Monday, February 26, 2007

Willy Wonka and The Leather Cheerio

Two more days before I resume my temporary ex-pat status yet again. I fly to Manchester on Wednesday morning to start five weeks in Europe with The Arcade Fire. I am looking forward to having some proper stuff to work with to make the show look as epic as it sounds. I'll also be seeing my friend Andy, who is technically a giant, and is somehow tax-exempt due to his immense stature, I think. I can't, however, think of any place that seems farther away right now. My time at home, although precious, has been fulfilling. The rain has started here again, so it's been an indoor week.

It hasn't been all bad. Take that Will Shortz, you wily freak. (It was a Tuesday, maybe Wednesday)

I've been doing some cooking as well, in anticipation of ramen noodles and chicken flavored potato chips on a UK tour bus again. I feel as though I have mastered the finer arts of breakfast.

Belgian waffles with Tangerines and Bananas?

French toast with orange and lemon curd?

I'll reflect fondly on this while I'm choking down a plate of beans and a fried tomato. I will also dream peacefully of my basket at Trader Joe's.

It was, however, on Saturday. I have had better ideas. It was like Calcutta, but with, you know, lots of over-privileged white people.

There were reports of a massive cloud somewhere downtown...

Hate to say I told you so but...

The other day there was a big, manila package in our doorway from the SF police, airport division. I was pretty sure that I was massively fucked somehow until I opened it and realized that I had it all wrong. My friend Jerry in Mexico City had a relative in town a few weeks back, and he had suggested that we hang out. I was too busy, and I'm not even sure what she was up to or where she ended up staying, so we didn't meet up. It would appear that Jerry, who sees tequila as a greeting akin to a handshake had sent her along with a rather large bottle of booze, which was promptly seized at the airport, and somehow sent to it's rightful owner, me. Let it not be said that the San Francisco Police Department is only a bearer of bad news.

Speaking of Mexico, I got up to some quality bargain hunting in the mission yesterday. It's a truly magical place. I wandered into this spot which was just a large table full of salsa and reggae cds, and maybe some porn in the back.

I managed to find this. That's right, a German metal cd nestled amongst the meringue.

I found a few other things in the neighborhood as well. Hat.


Clown Nose.

Last night we had dinner with Marcella at the best gd French restaurant outside of, well, France. It was in celebration, albeit a sad one, of Marcella's upcoming 2 year stint with the peace corps in Nicaragua. Here's to Malaria and dysentery. Just kidding. Give 'em hell Gillis. In totally unrelated news. I have no explanation for this at all. I just did what you do when you see a bear on a unicycle or something, point and laugh.

This was one half of a pretty sweet pair of sneakers, but for the glaring exception. I wonder what the other shoe said. I can only hope that it was either 'Woody Allen' or 'Pork.'

So. One more day at home. One more day to pack, to be warm and comfortable and lie around drinking tea and reading comic books. One more day to eat guacamole and take hot showers and sleep in my own bed. I am off to the devil's lower intestine, or England in the winter as it is more commonly known. Pray for me.