San Francisco

I find the hardest part of blogging is getting started. These first few sentences before I get to any content are completely worthless, but still so key. With that fine introduction, I'll just jump right in to my story. HAHA!

Cami (one of my faithful readers) had recently turned 16, and had planned a great celebration: a good group of friends, spending a day in San Francisco, culminating with Wicked, the hit musical. Unfortunately, her parents friends didn't see this as a good idea, at least not for their kid.  Except mine. Mine let me do all kinds of semi-crazy things. (Thanks guys! Love ya!) Which would explain why I was awake at 4:50 a.m. on a Tuesday, on purpose.

The basic plan was as follows-I would catch a train from San Jose to Sacramento, where I would meet her (even her parents weren't wild about the idea of her riding the train into San Francisco alone), and then we would ride into San Francisco together, and there wasn't really much of a plan aside from ending up at the Orpheum Theater in time for Wicked at 8:00 p.m. I thought this plan (or lack of) was great, but afterwards, talking with Cami, I learned she was actually pretty nervous, particularly when it came to anything to do with navigation or transportation. (Sorry!)

If I may stray away from the narrative for a second, traveling with someone else is fascinating. The first draft of this post, just a few days after the trip, was written on the bus. By myself. Alone. I usually travel alone, which is fine with me, and my experience of traveling with other people is limited to pretty short trips with my family, and going to Africa with two other dudes. The first one was easy, and the second one, I was the least responsible person on the trip, so I really didn't have a lot to be worried about. This time, I was the responsible one, and I had more than a few things to be keeping track of, and worrying about. I kinda like it with just me, and if I mess up, I'm the only one who suffers or gets hurt. Additionally, when I ride alone, I don't need to worry about talking with anyone. Usually I say about 10 words during the course of a 1.5 hour ride. "Hey, how's it going? Day pass please. (50 miles later) Have a good weekend!" When you ride with someone, you need to talk with them, at least a little. Sitting in silence for 2 hours is fine for one person, two people, it gets awkward. Having to do all this talking led to an interesting revelation for me, and my thought process. I notice a lot of random, worthless, absurd little details, and when I'm by myself, those just stay in my head. The really good ones get Tweeted, but those are rare, so a lot of details go into the recycle bin of life. When I'm trying to have a coherent conversation, noticing that giant white bird, probably a snowy egret, what were we talking about? Its really not pretty. A lot of little non sequiters came tumbling out. It was really interesting. I had to work on filtering some of the less relevant bytes out, and staying on topic.

The train ride was fairly uneventful, though the switches were so cold they had to be thrown by hand, which slowed things down. The redeeming factor, besides the company on the second half of the ride, was a wonderfully drunk 20-something, a few seats behind us, on the other side of the aisle. (To go back to the topic of the previous paragraph, it was odd having to share seats with someone I knew. Cami was sitting kitty-corner from me. I've sat next to tons of people, but never people I know.) Back to the drunk guy. He was in the usual gangsta punk outfit. Hat, baggy pants, black shirt with generic gangsta graphics, black jacket, and basketball shoes. He was listening to rap on his headphones, at a volume he probably thought was appropriate, but was turning his headphones into little, distorted boomboxes. Sitting 5 feet away, I could hear the general beat, and some of the lyrics. Actually, I could hear a lot of the lyrics, because he was rapping along. Not well, it wasn't like he was doing a good job, which I think bothered me more than the fact of his rapping. I have heard other people rapping along with music on their headphones or cellphones, and if they do a decent job, I can tolerate that. At one point, he took a phone call, which I will do my best to reproduce his end of the conversation. "What's up? Not much, just riding the train into San Francisco, ***** drunk. Nah, its pretty ******* boring. Just singing along with my boys. There's a bunch of white kids staring at me. I know, HAHA! Its gonna be a ******* great day! Later, fool!" Two things here. That noise was not singing, and we were not a bunch of white kids, we were two. Not a bunch. Two is a couple of white kids. And then he got off, and walked away. IPTP can be so anti-climatic.

We then got on a BART train from Emeryville to San Francisco. This is where the traveling got fun, but a little challenging. (Again, Cami, I apologize, and I feel bad you got stressed out.) I would like to give a shout-out to the kind African-American man who corrected Cami's misconception that she is as tall as I am, when obviously, I'm taller. Thanks dude! I owe you one! The train ride itself was pretty quiet. A lot of white-collar, business-y people, not really singing out loud, or carrying chickens in their backpacks.

A lot of the time in SF was walking around, which was interesting, seeing all the interesting people, things, and buildings. A casual chess tournament, several street musicians, some unique older buildings, and great little stores.

