a perfect 24 hours in the life of,,
Thursday day we drive up to Berkeley to see Lukich's mom about a turkey and also to drop off Andryusha for the weekend. I wear new shoes and look just so. We greet, we eat, we rest our feet. We spend a couple of hours slow talking in the library to the light of the floor lamp and a Picasa slideshow. Andryusha makes freights from our room to the adjacent with toys and blanket and content giggles. He's very peaceful and happy, though tired because he didn't sleep in the afternoon. At about 7 we take off and drive to SF.
We listen to Pandora's station of The Knife and it's fucking perfect. We call up friends and they iz busy, so Lukich takes me to the Liberties Bar on 22nd and Guerrero, which he really liked from the night before when he and Volcheguuuuurskiy had their cocktails. We drink very tasty pomegranate mojitos and chase with chicken quesadilla. We talk talks and laugh jokes - perfect. There's futbol on TV, but quality music out of speakers. There's a middle-aged man at the bar who looks a bachelor. He orders a steak with mushrooms. He's with a dog. A regular. I watch him cut pieces from his steak and eat them. There are fries too. Lukich says that fries are really good there. I envy the man. And I'm not at all hungry (a tall hungry), but we decide to get curly fries from Jack-in-Box on the way home. We drive home by a lengthy route and listen to The Knife radio. Then we decide to go to bed early and get up before the sun rises to see it. Lukich reads till midnight. I set the alarm to 6 am and go to sleep. In one of the dreams there are two giant snails slithering on the ceiling. At 6 am the alarm goes off, i dutifully get up to look out the window. It's raining, I go back to bed and dream of George and posse walking the short Balboa Street strip near our house where all the stores and eateries are, only it's more like some small town street in Mexico with courtyard vendors. George is wearing a white cowboy hat and is in a great mood. He orders a battalion of cocktails and fruit and his belly emanates content. Then I wake up. Lukich wakes up. Shower. Shower. And then we bake. It's the first time we wake-n-bake together. We drive to Le Soleil on Fillmore and Waller for open-faced sandwiches and coffee. Lukich orders chicken/bacon under a subtle stink of cheese and I - a ham/gruyere - simple, kosher, elegant. Being stoned so early in the day, sitting alone (Lukich is getting coffee), and very close to people, while facing most of them, is exhilarating and really fucking scary. Finally Lukich joins me. And again we talk talks, laugh jokes and decide to catch a matinee. Then we find a perfect movie - Pirate Radio. We have an hour and a half to kill. So we drive to Booksmith on Haight for a short session of shelf-surfing and then drive home to get hash and back to mid-city line just in time for the show. In the parking lot we get stoned like monkeys and squinty-eyed giggle to the wrong floor, wrong theater room and then to the right one. Check. The movie is perfect for the occasion. It's sappy, it's funny, it's about music and people who love it. We come out, get into the car, and husbandry comes up with a brilliant idea to go to Stow Lake and ride the pedal boat and eat hotdogs. And so we do and it's fantastic. The weather is late autumn - sky is clear with blotches of puffy gray, sun shoots tired rays through the trees. Air is crisp. We take breaks from the pedaling, put our feet up and smoke sloooow American Spirits. Peeeeeeeeerfect. Time's up. We get into the car and Lukich says that it's 4:20. "You wanna?" - "Yeah, why not." So we hit it again. Next stop is Armenian grocery/bakery on Geary and 17th. We spend most of our mad money on oliv'ye, stuffed eggplant, tongue salad, sausages, Nutella, cherry preserves and others. Home. I indulge in some Californication and husbandry is next to me, certainly in body. Then Petya and Anya come with two bagfuls of freshly picked chanterelles. And we cook almost all of them. One batch with sour cream one without. Potatoes are boiled, sausages toasted. Kulik comes with a runny nose but not a broken spirit and we sit down to eat. Can't remember what the talks are about, can't remember what the jokes are about, but the food is good and company also. Then the 24-hour cycle of 'perfect' ends, and I am subjected to a game of Settlers of Cattan.
p.s. almost subjected. i slithered out of it.
We listen to Pandora's station of The Knife and it's fucking perfect. We call up friends and they iz busy, so Lukich takes me to the Liberties Bar on 22nd and Guerrero, which he really liked from the night before when he and Volcheguuuuurskiy had their cocktails. We drink very tasty pomegranate mojitos and chase with chicken quesadilla. We talk talks and laugh jokes - perfect. There's futbol on TV, but quality music out of speakers. There's a middle-aged man at the bar who looks a bachelor. He orders a steak with mushrooms. He's with a dog. A regular. I watch him cut pieces from his steak and eat them. There are fries too. Lukich says that fries are really good there. I envy the man. And I'm not at all hungry (a tall hungry), but we decide to get curly fries from Jack-in-Box on the way home. We drive home by a lengthy route and listen to The Knife radio. Then we decide to go to bed early and get up before the sun rises to see it. Lukich reads till midnight. I set the alarm to 6 am and go to sleep. In one of the dreams there are two giant snails slithering on the ceiling. At 6 am the alarm goes off, i dutifully get up to look out the window. It's raining, I go back to bed and dream of George and posse walking the short Balboa Street strip near our house where all the stores and eateries are, only it's more like some small town street in Mexico with courtyard vendors. George is wearing a white cowboy hat and is in a great mood. He orders a battalion of cocktails and fruit and his belly emanates content. Then I wake up. Lukich wakes up. Shower. Shower. And then we bake. It's the first time we wake-n-bake together. We drive to Le Soleil on Fillmore and Waller for open-faced sandwiches and coffee. Lukich orders chicken/bacon under a subtle stink of cheese and I - a ham/gruyere - simple, kosher, elegant. Being stoned so early in the day, sitting alone (Lukich is getting coffee), and very close to people, while facing most of them, is exhilarating and really fucking scary. Finally Lukich joins me. And again we talk talks, laugh jokes and decide to catch a matinee. Then we find a perfect movie - Pirate Radio. We have an hour and a half to kill. So we drive to Booksmith on Haight for a short session of shelf-surfing and then drive home to get hash and back to mid-city line just in time for the show. In the parking lot we get stoned like monkeys and squinty-eyed giggle to the wrong floor, wrong theater room and then to the right one. Check. The movie is perfect for the occasion. It's sappy, it's funny, it's about music and people who love it. We come out, get into the car, and husbandry comes up with a brilliant idea to go to Stow Lake and ride the pedal boat and eat hotdogs. And so we do and it's fantastic. The weather is late autumn - sky is clear with blotches of puffy gray, sun shoots tired rays through the trees. Air is crisp. We take breaks from the pedaling, put our feet up and smoke sloooow American Spirits. Peeeeeeeeerfect. Time's up. We get into the car and Lukich says that it's 4:20. "You wanna?" - "Yeah, why not." So we hit it again. Next stop is Armenian grocery/bakery on Geary and 17th. We spend most of our mad money on oliv'ye, stuffed eggplant, tongue salad, sausages, Nutella, cherry preserves and others. Home. I indulge in some Californication and husbandry is next to me, certainly in body. Then Petya and Anya come with two bagfuls of freshly picked chanterelles. And we cook almost all of them. One batch with sour cream one without. Potatoes are boiled, sausages toasted. Kulik comes with a runny nose but not a broken spirit and we sit down to eat. Can't remember what the talks are about, can't remember what the jokes are about, but the food is good and company also. Then the 24-hour cycle of 'perfect' ends, and I am subjected to a game of Settlers of Cattan.
p.s. almost subjected. i slithered out of it.