fleeting weekend

tacos de metate

Weekend #2 in the left coast started out quite delicously. Some people take photos of their dogs. Or their babies. You know, stupid stuff like that. I take photos of things that are pure awesome sauce viz., food. Rebecca was amused, claiming only “Asian people do that”. To that, I say “Well, Rebecca, only robots shoot lasers out their eyes and have rocket packs”. As usual, my logic was undefeatable.


Saturday saw a nice hike up Mt. Tamalpais with Jeff’s brother Joel and his wife Jenny. According to Jenny’s pedometer, we walked approximately 1347896134689 steps that day, which I think translates into the maximum distance a Saskatchawaneanian spotted skink would travel for poutine.

blue angels

It was Fleet Week here, and although I only saw half of Sunday’s air show, it was nonetheless, awesome. Unfortunately, fog moved in right when the Blue Angels were about to perform, so they scuttled the show.

No worries though, because your intrepid explorer did manage to find some entertainment after all. Riding the bus home, a fine gentleman who had partook in just one too many Steelhead Reserves sat in the rear stairwell, alternately singing, screaming, mumbling, speaking in tongues, spitting, and threatening to urinate on himself and would the bus driver kindly please let him off the bus because he didn’t want to be a prisoner. After about 15 minutes of this nonsense, the bus doors finally opened, whereupon the gentleman apparently had a change of heart and wanted to stay on the bus after all.

But as I soon discovered, big city justice is swift and unerringly meted out. A fellow traveler thoughtfully launched the gentleman’s belongings out the rear door and helpfully explained, “get the fuck off the fucking bus you fucking drunk fuck”, whereupon the gentleman elected to participate in this meeting of the minds, grabbing the door preventing it from closing, and inquired multiple times if the helpful traveler wouldn’t like to step out the bus and “come be my bitch, you cock-sucking pussy motherfucker”.

It wasn’t until this moment that I realized a single man could prevent an entire diesel-powered city bus from moving, but apparently the “Reserve” in Steelhead Reserve stands for a reservoir of superhuman powers gifted upon you, an observation I note here and remember for the next time there is an earthquake and Muni needs me to go lifting trains and buses off the Golden Gate.

This little repartee had serious legs and looked to continue for the rest of the afternoon, but luckily for us all, a good samaritan waiting for his bus at the stop intervened and captured the gentleman’s imagination, by which I mean the gentleman was probably imagining how much better he would have felt the next morning if he hadn’t repeatedly used his head to probe how hard the sidewalk was. The good samaritan gently encouraged the gentleman to try several times, while we mere penny stinkards on the bus applauded merrily as we finally pulled away.

attention to detail, 1

After this bit of excitement, I found peace and tranquility and a big honking bowl of ramen in Japantown, and thus did the weekend come to pass.

See all the photos.