Let the Wild Rumpus Begin!

As of today it is officially Christmas week. For me, this also means it is officially the week of my birthday. That's right, two very important, dead sexy Jews have birthdays this week. Me and Jesus. I'm one day older than him, which totally burns him up by the way. Whenever we are arguing about something and we come to an impasse I can always pull out the "Well, I'm older and wiser than you" card. God, that just kills him.

Anyway, when I am not busy holding it over Jesus, I usually just try to get through the holidays and my birthday without causing or participating in too many scenes. I don't mind my birthday generally, but being the center of attention is just about the opposite of what comes naturally and comfortably to me. It's nice to know people care about me and all, but I don't need any special attention, really. As for Christmas, I got nothing against the Goys and their traditions; the spirit of giving and family togetherness can be truly magical. But does the mall have to be so fucking crowded? I mean really. Still, however awful the holiday music and all the shopping is, I mostly like the Christmas idyll of families and friends getting together and doing nice things for each other. That sounds like a grand idea to me. Like I said, I don't begrudge them their holiday... It's theirs, they can have it.

I like Chanukah just fine. Obviously I am not very (read: at all) religious, but the way Chanukah (or however the hell you spell it) manifests itself in the secular world is, just like Christmas, simply an excuse to be with and/or express your love for your loved ones. Plus, we got latkes! Jewish hash browns! They are sooo good, and I don't know why they are a once a year thing.. in fact, I am hereby proposing a year long latke party in 2010. Let's all do it! Latkes all year baby, break out the sour cream and apple sauce! Or, if you're a Goy, go ahead and put ketchup or salsa on that potato pancake, I won't mind, this is not a private party. Everyone's invited: young, old, black, white, straight, gay, Jew, non-Jew, anybody who loves fried potato!

This year, on the third night of Chanukah (in case you missed it above, please do click here for a cool holiday song that made me laugh a lot) I found myself in San Francisco's Union Square in the middle of one of those scenes I am not normally fond of. It was crowded with shoppers, tourists, passersby, hobos, and... Jews, lots of genuine, out in the wild Jews. You see, I had gone here to witness a menorah lighting ceremony. It took some convincing by my mom, and Danie, to get me out of the house, but this free event promised Jewish music, a giant, old menorah, open flames, and "local dignitaries"... Ultimately, how could I refuse?

The first thing I noticed was the first thing I am sure most of the tourists noticed as they happened upon this scene. A seemingly crazy bearded dude in a black hat and suit dancing solo to the blaring Hebrew techno music. Of course, I knew this fellow was a rabbi and his dancing, while ridiculous and quite funny, was enthusiastic and pretty charming. The crowd was enchanted by him, for sure. And then I noticed there was someone, or something, else out there with him. What's better than a rabbi dancing with himself? A rabbi dancing with a Wild Thing!! Yes! One of the Wild Things from Where The Wild Things Are was out there dancing right along side him, hands in the air, hips swinging, feet stomping. Apparently, Wild Things are Jewish. Later, I met the Wild Thing up close.. his name is Louis, he had a hard time navigating the wet stairs on his way out, and his handler in the green hat gave me a couple of two for one tickets to the Contemporary Jewish Museum. Ahh, so, it all made sense now... The Jewish Museum currently has a Maurice Sendak (author of Wild Things) exhibit and this was free publicity. Whatever the reason, I consider it a Chanukah miracle that there turned out to be something worth seeing at this event. No local dignitaries ever did materialize, but, as darkness fell, the rabbi stopped dancing and brought out the torch. I was concerned for his beard, but he managed to not catch himself on fire as he climbed the stairs to the top of the menorah and did his prayers and whatever else they have to do before lighting the candles. And that was it, the festivities were over. I was out already, though, and it was a nice night, so I took a little walk through the crowds of Union Square until I found some half price, $3 gloves at H&M. That satisfied my itch to shop and I decided that was more than enough dealing with the crowds for one day and I booked it home.

And that was the story of my big holiday outing this year. Merry Christmas/Happy Chanukah/Happy New Year to all! May all our new years be filled with peace and love! Forgive me, I've been in San Francisco almost three months and the hippie is seeping in! Also, a very happy Festivus to all my Festian, or is it Festivish (??), friends! Dan and Kash, I hope you dominated your Feats of Strength.

I think 2010 is gonna be good. We got the latke party going for us.. and other good stuff is bound to come up, right? I'm sure it will. So, for now I say, "Let the wild rumpus begin!"

