Halo, random Caddy, and Klover in South Park, posing for post-fireworks pre-salsa party promo pictures.  

I'm not driving, are you driving? Ryan, Lambo, and DK polish off bottle number two at Gloria Ferrer. 

Celebrity Sighting

You know, its not so much that drinking Budweiser deuce-deuces are economical, but rather, you just never know how long the BART train is gonna to take. So, when Klover and I snagged three of them from the surprisingly well stocked liquor store on 2nd Street near Market, it was because the actual time it would take to get from there to a margarita at El Zarape Room was unclear. On the escalator up to Mission Street, a familiar couple turned around and asked me if I used to bartend at Linda's in Chapel Hill?!? It was my first celebrity sighting.

Alcohol managed to distill itself into everything this weekend. Happy hour at Irish Bank sank into dinner and cocktails at Aziza, which morphed into more cocktails and tequila shots at Harry's. I'm embarassed to report that after our insane taxi driver ran atleast three stoplights (at our prompting...) to get us to Union Street, we ended up at the worst bar in San Francisco. BarNone. I asked my friend Halo to please put a hex on me, thus never allowing me to enter that place again. Imagine the worst college bar you ever had to suffer through, add 10 years and 20 lbs to all the patrons, and there ya go.

How we persuaded Lambo to drive us to Sonoma that next morning, I'm still not sure. Maybe since he was steady guzzling water at the last two bars before secretly slipping out to go home the previous evening defaulted him as navigator. Wine tastings are like thinking that you are going to the emporer's temple for dinner, then somehow ending up at PF Chang's. You recognize all the people because you giggled at them in the airport or got stuck in line behind them at the mall. The wine-tasting girl at Imagery, Ginelle, flashed us the cutest smile and it was impossible not to buy a bottle of the Melbac. Gloria Ferrer allowed us a fond farewell to Sonoma, and two more bottles of champagne were a nice way to cap the afternoon. Fortunately, that was just the beginning of the evening. The short version is Kaboom / fireworks / salsa dancing / head lamps / Bender's / late nite.

When you stay out until 2:30 AM on Wednesday, you can stay home on Friday.

I should have known. Why do I torture myself. I haven't sat down and watched a movie since I don't know when. So tonight, after ten days of Coldplay, Cinco de Mayo at El Rio, Umphrey's McGee, the Comas, and STS9, I decided to diminish my Friday down to gym + DVD. Not all major label bands suck. But I swear to this. Every single major studio movie that comes out fucking sucks. Every single one. And I blame Natalie Portman. You can't do Garden State, then come back with a 105 minutes of boring, cliched dialogue between characters you don't give a fuck about, going by the name Closer. Natalie was hands down the best part of that movie. She could wear broken concrete slabs like diamonds, that one. The scene in the paradise room between Clive Owen and her was riveting. The rest was a yawn. Should have known. Go rent Your Friends and Neighbors if you want to know about infidelity and true evil.

I finally got that spark on the way home. But I'm not sure if I should chase this one down. I started writing the story I've been working on using my old chums Lane and Gray. Felt like three-day old boxers. comfy. dirty. Like I'm cheating by going back to them. But it the words were just bleeding out, just like they were when I was writing Swimming in Circles. It kind of scares me, though. Are soliloquies about the the morning after and perennial female idolization my curse? Are cutesy quips between two characters that can't seem to grow up going to be my lone contribution to the literary world? (...maybe...) Atleast Brock will like it. It does feel weird to write another one about my alter, but hell, Michelle Tea wrote three books about herself, and didn't even change her damn name!

Speaking of Michelle Tea, I finally met her. I won a charity auction on eBay to have her give me a tarot reading. Once again, the rock star syndrome stuck a quarter in, vibrating my arms and lips so I couldn't talk. Drinking coffee at Muddy Water on Church Street didn't help. Shoulda been drinking vodka. You always want to impress. You always want them to regard you with some kind of interest, like you do matter. Strippers, good ones atleast, are terrific at recognizing this insatiable hunger inside the insecure. They can use it to empty out a man's wallet like bedpan in the nursing home. And I don't blame them. Nor can I escape the fact that I really did want to impress Michelle. Six months ago, I'd never even heard of the gal. Three months ago, she blew me away at City Lights. I love how some people are so assured of themselves that they can actually shine. You have to love being around people like that. So, the tarot reading was fine. It was more interesting just watching her do it all and telling me what all the cards meant. When I told her I was a Leo, she just looked at me and said, "None of this is going to matter cuz you're going to be fine. You guys always are." It was more fun once we got through it and we just started talking to talk. I basically asked her all about the publishing world here in SF. She told me about the Olivia Cruise, which she's going to be appearing on soon. She said she'd spoken at the Skylight Exchange a year or so ago (hate that I missed that!) She told me that her next book was coming out on McAdam / Cage, and we talked about indies v. major presses. She signed my copy of Valencia by crossing out her name, x'ing her i's, and writing: "Enjoyed divining your future with you!" Me too.

I think Olie was right

"Why were you pussy-footing around w/ that girl? She was making herself open to you, I saw her flipping her hair. You just have to dominate the situation," she said.

"I guess I wasn't really brought up to go about it in that way," I replied to her.

But, Olie was right. And that made sense in every situation, not just the one where I was nervous about talking to this girl at the Umphrey's McGee show at Great American last night. I think this is another one of those lessons that I 'came here to learn'. Sitting there, justifying my reticence to her, I realized how cowardly it all came of. Don't you hate those moments where somebody shines the flashlight on you in the mirror?

Facing fears has been the theme to this whole trip, I think. When I had coffee with Michelle Tea down at Muddy Waters as part of this charity thing for a magazine in Oakland (more about this later), she gave me my tarot reading. But at the end of it, she asked me my sign. Leo, I told her, and she was like, Oh, Well then You have Nothing to Worry About! If she only knew how anxiety plagued so many aspects of my life, and how I wish I could just do what Olie was trying to explain!

Tonight, there is a shot that the opportunity could come knocking again. And I wonder if the moment didn't just vanish last night.