Bodo's Edwards 9. We watched Xmen 3, "The Last Stand". Highly entertaining indeed. Next, we drove to Barnes n' Nobles for some more R&R&R (rest, relaxation, and reading). On the way home, I picked up dinner at Wendi's drive-thru. It had rained almost the entire day.

Sunday:
Met Fern at the Flying M again. Elizabeth arrived to meet Fern for some BF time. I went home, had lunch, and took a nap. Fern called later. We went for a walk down alleys and through part of downtown. Next, we went to Fred Meyers and did some grocery shopping. We picked up a DVD at Hollywood. At my apartment we made an amazing dinner of tender steak, citrus broccoli, acorn squash, and sauteed mushrooms. We dipped the steak and mushrooms in A1 steak sauce and beef gravy. The movie we watched, Aeon Flux, was simply awesome. In addition, we consumed a bottle of good wine. The quality evening continued until it was time for both of us to go to bed.

Monday (today):
Slept in fairly late. Fern picked me up and we went to Starbucks for our morning mocha, chat, and paper/book read. For lunch we grabbed a couple subs from Subway. We drove out to Meridian, to Boondocks, where we met Sarah and Kelly for two rounds of miniature golf. It was fun despite the sun's rays sans sunscreen and despite a freak who told us we should hurry up (he was a freak because only someone who's lost his mind would say such a thing to me and risk getting punched in the face-I'm a peaceful person, really...). Fern took me home where I ate some toast, watched tv, and took a short nap. I got up and met Fern for an easy bike ride out hill road, down a canal road and back. I rode home, took a shower, and met Fern again for dinner at her place and some happy fun times playing "smashmitten" and tossing the "Poof" football around in the Boise High School football field. We ended the night talking and drinking a beer on her porch.

Post Sanfrancisco

You may not have heard or seen it from me, but plenty of good times have been had since the San Francisco trip. I do have a few photos to offer as evidence of these happenings that, through sheer laziness, I have yet to write about. Take a gander:
Erm, the images uploaded above.... Who knows how they'll shuffle themselves after I publish this post.
As you can see, good times have been had with friends and with Fern (a good friend) lately. The first photo was taken at Tom and Laura's house soon after the vacation. There we dined on turkey burgers and soy chorizos while scorning appallingly nasty comics which we wanted nothing to do with. The images taken at high altitude (as indicated by the evergreen trees) are from Tuesday's bike ride up Hard Guy. We made quick work of 6000 feet, up and down, that day. The last image is a great shot of Fern rocking and a-rolling up a pretty steep dirt road (Harris Creek?). Oh, and the image of Fern n' flowers has Boise in the background. Its hard to see because its sooo far below us.

Bird in a Box

I'm a daddy! That's right, I've got a baby. Sure, you'd have to go back several hundred million years to find the point in which our genetic codes bore a father and son similarity, but it doesn't change the fact that the survival of the little tike is contingent upon my diligent caretaking. And his time with me may be very influential. Who knows, maybe he'll grow to whistle the Morrissey tune he's currently being exposed to by his, eh hem, pappy.

Ok, I'm really not that stoked about having to take care of a baby bird for the next who knows how many days. Already I've had to chop squirming worms in half, getting their guts on my fingers in the process, before dropping them into Sir Squawksalot's gaping pie-hole. And if the fledgeling lives up to his name, I risk pissing off my roommate and becoming very annoyed myself.

