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Day 2: I went a walkin'
May. 3rd, 2011 05:23 pmWe returned to Seth's place to a conundrum: I had closed the door to his room, which locked. Seth had never received a key. The senior roommate (the only tenant who's name is on the lease) didn't have a key, and seemed to think in her drug addled state that we were blaming her for our plight. Seth tried to have a reasonable conversation with her, while I watched quietly. We slept on the couches upstairs (were were plenty roomy, even for me) then called a locksmith the next morning. The house dogs Angus and Sumo gave a wet welcome that morning!
We broke our fast at a fabulous Dim Sum restaurant; we were both completely stuffed for about eleven dollars. Then we set out on our epic walk. We crossed the easter side of the Golden Gate Park. Bicyclists, skaters, and runners ruled the roads. There were museums, arboretums, and hot houses every twenty feet, or so it seemed. We left the peaceful stillness of the trees for the wilds of Haight Street. The shops were wild and chaotic as the denizens of the street. I walked through Amoeba Records and found two old R.E.M. albums for two dollars each. We celebrated our find at a little rum bar called Hobson's Choice. Nestled in among the dozens of brands of rum was my old friend the Kraken! Toasts were made, then it was off again. We passed old and elegant Victorian houses, in various states of decay and refurbishment and mind-bending modern colors. Every time we stopped at a hill, we were treated to a breath taking view of the city, unhidden by any fog or cloud.
Seth showed me his favorite comic shop, where we left flyers for Clay's improv show. We walked down into the Castro, inconspicuous with it's twenty foot tall rainbow flag, and smaller flags in every window, and adolescent shop names. (A pizza joint called the Sausage Factory? Really?) We switched gears and traveled down Mission Street; faded billboards and teeming dollar stores and the cacophonous drums of a capoera class blasting over the streets.
Seth introduced me to a "true burrito" at La Taqueria, which did blow the socks off any burrito I've had in Boston.
We witnessed a near riot between devout Latinos and the apostles of Black Jesus, before making out way back to home base.
Every step I took that day took me somewhere new. My brain overflowed with new sights, new sounds, many different worlds just a block or two away from each other, and all within walking distance. The indulgence didn't end there; we took a bus back into the Mission to a sandwich party being thrown by a friend of Seth's, who also happens to be my future wife. She's Chinese, rides a motorcycle, works in a comic shop, paints Warhammer figures, and sent all her friends erotic comics as Christmas presents. There's just a small matter of her current comic shop working, Warhammer playing boyfriend to reckon with. Details, details. There were a number of other ex-pats from Boston at the party, and I met a girl who went to college with Sarah P. They stuffed us with grilled sandwiches, we plied them with passion fruit vodka, and a good time was had by all.
You'd think the day was over, but wait! There's more! Our journey took us back to the Casto to another couple who just moved into a lovely house across the street from a famous theater. There was no furniture in the house, except for a claw foot bathtub which I had to sit in. There will be amusing photographic proof later. We polished off the vodka and sometime deep in the night Seth's girlfriend drove us home, where I again fell into the warm embrace of the couch. God knows what wickedness took place downstairs.
We broke our fast at a fabulous Dim Sum restaurant; we were both completely stuffed for about eleven dollars. Then we set out on our epic walk. We crossed the easter side of the Golden Gate Park. Bicyclists, skaters, and runners ruled the roads. There were museums, arboretums, and hot houses every twenty feet, or so it seemed. We left the peaceful stillness of the trees for the wilds of Haight Street. The shops were wild and chaotic as the denizens of the street. I walked through Amoeba Records and found two old R.E.M. albums for two dollars each. We celebrated our find at a little rum bar called Hobson's Choice. Nestled in among the dozens of brands of rum was my old friend the Kraken! Toasts were made, then it was off again. We passed old and elegant Victorian houses, in various states of decay and refurbishment and mind-bending modern colors. Every time we stopped at a hill, we were treated to a breath taking view of the city, unhidden by any fog or cloud.
Seth showed me his favorite comic shop, where we left flyers for Clay's improv show. We walked down into the Castro, inconspicuous with it's twenty foot tall rainbow flag, and smaller flags in every window, and adolescent shop names. (A pizza joint called the Sausage Factory? Really?) We switched gears and traveled down Mission Street; faded billboards and teeming dollar stores and the cacophonous drums of a capoera class blasting over the streets.
Seth introduced me to a "true burrito" at La Taqueria, which did blow the socks off any burrito I've had in Boston.
We witnessed a near riot between devout Latinos and the apostles of Black Jesus, before making out way back to home base.
Every step I took that day took me somewhere new. My brain overflowed with new sights, new sounds, many different worlds just a block or two away from each other, and all within walking distance. The indulgence didn't end there; we took a bus back into the Mission to a sandwich party being thrown by a friend of Seth's, who also happens to be my future wife. She's Chinese, rides a motorcycle, works in a comic shop, paints Warhammer figures, and sent all her friends erotic comics as Christmas presents. There's just a small matter of her current comic shop working, Warhammer playing boyfriend to reckon with. Details, details. There were a number of other ex-pats from Boston at the party, and I met a girl who went to college with Sarah P. They stuffed us with grilled sandwiches, we plied them with passion fruit vodka, and a good time was had by all.
You'd think the day was over, but wait! There's more! Our journey took us back to the Casto to another couple who just moved into a lovely house across the street from a famous theater. There was no furniture in the house, except for a claw foot bathtub which I had to sit in. There will be amusing photographic proof later. We polished off the vodka and sometime deep in the night Seth's girlfriend drove us home, where I again fell into the warm embrace of the couch. God knows what wickedness took place downstairs.
