TUNNEL OF FUN (California edition)

This last week really did fly by and I'm feeling sad and a bit guilty that I didn't have the chance to see or call everybody I had hoped to while in the States. But I suppose that is the nature of the tunnel of fun, what with it being all tunnel-shaped and lacking places to stop and make a phone call and such.

L.A. was pretty laid back, as I had expected and hoped. Pops and I spent a lot of time driving around the city running errands, but at least I got to stock up on a bunch of stuff I needed for my trip.

Back at his house, my father made me do horribly boring things like back up my computer, and I made him eat his vegetables. I swam in the pool a few times and allowed the concentrated chlorine to temporarily burn the Southern California perma-scowl off my face. It was, as they say, all good. On Friday we went to Cobras & Matadors for the ultimate Ryan Dobosh dining experience. The food was excellent, the people pretty and shiny, and the service incomparable. According to Ryan, we were "demanding and unruly" customers, which was pretty much our plan.

Ryan and I hung out a few times and he took me to this nice place in the hills above the city (I did not do this, but I like it).

As usual, Ryan also introduced me to a bunch of cool stuff, especially this, which is seriously one of the most amazing things I've ever seen. Here are some pictures.


Dude is heading to New York next week for a movie and I am so very proud. I will miss my ry-ry greatly, and have informed him that he is either (a) less of a man than Mark or (b) coming to China some time for a visit. It's really up to him to choose.

Nothing against these fine men, but by far the most exciting/bizarre part of my stay in California was the drive through it. I found a ride from L.A. to S.F. on Craiglist and met the driver, Victoria, and the co-passenger, Vincent, at 5am on Sunday at a gas station in the valley. A blond actress/model/dancer at Bar Mitzvahs, Victoria was extremely talkative and a rather erratic driver. She also hadn't slept all night out of excitement for the days' event. For the first time in nearly a year she was to meet her close friend and the subject of her documentary without a plate of glass between them.... on death row at San Quentin. Yep. If only I had the time I could share with you all of the hilarious jokes that can be made about the severed limbs (and other parts) of prostitutes by a serial killer and the only woman who understands him.

Here's the website for the film. She was planning on entering it at Sundance this week.

And it gets so much better. You must watch this delightful commercial Victoria made while a "spokesperson" for Gro-bust.

I challenge you to disagree with the makers of this film that "Shakespearian-trained, British bombshell Victoria Redstall is the only actress in North America who could possibly conquer the complexities of the [role created for her]", particularly when they go on to cite her role as the Mermaid in Uh-Oh!

As remarkable as the drive was, I was rather disappointed that because Victoria was running late she had to drop me off with all of my copious luggage not at Vanessa's house, but at 16th and Mission, in the middle of one of San Francisco's least savory neighborhoods. As I waited and waited for a cab to pass by, the intermingling aromas of urine, vomit, and fried chicken obliterated any desire I may have had for Sunday brunch. On the plus side, a fashion-conscious crazy homeless dude who passed by me was made to remark "hey! your hair matches your suitcase!". It's about time someone noticed. Geez!

I was giddy with relief when I finally arrived at Vanessa's beautiful house in the Sunset, just a few blocks from Golden Gate Park. I would have liked to relax, but I had a deadline to make for my new part-time job editing texts on history and folklore in and around the Arabian Peninsula (long story). I had unexpectedly received a huge file a few days before and it ended up taking up quite a lot of time this week that I would have like to spend with Vanessa. I've developed a terrible habit of referring to my employers as "the Arabs" (its no excuse but I don't even know what country they are based in) , and so as I moped over my work duties one evening at a restaurant, Vanessa suddenly exclaimed loudly "I hate the Arabs!", a look of horror appearing on her face before the words were even out of her mouth. A terrible habit I tell you.

In the end I did get to spend time with Vanessa, but since I stayed at her house working a lot, I got to see much more of Stewart, man cat extraordinaire:


AKA

General Stewharto
Mary Stewart Mastercat
Stewy Lewis and the News

One night I took a gritty and exploitative series of photographs after Punky Stewster went on a catnip bender:


I know, it's a little hard to look at. That's addiction for you people.

It's tough being an urban cat, I'm sure, but really, San Francisco is such a lovely city. I'm pissed that I hardly got to enjoy the lovely weather or go for walks around the neighborhood or out to the ocean. I'm sad to have had to sacrifice my time with V-bug too. It's been 13 years since I met Vanessa and I still remember her passionate advocacy of worms for our high school's compost bins at the ECO club meeting where we first met. Sure we spend more time these days talking about I.P.A. and wedge heels than food chain ecology and folk music but even shallow, decadent bitches need best friends.


We didn't get up to much that was tremendously exciting, but there wasn't a bad day in the bunch and we even created a new word (adjacction, n. the act of breaking up with someone who you are not actually dating) even though I can't imagine when either of us would ever need to use it! We also got to celebrate Vanessa getting the final ok this week for her residency at an artist's colony in New Hampshire in this fall. I'm sure I'll think of her having her lunch delivered daily to her cabin in a picnic basket every time I find a girl baby on my Beijing doorstep.

One evening Vanessa had plans to go to a baseball game with a manfriend and so I got taken out to dinner by wine merchant and man-about-town Justin Beem. Although I would like to think that Justin was vying for an appearance on the blog by taking me to a fancy restaurant and then a glamorous rooftop bar, I'm afraid he might just be that much of a gentleman (but JB, next time can't we just go to a Haricot Verts all-you-can-eat joint?).

That's enough for now. I'm leaving in a few hours and it is starting to make me feel a bit sad. And that just won't do. I'll leave you with this.