The Morning/Day After: Free Friday

Last night was the Holiday Party for Goodby Silverstein and Partners at the Mezzanine just south of Market St. For weeks, ney, months now, I've been getting prep talks about this party. I've been told a number of different stories by a number of past and present employees, each one trying to trump the other's story. I imagine tons of spinning lights, fast camera cuts capturing a rapid dance floor, some Golden necklaces and gifts served up on mirrors and divided with a razor blade. I was sure I was about to transport to a new level of being- beyond the confines of the everyday awkwardness that arise between coworkers- and see a new side of my company.

Needless to say, this didn't happen. But no problem. It was a great time- the agency video was absolutely hilarious, perhaps the highlight of the night. For the rest of my time, I systematically drained Red Bull and Vodkas, giving me an odd dynamic of drunkard and speed freak. I think I ended up making a lot of plans with just everyone I talked to (after drink 5). If my memory serves right, I will soon be an assitant video editor, work of a film crew doing indie flicks, ride my bike 50+ miles in one sitting, and party with a hot asian chick who owns a glass dildo shop. My social calendar needed a facelift, I guess.

Anyway, after all the drunken antics, the long wet walk to the supposed "after party" became a food run to the local Carl's JR (who the fuck eats at Carl's Jr?). I must admit the burger wasn't bad, but I probably could have been fed dog shit at that point and enjoyed myself. Although I can't say with certainty that I wasn't in fact ingesting fecal matter.

The after party fizzled, which was probably my saving grace. I jumped in a cab to return home. It must have been my lucky night because my cab driver was friendly and talkative and really hated black single mothers. He espoused his disdain for girls who have 80 kids then don't do shit. He was Indian and for some reason it was weird to hear him bad mouthing black people. I know there's no secret pact between minorities (?) but in my own Wonder Bread world, I thought bad mouthing people was a white person's job. You learn something new everyday.

So I paid the kind racist, tipped my non existent hat and headed for my door. But because I'm a goddamn idiot who loves to forget his keys, I had no entry in. I called John a few (ten) times, in hopes that his drunk ass was still up. His drunk ass wasn't. I didn't want to wake up Rick and Alan because those sorry suckers had to work in the morning. In my state, i didn't think calling them was appropriate, but buzzing the doorbell and running into the door was. What's worse that getting a phone call at 2:30 in the morning from a locked out roommate? Why, thinking that one of the many crazy bums of San Francisco is trying to break into your house at 2:30.

Thankfully for me, Kelsey was kind enough to let my drunk ass come over. Jumped in another cab, not as racist, but racial (you can just tell sometimes) and headed to Kelseys. I was told later that I was spewwing ridiculous garble as I tend to do when drunk or tired or a hybrid of the two.

I woke up this morning with a nice juicy hangover. Kelsey scooted off to her office in the sky as I rolled around in bed, cursing the brightness of every shadow.

After about 2 hours of restlessly trying to see as little as possible, I turned on the TV. The price is right was on. It was the first time I'd seen it since Bob Barker left, now replaced with Drew Carey. And it sucked, sucked big ol balls. Drew Carey isn't half the announcer Barker was. Barker gave cute girls a grandfatherly pat on the tush after a job well done. Carey stood there and looked fat. When he talked it sounded like he wanted to speed things up so he could leave and still catch the Breakfast menu somewhere. Or just so he could go masterbate. Does no one remember that he wrote a book that devoted multiple chapters to "My Dick is so big.." jokes? Barker will be rolling in his grave...when he dies. In 20 years. At the age of 145.


So then John came over, we smoked. Laughed. fashioned a bong that would make Mcguyver jealous. Laughed some more. I then of course started jabbering about getting on our bikes and just riding until we got tired, find some cheap hotel and then do it again the next day. But then I forgot I was high and extremely hungover. And wearing a suit. So I soon recognized this as a terrible idea. I walked home as John stuck around Polk St. to wait for his bike to be done at the shop.

I took a new road over Russian Hill- the name escapes me at the moment- and good god damn was it beautiful. I am almost totally positive that this was the road they used to film that Sony Bravia commercial with all the bouncy balls and the Jose Gonzalez tune. Also helping matters was the amazing sunshine that I didn't know existed at this point of the year. Everyone I talked to on the East Coast is up to there balls in snow and freezing their cocks off. I'm walking down a sunny street in a suit on December 7th. A note about this sunshine: It was different than most sunshine- it was somehow crisper. Maybe it was the slightly lower temperature or maybe it was the brightly colored houses I kept uncovering, or maybe it was the weed, but something about today's sunshine was different. More complex. It was amazing.

Walking home this new way, I actually started paying attention to my neighborhood. I haven't really explored it thoroughly enough. Biking also gives you less time to really soak it in. I finally started to notice the small shops that line every street. There was of course your asian stores that sold a bunch of weird ass roots, but these were quite removed from the warm embrace of Chinatown. I plan on taking the early part of tomorrow and venturing back to these streets, probably armed with my camera.

As I got closer to home, I again realized that my retarded ass had no keys. God Dammit. But really it worked out, I made like a movie star, grabbed my coffee and trendy banana but bread snack and found an empty bench in Washington Park. It was a lone bench on an odd corner of the park I usually don't even notice. But I'm glad I chose this corner. From my vantage point, I got an ideal view of all of the parks trees. I am in love with California fauna and the trees that line the east side of the park (and most of Golden Gate Park) make me feel like I'm in the time of the Dinosaurs. But most remarkable were the trees that ran down the center of Columbus Ave. With the seemingly endless good weather, the few seasonal trees in the city are confused as hell- they have no idea what season it is. So in this instance it means that the trees running down Columbus are fire cracker red on the top, fresh green on the bottom and every other color in between. I've been jonesing to see the east coast foliage like crazy since I moved here. And in this one place on a park bench, I could look enjoy the best trees of California and the best colors of the east coast.

I have to say that this city ceases to amaze me. Bi weekly, I find myself seeing something or feeling a certain way about my surroundings that's overwhelming. I thank my luck stars and everything that allows me to enjoy this. I am overly blessed to be able to enjoy these sights, sounds, feelings and emotions. Even hungover, this city will give you something that you can't help but be thankful for.