So how did I come into possession of a baby bird? I was slowly riding back into Boise after having completed a big loop south of town when I glanced to the left and saw Sir Squawksalot sitting in the a grassy plot in front of a glue factory or something, squawking his head off to anyone who'd listen. He was a big fella with black feathers and huge head and gaping mouth. I don't know who he thought would walk up and drop something tasty into his mouth, but I didn't see any feathered friend who gave a shit, so I became worried that he might be starving, as per the way he was acting. I circled in for a closer look and then started glancing down at puddles in search of something squirmy to feed him. Finding nothing, I slowly rode away. Empathy got the best of me. I stopped in at a truck stop and asked the cashier for a box. I road back to Sir Squawksalot, scooped him up, placed him in the box, and zipped down to the Flying J where I purchased a canister of night crawlers. Carefully, I made it home without sending the box and bird flying into traffic. I dropped Sir Squawksalot onto a bed of grass in my back yard and gave him a few minutes to get over the shock of a rough trip encased in cardboard. Taking a cue from a National Geographic program on raising condores, I made a lame bird puppet out of a black sock just to ensure the successful feeding I was about to dispense. The feeding was indeed a success. For a while the bird seemed content. It wasn't long before he began squawking again, and I felt compelled to feed him more. I fed him three times in three hours, I think.

At any rate, I've acquired a box for Sir Squawksalot. I also bought chicken liver and canned dog food for his dining pleasure these next few days. I'm hoping he survives, grows strong, and flys away soonish.

Got to go. I need to try feeding the baby so he'll stay quiet through the night.

Ok, it seems weird to still be talking about the San Francisco trip over a week later, but I told myself I'd give a day by day account of the trip, and by golly, I intend to do it. (This'll really be a memory exercise)

Day two, I awoke! I awoke well rested, in comparison to almost every other experience I've had sleeping in a strange place or with another body in my bed. I think I recall that there was a bit of a struggle in the night to become comfortable with less than the average amount of bedding over my body, and between my feet, knees, and arms. I remember waking in the night and listening to Fern's breathing and thinking "yay, she's sleeping!" It's always a cause to celebrate when she gets a good night sleep.

So, I think we purchased our morning mochas at the world's busiest Starbucks on Friday morning. We took our nubile selfs south of Market Street and into Yerba Buena Park with all its fun curvy elevated walk ways, neat architecture, gardens, and kooky soft-bottomed playgrounds. There are several photos depicting this part of the trip. We stopped in the kooky soft-bottomed playground, took pictures, and watched funny kids galavanting in the absolutely gorgeous sunshine.

Its doesn't seem right, but I'm pretty sure that this was the same day Fern and I strolled down to Southpark-an old neighborhood around an oval park n' playground. Of course we had to swing on the swings and visit the coffee shop that was sooo Italianesque that Vespas were parked out front and the windows were open, thus creating a pleasant open air environment in which to drink espresso beverages. The Southpark experience was our first excursion into a part of the city that was decidedly a neighborhood which existed seemingly far far away from the tourists and shopping. Several people walked dogs and read books in the park. It was nice.

Next, the real walking began and our surroundings became much less "nice". We walked from Southpark through SoMa towards The Mission. Our destination was a place called "Blowfish", which was, according to the Sanfrancisco weekly paper, voted best of all sushi establishments. Before arriving at Blowfish, we had to walk 15 city blocks of warehouses, clubs, and various trashy establishments. When we finally arrived at a park near Blowfish, it was infested with homeless people. This was about the time I really came to appreciate the comfort and quality of Starbucks coffee shops. We came across one of the nicest Starbucks I've ever been to, which offered us a place to pee and coushy couches to rest our weary feet. This particular Starbucks was very spacious and adorned with intriguing oil paintings of real blue collar workers of the city.

We decided to step into Blowfish a little before our reservation time, which was fine with the hostess. We dined on some amazing sushi. It was so amazing that I made the spontaneous decision to order more of the best we had, along with a couple Saporos..? I think we spent $60 for that dinner, but we totally deserved it.

We decided to walk back to town despite our aching feet. On the way, we passed by City Hall, the Veteran's Center?., and the Asian Art Museum, which were all majestic buildings of granite, columns and domes. It was in this area that Fern witnessed a street person crouching with his pants down as though he were going to take a dump in the middle of the sidewalk. I'm sure she would rather had forgotten this, but, sorry.... Also while in this area, the absense of places to urinate was acutely felt. Nearing "home", we walked through an area of the city that the tourist guides recommended staying out of. I read about the area the day after we walked through it.

