(no subject)
I am considering filtering out some old entries from this journal. I mean, apparently people read it. Like, real people. Besides Marissa.
People like Nick and C, who I spent the entire weekend with in San Francisco and I want to go baaaack.
Highlights: Alcatraz. There is a long and highly detailed story about our getting to Alcatraz, and I will but hint at it here, by telling you that should YOU want to go to Alcatraz, the only way to get there is from Pier 33. As in, not the Blue and Gold people. Their Web site does not actually say this. The island itself is quite beautiful -- today there would never be a prison there, because the real estate profits would be unbelievable -- and the prison is creepy and fantastic, a great corroding Gearworld of dizzyingly vast proportions. I have pictures of Nick being Prisoner Number 114 and an awesome shot of the overgrown-with-moss morgue that ended up being not-so-awesome after all because the glass turned it into a picture of me with a cell phone camera. We bought handcuff keychains. And Nick got a book of the Rules and Regulations that used to be provided to every prisoner and read it out loud to us, which was amusing.
Castro. Oh my god. Castro. I expected sleazy, and there was a little sleaze, but it was the kind that's fun and open and safe and friendly and total strangers pat your arm and trill "HEY SEXY!" People talk and laugh with complete strangers in little stores that sell obscene cookies. Everyone smiles. Even the waiters are friendly and happy.
Stormy Leather. I am embarrassed by my fascination with this store, and will limit my comments for the sake of my readers with roommates who would be Shocked and Horrified by my Sin. Nick thinks that the guy at the counter thought we were a threesome. I'm not sure we did much to disabuse him of the notion. I saw a corset that I really wanted, but it was not terribly difficult to talk myself out of it. There was a T-shirt that said "woof." Those who are familiar with the depredations of which we are capable will have an idea of why this made us snicker.
I heart San Francisco. It is beautiful. It is exactly what the Journey song led me to hope for. It also can go from nice-place-to-live to omg-we're-gonna-die in less than a block ...
Now I have to write the sociology paper that is due in three hours. And wish that I was back in San Francisco.