So, I'm sitting in the lounge at SFO (but since there is no wifi, this won't get posted until tomorrow, which for you is today, so, uh...i dunno), waiting to fly standby back to SD. I came here for a few days to clear my head and get away.
I was originally scheduled to leave at 2125h tonight, but I have an overwhelming desire to get home. Which is weird, since I really like SF and there's plenty of stuff to do. But I did most of the usual stuff I do (Amoeba, El Farolito, people watching, walking around the Mission and the Tenderloin), saw some friends I wanted to see, and the other stuff is touristy stuff that doesn't really interest me. SO, here I am, at the airport, in a wing which strangely enough does not have a Starbucks, and stranger still, the lack of such makes me irritated and somewhat anxious* **. So here's a quick recap.
Saturday, I went to dinner with a friend. We went to a place in the Mission called Weird Fish. Food was excellent, but the surprise of the night was fried pickles (sorry for the shitty photo, my camera phone, uh, how do you say...sucks balls. Trust me: fried pickles look like mojos and they kick ass):
Sunday that had something called the How Weird Street Fair on Howard Street. Howard = How Weird. Get it? I accidentally snuck in - there was a gate opened I walked through, only when I exited did I realize I was supposed to pay. Oops! The fair was typical SF wackiness, and I'm guessing I don't need to paint a picture for you to get the gist of it. Mainly it reminded me I don't "get" rave/techno/house/jungle/whatever. Among the scene I spotted a rather strange business. If your name is Adolph Gasser, that shouldn't be held against you, but it I still find it kind of creepy.
Here is the haul from the Amoeba/Rasputin runs. Dokken for a buck? How can I possibly resist. Schlong's Punk Side Story - one of my favorite albums - for a few bucks also perked me up.
I was stoked to see these cool Obey/Obama stickers. My stokededness waned when I noticed the Hitler 'stache and swastika. I'm guessing it had more to do with there being an easy target to deface, not necessarily because it was Obama. I mean, I used to black out some of Carroll O'Connor (or whoever happened to be that weeks cover...uh...model?) teeth on the front of TV Guide. Doesn't mean I had anything against him. He was just...there.
Typical Tenderloin sign-in-window.
El Farolito, save my soul. Note, while I love El Farolito, it doesn't compete with San Diego burritos. But there is one aspect I do prefer, instead of guacamole, they just use sliced avacado, which owns.
What I didn't get to take a picture of:
Dude outside the How-Weird Street Fair, digging extensively in his nostril for gold, and then, not knowing (or not caring) anyone was watching, devouring his find with gusto.
Saturday night at a coffee place on Market, a homeless woman comes in with a large empty glass orange juice bottle. She heads to the cream/sugar bar, pours ALL of the half/half, ALL of the whole milk, and ALL of the lowfat milk into her bottle (like I said, it was large). She's not at all trying to hide what she's doing, but that's pretty much par for the course on Market Street. She screws the cap on the bottle, heads for a garbage can, sticks her head, vomits, and walks out casually. As horrible as it sounds, and it is admittedly pretty horrible, this is EXACTLY why I come to SF.
So while I had a good, "interesting" time, the need to get back home already is rather eye-opening. It makes me realize how good I have it at home.
Turns out, my head was already clear and I had nothing to get away from.
*I've developed a love-hate relationship with SFO. It's a pretty big airport, and it looks quite confusing. But once you're there, it's pretty easy to figure out. Signs are clearly visible and not confusing. I really dig the windows overlooking the tarmacs. BART Station in the terminal = very cool. But seriously, no free wi-fi? In 2008? And once you get past security in the international terminal (that's where Virgin America's gates are), there are only three restaurants, none of them remotely cheap, and only one of them serves any espresso. So the lines are long at all of them, and I had to forgo my second Americano. After being creeped out by the sheer number of Starbucks in downtown SF, I would have killed to see one in the international terminal.
** You may be wondering why I'm using footnotes on a blog. Well, I've been reading a ton of David Foster Wallace this trip.