A NoDak Thanksgiving - On The Road Again, Part 2

The next morning, Thanksgiving Day, I awoke in a basement in North Dakota for the first time in my life and in my post-deep-REM-sleep stupor I momentarily had absolutely no fucking idea where in the hell I was. When I came to and remembered, it still didn't make a whole lot of sense to be waking up in a basement in North Dakota, but at least I knew I had not been abducted and would not have to fight my way out with this stuffed fish, a plan I had imagined when I saw him the night before. In fact, I was quite comfortable in my bed and by the squeak of the floorboards above me and the smell of toast wafting down, I knew breakfast proceedings were underway and I couldn't think of anything better in the world at that moment but to have a big, home-cooked, family style breakfast. The food and the company did not disappoint and this was only the beginning of a long, glorious day of eating and relaxing. We all knew there was a huge, traditional holiday dinner awaiting us and yet we still had a big breakfast and an even bigger lunch, only a couple hours later. Lunch consisted of cheese, salamis, shrimp, deviled eggs, a beef ball, crackers, and more that was way too hard to resist eating too much of.. so we generally did not resist. Somehow there was just gonna have to be room in our bellys for everything. On this day we would not deny ourselves anything!

As I mentioned in Part 1, dinner itself was an incredible display of traditional turkey (juicy, beautiful, seen to the left), smoked turkey (awesome and even awesomer cold sandwiches later), ham (sweet succulent swine), and all the trimmings you'd expect, all done perfectly. One unique addition to the table was the traditional Norwegian tortilla-like flatbread called lefse. In case you didn't know, North Dakota and other parts of the upper mid-west are full of Norwegian descendants and Jesse's family is no different. Lefse is one of those things Norwegian kids grow up eating and will always hit that perfect soft spot in their heart and stomach, so Jesse was in heaven. The traditional way to eat it is to spread it with butter, sprinkle a healthy dose of sugar on it, roll it up and enjoy... and enjoy we all did. I also brought a home-made Jewish tradition of my own to the party, the challah bread pictured here (I made it the day before we left, the rolls were meant for turkey sandwiches, they did not, however, make the trip.. I just couldn't resist eating them fresh.. I'm weak.. but look at them, aren't they pretty?! They demanded to be eaten right there and then). Anyways... after dinner there was, of course, dessert, and, just before we slipped into the inevitable food coma, pumpkin pies and pumpkin cheesecake made their appearance and proved to be the perfect ending to a beautiful meal. Soon we all retired to the living room to bask in the glow of our full stomachs and an HDTV. Even then, as we began to vegetate after this huge meal, I began to daydream of how good the leftovers were going to be.. speaking of which, do you know what you do with the leftovers in North Dakota? Just put them outside... good as any fridge. Man, I'm such a Florida kid, huh? Stuff like that (and having basements) is so foreign and gee-wiz impressive to me!

The next thing I remember is watching the show Deadwood on DVD. This show came to be sort of a soundtrack to our trip (a soundtrack with very, um, colorful language, as you know if you've seen the show). Once we started watching, it seems like we didn't stop, and that was OK with me. Wow, why wasn't I watching this show before?! Awesome, dirty, over the top, grotesque but really well acted cowboy melodrama.. I'm hooked. Check it out if you don't mind your cowboys and whores swearing even more than modern day sailors.

Two gambling adventures are next in my memory, one sad and frustrating, the other with a much happier ending. First up, me and Jesse (seen to the left, in happier, post-Thanksgiving-dinner times), being the sick degenerates we are, of course found our way to the local Indian casino to try our hand in their poker tournament. Well, this turned out to be a pretty miserable experience start to finish. We really should have never put our money down once we saw this place, but by the time we realized just how bad this was going to be, it was too late, the tournament had already started. Nobody but us really cares why this was such an awful tournament, I guess, but trust me, it was. The dealers were terrible, the structure was ridiculous, the players were old cranky farmers who all knew each other and had way deeper pockets than us. All in all a big waste of money.. and it's a dry casino, too. No booze! Who ever heard of such a thing?! We couldn't even drown our sorrows.

