Doug from The Flagpoles wants to remind you that this Monday, April 14th, we will be playing at The Elbow Room on Valencia Street in The Mission District of San Francisco. We are the opening band on a Monday night. I wrote a scathing commentary on bands that play on Monday nights, but the truth is, that’s how good I am.
I’ve been working in the coast town of Pacifica for a few weeks. Be there for a few more as well. Thought I’d show you the dump. It sits on a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean, with views down to Half Moon Bay and up the line to the Marin Headlands. Perhaps the most beautiful dump in the world.
Why do places need a cabaret license to allow dancing? Why is this culture so against dancing they require a permit for it to happen? I was thinking about Ken’s story in New Hampshire, but it’s true out here in San Francisco as well. The only difference is, bar owners pay the fee and people will dance out here…
This is the sign in front of Este Noche, a gay Latino bar. The last time I went in there two guys were on pedestals in tight underwear doing something you might call dancing, and yes, it probably should have required a permit.
When you work a lot of hours around power tools in tight quarters it’s nice to come home with all of these at the end of the day, even if they are a little weird looking.
Here’s a little package a pal sent from New Hampshire the other day. Thanks, Mr. Hernandez!
If clothes make the man and women make the clothes, what does that mean? Women make the men.
Bryan Adams came on the radio. I listen to KOIT, a light rock less talk radio station. My lady says to me, “This is maid music.”
“What’s that mean?” I ask.
“We had maids growing up in the Philippines, and they loved this kind of music. I used to hate it, but now it brings back good memories.”
“Does everyone have a maid in the Philippines?” I ask.
“Yes,” she said.
“Even the maids?”
“Some of them will have people at home who help them. The poorer you are, the less help you have, until you are so poor you have no help at all.”
“That kinda sums it all up,” I said.
This city is full of chronic shoppers. They don’t even have homes, they just have shopping carts they push from sale to sale. This guy is sleeping in front of the Sleep Train, they are having a spring cleaning sale starting today when they open. He’s first in line.
okay, so that isn’t true. He’s not a chronic shopper, but he is a hoarder. So many homeless people are. I talked to one guy, told him his cart was like a pack mule. He is mining the hills of San Francisco, looking in the dark hollows of dumpsters and garbage cans.
Does Holy Water go bad? I found this at the dump, and the water has white specks floating in it.
I bought Big Jim a Go Girl energy drink. See if it would mellow him out.
me: How is it?
Big Jim: Weak.
me: It tastes weak or you feel weak from drinking it?
Big Jim: Depleated. Like after you’ve had sex.
me: How’s it taste?
Big Jim: Sugar free. Fruit punch. It has a fruit punch taste.
the girth is a wide leather strap that holds the saddle on the horse’s back. You kinda knew something did. It wouldn’t just sit on top of the thing while you were galloping across la mesa jumping adolescent saguaro, digging the spur into the hot flank, hips bucking beneath you, flesh rippling with the pounding of shod hooves into a desert floor. It’s gotta have this big flat leather thing that is like a belt around the horse’s waist and you go and sit on the belt buckle. Think of it that way.
It’s hard to blog when you’re on a bender, but I’ll try. The fine details are out the window, superfluous. I went to work on a new job, some old Welsh man is the GC. He’s looking all around for something so I finally ask what.
“I rolled a joint and it fell out of my pocket, I’m sure of it. When I answered my phone. I hope the lady of the house doesn’t find it…”
and that’s all, because I need to go make love to my lady.
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