Weekend. Relocation time. Pack up all of my stuff in the morning, ride a bike to return key to stanford housing, lose key halfway during ride, search for key, return key, pack things in norman’s car. I’m incredibly skilled at dropping things, it turns out.
12 noon we finally head out to the city, riding on the big silver bullet. Enroute are giants fans, accompanying merriment, and Anond (say almond. now remove l. now change m to n. good!), an intern working at google.
Chinatown SF is enormous, a citadel unto itself, its boundaries demarcated by the effective barricades of language- and earsplitting festival music. Old men gathered around chinese pieces is a welcoming sight for my young eyes. When I grow old, that is how I want to spend my time. A chess board, pieces, a community in the park.
There is Alcatrez, waiting in the distance. From here the waters don’t look too big to swim, but I am told there is a better chance of survival if you stay in the prison. Caged birds and flying, right? I would still swim with a broken wing.
Tomorrow is the Gay Parade, but we catch little indicators. Occasional flashes of neon treads and pink hair disapparate in the vicinity. The Golden Gate Park. A wedding is hosted inside the plant conservation- outside a painted desert beholds the eye. We are bedazzled.
Later, at UCSF, we meet with norman’s cuz, and frequent an east german restaurant. A sign on the door cheerfully reminds us that we are now leaving the american sector. Inside, trio portraits of Lenin, Marx and Engel usher in new guests, and assign them a place within the commune. There is no room for the new Americans. We pack our bags and deport to a Mayan restaurant (adj, as or relating to the civilization known as Maya, found in central america, overrun by conquistadors in the 15th century of our lord- revitalized to a boisterous bistro in SF). We are summoned on the telefone that the border is reopened, and our american dollars are welcome. We return, and settle for a delicious lunch of potatoes and steamed greens.