On the other hand, and against all reasonable expectations, bingo at the Knights Of Columbus was a joy! Danie, Lucy, Lucy's mom, and I spent Saturday afternoon playing bingo and pull tabs (North Dakota version of lottery scratch offs, basically) at the local KOC around the block. Now, Lucy and I are old pros from our days on the Vegas bingo circuit, where the competition is fierce and the stakes are high. We started as mere amateurs, but we had a passion to learn and were willing to pay our dues and work harder than anybody else, and by the time we each left Vegas we had slowly but surely worked our way up through the ranks. We were at the top of our bingo game. So, Devil's Lake bingo was not nearly as intimidating to us as it would be to most of you unschooled, wannabe bingo pros. And it felt good to get back in the saddle again! We all daubed our hearts out and were having fun, but, alas, victory was eluding us. It was down to the last game of the afternoon, do or die. As the game went on and on, the old man kept calling numbers and more numbers, the tension in the air was thick as the regulars anticipated a bingo call with every new number called.. surely this was the number that would end the game! I was only one number away, myself, and we were all getting so tantalizingly close. Finally, I hear "B... 5"... Bingooooo! I've got bingo! I had won! Victory was mine! $49 cold hard cash, baby! You may not be as naturally gifted as me, but if you practice hard enough and dedicate yourself to the craft of bingo, I know one day you, too, can be as good a bingo player as me... Just don't give up! On the way out, the nice old lady that ran the game told me she was glad I won because I "showed the ladies how to play"! That's right, ladies! How do like me now?

After bingo I partook in yet another very manly pursuit.. Me, Jesse, and Jesse's dad went out and shot the shit out of some shit! Oh yeah, that's what I'm talking about! We drove out to the middle of nowhere, popped the trunk, loaded up, threw a Coke can out in a field, and took aim... you can call me Dead Eye Joel now. Seriously, for never having fired a rifle before, I feel like I acquitted myself pretty well.. I made that can dance like a summabitch! Check me out, from the back I could pass for a real country boy couldn't I? Pretty sure I would cry if I shot anything other than a can, though.

And then before we knew it, it was time to drive back home. 29 hours, 1,846 miles back home. I think we all could have stayed another couple days at least, but some people have jobs and some people had to get back to San Francisco to go to them. Personally, I could have stayed in that basement a while longer... Jesse's parents were very kind and hospitable to me and I thank them very much for having me. I really enjoyed my time in the upper Mid-West! Although, in a way I'm sad I missed the -20 temps, it would have been quite the new experience.. but mostly I'm happy I didn't have to deal with that craziness. The ride home was clear and largely uneventful. Jesse and I were feeling sick, so we were either stoned on Nyquil, sleeping in the back seat, or it was our turn to drive for four hours. Danie straight up refuses to get sick, so she was fit as a fiddle and probably drove an extra hour here and there. We got home at about 4pm and I went directly to sleep. I went on to sleep for what seemed like three days straight... I was out of it. Thus ends our NoDak adventure. Will any of us want to drive that much again any time soon? Absolutely not. Will we do it again ever? Maybe, just maybe...

A NoDak Thanksgiving - On The Road Again, Part 1

If my life were the star ship Enterprise, and my mission was to "Boldy go where no Jew has gone before," then going to Devil's Lake, North Dakota for Thanksgiving would be the logical next step. As it is, I am not Capt. Picard-berg, and a Hyundai Accent makes a poor substitute for the Enterprise (sorry, Accents, you know I love you, but I think we can all agree you are no Enterpise). However, I did, in fact, go to NoDak for Thanksgiving and it turned out to be one of the best experiences of my life.

You see, Jesse's family is in Devil's Lake, and it being Thanksgiving and all, he wanted to go home. Only thing is.. it's a 29 hour freakin' drive! Each way! Ouch. But flights were super expensive and with there being three of us here now it was theoretically possible to drive straight through, rotating shifts of driving and sleeping, none of us having to drive for more than four hours at a time. Since I have no job and generally nothing else to do, I immediately told them to count me in and once we all committed to do it, we were excited. Vacation! Road trip! We must be fuckin' nuts! That was surely the sentiment most people had when we told them our plan.. and they were probably right. We had to admit that it did sound crazy. 29 hours straight driving to get to... where was that again? North Dakota? What the...?? Surely we wouldn't make it, we would freeze our balls off, and/or we would all hate each other by the time we got there. Obviously, we had our doubts and our doubters. Well, I am pleased to say we proved them all wrong. (And if I could have pre-visioned the above meat platter and the rest of the deeelicious Thanksgiving dinner, I would never have had any doubts at all... the food was maybe worth the whole trip!)

