Liverjournal 2
This is indeed late, but, I have been slightly busy since returning from my adventure to the exterior. But, since I've been motivated by
jaspamaster's post the other day, I found myself inspired to search out Iron Man on my own. It is indeed t3h awesome! Of course, the real scariness of the movie, much like when I saw Stealth for the first time, was the fact that there is already some of this in military application. The stunning advance of technology.
My break week was fantabulous, and vacations in general for me are steadily improving, I would say, as each year passes. I am unsure as to the reason for this, but I seem to be acquiring experiences that I should really have had much earlier in life at this late stage. A team of experts has been dispatched to investigate the situation.
Many will recall a few idle ramblings from some weeks ago about communications being reopened between myself and a relic of a bygone era. There were some motions to have a meeting of the minds during the break, but, as with most in her selected field of study, she is quite insane. That said, she resoundly cut off all communications between us forevermore two weeks prior to my visit to the Valley of the Devils. All of which was more than fine by me, in the interest of unburdening myself of negative influences in my life, and since the ticket was already bought, the hotel and car rented far in advance, I took two days to simply unwind in the desert, climb some rocks in Papago Park, visit the burgeoning waterfront, do a bit of shopping, and just enjoy the concept of being catered to, something resort towns do impeccably well. I was unlucky enough to not catch any of my friends either at home, or on their cell phones, and Jagman seems to be completely uncontactable, most likely as a result of his major injury last year precluding him from things like...work. Terribly unfortunate, I hope he's alright.
Stymied but unbeaten, I made for the Left Bank and arrived in rare form. Spent the remaining four days with santomincho, who is as steadfastly ensconced in the Bay Area as I am in the Tri-State area. However, I will say this, and conversations with Philth have borne this out - SF is the dream of what NYC used to be: all of the liberalism, intellectualism, freakishness, and even cold temperatures, none of the constricting, socially impeding conservative overlays that clog the interpersonal interactions on the Right Bank of late. It is rare to be typing that, long have I battled in opposition to the other side, however, truly experiencing that other city for the first time (the last time, you might recall, was three days following my cousin's wedding a few years ago when there was rampant drunkeness - imagine that - for three days straight), has somewhat opened my mind.
I arrived Monday night, everything about the trip went exceedingly well. On arriving, little brother was still at work, so I was able to meet him at the office since BART lets you out just blocks from the door. Picked up the keys to his place and was able to drop off my bags and get out of my travel attire in preparation for that evening's insanity. Went for a bit of a stroll until li'l bro called me, and then met up with him at Lucky 13 for the $5 shot/PBR combo. Went a for a couple rounds of that and then had to switch to the Captain and Cokes cuz, maybe it's my old age but, just can't do that anymore. Of course, this was a topic of much discussion between my younger sibling and I since, once you've been habitually raising Hell as long as we have, you either figure shit out, or you get your card pulled.
We actually packed it in early because we had quite a bit planned for the following day. Woke up earlier than the entire house, prolly cuz I was still on EST and not PST, but luckily I managed to find a few things in the fridge to nosh before waking Minchito. We stopped by some place I can't remember the name of for breakfast and were greeted by a middle aged Hindu looking lady who was apparently the owner/manager. She served us fantastic bagels and eggs, wonderful coffee, and a smile, and we were off to watch baby brother stab people at the research lab. He only really had one appt. that day, but she had more energy than both of us combined, and said of my brother's blood drawing technique: "he's a real gentleman, he just eases it in!"
Really, I can't make this stuff up folks.
Meanwhile, we left the lab after, I think, putting a bit of fear into both his boss, and a co-worker who bore a stunning resemblance to Julian Moore (although, I can't really tell cuz they both exhibited disturbingly flat affect. Must be the water) we went for some of the most outstanding Mexican food I've had in some time. Afterwards, we trooped on down to the section of town where Mr. S Leather, Stormy Leather, and such like are kept, and absolutely drowned myself in the enormity of it all. And, despite the amount I'd been saving for this trip, simply did not have enough to warrant a pair of leather pants. Not to mention the fact that, due in no small part to my increased level of aerobic activity recently, my legs have returned to their once famously stout stature, and simply nothing off the rack fit. Curses! Foiled again! And that was to be the case with the both the other leather shops we visited that day. I swear, I'm just gonna hafta get a leather sewing machine of my own one day. Either that or find out where all the other bears shop. Not to be undone we had to scurry home early and get all pretty for an evening of two dollar tacos and margaritas with Carlitos (who, as it turns out, is close friends with the owners of Kink.com) and La Catrina. Of everyone that I met during my trip their, these two left one of the biggest impressions. Depsite them arriving to retrieve us in a late model Audi wagon (I at first thought we had simply happened upon a pair of folks attempting a u-turn, but, alas, I had to ride to the bar in soft leather seats). This was quite the affair, but ended disappointingly early, as apparently, despite being a full service bar, they close pitifully early at 11pm. This squared well with us, however, simply because the following day was to be quite the adventure.
