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Drag and Nostalgia

Lunch today with Mom at Libby Hill. ‘Twas a nice thing eating the real southern version of fried fish. It’s one of the things I miss most. We hit the branch on Summitt Avenue, which used to be a Hot Shoppes drive-in (the chain from DC which evolved into Marriott Corporation).

 

Tonight, I did the nightlife thing with Jeff again. We met at Babylon, fled the perky Swing Night crowd as quickly as we could, and headed for College Hill Sundries and New York Pizza, two of my old UNCG hangouts. Then it was off to the Palms, where Jeff was working, and the ever-wondrous Marilyn Rivers was on stage.

 

Every time I come home, I get progressively more and more nostalgic. In my warm and comfy bed, with all that free Mom and Dad food, I start thinking “Greensboro is not such a bad place”. Eventually, I have a revelation and come back to my senses. This revelation usually happens at the Palms. Tonight was that night. All of a sudden the “I gotta get the hell out of here” light started flashing. I fled.

Another day and half and I’d flee town altogether.

Winston-Salem

 

I stayed an extra day because the flights were tight and because there were one or two more relatives to visit. Instead of the relatives, though, we took the back road to Winston-Salem (NC’s own Route 66) to see some urban decay and a mall.

 

Mall first. We shopped. We looked around. I watched more scary redneck kids. Security stopped me (with Mom and Dad) and told me I was not allowed to videotape in the mall. I told the rent-a-cop that was fine because I was through anyway. She didn’t look pleased. I didn’t look like I cared. We left. See the “concept shots” which so threatened the sanctity of the mall above.

Then we headed downtown to the factory district. This was the area where R.J. Reynolds used to make Winstons and Salems and Camels, until they moved to a new plant on the edge of town. The area is threatening to develop into a high-tech office and loft condo area, but a major fire a few months ago delayed some of the plans.

 

Parts of this area resemble Detroit. Lots of abandoned and boarded-up buildings are surrounded by large open areas, the result of unsuccessful urban renewal in the 1960s and 1970s. If I lived in Winston-Salem, this would be my neighborhood.

Winston-Salem is kind of an interesting place. As one might guess, it was formed when the towns of Winston and Salem merged. Until the 1920s, it was North Carolina’s largest city, and it still retains an older and more urban feel than Greensboro, even though Greensboro is now a much larger city.

Last Day

Had the traditional late night “last night at home” talk with Dad last night. I miss having my parents nearby. The older I get, the more I find that I really like them (not that I doubted it before). I think it’s time to move back to someplace which is at least a little closer to home. Not Greensboro, probably not even North Carolina, but maybe Richmond or Atlanta, or Baltimore, or Philadelphia. Who knows? This brings up the same old “what am I going to do with my life” anxiety which I’m not in the mood to deal with right now.

Everything just seems so much saner away from San Francisco. The stress level is so much lower. People live in actual houses, with big rooms and porches and heat that works. No one feels trapped at home by the fact that leaving the house means giving up your parking space. Gas is cheaper. Cigarettes are cheaper. Food is cheaper (and better). Rent is cheaper. Everything is cheaper.

I’m sitting in Charlotte-Douglas International Airport. I spent an hour checking in and almost had a heart attack running to the gate with five minutes to spare, only to find my flight delayed 90 minutes. Now they’ve added another half hour on top of that.

I just spent $3.00 and ended up with five sticks of gum, a newspaper, and a cheap Bic pen. Then I shelled out $2.50 for a Coke at the bar so could smoke. I hate airports. I hate flying.

I’m going home to San Francisco. For a while, anyway…

Home

Back in San Francisco. Woopty-do. Less than a day back in town and I’m already smoking more and eating junk food again.

I may never again travel over the Christmas holidays. I really shouldn’t complain. I didn’t get stranded under eighteen inches of snow in Chicago like so many people did. I didn’t get stuck in Las Vegas without benefit of a hotel room like my roomie almost did. I didn’t have to rent a car and drive from Memphis like another friend did.

Actually, I had a great time at home in the land of Mom, Dad, and assorted friends and relatives. Details and some really bitchin’ pictures coming soon.

But I hate traveling at Christmas all the same. There were lines. There were delayed flights. There was ice. There were 13 degree nights. And I didn’t find myself in a single redeneck love nest.

Thanks to everyone who sent Christmas cards, email, etc. while I was gone. And thanks in advance to everyone who will continue to wait patiently while I catch up on answering said email. Give me a couple of days.

Road Trip Lite

I sort of left town. I just didn’t spend the night anyplace. So I still haven’t slept anyplace other than San Francisco since January. That’s absolutely terrifying. Next weekend for sure. Fresno calls…

As for this weekend, I pretended I wasn’t in San Francisco by lurking in the Outer Mission on Friday afternoon. I took a lot of pictures. I had lunch at the Chick-N-Coop Hoffbrau, which is a story in itself, soon to be told. And then I explored Pacifica some more. I keep thinking that there’s some excting part of Pacifica I haven’t yet discovered, and I keep being disappointed.

Today, I made one of my “huge circle” day trips, from San Francisco to Tracy to Stockton and Lodi to Sacramento and home again by way of Fairfield. This was mostly a thrift-shopping and picture-taking excursion than anything else. Final score: one very ugly shirt, two commemorative plates (Oklahoma City and Nebraska), and four very turquoise dishes. All for under ten bucks.

The best part, of course, was dinner at the Chick-Fil-A in Fairfield.

