Monday
3.00pm
Conversing online to Jonathan Allan, attempting to post latest informative and cutting blog post to The Corner Store. Internet dies at Flour Garden, forcing me to leave conversation with Jonathan “Smelly Oop” Allan prematurely and leave blog un-posted. Spend a while loitering outside Lauren’s work thinking about cheese.
3.40pm
Lauren drops knowledge on me, a surprise day off has convinced her that we should take immediate advantage and head straight to San Francisco, devoid of any reason to argue against her (sorry, I have to wash my hair?) and in general agreement, we head home to pack.
5pm
Auburn In-N-Out Burger makes me happy, brief moment of sadness when I consider a life in New Zealand without readily available access to Double double burgers (and while we’re at it, easily available Mexican food).
6pm
Again, I have to be reminded that no matter how many times I refer to it as “Frisco”, it’s just not going to catch.
7.55pm
We hit the San Francisco “cloud bank”, the part where no matter how clear the weather minutes before hand, nine times out of ten San Francisco harbour is coloured in by thick grey cloud.
8.08pm
Arrive in San Francisco, four minutes after Lauren’s 8.04 estimate (well before my 8.24 guess, but Lauren idles in the car for a minute to push us past my revised 8.07 guess.)
9pm
Walking around San Francisco’s picturesque Seacliff suburb. Ramble on in wide-eyed small country fashion about my wonder at a cliff-side house selling for 7 million, and this being considered a bargain. Walk past Robin Williams’ house. Get told off for staring.
roughly midnight
After too many episodes of Weeds of late, I have another dream where I’m a cunning and tough neighbourhood drug dealer: feared but respecting, daunting but humane.
Tuesday
9am
Bagels! Two. Coffee! Much. San Francisco Chronicle and The New York Times. Lauren’s Aunty and Uncle are subscribers. And great hosts.
10am
Depart for Hayes Valley, chic new San Francisco area. It’s appropriately chic and pleasant as all San Francisco’s chic and pleasant areas are. As usual, I start to gush about San Francisco unstoppably.
12pm
Walk through the remarkable regal Civic centre in route to a bus downtown. Crazy man on bus mutters something menacingly at me about the National Security Agency.
12.20pm
Union Square, as always, is bustling and pretty. Free iced tea!
12.50pm
Luis Vuitton has more security guards than shoppers.
2pm
I am relieved that Macy’s has screens that play CNN on nearly every floor to help me avoid falling into the awfully cliched bored boyfriend in a woman’s clothing section routine. Bizarrely, run into crazy muttering guy from the bus sitting in a chair drinking what appears to be a cup of tea.
2.30pm
Street preacher tells Lauren that I have dirtied her, and that she is now a whore. This is amusing to me. And I may or may not reference it many times in casual conversation in the coming minutes.
3pm
I comment to Lauren that I feel like men are checking me out more than her on this particular day at a rate of maybe two to one.
3.30pm
Home via grocery store, tuckered out.
6pm through 10pm
Dinner with Colin Pyle, brother of Lauren. Evening is soundtracked by Pandora interactive online radio. Modern times.
11pm
Gwyneth Paltrow’s on Letterman, which is not ideal – but it trumps Jodie Foster on Leno. I fall asleep felling more positively about Gwyneth Paltrow than I have in a long while.
Wednesday
9am
Scones! More New York Times! Yes! Good!
11am
Walk around the San Franciscan cliffs to the breath-takingly positioned Legion of Honour museum. Anne Lebowitz exhibition is closed, but we get a slight taste of it in the gift-store.
1pm
Lunch in the Fillmore.
2pm
Lounging in the Fillmore. Sun comes out.
3pm
Can anyone remember the days when paying more for a second-hand t-shirt than a first-hand one would have sounded like utter, utter lunacy?
4pm
Come close to squashing a Mexican lady on the bus home.
6pm
Am astounded to remember that once upon a time, Friends was genuinely a good show.
10pm
Have just demolished a mountain of Korean barbecue. Am unable to get the Pixies ‘Wave of Mutilation’ out of my head.
10.20pm
Am utterly thrilled to find that Jurassic Park is on AMC when we get home.
10.40 to 10.50pm
Walk around the house pretending to be a raptor.
11pm
After working up an appetite while imitating a dinosaur, convince myself of the merits of waffles and chocolate sauce.
12pm
Realising that waffles were a poor choice, I am unable to sleep, Clooney’s on Letterman which is pretty good. Hugh Laurie’s on Leno. So I toggle. It’s very easy to forget that Hugh Laurie is British.
Thursday
7am
Up early and out the door so Lauren can get back in time for work.
10.30am
Eating a bagel, I chuckle cleverly to myself as I decide on past-tense timeline style for planned blog.
12pm
Chased out of comic book store by dog.
2.40pm
Post-blog?
Fin.
June 3, 2008 at 6:51 pm |
Even though I feel like I’m stalking you when I read this, I can’t stop myself. Thanks for burning the image of you being a raptor into my mind- it was unexpectedly satisfying.