Another week’s random events and occurrences.
No better way to kick off the week than Thai Temple brunch. And sipping spilled Thai Iced Tea from a food container.
There were numerous things going on in SF so Anya and I did our best to hit them up. First we went to Golden Gate Park for Alice’s Summer Thing. Two things were off: 1. Alice Radio is the adult contemporary station. I’m strictly light rock, less talk. 2. It was not summer at all. Note the parkas and sweatshirts.
But Cake played. I liked them a good bit in tenth grade. The singer was really caustic to all the yuppies and upwardly mobile in the audience, saying, “you’ve probably never heard this song because it wasn’t on the radio, but we’re playing it anyway.” He was rad.
Then we went to Haight Street Fair. I felt more comfortable around “my people.”
Working it in the windows.
We came across a drunk Phelpers. For those that don’t skate, he’s Thrasher Magazine’s editor and totally off his rocker.
Ali Baba’s Cave has the best falafel in the Bay.
About time for a new tire. This reminds me of an everlasting gobstopper.
Ty turned 25 on Monday. He bought himself a pack a of cigarettes called Nate Sherwoods or something.
This guy was singing us Bowie’s “Scary Monsters,” then showed us his record cover collection.
Tuesday morning, I got to help Vic as a photo assistant again. I set up a flash in this old doctor’s office.
And Vic shot away. This guy was having his picture made because he’s a doctor that prescribed medical marijuana to a woman who took her case to the Supreme Court.
Cranes are pretty cool.
Wednesday was Hallie’s 21st Birthday. A few of us went out to the Slanted Door, one SF’s top rated restaurants. The food was as good as the view.
We had a big table, family on one side and friends on the other. Can’t let AK’s foul mouth too close to Grandma.
This just kept getting better until it was dark.
A coupla jokers here. As great as the food was, it was hard to keep it from flying out of my nose due to incessant laughter.
After the fifth course, we were sad because there was no more imperial rolls or sauteed eggplant. Sniff sniff.
But then there was dessert. Hip hip hooray!
Happy Birthday, babygirl.
AK got the Wu-Tang coffee with extra C.R.E.A.M.
We closed the place down and went outside to find the lights bleeding.
Note the sauce spill next to Aaron’s lapel. He just looks like a gentleman.
Stretching it out after seven courses and eating so much that my stomach expanded, decreasing my lung capacity and making me short of breath.
AK running off the calories.
Aaron got an old Honda motorcycle with an iron cross for a tail light. A badass portrait was only fitting.
Pish-posh on those motors I say. Galen, Brian Huey and I rode up to Anza and then back into the golden light.
That ride and this view are seventy-five percent of the reason I live in Berkeley right now.
At work, I fulfilled a fantasy from fourth grade and drove a Dodge Viper. I used to have a poster of one hanging in my room.
After work, I stopped by Channel 99 where Brent & Co. were djing. He played Shake that Laffy Taffy followed by Marilyn Manson and closed with a Coldplay Electro Remix.
It was really peculiar.
Brent was wearing lace-up pants that reminded me of Fleetwood Mac for some reason.
This video of Brent cutting his hair and vacuuming it off with a car vac was playing on repeat.
They had ten pounds of cactus to give away. They think it was peyote.
And what better way to decide who gets the cactus than an arm wrestling match. As always, America lost.
Finally, Galen showed up on rollerblades. He left for the Western Sahara today. He will be missed.