For the rest of the evening, I rested and read. Fern caught up with her friend Amy over some beers.

Clearly, I'm running out of motivation for this writing/memory exercise. I'll finish up next time. Goodnight.

San Francisco: The True Story

If you're a regular reader of my blog (hi Fern and Devlyn!), you most likely find yourself visiting the site of my girlfriend Jennifer on occassion. And that's great, because she's got this way about her-you know, she's rather charming and hilarious!. Last time she posted, Fern told readers all about the fun n' adventure the two of us had while in San Francisco a couple weeks ago. The blog she wrote was an instant hit, a masterpiece of vibrant, descriptive literature; as well as a handy reference for anyone who wishes to experience the grungy underbelly of the city. Sadly, her account of events during that momentous week is just one highly creative fictional contruct. A grand story for sure, but a story written to deceive, to place a veil over your eyes so that the real truth will not be discovered. Ladies and gentlemen, my purpose today is to finally reveal to you the truth behind the lies. In no way do I intend to spend thirty minutes writing some silly introduction to my San Francisco story for the sole purpose of humoring myself. NO, I'd never admit to such petty narcissism! Now, open your minds and your hearts to the light of truth, ladies and gentlemen. Here is the real story as it really happened during those fateful days in late April (and early May):

Before our departure, Fern and I set out in search of quality mochachinos. The Mocha is our way of celebrating the start of any day off, mini vacation, or true vacation. The Mocha is sometimes utilized in the middle of the day, when that middle of the day comes after a rest period which essentially makes the middle of the day feel like the beginning of the day. I think of the drink as liquid excitement. Whereas little dogs pittle when they get all excited, Fern and I grab a mocha and talk about how excited we are about it and the day ahead of us. Needless to say, there were a lot of mochas consumed during our trip. San Francisco=excitement too, wouldn't you say?

We couldn't find a satisfactory mocha experience Thursday morning due to a downtown power outage (I'll never forget stepping into a dark Flying M coffehouse and hearing nothing-no espresso machine making magic). We were both also hungry, so after nearly dying, we rushed to the airport in order to get food n' mochas and chill ourselves out. Everything became great again, despite the mochas coming from an airport Moxie Java.

Fern and I sat next to each other on the plane of course, but the experience was unexpectedly romantic/exciting. I asked Fern to pardon me if I stared out of her window-it was something I often did on flights, I said. Fern informed me that she liked to do the same. An hour into the flight, I was still primarily staring out the window, thinking about where we were at that moment, imagining what it was like living down there, and looking for anything remotely interesting to see from 30,000 feet. I guess my mentality is that of a dog-in-a-car when I'm flying.

I really craned my neck to get a glimpse of the city as our plane made its descent. I saw very little but murky waters of the bay. After landing we quickly found our bags (which were distinctively marked with 7 year old pink fuzz on their handles) and stepped onto the airports el-train, which took us to the Bay Area Rapid Transit station. Fern struggled with a malfunctioning ticket machine while I struggled to make sense of the BART route map. We made it onto a train that seemed to be heading in the general direction we wanted to go. After a lot of banshee screaching and several stops, the train let us off at Market and Powell Street. Playing photographer to the stars, I snapped pictures of Fern as she walked up the steps into the bustling city and bright, beautiful day. We discovered plenty of tourists with shopping bags in hand, taking photos of the trolley as a small army of costumed "engineers" manually turned the trolley 180 degrees upon a special circular track thingymajig. Among the tourists and shoppers, there was almost as many "street people" performing a variety of coin-worthy acts, like tap dancing on a piece of plywood.

Fern and I made our way towards Union Square through a maze of shoppers. The square in the midst of huge majestic buildings was quite an awesome thing. By the looks of things, it was apparantly a hot spot for catching some rays and enjoying one's lunch. After checking into the hostile (two blocks away), Fern and I did what the locals do. We grabbed a bite at a sandwhich/everything shop and enjoyed the beautiful weather lounging on the grass in Union Square.