A big part of the trip was eating. I love eating. I could spend at least a week going from eating, to doing things that make me hungry, like swimming, playing football, cooking (oddly enough), and then back to more eating. Lunch was in Chinatown, and delicious. I was starved! Won-ton soup and chicken-rice-noodle-thing, both of which were delicious! I loved the decor of the restaurant. Lots of cool pieces of Asian art on the walls, nice ambiance, but the funny parts were the pillars, and the fishtanks. The pillars, which were more like support beams, there to hold up the building. The funny part was the aesthetic of the pillars. They were classic Greek pillars, and just struck me as totally out of place. There were also fishtanks, with live fish, clams, and other various seafood in there, for easy ordering. Awesome! The fish were just kind of hanging out, waiting for their eventual purchase, and shortly thereafter, consumption. Feels poetically fatalist. Did those fish have a choice? Did they have any way to escape? Just patiently doomed. Dinner was at a Greek place around the corner from the Orpheum, and pretty yum. Hummus, salad, some crazy awesome bread. They even had pepperocini, my favorite! Later, the leftover container spilled all over my backpack. Perhaps the most interesting my bag has ever smelled. I loved it, and the experience of eating a fairly nice meal, with almost adult conversation, and no one asking for help cutting their meat was great. I eat alone frequently, but eating with someone, that's just great.

I also loved seeing the public transit system San Francisco has. It was pretty amazing. There were gaps, and the schedule slowed down after 5:00, but it was still rocking. The streetcars were a odd mix of cars saved from destruction from Italy, France, and somewhere else. It took me 3 rides to figure out why there were a bunch of signs in Italian. Its not even like San Francisco is known for a big Italian population.

Despite the genuine vibe of Chinatown, which reminded me of Liberia a little, a lot of San Francsico, at least the part we were in, had the obvious vibe of tourist town. Starbucks every few blocks, "cute specialist shops" (looking at you, Sock Shop!), T-shirt emporiums, all labeled with some version of "I was in San Francisco". Is it like you could forget? If you had a forgettable experience, an over-priced T-shirt isn't gonna change that. A lot of the stores could have been picked up, and moved to some other tourist town, and been fine. Pier 39 was the pinnacle of this fake, expensive, generic San Francisco. And there were people who looked like they were having a great time! Good for them.

The play itself was amazing. As a bit of a word nut, there were some great lines in there. Really good writing, and the lyrics were...award-worthy. I can see why this play won so many critic's plaudits. One really interesting detail I noticed that simultainously helped sell the character of the Wicked Witch of West, and make her seem like an actress was the way she walked. Slightly leaning forward, always about to stumble, clomping her feet, face in front, like a battering ram. It was a great impression of someone who walks like that, but, it felt a little forced. The audience was hilarious. I was one of the few heterosexuals who wasn't on an "official" date, and probably one of the least-well dressed. What can I say? I don't think blazers travel well in backpacks.

I've now lost any narrative form, and will attempt to hit a few more stories. Walking along the beach was fun, if a little intimidating. I preferred the safety of high-traffic areas, which, is actually funny, because, alone, I would have been seeking just such a place. There was a lot of garbage, which was partially understandable, due to a large storm, but the carrot was unacceptable. Once I figure out how to get pictures from my phone to computer, I'll post the carrot we found in the beach. There were also crazy people swimming. There are things we call "crazy", that aren't really, but this was toeing the line. That water had to be about 40 degrees, if not colder. And they were swimming, on purpose!

I would also like to recognize the one time Cami did well with directional stuff. She thought we were supposed to head one direct down a block, and I thought we were supposed to go the other way. (To be fair to myself, she could have just guessed.) She was right, I admit, but, I did rather well, if I may say so, with navigating for the rest of the day. I had us get off the BART three blocks away from Union Square, and at the station that had the visitor's center right outside. Wasn't even trying that hard.

My finishing story, because I am getting tired, and can feel my already small reserve of lucidity slipping away, is Chinatown. I was half-heartedly doing some shopping, until I found Poppers, 5 for a dollar. BOO-YAH!! We went into a tea store, and got pounced on by what seemed to be a very bored sales-lady, and came away with some interesting information about the tradition of Chinese tea. I have a new-found respect. There was also a pretty awesome grocery store I wanted to check out, but some people wanted to keep moving. They had these crazy looking roots just sitting in baskets outside. Most grocery stores have carts outside, and Boy Scouts on an interesting day. There was also a small, but noticable population of hipster Asian teens. So funny. The juxtaposition of a skinny Asian kid, wearing his "cool" white T-shirt, sporting some weird haircut, and a wizened Chinese grandmother, wrinkly and stooped was quite something.

I had a swell time, and I apologize for not getting this out earlier. For every story I chose to share, there were two others I could have chosen. If you have a question, or something you want me to share (this is limited to my parents and Cami), let me know. Merry Christmas!