We just left San Francisco, which was, all things considered, a coup.
In times like this, I realize I have a birth defect called “high strung personality” and that this quality is in painful and direct opposition to the necessary attitude for tour. To wit: An interviewer calls this morning (before I’ve ingested any caffeine), and right as I answer I hit the speakerphone button. I can’t figure out where to talk into and I completely spazz, turning the phone over and over. I yell in the general direction of the phone asking him to call back in two minutes. Then I spend those two minutes hitting every button on the phone and pleading to Nick (er, yelling) “fix it!!!”. He reminds me that it’s not the end of the world if I have to talk on speakerphone. It’s not? Are you sure?
Anyway, this is my way of introducing the hour and a half spent lost in San Francisco yesterday afternoon. We had hoped for a spot of tea, or a stiff drink, or a nap, but instead we drove around, lost in Golden Gate Park, lost at the top of a terrifying hill, lost in a cul de sac packed with fit singles, as I stared at the map frantically hoping I could conjure the missing streets—the ones that we were driving on but were nowhere on the map. We made it of course, but not before I had declared the tour ruined several times, reflecting on how if only I hadn’t bombed Cell Biology I might have been a doctor golfing in some grassy knoll, rather than driving around lost with the very person whose birth I once believed was a cruel joke inflicted on me. (Hey—I was a kid.) Aww, what am I talking about. Rock rocks.
Anyway, San Francisco was a blast. Our host, Yoshi, was fantastic. The club, The Rickshaw Stop, was one of the nicer clubs I’ve ever been to, let alone played. The sound was excellent and the staff, especially Waldo, who did the sound, were remarkably nice. Our friends came out and hung like troupers. As we are driving out of town, the light is perfect and it’s the most beautiful place in the world. Nick says, I could live here. I completely see what he means. If he does move, I’ll have to follow. Perhaps it’s a fleeting thought; we’ve been seduced by perfect light and it will wear off quickly. Either way, we’ll be in Portland for a while.