Sunday, March 12, 2006

I'D RATHER BE....

After a week in SF I'm thinking where I'd rather be. Not too many places. But then again... The easy going vibe here is decieving. I know if I stayed much longer old issues would raise their ugly heads. I'd have to find a strip of barbed wire to wrap around my middle and put the pebbles back in my shoe. My east coast wiring needs an adapter here. That plug just don't fit.
A friend of mine back home has a stock response when his wife wants him to go antiquing with her: "I'd rather stay home and scoup out my eyeballs with a dull spoon." I picked up a couple such phrases on my trip. "I'd rather be watching a bad Korean movie in Mexico City with Ray Pettibone's girlfriend yacking in my ear." or the timeless "I'd rather be staying on Jerry William's four foot long, cat piss soaked couch, drunk on homemade tequilla." And the trip's not over yet.
I still haven't found David Ireland, but I did pay my respects at the Kerouac shrine. I remember reading and liking ON THE ROAD. As literature it's timely and a helluva lot of fun. As an object, all fragile onion skin and coffee stains, rolled out in a hermetically sealed box, it trancends the word and enters into something religious. The place was packed with the devoted, talking on their cell phones and checking their Blackberrys. The closest most will come to "the road" is the morning commute. That is the "vicarious" stick of responsibility that El Miestro (he paid me for the name change), keeps beating me over the head with. My road is your road. I'll try to remember that.
Yesterday I also paid my first visit to HOOTERS in Fisherman's Warf. Our large busted waitress paid little attention to us, expertly sizing up our limited budget and concentrating on a table of three college boys with credit cards and a thirst for pitchers of draft. It's family oriented sleaze served up with onion rings and a deep bend over the table. I'd rather be digging into the free buffet at The Babydoll. But that's just me. I prefer my sleaze well done and my hamburger rare. If I had kids I'd take 'em to Hooters for Sunday dinner. It's that wholesome. Tomorrow I turn the ship to the east. Cinch in that sail. Open water ahead. There's nowhere I'd rather be.

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