Other memorable moments:

  • The old guy in the Cadillac in Tracy who opened his door to reveal he was listening to ZZ Top at the loudest possible volume.
  • The new road in Sacramento which connects Arden Way and Garden Highway. In a brilliant move, it’s been named “Arden Garden”.
  • That hot dog from the AM-PM in Galt. I’ll be remembering it for days…

I may expand this day trip later, but right now I’m going to bed. I may drag my ass out early and do another one tomorrow…

To Fresno

 

Aside from an overnight stop with Erik on the way back from Las Vegas in 1998, it had been more than two years since I had a Fresno experience. Heck, it had been eight months since I’d even spent a night outside San Francisco. It was time.

I got out of town early on Saturday morning, assuming I’d have lunch in Merced and make it to Fresno before the thrift stores closed. By the time I crossed Altamont Pass, I already had the air conditioner on. I feared the heat of the Central Valley. I was right to fear it.

After finding a great bluegrass station just out of Stockton, I was speeding down Highway 99 and all excited about visiting my favorite escape. After eating lunch and driving around downtown Merced (and finding a great book my ex-roomie needed to own) I made way to Fresno.

The thrift stores proved antclimactic, and I left with one pair of 97¢ pants. Particularly disturbing was the Christian heavy metal station playing in one of the stores. I was sweating, dehydrated, and tired as the temperature had already hit 98. It was time for an air-conditioned motel. I checked in, took a crap, fixed the non-functioning TV and set the thermostat on “sub-arctic”.

Then I explored Fresno. I hit the Tower District and one of my favorite used bookstores. I drove the length of the North Blackstone strip. I visited a Von’s and an Albertson’s on my continuing quest for Count Chocula. I was unsuccessful. I was also a little pissed to see how much cheaper things are at Von’s than Safeway, despite their common ownership.

I checked out a few more used bookstores, both of which seemed to have this creepy Christian aspect to them (but no Christian heavy metal on the radio at least). One of them even had a Christian massage center in the backroom. Strange chants permeated the whole store.

About this time, I decided that hearing Lenny Kravitz sing “American Woman” one more time might drive me over the edge, so I switched to a Tejano station. I continued into a strip mall on Gettysburg Avenue, desperate to read the sign, which said exactly what I thought it said:

How can you not love a city with a strip mall named “The Gettysburg Address”?

 

Back at the motel (which now had the beginnings of icicles forming on the curtain rod), I contemplated going out. I really wanted to pick up another couple, as is my habit in Fresno. But I was also worn out from the heat and fearful of drinking and driving.

My gonads won. I hit the Red Lantern first, and was surprised that this empty, seedy little bar was now holding “salsa night” on Saturdays. There was an actual crowd. It was a fun crowd, but really cliquish and not at all cruisy. I was happy to see that the Red Lantern was quite gleefully ignoring California’s ban on smoking in bars. I picked up the fag rag and saw that tonight was “hardcore and alternative night” at the Cave, two blocks west.

This bar has a strange definition of “hardcore and alternative”, which includes Bon Jovi, Alanis Morrissette and a really bad disco version of “Smells Like Teen Spirit”. I exited to the patio, which is also a backroom area, I’m told. All I saw were several bears talking about AOL buddy lists and chat rooms.

Conversation snippet: “I wish there was some action happening. Everyone knows about this place, but no one wants to break the ice.” An ice breaker from way back, I didn’t have the heart to tell him that the problem was the lack of any interesting ice to break. I was home by 12:30, comfortably breaking up my own personal set of ice crystals which were now forming on every surface in the room.

Biggest nightlife revelation of the evening: the new freeway by Belmont Avenue makes bar-hopping much more convenient. And no, I didn’t drive drunk, thank you.

On Highway 99

 

Sunday morning brought breakfast at McDonald’s, since the Chicken Pie Shop was closed and everyplace else had long lines full of small children. I toured more of the city, taking this year’s series of pictures along Motel Drive, including a few shots of a motel which had burned a day or two before.

Along the way, I stopped in at an old dowdy Save-Mart supermarket (a Fresno chain) to buy a disposable camera. Just to be safe, I made a Count Chocula scan. They had it. I shrieked. Fresno housewives looked at me funny. I didn’t care.

I definitely took the long way home to San Francisco:

 

Madera is asmall agricultural town just north of Fresno, which looks alternately prosperous and depressed. Nice homes and tree-lined streets are found west of Highway 99, while the east side contains a seedy downtown and people living in old motels.

  

Merced has an interesting downtown with at least one passable used bookstore. There are some great buildings, a great old hotel, and an unbelievable number of houses…miles of them. Where do these people work? I haven’t figured it out yet.

I also stopped in Los Banos, Morgan Hill, and San Jose on the way back. I was hot and tired and getting a case of the sniffles and a sore throat. But something told me to take the old route through San Jose and santa Clara. And, lo and behold, what should I notice on El Camino but a Save-Mart, possibley the only one existing outside Fresno.

I hit the brakes, to the annoyance of at least seven yuppies. I almosy jumped the median. I walked into the Save-Mart. There was Count Chocula. I shrieked again. Since this was Silicon Valley, there were no housewives to give me funny looks. I hit the checkout and wondered at the fact that I’d driven to a town almost 200 miles away to learn, after seven years in San Francisco, that the chocolate marshmallow treat was available only forty miles from home.

Great things always happen to me when I visit Fresno.

Home from Fresno

Home. Sweating. Nose stopped up from spending 36 straight hours in air conditioning. Remind me once again that my delicate constitution suffers in the 100-degree weather of Fresno in August.

Despite the miserable weather (hot and sunny), it was a good trip. Look for details and pictures soon.

Rhetorical and other questions du jour:

  • Why does the same box of store brand cereal (in the same store) sell for $1.99 in Fresno and $3.19 in the Bay Area?
  • Who is responsible for that annoying new cover version of “American Woman”?
  • Where is my damned fog?

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.