Frankly, at this point, the drive there is a total blur of roads, trucks, gas stations, snacking, sunsets, sunrises, and fitful sleeping. I know we were all full of adrenaline to be getting out of the city for a while and we were well stocked with road food and road music, but other than that I don't remember many specifics. I know the first gas stop we made was in Sparks, NV, which is really just Reno. It was probably the coolest truck stop/casino/gun museum you're ever likely to see. To the left you see Wyatt Earp's gun, they also had John Wayne's spurs and at least two full walls of other guns and memorabilia.. Northern Nevada baby!

There were a few wrong turns around the Idaho/Montana border but the roads were clear and the weather was great and amazingly it seemed like we were in North Dakota before I knew it. Even though we had spent over a full day in the car, somehow it felt to me like we had gone through a time warp or a wormhole (to continue with the Star Trek motif). Simultaneously, it physically felt to me exactly like we had spent 29 hours in a car, but mentally like the 29 hours went by super fast and time in the world outside the car had somehow failed to pass. I wondered if the ride home would seem so easy and quick. But I hardly wanted to think about that now and I certainly didn't have time to dwell on it, as we hit the ground running as soon as we pulled up to Jesse's parents' house. His dad greeted us with blender in hand, pouring lemonade shots and passing out beers. Yep, this was going to be a good time. We toasted each other on our driving accomplishment, downed our drinks, and hit the showers as soon as we could.. we stank.

Before heading to bed, all the kids (me, Danie, Jesse, and his sister, Lucy) went to the bar around the block (The Warehouse) where Danie and I were very exotic.. Danie more obviously so than me, but still, we were both a rare breed in this neck of the woods. The locals were friendly enough though (the night before Thanksgiving and the place was packed) and the band (Heroes & Thieves) was loud and good enough to get the crowd dancing. I did not dance, but I did get ever so close to the dance floor and enjoyed soaking up my first NoDak bar experience. From there we walked home and I promptly passed out in the first real bed I've had to sleep on in a long while... This was the start of a beautiful friendship between me and North Dakota.

Bothered (Mental Illness)

That's my finger. Left, ring, to be exact. Can you see that it is swollen and bent? Trust me, it is. I was playing catch with a football, having a grand ol' time, feeling like a kid again, and then the football must have got mad at me, 'cause it decided to land on top of my finger, jamming the tip down into the rest of it. Now, initially I didn't think twice about this.. we've all been kids, we've all stubbed our fingers, we've all had our moms kiss it and make it better. No big deal. It didn't even hurt that much. But as the day wore on and it began to throb, my mind began to edge ever closer towards the dark recesses of adult-onset hypochondria. I was becoming a little too worried about this stupid finger, so I took some Tylenol and drank a few beers (you know, like the warning label recommends) and tried to distract myself from thinking about it. It sorta worked, I thought, and I fell asleep eventually. Then came 2am.

I woke like a shot, felt the pain still present in my poor little digit, and immediately my mind started racing... I can't bend it now, what if I can never move it again? What if it's infected? Would it have to be amputated?? No kidding, I jumped right to amputation as the inevitable conclusion to this injury. These are the thoughts that raced through my sleep deprived, pain-addled brain. Even worse, after I absent-mindedly cracked all the rest of my fingers, my touch of OCD started to kick in and I had the overwhelming desire (that felt like desperate need) to crack this one remaining, unmoving finger... I HAD to. I HAD to complete the sequence of cracking and I HAD to do this thing that I had always been able to do. It was driving me crazy to not be able to crack this one finger. My skin began to crawl and I started to hyper-ventilate, just on the brink of panic attack mode.

All this for a stubbed finger, people! I know better. But these were not logical thoughts, my brain was not being controlled by reason at this particular moment. I couldn't turn off my crazy brain. I couldn't stop focusing on not being able to crack my finger. I was bothered. I eventually managed to regain some control and did some deep breathing exercises until I calmed down enough to convince myself that my finger was not going to fall off and I was not going to die from this. Though I still couldn't sleep and ended up playing Brick Breaker on my Blackberry to distract myself until I physically couldn't hold my eyes open any longer.

