24 hours in Frisco
words/flicks:shikatoi

Yes, like the great writer Kerouac, I still call it Frisco. Calling [it] "San Fran" in public would get you slapped by the locals, who love to call it "The City", but I can't go for it.. To me, Manhattan is the only City, but growing up in L.A. I am unable to refer to any place as being better. Although living in Los Angeles is a love/hate relationship, I currently love it as I type this article. So I had a chance to skip work early on Friday and take a flyfly up to SF, almost taking a firing along with me.

With only a few hours to spare, I jumped the Bart from Oaktown to downtown, waited for my Indian dental student pal to pick me up, slapped some thincrust pizza in my face and hit the travelodge. Up at the asscrack of dawn for an exam, cleaned teeth and off to ramble for a bit before catching the JetBlue back home. Planes, trains, and automobiles galore.

I started on Lombard and Fillmore, thru a farmers market down to the Marina, around Fort Mason drinking Stella Artois along the walk.

Finally catching a bus downtown, which packed us at least 100 over capacity once we passed thru Chinatown. I tried to snap a shot of us all canned in like sardines, but all I got was my shirt and the guy up against my right side.

A couple bologna sammiches rattled around my backpack all day, bought a dollar stone bracelet from a Rastafarian on Market st., gave seventy cents to a guy jamming in the Bart station and asked for a pic, he grunted and said he was tired but I could do what I want, so I did..

Snapped a red ballon tied to a fire hydrant near Union Square.

The standard airport meal of champions?

Sitting in the terminal, I actually pulled out a pad to scribble on.. I think it began something like "I dunno the last time I've ever had time to sit down in an airport, usually I'm the guy running up as the gate closes, everyone looking at my sweaty frustrated brow trying to smile my way to the flight attendant's hearts and let me on. Here I sit next to a tang asian girl sportin' her fake convos on the cell while flipping thru a New York Times' best seller with a big fat toetag on the cover.. Stiff was the title if I remember right.." Then the call for boarding and this girl's suitcase caught my eye and distracted the writing, which I can't even f1nd now, anyways. I dunno which was hotter, her or her Paul Frank luggage..

Finally in the seat with Skyy in hand ready for another rough landing.. This is what I felt (and prolly looked) like after the day.

I love San Francisco, always have. Unlike most places I travel, this was the first time rolling solo.. NY to me is better alone and on foot, and many cities are simply easier to play nomad in when you run your own agenda.. But in SF, I've always been on a roadtrip, or at least in Ghiardelli square with Dr. Rabbit living the lush life of crab legs and oysters and massage parlors and fighting with drunk cabbies. Or waltzing the park catching whiffs of hash at night, or just driving.. The Lighthouse Cafe in Sausilto has the best breakfast, People's Cafe best coffee, Pizza Pino's best what else, pizza, and some tiny joint on Market makes these killer Chorizo Tortas.. mmm. oh yeah, around the corner a few turns from Union Square you might find a thai place with the best Thai Iced Tea Ice Cream. now that your mouth is watering, I'll close and move to the next wild weekend adventure.. The Real OC, backyard boxing, Jack Daniels, and a hottie with beer goggles who stole my favorite fedora. I looked around the party and saw her leaving on a beach cruiser, so I ran up to smack her a good one and get my hat back, instead got suckered into tradingg it for her digits.. damn.. but at least I tried drunk dialing a few minutes later and was glad to learn it was a legit number. w00t