Regarding our room at the Adelaide Hostile, it was simply perfect. I was elated to realize that we'd be spending the next five days in such a comfortable, private setting. I think we both were. The ceiling was high. We had a huge window with a perfect voyeurs view of rooms across the way. Vines were growing into the big window and through the tiny window above where we slept. I felt close to nature, even though we were in the middle of the city.

After freshening up, Fern and I set out into the city, cameras in hand but sans luggage. This is when we grabbed lunch and lounged in the square. We then walked around the immediate area checking out a variety of high-end and not-quite-so-high-end shops. Fern saw the Dior bag in the window of the Dior store. I pushed her through the door so that she could have a closer look. We stopped by some shoe stores, the Levi's store, a Guess store, a Camper! store, a Shoe Pavalion store, and a whole bunch o' other stores. We also ventured south of Market Street and took photos of interesting architecture and the two of us together in a park near Yerba Buena park.

It was a very very enjoyable time. Especially considering we had bought ourselves another hour when we crossed into the Pacific time zone. Despite what our phones said, we had plenty of time to explore before we needed to get ready for the Ryan Adams concert at the Palace of Fine Arts.

After getting sexified, we boarded the bus that would take us to the Palace. The bus was packed full of residents of China Town, as that was the first part of the city we passed through. At some point, Fern asked someone if the time the bus flashed on its screen was the actual time. When the person answered in the affirmative, she and I looked at each other wide-eyed and slack-jawed. We had less than 15 minutes until the concet was scheduled to start! Apparantly, our phones automatically set themselves to the correct time. All the while we thought that the phones were an hour ahead. Needless to say, I felt a bit stressed during the 15 minutes it took us to find out that we weren't going to miss anything, or have to walk into the concert house and rudely take our seats in the front row while Ryan was singing. So, no big deal. There was an opening act, which kind of sucked. Interestingly enough, there was a second act going on at the same time as the main show. The second act was more comedy than anything, with Ryan talking to himself, the crowd, his manager, and whoever would listen. It was one of the best acts I've ever seen, atleast until it got old and I just wanted to hear him sing. The singing was constantly being interrupted by the comedy, but the songs were so well done (albiet stripped down) that I felt I got my money's worth.

When the concert was finally over, Fern and I dragged ourselves back to the hostile, but mustered enough energy to walk down to Lefty O'Doule's, drink a couple beers and sing along with middle aged people and the piano man.
more to come...

San Francisco Pictures

San Francisco, the sunshine city! I can't believe how bright everything appears to be in the pictures I posted yesterday. My hypothesis is that airborne moisture in the form of fog, clouds, haze, and hazey fog has a tendency to reflect (or refract, if I may) direct sunlight into your eyes regardless of whether or not you're looking towards the sun. Its really cool, actually. Maybe that's one reason I sort of miss the city. I experienced the best light therapy of my life there. Hopefully Boise's intermittent clouds and stark blue skies don't bring me down. Anyway, here's more photos:

My California Atlas is open to the San Francisco page. I keep glancing down at the peninsula, my eyes drawn towards its topography and complex grid of city streets. Something is very odd about the image. It seems to be out of scale. There's no doubt that San Francisco is huge. I have experienced its enormity first hand. Over the last six days I've traveled the city via bike, bus, rail, and especially through the use of my lower appendages. The weariness sitting in my bones like lead is testament to my great effort to "get to know" and "experience" the city. As awesome as the week of discovery was, I know that I barely scratched the surface of what San Francisco has to offer. And as much walking as Fern and I did, clearly there was so much more ground, so many more streets, that could have been covered. Yet I look at this Atlas and observe that the city is not more than seven miles across in any direction. It just doesn't seem right, but it is. San Francisco, like Manhattan, defies space and time by harboring so much of humanity in such a small area.

At any rate, Fern and I had a lot of fun. I sit down and tell you all about it soon. For now, have a look at Fern in action in San Francisco.