When day finally came and I woke up, finger now turning a little purple but still attached, I was kind of ashamed. I was bothered that I was bothered.. I mean, aren't I supposed to be too good for mental illness?? Then immediately after those thoughts I become bothered that I was bothered that I was bothered.. who am I to be too good for mental illness? You arrogant son of a bitch, I said to myself. Just because my self image doesn't generally include any mental deficiencies doesn't mean that I can't or don't have them. I am just as susceptible to dumb ideas and flaws in the wiring as the rest of the human race. Who the fuck am I to hold myself above anyone else? I am not anyone, I assure you.

Nevertheless, having reconciled myself to the idea that it was possible for me to be a little nuts, that did not change the fact that I was still a little nuts over this finger. As night fell on the second night of the great crazy finger incident of '09 I was going stir crazy again and told Jesse I had to get out of the house. We ended up walking all over North Beach and Nob Hill until we wandered past the Nob Hill Masonic Temple where Ray LaMontagne was playing that very night. We happen to like Ray LaMontagne, and we had even thought about buying tickets for this, but since we were passing by it seemed like a good opportunity for seeing something for nothing. We staked it out and found a way to sneak in without too much effort. Sneak we did, and we saw about three songs before we couldn't take the heat any longer and bolted. It was fun and all the walking we did made me tired enough to sleep ok. Although, I still found it necessary to distract my brain and went to sleep with my iPod on. Anything to keep my brain from focusing on the one thing I didn't want it to focus on. The one thing I couldn't do, and therefore the one thing I wanted to do more than I've ever wanted to do anything in my life. At that moment, alone with my thoughts, cracking my finger again seemed like the most important thing in the world. Like I said, nuts.

The point of all this is: Lesson learned, none of us are too good. We are all just human. I thought I knew this already, of course, but when the chips were down (and the finger swollen) I realized I still thought it couldn't happen to me. I'm an asshole. End of story. Oh, and the finger is slowly getting better and not bothering me anymore. OK, it's still bothering me a little, but what're ya gonna do? That's life.

Meanwhile, in an entirely different, more daring bout with mental illness, my friend Danie ran her first marathon about a week after I got here. I maintain that she is crazy, and that all runners are one energy bar short of a dozen, but I will say that being out there in the middle of over 20,000 running ladies was kinda cool.. the excitement and positive energy was infectious. And Danie did awesome! Click here to read all about her journey and see an embarasing clip of me running. Go #teamdanie!

My Days Are No Longer Numbered

Now that I am in San Francisco full time, officially not going to or coming from any other place for the first time in a couple of months, I am hereby freeing myself from the rigidity of sharing my life in sequential order.. I will now be like all the other Tarantino knock-offs and tell my story out of order. Well, sometimes it'll be in order, sometimes it won't; for that matter, sometimes it'll be honest, sometimes it'll only be paying homage to honesty (again, that's what Tarantino would do). I can tell you this, most of the time I will be trying to tell the truth, but writing brings out the manipulator in me.. if something doesn't quite sound right in print, or I just can't quite find the right words for it because I am not that good of a writer, I'll probably just massage the truth, shaping it just enough, until it fits nicely with whatever story I am trying to convey. So, that's just the way it is.

Anyways... For now, all I want to do is share some random pictures from my first couple weeks in the Bay Area. You may notice that I bought myself a Giants hat, further proof that I am a fraud. For, I have bought baseball hats in every city I have spent any time in over the years, in an effort to blend in with the locals. I may stick out like a sore thumb in Wheeling, WV, but in most other cities I feel like I can throw on a local baseball hat and effectively pass for just another San Franciscan, New Yorker (Mets and Yankees, depending on the neighborhood), or Angelino. Just don't ask me about the team's chances or for directions to the nearest tourist attraction, cause I won't have a clue.

First you see some of the beautiful vistas I have been privileged to behold as simply part of the backdrop of my new daily existence. The Golden Gate Bridge, from three different spots on three different days, with fog and without. The thing really is amazing and mesmerizing in some mytho-poetic way. Below you see a shot of the Ferry Building where I went on my first day here and have gone back to several times since, mostly for the farmer's market. One day I will try something from Boccalone, a pork store inside the building that promises "Tasty Salted Pig Parts"... mmmm, pig parts. Also below, you'll see a shot of one of the cable car turn-arounds down near Fisherman's Wharf and Ghirardelli Square. At the end of the line the conductors (is that what you'd call them?) have to get out and manually push the car around on a turntable so it faces the other way and can begin re-tracing its route. Then there are some shots of Alcatraz and the sea lions at Pier 39... You know, just 'cause. Those sea lions are loud and not afraid to get in each others' personal space. They are definitely close talkers.

