Here’s a little update on the last few weeks.
The weekend of Nov 6 I jumped in the rental car with Adam and Tina for a visit to LA. My friend Loren’s second film, Invitation to a Suicide, was playing at AFI, and as an ‘investor,’ I wanted to see my “Thank You” credit on the big screen. We hit town in time for dinner and far too many drinks somewhere in Los Files — in the morning I learned that a spoonful of sugar isn’t exactly a hangover cure, but it can get you through the first couple of hours.
The next day I got a ride down to Des & Polly’s place on the way to LAX, and spent the afternoon lounging around the house with them. We had grilled cheese sandwiches and fed peanuts to the backyard squirrel. The three of us met a dozen or so others at some Mexican place in Silver Lake for dinner before the movie, and then headed over. The film came out really well, and has already been accepted to the HBO Comedy Festival. Loren knows that his life is depending on this one getting picked up, so I know he’s working on it.
Sunday morning started off chilly with a light rain, and at first it seemed like a slow day inside. Before long though, the sun started to break through a bit, and Des and I headed up to Venice Beach to check the surf. Glassy and and foot and a half? Perfect for a couple of old tossers like us. We spent the next two and a half hours catching tons of tiny but rather nice waves and watching the pelicans and seals fish all around us. It would rain for a few minutes, then get sunny again, then rain a bit more, then more sun. Nothing like sitting in the surf to change your mind about rain — it doesn’t seem gloomy at all from that point of view. And it was amazing to see how much wildlife there is right there at the pier in Venice. It was fairly clear in LA that day too, so we could see the mountains around the basin. Reminded me that LA was actually a pretty nice place at some point not too long ago — and that with cleaner air and water (and perhaps a nice big earthquake), it might well be that way again within my lifetime. A spectacular morning, all in all, and a great weekend.
Back in SF, I spent another week face-down in PHP, working on the AdMonsters site. I hired a local freelancer to do a bit of coding to get me over a little hurdle. I’m just enough of a programmer to be a freelancer’s nightmare — I managed to hold off long enough for this guy to deliver his code, and then I started in on “fixing” what he’d done. Fair enough: I got what I paid for, even if I did (or will) end up re-writing just about all of his code. I always did enjoy something about programming, although after a couple of weeks I was reminded how insidious it can be. Gives a new meaning to what yoga teachers call “Monkey Mind.” OK as an occasional hobby, but certainly not as a full time job!
On Saturday I dropped X off at SFO for another week in Germany, and then headed over to Taco Beach in Pacifica for a little surfing. Marc met me down there and we got in the water, but it wasn’t anything to write home about. Even so, nothing beats an hour or so in the ocean. Marc’s girl SanFranJess called to inform us that we were going to a party that evening… We met at the Five and headed over around 10:30 or so. I had been informed that it was a “jumpsuit party,” but that I was probably OK as is. Upon arrival Marc, John and I were informed that we street clothes were simply not cool, and there was a pile of jumpsuits in the front room. Changing ensued. Unfortunately, I couldn’t quite fit into the black sequined spandex number, and had to settle for a more mundane sortof of coverall type thing. I didn’t make the photos, but Marc and Jess are in there: Jumpsuit IV.
It turns out that having everyone in jumpsuits makes the party. After dancing for what seemed like a good while, I leaned over to ask the time and was pleased to learn it was 3:30 AM. Out on the street there was a crowd of 20 or so complaining to themselves about not being let it for lack of required attire. Good thing I showed up with right crowd.
Not too much later that morning, Rich called [at 8:30] to say that he and Pam were driving down to Santa Cruz for the day. I rolled out of bed and made my way over there, and we found ourselves looking down the cliff at Indicators by 1pm or so. I managed to make my way out into the lineup without incident, and spent the next two hours chasing waves without catching any. Getting out of the water, I could see that my time would have been better spent inside at Cowell’s, especially a bit later in the afternoon with the tide lower.
Loren came up from LA for a week of fun and sun in SF, and we headed out to Ocean Beach on Wednesday. It was a perfect day - sunny and about 4 feet, and I actually managed to catch a real wave. It’s still a beach break, and so it didn’t last for that long, but I stood up, turned, and rode down the line a bit. Still a novice, but I was stoked!
My friend Dave Pehling sent around a Sasquatch Borracho email that required a Thursday night visit to the Rickshaw Shop. The Double-play lineup: Lord Nasty and the Seekers of Perversion, followed by Heavy Hindenburg (a Zepplin prank act). Nice little spot, mainly because you can sprawl on big sofas and dig the band in comfort.
Friday night I bailed on Loren’s trip to visit Xena or whateverhernamewas in San Jose, and was planning to stay in… until Adam called with a free ticket to see Cafe Tacuba at The Grand — a new music independent music venue in what used to be the Regency movie theater. It’s great having a new venue in town that’s big enough for larger indie acts - reminds me of the Barrymore in Madison. Adam et al were raving about Cafe Tacuba (something about “the Mexican Radiohead”), but I wasn’t bowled over. I’ll see if the Russians have any, they’re worth a further listen on that reccomendation.
Saturday morning I headed down to OB again. It looked good out at Fulton, so I went in there. I got brushed back twice before making it out — it didn’t seem that big, but I was struggling a bit. I tried to chase down a couple, and then got rolled by a cleaner coming through, back out again, etc. I was getting the hang of it, and then along came another one. I didn’t think it was particularly big, and so I didn’t quite paddle for the horizon; I just about made it over, but it caught my board as I went through. I popped up and looked over my shoulder… I thought, “gee, that’s too bad, some guy broke his board” and then tugged on my leash. Doh! The Snapper was toast, and now I have more than an excuse to buy a new board.
I picked X up at the airport that evening, and even though she had just come off a ten-hour flight from Frankfurt, we managed to step out for the SF Tri Club annual party. I won’t claim to understand the triathelete mind, but I understand the club thing - it’s good to have a group that does what you do. Not much for talking though. Sunday evening was a little more interesting: she had organized a party for Bay Area/West Coast Sarah Lawrence alums. No shortage of good talk there.
Right now I’m flying back from Portland, OR. I flew up yesterday to… well, nominally to learn a bit about real estate up there. And that I did. The highlight though was meeting Betty (aka Becky) at The Log Shop. It’s actually called the Doug Fir, but it sure looks like the Log Shop. I’m going to call it the Log Shop, just like I call Becky Betty.
Although some narrow-minded locals seem against it, I thought the joint was was neat, Pete. I like the combined bar/restaurant/music venue/hotel concept. The burger is called the “Fir Burger” — we asked if they kept a tally of how many people they got to say “Fur Burger”… My manhattan wasn’t great though - a reminder to stick to Maker’s and soda.
I thought of a great name for my own joint: The Wreck Room. Take that! Oh yeah, and Fuck the South. It certainly is especially ironic that the states which complain most about taxes and the federal nanny state are consistently net tax recipients who receive more government assistance than us tax-and-spend liberals on the three coasts.
