Sunday, May 06, 2007

The Social Aardvark

I have turned a slight golden brown. It's about 85 degrees today. Total beach weather. In fact, I've spent a good part of my week at the beach. I'm prepping myself emotionally for a brief Euro-tastic tour. I haven't had cheese or bread in days (since that's all I'll survive on for a few weeks) and I'm practicing not being able to communicate basic human needs to others. Should be good. I also bought this. I think it will scare the pants off the French.

The other night I went to hear/see Chuck Palahniuk read at the library down the street from my house. I like bits of his books, and can appreciate his totally bizarre fan base (he's a bit of a literary rock star). He is also notorious for telling pretty frank, gross stories at his readings and often (really often actually) people pass out or vomit in the aisles. It's full-contact literature. Wait, that is the lamest thing that I have ever written. It's just pretty intense at times. So I wandered down to the library where it was already getting pretty hot and crowded a good 30 minutes before the reading started. Eventually things got going. The old man is pretty sharp and good for a laugh. There was a friendly Q&A, a few short stories and lots of free inflatable moose heads and things. It wasn't until a good 90 minutes in that a train of thought beginning with on-the-job injury compensation led to a pair of the most disgusting things that I have ever heard spoken aloud. Suffice to say that both involved pretty gruesome loss of limbs-type narrative. Midway through the third story which began with the description of a 'pickled punk' (a deformed fetus preserved in a jar, purchased by touring freak shows) the crowd got pretty squirrely, and then the guy standing next to me hit the floor. Good show Chuck. I am still shaking off the ideas that that awful man put in my head.

Afterwards I figured dinner was a good idea. I went to Cafe Du Nord to see Thee More Shallows at their record release party. They are a nifty SF band worth a listen. The cheeseburgers are amazing, but the support bands were not so hot. Chuck conceded.

I saw this in the drugstore yesterday:

And really wanted to do this:

I was saying that I spent some time at the beach. It was alright. In fact, not a damn thing wrong with it.


I went to get a new pair of sneakers yesterday on the way back from the beach. I found some standard-fare van's slip ons, but got sidetracked by these crocs. They are the worst thing to befoul footware since....

Uggs. Yep. Men actually wear these things. People actual wear these things. I mean. they are wicked comfortable, but so are those pants that MC Hammer used to wear. So there.

I stand by my decision.

I worked up an appetite dicking around in the shoe store and got some Indian food up in Marin at the only open-air Indian restaurant that I've been too. I am also really obsessed with Kandahari Naan which is unleavened bread with nuts and raisins in it. I want a giant piece of it so that I can wear it like a sleeping bag. Yeah, it's a little gross.
Went to go see Hot Fuzz again. Never a bad idea.

This morning Chad, Erin, Lexi and I went to Thai brunch in Berkeley. It was a beautiful day.

Unbeknownst to me, Thai brunch has very little to do with Champagne, Bloody Mary's and Eggs Benedict. It actually had a lot to do with curry and soup. No worries. It was amazing. You trade money for these weird little coins, which you then trade for weird little dishes of food. My theory was that the monks (who prepare and serve the food) can not handle money. In fact they don't even touch their own weird little coins. So be it. Send on the mango sticky rice please.

Oh hell it was glorious.

We walked around the Berkeley flea market for a bit. I didn't buy anything although there seemed to be a myriad, nay a plethora of deer antlers and porn at the stalls. Strange? A bit. We took the BART back into the city, I picked up my car (which I just spent an absurd amount of money repairing things that I wasn't aware were in need of repair) and drove out to Fort Funston. The beach was mobbed, and as it's the only dog friendly spot in the city it was like the damn kennel club. The weather was perfect though.

The park is filled with these old housings for cannons. Like most of the SF waterfront it has been built up to withstand the onslaught of Gengis Khan, and then left as is.

There is something inherently romantic about naval armaments.

Another magical day in California.

I'll be in Paris by Tuesday. Stand back, I am tanned, well-rested and full of ice cream and birthday cake that was made for a cat (leftovers?). It should be a good one.