Now here are a few pictures of some of the more normal things in my San Francisco life. The Bagelry is where I have found the best bagels in the neighborhood. Not gonna say they are as good as New York bagels, but they are pretty close, and a big step up from your average Lenders' or Einstein's. Recently, I introduced Jesse to everything bagels and lox... he greatly approved of both. Next is a picture of my first day at the laundromat. In Jersey I always did wash n' fold service (it was less than $1 per pound.. an offer I couldn't refuse), but in SF it is too expensive and it makes more sense to actually do my own laundry. Plus - what with being unemployed and all - what the hell else do I have to do? Anyway, Danie kindly showed me how to work a laundromat washer and dryer and off I went. I have been back since for several more successful loads. Finally, there is the view from Danie and Jesse's roof.. ok, maybe that's not so normal after all. Living here is still pretty dang spectacular.

Ch. 6a - The End of the Beginning (Thank You!)

So, my Hyundai and I have arrived in San Francisco safe and sound.. I didn't get any tickets or flats along the way and I saw a lot of strange, beautiful things, including a lot of my favorite people in the world (we all of us are strange and beautiful, don't you think?). In short, this post and this blog is dedicated to them... THANK YOU!!! Whatever it is that I have done, I couldn't have done it without you.

Thank you Mitch; Aunt Lorrie; Becky, Chris, Brendan, and Doolin O'Brien; Margaret and Mia and Margaret's Grandma; Dan and Kash; and Danie and Jesse. Also, thanks to my New York cousins, Sara and Ellie, and my New York friends Justin and Laura, all of whom offered and would have been glad to let my unemployed ass sleep on their couches before I left. Thanks, too, to my parents, Aunt Arlie, Uncle Stan, Uncle Bob, Buba, Grandma and Grandpa, and all my family in Florida who gave me their continual moral support. I may end up sleeping on their couches one day too, and they'll be more than happy to have me, I know that.

Thank you all from the bottom of my heart. I love you all, and if I ever get a couch of my own, you know you have a place to stay in San Francisco..

In geographical order, from east to west, here are all the homes, rooms, or view from the homes I slept in along the way; my homes away from home:

Looking back on this blog I realize that how I chose to tell my story had a lot to do with where I was at the time I actually got down to telling it.. all the places you see above. History is always presented through the prism of the present I guess, this is nothing new, but even my own past is constantly changing in my mind as I look back on it. Maybe someday I'll rewrite this story entirely and come to wildly different conclusions.. or maybe I won't. Until then, this is only 'the end of the beginning' of the second (or is it the third? fourth? Whatever.) metaphorical book of my life. I don't know how it will all end. But it had to start somewhere.

Ch. 6 - Going to California

When I woke up Monday morning and got in my car heading west from Las Vegas, things suddenly got real. This was now the final leg of my trip; in about 9 hours I would be off the road and in my new "home" town. Holy crap. I was excited and full of energy.. I was ready to see new, beautiful things; I was ready to find out how this long odyssey was going to conclude! But as I got closer to the state line, I realized there was a part of me that didn't want the road trip to stop, a part that just wanted to keep driving for months, maybe years, like that one time Forest Gump just kept run-ning. Me and Foxy the car had seen a lot between Jersey and Vegas, but there was still so much more to see.. I could go to San Francisco, stop for a week, and then head north and then east and then south, and then wherever the wind took me next. I could do this. Money would be a problem, but I could do this! Ahh, but there was an even bigger part of me that craved stability and the comforts of home; a part of me that had been wanting to stop and settle and breath deep and relax for a long time.. probably since I left Vegas the first time over a year ago. As usual, as may be the crux of the human condition, I was of two minds, a man divided. Was it fear that made me want to keep driving? Was I afraid of failure in San Francisco.. or, worse, was I afraid of success? Maybe. Is it possible to have commitment issues with yourself?? Yes, I think so.

Nevertheless, once I saw the World's Largest Thermometer, seen above, and the exit for Zzyzx Road, I knew I had crossed the border and the excitement of finally being in California replaced, at least temporarily, whatever reluctance I was having about completing my trip. I couldn't wait to get there and my mind was racing so much that I hardly remember the rest of the drive through the deserts of California. I remember at one point I passed a cow farm bigger than any I had seen in Texas.. there were cows packed tight for what seemed like miles! The rest is honestly a blur until I hit the Bay Bridge (which, as I write this, has been completely shut down for a week because large chunks of steel were literally falling off of it! But that's a different story). As I crossed the bridge I got my first look at what, for at least the forseeable future, would be my city. It was beautiful! They weren't kidding.

