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November 1999

2 November 1999

I may have finally found the best bar jukebox in all of San Francisco. The bar surrounding said jukebox is Lucky 13 on Market Street. I was there tonight at a going away party for a friend who’s escaping Kinko’s (at least for a while). There are few things more wonderful than forcing an entire bar to listen to “Let’s Have a War” by Fear. I love livin’ in the city.

There was a joke embedded in that last sentence. Most people won’t get it. I’m comfortable with that.

David’s funk seems to have lifted, you may be thinking. Alas, it’s not true. I’m just masking it better. There could be denial involved. Who knows?

All I know is that now, in addition to being depressed and insomniac, I’m having to face the fact that I may be (shudder) lactose intolerant. I’ll spare you the scatalogical details and just say that consuming Count Chocula now seems to come with a price. I haven’t yet tried any of that stuff from those commercials I used to laugh at. Suggestions welcome, as long as they don’t involve soy milk.

Gee heck. I’m just falling apart, huh? Yeah, I know. Most of the world’s population would kill to have problems as insignificant as mine. That’s small comfort when I have a case of the trots and I’m out of Charmin, dammit…

In Olde Sanne Franciscoe

Y’know, I really didn’t intend for the gastrointestinal journal entry to be on the front page for quite so long, but it’s been a hectic couple of days. That would explain all the email I haven’t answered too. Partially.

Anyway, it looks like a pretty good election this year. Most of the ballot initiatives are going my way, including all the ones I felt strongly about. For the third time, we’ve voted on the fate of what’s left of the Central Freeway. It’s now two votes to one in favor of demolition. Can we tear the damned thing down now or do we have to go for best three out of five?

But the big story, of course, is the success of Tom Amminano’s campaign. For a write-in candidate to recieve 25% of the vote after a two-week campaign speaks volumes about San Francisco’s disgust for the arrogance and sell-out politics of Willie Brown, who managed to pull in only 38% himself. Should be an interesting run-off.

A few random links du jour which I’ve been meaning to add for a while:

Looking forward to getting a lot of sleep this weekend…

DMV

I’m never making an appointment with the DMV again. I called for one this morning. The earliest one available was next Thusday at 2PM. Since this matter really couldn’t wait that long, I decided to risk the Friday afternoon lines. I was in and out within 20 minutes. Time saved by NOT making an appointment: 5 days and 23 hours.

California’s a strange place with respect to driver’s license renewals. To start with, you don’t leave with an actual new license. You leave with a piece of paper clipped to your old one. The new one comes in the mail few weeks later. So much for instant gratification.

Of course, you can always renew by mail, which is what I tried to do in the first place. Thanks to the US Postal Service, however, my check and form are probably now in Oregon somewhere. The thing about renewing by mail is that you end up with the same picture for a decade or so. This is known as the “Dorian Gray Reversal Syndrome”. You age, but the picture stays young.

They must use the same system for newspaper obituary photos, which would explain why that 80-year-old woman who just died in Antioch or Fairfax doesn’t look a day over 40 and still has a big beehive hairdo.

Coming soon: my horror at the fact that my Lucky supermarket on Allemany has suddenly become an Albertson’s.

8 November 1999

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I really don’t have much to say tonight. I found this lovely tidbit at the Super K-mart in Oakland last night when Dan, Jamie and I popped in after dinner. It’s hard to beat the Super K-mart for late night fun. We spent almost two hours there. I bought cookies. Jamie bought socks. Dan bought gum. But it’s not about the purchases. It’s about playing with all the toys and looking at all the strange synthetic blends in the clothes.

This afternoon, I finally took the official version of Did You Bring Bottles live just in time to feature my timely obituary for Lucky Stores. The idea of shopping at Albertson’s is without any sense of fun. Albertson’s sounds like it should be the name of a feed store.

And last night, I had an unexpected quick dinner with out-of-town friend Jim. He gave me an animated mouse pad and the video which I’ll be watching in a few minutes. He too felt the awsome power of Millineos.

Today, I went driving in the rain. It was wonderful.

Not much else going on. I’m preparing for my trip to North Carolina on Thursday to help Mom and Dad celebrate 50 years of wedded bliss (and to see how many relatives ask me when I’ll be celebrating ANY wedded bliss). I’ll try to do an update or two from there on Mom’s new Mac, but I ain’t making any promises.

Anybody got a spare parking space for my car while I’m gone?

Off to North Carolina

 

My parents have been married for fifty years. That’s longer than I’ve been alive. And yes, I do realize the irony of that statement. I also realize that some people may not find it ironic at all.

Anyway, I ventured home for the big occasion. There was a lot on the agenda this trip, both scheduled events, training Mom on her new iMac, and my desire to talk with Mom and Dad about what my next home town should be, San Francisco no longer being an option. It was not a relaxing vacation.