Early in the morning, since mi hermano had taken the rest of the week off, we determined that a trip to the downtown YMCA was in order. We made the trek, after a short stop at the Cafe for an exceptional breakfast experience, and spent a good two hours hitting the weights and then turning a few laps in the pool. Then it was a quick run for the docks so we could make the last tour to The Rock. A highly enlightening experience, much like coming to New York City for the first time, but a great deal of important information to be learned about not only its history, but its mythology. It was incredibly important to not only see the bay from the equivalent of the Staten Island Ferry, but also the potentially devastating currents that Mincho had to battle through the bay during his two Sharkfest swims. Just getting into the water in his condition of severe asthmatic and swimming the two miles to shore is a feat of almost superhuman resilience. To do it once is tantamount to suicide. To attempt it a second time is plain insanity. But then, he is my brother. On the way back to his ranchito, we trooped through Fisherman's Wharf, and stopped by the infamous Pier 39, heralded from at least a block off by the tell tale barking of the harbour seals. Enormous animals, larger than you might have originally considered, and far outweighing the ones I've seen in the Bronx Zoo, or any other zoo, for that matter. The night following Odin's-day was spent debating the finer points of textual intercourse at B-Love's brew pub, and dickering over pitchers of beer appropriately named 'Sweet Belgian Blonde', followed by outstanding Thai food. Well fed, slightly tipsy, and heady from the hours long discussion, we returned to the ranch, and slept.
Thor's-day was spent on another whirlwind as we first kept our appointment with the insane Russian accupuncturist. There was, indeed, nothing at all wrong with his technique, and in fact, one might even call him expert, though, the relaxation track that he had on a loop included every grammatical abnormality typical of native speakers of Slavic languages, and sounded like Pabl Chekov on an infinite loop, except at 5 octaves lower. After leaving the serenity of Russian's office, we went exploring in the upper Haight and meeting li'l bro's piercing friends. He's finally beginning to explore the idea of becoming a piercer, something I've been prodding him to do, not only because it would complement my own artistry, but because it would securely supplement his income. In any case, managed to get my hands on some new bone spirals. This makes me happy, especially since my last pair was magically separated somehow while I still had roommates (neither of whom wore jewelry in my size...) and then flying back to the house to make ready for that evening's festivities. Your Uncle Dodds appeared somewhere around 6pm-ish already swilling something in a brown paper bag. We fed him some shots of Jameson and that really got him workin - and he left only a couple hours later not able to find his phone. In the meantime, Sustainable Jeff had showed up and he was getting in on the action, bringing in a case of PBRs. Another round of Jameson went down, and more people showed up. At some point, Carlitos and La Catrina stormed in, and all hell broke loose as rampant discussions about the best way to potentially suspend shaved cats for aesthetic effect in the dungeon abounded.
Meow.
D-train also made an appearance, and there was much rejoicing since it had recently been his birthday and I was carrying a gift from the folks for him. There was much talk of modding up the Acura, and laps around Laguna Seca, all of which made me miss the Ninja terribly. The upstairs neighbors came down, shared a few brief moments of conversation with us until they were out to the bar down the street to celebrate one of the roomates; birthdays. Sleep did not come easy that night, though it came early enough since I had to be at the airport relatively early. The trip back home went as smoothly as everything on the way out, and, truth be told, I was sad to see the West Coast behind me. I forsee a triumphant return in the future. In the near future, most likely. But first, Santo Mincho and I have to get through Cabo San Lucas. Ohhhh, my liver hurts already!The woods are lovely dark and deep,
And I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Did you hear me Butterfly?
Miles to go before you sleep.