It was not far at all from the end of the Bay Bridge to Danie and Jesse's house, but it was far enough for me to have to dodge cable cars and go up the steepest hill I've ever driven on. Scary on both accounts! Those cable cars roll right down the middle of the frickin' street! You know, as if they were cars.. What kind of crazy town is this? But I found their place unscathed, quickly off-loaded some of my stuff (just enough to allow someone to squeeze into the passenger seat.. barely), and set out to find a parking spot. Here's Danie and Foxy on the steep ass hill where my car still rests today, some three weeks and two parking tickets later (who knew you had to get a parking permit? Well, I guess we knew, but it turns out I am not as above the law as I thought). Anyway, as with any big city, good parking spots are not to be given up willy-nilly.. So, I ain't driving anywhere if I can help it.

The next day I began playing tourist in earnest. The first thing I did was walk to the Ferry Building on The Embarcadero.. I had to see the sea! I sat on the dock of the bay, wasting time, as it were, and took stock.. the journey had been long and winding, but now I was looking at the Pacific Ocean (I understand it was the Bay, but close enough). There was a gentle breeze and the air smelled clean.. I remember thinking life was good! I sat there for a while, I didn't want to leave. Maybe because I knew I'd have to walk back uphill to go home... how is it that there seems to be more uphills than downhills?! I am still working on getting my San Francisco legs. Before I left The Emarcadero, I took a picture of a nice Asian tourist and then he offered to take my picture, too. I couldn't refuse.. There I am at the end of a pier with the famous Transamerica Pyramid building in the background. Shortly after that I became fascinated by the below seagull and took about a million pictures of her (it's a girl, duh). That boat is named the "San Francisco Spirit" and that's the also famous Coit Tower in the background. Scenic.

My San Francisco chapter had only just begun.. would I be leaving my heart here? Can a man live on Rice-a-Roni alone? Can I think of anymore San Francisco cliches? The verdict was still out, but it sure was good to be here.

Ch. 5a - Sin City Redux

After satiating myself with massive amounts of Del Taco (have I mentioned I am a sucker for Mexican food? They did not have Del Tacos in Jersey, I missed them. I draw the line at Taco Bell, though. OK, no I don't.. chalupas are too good to resist), I found my way to my friends' house. Dan works the overnight shift and was just waking up at 10pm. Kash was working and wouldn't be home till midnight. I, of course, was unemployed and thankful to have a place to stay! Kash and Dan (left to right) can be seen in the picture above.. they are about to eat burgers, exciting! Although, Kash looks excited but Dan looks quizzical and in some sort of pain. The burgers were good, however.

I ended up staying in Vegas for a week, in which time I played poker as much as possible at all my old haunts (The Venetian is still probably the best place to play, though the heavily perfumed air is equal parts blessing and curse.. if you win, it is the smell of success and better your clothes smell like that than cigarettes; if you lose, it's one of the most sickening smells on Earth). When I wasn't playing poker I went to a tattoo show (the world's largest.. ouchies!) with Dan and Kash, went bowling with my other Vegas-based buddies, James and David Weiner (I can never not use his last name.. he knows it's funny to say.. he knows I'll always be his little Jew), went to a buffett (used my left-over casino player points, so it only cost $2.70.. but buffets are still mostly a gross, glutinous experience), watched as much Curb Your Enthusiasm as Kash and I could watch (Kash is probably at least as Jewish as I am at this point, he loves Curb and Seinfeld so much), got $1 hot dogs and beer (that's what Vegas does best, baby!), played craps with the weatherman from the CBS Early Show (true story, but they left me on the cutting room floor), introduced Dan to the joys of Pai-Gow poker (he's a natural), and generally tired myself the hell out. It was a lot of fun and all told I won just over $700 gambling over the course of my entire road trip.. that sure helps! See, kids, gambling is a sure path to success!

Now that I am out West once again and flights are pretty cheap from SFO to LAS, I hereby promise to return to Vegas more often for more good times. City Center opens in December and I've gambled in every casino in Vegas, I owe it to myself to keep the streak alive.