I didn’t sleep at all the night before, probably because I was sacred I wouldn’t wake up in time for my obscenely early flight. Therefore, I was a little cranky and tired all day. Not being able to smoke on the cramped plane didn’t help either. And food? What food? I didn’t eat anything significant until I hit the Burger King in the Saint Louis airport for a week-old Whopper. Extra points, though, to Saint Louis for having convenient and plentiful smoking rooms.

Mom and Dad met me at the Raleigh airport (the one I imagine Andy and Opie used to fly to Hollwood). We took a shuttle to the next county where they had to park and headed for Greensboro by way of the Apple House Cafeteria in Burlington (in the mall formerly known as Holly Hill). I was in bed by 11.

The Annivesary

This was the actual anniversary day, but the celebration was scheduled for Sunday, so we really didn’t do much of anything except have lunch at an overpriced restaurant which was way too pretentious for Greensboro (or me). It was pretty, though.

Dinner at the K&W Cafeteria. They didn’t have chicken pie. I was disappointed.

Shopping

 

Got up early. Went to yard sales with my Mom and Aunt Norma (who lives next door). We hit the grocery store later (Harris Teeter) and I bought provisions to bring back to California. My dad and I drove to Reidsville for the 50th anniversary celebration of a barbecue joint there, and I realized that my camera was dead. Late in the afternoon, my cousin’s wife dropped by with a loaner camera for me, God bless her.

Later in the evening, I popped into Border’s for a few last-minute anniversary presents. I usually don’t shop at this hotbed of union-busting, but there was noplace else open. The place was packed. Greensboro must be getting more literate.

The Party

 

The reception began at 3, and was held at my aunt’s house next door. All in all, over a hundred people showed up. This was particularly convenient for me, as it allowed me to see all the relatives at once, rather than spending hours and days driving around town.

 

My function was to take pictures and look dashing in a tie. I took lots of pictures. I wore a tie. “Dashing”, however, would be too much of a stretch.

 

Some cool touches: my mom’s wedding dress and veil were on display, as were lots of old photos. The guests signed the original guest book from the wedding (on a separate page, of course). Another aunt made those cool little miniature ham biscuits. And I knew at least half the people there.

 

Raccoons

Quick update. There are no new pictures. They will happen soon.

I’m just plugging along on Mom’s new iMac, writing in SimpleText (Windoze types think “Notepad”) just to see if I remember how (and because I have no other options until I can buy Mom a Zip drive).

The fiftieth anniversary is complete. About a hundred friends and family members appeared for the celebration. I wore a tie. People were shocked. I, of course, was just uncomfortable. But I consumed sufficient numbers of sausage balls to ease my pain.

Later this week, there will be quality time in Charlotte with Duncan and in Wilmington with relatives. There will be barbecue and grits and Cheerwine, and pictures of supermarkets where absolutely everthing is cheaper.

But for now, I’m going to sleep in my childhood bed.

Mom reserved me for a day of cleaning out the storage building behind the house, as about half its contents belong to me. I dug through old newspapers, toys, and other things I never had the energy to drag to California. It was dusty and smelly. When I got to the top shelf, I realized a lot of the stench had come from the piles of squirrel shit there. Apparently they sneak in through the eves.

It got even better a few shelves down when I saw this immobile furry thing. I jumped a little when I saw it, a little nauseous at the prospect of pulling out a dead squirrel. I jumped considerably more when it moved, and I saw that it was way too big to be a squirrel.

Turns out a full-grown raccoon was living inside that box of old Sears catalogs. Conveniently. my mom wouldn’t let me touch it, fearing rabies. I was comfortable with that, as I didn’t want to get near the damned thing anyway. Mom called animal control. The raccoon, cute as it may have been, went away to be euthanized (a polite term for “killed”). Mom was relieved and a little sad.

That night, I went to the library at UNCG to do a little research and to see if my old tearooms were still jumping. They were not, alas…

To Charlotte

 

Off to Charlotte to see Duncan. This meeting proved difficult at first, as I couldn’t catch Duncan on the phone, no matter how hard I tried. As it turns out, Duncan couldn’t get home to his phone. Seems there was a hostage situation in his complex. Unlike in San Francisco, though, it was not related to speed or crack in any way.

Eventually we met, though, and I also met Rick, Duncan’s new betrothed, and Caleb, who could easily become one of my favorite dogs on the planet.

We had dinner at Gus’ Sir Beef, where you come for the great name, but stay for the “fresh my farm” vegetables. Then Duncan and Rick took me on a vintage supermarket tour. One of the things love about Duncan is that he will (a) do something most people would find horribly boring and (b) actually be enthusiastic about it.

 

I went to sleep in my private guest room (with private guest bath) and wondered why my rent (which is probably more than their mortgage) doesn’t allow me to have an extra bedroom and bathroom (or God forbid a parking space). Sometime in the middle of the night, I decided it was time to move back to a saner place. Charlotte seems as likely as any right now.